03/03/2026 • Frank Benjamin Horn Hartvedt
Jeg skrev første utgave av romanen Way allerede rundt milleniumsskiftet. En stund etter dette utvidet og bearbeidet jeg teksten, og flere år senere, i 2007, ferdigstilte jeg romanen og publiserte den på det daværende nettstedet world-wide-way.com.
Her følger et utdrag fra romanen. Om Edward Bloom.
«During the previous day’s discussion hour, I had shamelessly, yet respectfully, insisted that [Rachel Bloom’s] father lived a lie. (..) «It’s a legitimate conclusion,» I had said to my class. Then I really got on the wrong side of her with respect to her father. «‘I was young myself once, Terry. Wait until you get older.’ Class, Mr. Bloom said that to me with pride almost. He unreservedly used parts of last year’s graduation speech to tell me how naive and full of dreams he had been as a lad, on a restless quest for absolute truths that he could base his life upon. He gaily made fun of his youth and himself, apparently without realizing it. That way of looking at things was completely foreign to him, so it had nothing to do with wounding his honour. It was simply about being humble enough to admit to one’s mistakes. The life-long experience of those who were older should overcome one’s absolute certainty in one’s principles. That is what made honour. «I scrutinized him while he taught me,» I had said. «There was a kind, yet contemptuous quality about him. Mr. Bloom was a survivor – one who had the ability to make a victory out of a loss. Maybe at one time he had had a girlfriend that he had shared grand predictions with. Eventually, he was forced to take stock of his life. He had not succeeded. He was neither a chess champion nor a professional soccer player. Success hadn’t come. His great prophecies had not been fulfilled. The path to a comfortable sofa and a well-deserved, cold drink seemed long. Edward Bloom wanted to die. «Then one day, he saw a glimmer of hope. Humility. He had been an egotist. He had strived to reap the glory of his own flesh, and so failure was the deserved outcome. Why had he stopped caring for his surroundings, his fellow man? Rather than lying down then, he rose up and became a pillar of society, a soldier of solidarity. The ballot box and the socialist party ticket became a natural combination. «But humility wasn’t a truth. It was just a way to deaden, and eventually, get rid of the pain. A hypocrisy that can’t be ignored, unfortunately. Rather than smiling in resignation in the shadow of the thoughts of his youth, Edward Bloom should have praised the brave attempts of his youth to establish principles. He should have nodded and smiled warmly at the thought of that kid who had once critically and with difficulty developed an opinion on the basis of his own sensitivities and impressions, and the experiences of his father, grandfather and teacher. He should have been proud of his young mind,» I had said to an attentive class. «It could be that, after a while, Edward wanted to experience things that didn’t coincide with his worldview, and because of which, for the sake of fairness, he was necessarily forced to overturn his previous conclusions. However, that didn’t mean that it was a given that the preparatory work on the principles of his youth was carried out too carelessly. A person didn’t need to have lived for seventy years himself in order to reap the benefits of the experiences of a long life. We had a mouth and ears, and it wasn’t really difficult to talk to people who were getting close to death. Some were even happy.»
Rachel had stopped me. She thought that my speech was hideous. What was this nonsense I was imagining? Her father was a respected citizen with a genuine desire for justice, peace and happiness. For all. As far as she was aware, her father hadn’t entertained thoughts of any grand ambitions that after a while only led to feelings of loneliness and emptiness. Edward Bloom was an unselfish man – the St. Stephen of our time. Right up until the introduction of his car. «So what?» a shrill voice from the east side of the classroom had asked. «Father deserves some credit, too!» Rachel bellowed. Personally, I thought it was entertaining to watch the middle-aged Edward cruise around in his beautiful German. Putting money on the table at the car dealership and leaving in a fairly decent Asian vehicle probably wasn’t even considered. Perhaps it’s easier to forget about unfulfilled prophecies when one speeds around in a German power machine with nice leather seats and a proper emblem on the hood. There’s actually a more than decent motor in a Korean car, and the seats – well, there’s five of those. «Room for both your mother, Sean and you, Rachel,» I said. «But, of course, your father needs maximum comfort. He is naturally one of those who deserves only silk of the most outstanding quality. We’re talking about a royal philanthropist, afterall. Right up until the lights go out for Agnes the pensioner, that is, who was thrown out of her apartment block because, confused and in need, she helped herself every day to the wooden railings in the stairwell in the hope of getting a little nourishment. With some nickels in pension and three loaves of bread a month – of course she would’ve, in her confusion towards the end of the month, planted her tongue where she thought there might be food. «I certainly understand that your father likes a soft, comfortable seat, Rachel, but it isn’t quite in keeping with his noble transformation after his application for that top job in the oil company was rejected. The socialist party candidacy was natural when he had to be satisfied with a consultancy and 10 square meters of office space, likely for all of eternity.»
I hadn’t been too sarcastic. This wasn’t an attempt to engage just for the fun of it. I was just sharing fascinating pearls of wisdom from grandfather’s treasure chest. Had I been making fun, the pencil lead would’ve hailed down. I knew that Rachel admired her father. Edward and Rachel had a father-daughter relationship of the highest order. I knew that I had hurt her. And maybe I was a little sorry when she broke the noteworthy silence in the classroom. «I can’t stand being here any more right now. I’m going to go home to my Dad and give him a hug.» She said it calmly. It had been quiet for about 10 seconds. I had stared at her intensely before she answered. The whole class had been looking at her, in fact. There were undeniably some fascinating sides to Terry’s public castigations, no doubt about it. And there was no reason for Rachel to get hold of a pen case with ammunition. Terry had been polite and had spoken with a serious tone. That’s why there was some tension surrounding Rachel’s reaction. If there had been time, we would have seen an eager Roger taking bets between the desks, with good odds, as usual. I don’t think anyone wanted to fleece the capitalist and the class’ only independent businessman of all of his money, at any rate. Rachel left, and during Andrews’ English class, no less. It was sensational and unacceptable. It was art.
She got up from her chair – her back erect, as usual. When she reached the door, she stopped and met with looks of wonder from each and every one of her classmates. She smiled slyly. She then turned her attention to the would-be sociologist, Andrews, who still hadn’t managed to collect himself after that which he later characterized as the climax of his career. «I have to go home, sit on the sofa and drink a little cold drink with my Dad.» It was at that moment that I was forced to forgive her for all of the sharpened pencils, unnerving stuttering, and lack of drive. For a little while, I assessed whether or not I might be in love with her, but quickly came to the conclusion of how dangerous it was to let oneself be torn by spiritual stimulation. Rachel had behaved beautifully. I would actually use the word, «monumentally». Our class had received an introduction into the day-to-day creativity some people would pay considerable sums for. While my words would have caused chaos in any other girl with affection for her father, Rachel had shown a wisdom and calm which I didn’t realize she had the ability for in such circumstances. It was clear I had hurt her. I think I also got her to insist on a serious conversation with her Dad on the ability of businessmen to create a demand. But most of all, I had sharpened her claws. And I bow to her.»