15

The alarm on Bjorn´s mobile phone went off at 7:30. Starting off softly before gradually increasing its volume, Bjorn did not rush to turn it off. Instead, he kept reading the article he was in the middle of, while absentmindedly pulling the phone out of his pocket and pushing the right buttons to turn it off without looking at it.

Finishing the article, Bjorn leaned back in his chair, fixing his gaze again on the wide landscape, so as better to digest what he had just been reading. According to the rather conspiratorial piece, the rebel commander in charge of the latest beheadings in Syria was the brother in law of a top American politician. And once again, Bjorn had been struck by the level headed and honest reporting of what he had been reading, finding it hard to dismiss, yet quite unbelievable that such evils could go completely unreported by the mainstream media.

Bjorn found this kind of fringe stuff endlessly fascinating, yet hard to fully believe. He felt certain that all the pieces had to fit together somehow, and that there must be some sort of key to understanding the world that would make everything fall into place, some key that would give him a way to sort the lies from the truth. He was not looking for certainty. He knew that such knowledge cannot be attained. But some general world view that could help him sort things out in his head would be great. As things stood at the moment, he could not even figure out his own life, let alone the politics of the world.

But it was time for breakfast, and Bjorn felt hungry and eager to get started in his new job. And he was looking forward to seeing Ante again, so he decided to go down to the kitchen, even if it was a little early.

Bjorn came across Thomas and Espen, heading for the communal bath room, out in the hallway, and a mixed feeling of shame and relief surged in him as he politely greeted the two men with a "good morning." He hated the idea of being in a bathroom with a bunch of acquaintances, and was happy he had gone there at an odd hour so that he would not need to go there now. But his sense of relief did not come completely without a sting of shame. His discomfort in the company of others was quite shameful, he felt, even if he could not quite identify the exact source of his feelings.

14

Bjorn could not help smiling to himself as he got back to his room. He was clearly a little overly self conscious, and should not be too hung up about his age. This whole experience was nothing less than an adventure, and age should have nothing to do with it. It is after all not uncommon to feel a little lost at times, and deep in our hearts, we are all the same age. A little insight into the darker side of life is nothing to be ashamed of.

Bjorn had left the TV on while he was away for his shower, and he was welcomed by the voice of a reporter, standing on a balcony overlooking a large public square, when he returned. Talking in an exited but level headed voice, the reporter was trying to explain in a few simple sentences what was going on down at the square, where riot police were lining up to stop protestors from advancing towards a walled building in the background.

There were slogans being shouted by the protestors and the occasional stone tossed at the police, who responded by advancing a few steps towards the protestors, sending off canisters of tear gas towards the crowd, before retreating to their original position, orderly and disciplined behind their plexiglass shields. The sight was fascinating, and Bjorn could not help admiring the police for their discipline and determination. Being himself in uniform, his sympathy was naturally with the police, but even out of uniform, Bjorn considered violent protests completely misguided and a huge waste, certainly in democratic countries where everyone has a say in how things should be done.

But the seemingly endless nature of the so called crisis was certainly both frustrating and disturbing. People were clearly better off before. And no one seems to have any good answer to where all the money and wealth has gone. How can wealth just disappear without any big crook somewhere cashing in big time? Bjorn figured the protesters were right about there being some unholy alliance between greedy bankers and corrupt politicians. But even then, setting fire to buildings and tossing stones is hardly the answer.

Protecting ordinary people, and making sure that violent thugs do not go around looting and destroying things, is the noble cause of the police man and his colleagues in the armed forces, and Bjorn felt proud to be part of this. Asylum seekers had after all been responsible for several violent incidents lately, and it was high time that the political will to fix this problem had emerged, not only in Norway, but all over the world. The time when asylum seekers were treated with kid gloves were behind us, and the decision to make a single national asylum seeker centre in Lundby was enormously popular with the population at large, even if some misguided left wingers were still arguing that this new policy was somehow inhumane.

But Bjorn was in no mood to sit and watch TV, and turned the set off. Instead, he drew the curtains aside to have a fresh look at the view as it reappeared in the dim light of dawn. Revealed behind the curtains was a motionless landscape drawn in an infinite number of grey tones, with the village of Lundby barely visible to the left, tucked as it were in between two rolling hills. And this great view served as a beautiful and soothing back drop to Bjorn´s little room.

Bjorn sat down at his desk, immediately in front of the window, doing nothing but taking in the view for a long while before turning on his lap top. Then he turned to his Facebook page to get the latest thoughts and updates from friends and acquaintances, finding articles on subjects not normally covered in the mainstream media. And pretty soon he was totally absorbed in literature that most people would consider controversial, even though most of it seemed to be surprisingly well documented, at least as far as Bjorn could judge.

13

Bjorn knew all too well what the haunting recurring dreams were all about. The symbolism was rather obvious, and the lack of motion in this latest one did not change the message all that much. He was lost, and he knew it all too well. And pushing this awareness back and down while awake did not stop his subconscious from presenting him with the plain facts at night.

However, the dreams had become less regular after his decision to join the newly established Lundby border guards, and he had hoped that the dreams would go away completely now that he had reached his destination. Taking part in this great social project, engineered by the smartest minds in the country to protect ordinary Norwegians from the many criminals who abuse the asylum seeker system, was at least purposeful if not exactly a great career move.

Bjorn had arrived at his destination, but he was still lost. This was not what he had imagined his life to become way back when he, full of optimism, had married his beautiful girlfriend after having found himself a well paid job as an engineer. All his dreams had come to nothing. His painting, as it were, had fallen apart. The dream was simply his subconscious presenting him with the plain facts.

But there was no point in dwelling on the past. If his dreams were telling him anything, it was to move on and get over it. Being away from Oslo, with its constant reminders of his failures, was at least a step in the right direction. However, he had no idea what the next step might be. He had not thought this whole thing properly through, and now that he had finally arrived at the check point, he felt lost again.

Not wanting to be confronted with his much younger colleagues in the communal bathroom, and feeling eager to do something, anything, to shake off the feeling of having hit some sort of dead end, Bjorn got up and headed for the showers. Going there at an odd hour, he suspected correctly that he would have the place to himself so that he did not have to socialize as he got himself ready for the day.

Feeling a good deal better after a warm shower, he brushed his teeth in front of the large mirror covering the wall, next to the door, above four wash basins lined up next to each other. Bjorn scrutinized himself critically as he stood there, thinking that he was not the worst looking forty something guy on the planet. A little over weight, maybe, but big and strong, and certainly not anyone a tiny little Asian refugee would want to mess with. And with a well trimmed beard covering his somewhat puffy face, he could even be confused for a bit of a bad ass macho, given a more forgiving lighting.

12

Bjorn woke with a start from an intense falling sensation, and he knew that he would not be able to go back to sleep. If he tried, he would simply be filled with a noxious claustrophobia that would make him both sweaty and cold at the same time, so he turned on the light, sat up in bed and turned on the TV.

He checked his mobile for the time, and it said 5:32, which meant that he had had a good six hours of sleep. Not bad, considering how his panic attacks had been at their worst, but he had hoped the nightmares would pass now that he finally was settled into a job with a steady income and high job security, and he felt a sting of anger as he reflected over this latest dream.

It had taken him by surprise, since it followed a slightly different pattern than he was used to. Mostly, he knew even at the start of the dream that things would end badly, and that there would be a great fall. He would know that whatever he was trying to reach would remain distant no matter how fast he was moving, and he would know that the road would suddenly disappear, and yet he would not be able to escape it.

However, the predictability of these dreams, in their endless variations, did not make them any less effective in depriving him of a proper night sleep. The discomfort he was ridding himself of, by turning on the light and the TV, was very familiar to him. But this latest dream had been different. He had not been moving along anywhere. He had simply observed a beautiful image of a quaint village set in a rich, green countryside. It was a great painting full of details, giving him a sense of harmony and prosperity, and he suddenly realized with a great deal of pride that he had made it himself.

And then he heard himself say with a great deal of joy "I finally did it! I made this!" But as soon as he said this, his masterpiece started to crumble, and he heard a familiar voice directly behind him asking "but why are you here?" Turning around he saw that he was completely surrounded by darkness, and he could see nothing. Then everything changed and he was suddenly standing in the living room of his ex, facing her with their baby boy in her arms, and their daughter pulling anxiously at her skirt. Pointing at him with a menacing finger and talking in a shrill voice, she formed the two words "get out" and that was when everything turned pitch dark, and the only sensation left was the stomach wrenching feeling of free fall.

11

Bjorn decided to retire to his room after having enjoyed the lasagne, served by Ante in the kitchen. It was quite a meal, and the glass of red wine had only added to the sense of well being that had filled him while in the company of the talkative and entertaining Sami.

Curious about Lundby, Bjorn had asked Ante about the village, both its history and its current status. And he could not help mention the woman he had met on the ferry, since her desire to move to Lundby seemed quite irrational in the light of its official status as a national centre for asylum seekers.

"Well, she is probably going to work for the people in charge of the centre. It is being equipped with industry and services to occupy the asylum seekers while they wait for their cases to be processed in Oslo."
"So it is a prison gulag in other words?" Bjorn asked, with a sense of unease about the whole business.
"Of sorts I guess. But it is one heck of a place to visit. I´ve been there a few times, and enjoyed it greatly every time. We are planning to go down there Friday evening. If you are curious about the place, you should come with us!"

Bjorn was in no mood to make a decision there and then about his Friday night plans, but the work schedule for the week was already set, so there was no hurry. Friday was still several days away, and Ante told him that he could make the decision any time, right at the spur of the moment if he so wished.

As for the history of Lundby, it had originally been a fishing village, which explained the distance between the village and the port. But this little fact was not what was occupying Bjorn´s mind when he entered his room. It was rather the mixed feeling of well being from Antes meal, and the disturbing feeling of unease regarding Lundby´s true nature.

Lost in his own thoughts, Bjorn was taken by surprise by what looked like someone coming in his direction as he entered his room, but he realized even before he had time to jump that he had only caught sight of his own reflection in the large window spanning the width of his room at the far end. The darkness outside was complete, and the window was almost a perfect mirror in the bright light.

Suddenly confronted by himself, he was struck by how old he looked. All the colleagues he had met so far were younger than him by at least a decade, and he felt at once lost, not so much in space as in time. He felt lost and bewildered and it was almost as if he asked out loud, "why am I here?" But the voice was only in his head. And the short answer to his question was that the army seemed to be the only one hiring in the midst of the current recession.

In no mood to answer the question more truthfully, not even to himself, Bjorn walked briskly over to the window to draw the curtains and be left alone from his own image, pushing the real answer to his own question to the back of his mind. He turned on the TV, pulled off his boots, and started taking out his things from the back pack on his bed.

10

It was nice and warm inside the barracks. Bright lights were on everywhere, and the place smelled of fresh wood panelling. It was divided into two floors, with the top floor being little more than a long corridor, with rooms on both sides, and a shared bath room with showers at the far end. Each guard had his own room, and Bjorn was pleasantly surprised when Ante told him he could have a room with a view of the fjord, which Bjorn was more than happy to accept.

"I had expected a room at the back, to be honest," Bjorn remarked as Ante let him into a room half way up the corridor.
"Well, some of us are a little paranoid, and prefer to have a room away from any potential action."
"Action? You mean they are afraid of an attack?"
"Yeah."
"Like being bombed?"
"I think some of us would prefer a bunker, to be honest."
"Isn't that a bit over the top? Which side are you on?"
"I'm on their side, of course!" Ante replied with a grin. "I would not think of bombing this place."
"I mean, which side of the building are you."
"Oh, I see. I'm right next door to you. I got a view too."

Ante gave the wall to his left a light knock, to indicate the location of his room, while chuckling from his own joke.

The room was spartanly equipped, but larger than Bjorn had expected, with a desk and office chair in front of the window, an easy chair next to the bed, a closet to hang his clothes, and a TV attached to the wall next to the window that could be easily viewed from the bed or the easy chair.

Bjorn tossed his back pack onto the bed before letting Ante show him the shared bath room and the downstairs area. They had passed the living room without greeting anyone on their way up the stairs. But coming down, they went straight into the room where four men were gathered around a table, playing cards.

The men put down their cards and introduced themselves to Bjorn, asking him if his trip had gone smoothly, and saying a few words about themselves. None of the men seemed eager to return to their game, clearly happy to see a new face. Their eagerness to talk about themselves and their duties made Bjorn feel very welcome. However, by the end of their talk, Bjorn could only remember the name of one of the men, and had to ask Ante to repeat their names when they went into the kitchen.

"Thomas, Frank, Espen and John," Ante said. "Not exactly difficult names to remember."
"No. You're right... And Espen is the nerd, right?"
"Nerd?"
"Yeah. The autistic guy?"
"Autistic? Ah... I see what you mean. He is not really a nerd. You'll like him. Frank is the odd one. He is one of the bunker boys."
"And he is the one with short dark hear."
"Yep."

Bjorn went through the names in his head once more while Ante showed him around the kitchen. Leading Bjorn over to a large fridge, next to a window with a view of the fjord, Ante explained how he was responsible for breakfast and dinner, in return for limited guard duty.

"It is a great deal. I get to cook, which I like, and I get first pick when choosing days off and when to sit in the box."
"And what about me? When do I have to sit guard?"
"Frank has put you up for the day shift," Ante said, pointing to a sheet of paper hanging on the fridge, "which is the six hours from nine to three. He decided to go easy on you this first week."
"So Frank, the bunker boy, is in charge up here?"
"Yes and no. He is the chief officer. But he is very accommodating and flexible when it comes to planning our shifts. He really is a nice guy."

Ante went on to say a few words about the daily schedules, referring to Frank's Excel sheet on the fridge, before showing Bjorn where he would be sitting during meals. The seating arrangement was important, explained Ante, since some get grumpy if they find their place occupied. However, this was only important during meal times, and Bjorn should feel free to come into the kitchen and grab something to eat, and sit wherever he please at other times, as long as he made sure he left the kitchen clean and tidy after use.

Opening the fridge, Ante asked Bjorn if he would like to have a bite before either retiring or joining the card players in the living room.

"I have not had anything to eat since Kirkenes," Bjorn said, accepting Ante's offer.
"Well, let me heat up some left over lasagne for you!" Ante said with an extravagant gesture, taking out a big serving dish with a few ready cut pieces in it. "One or two pieces?"
"Two please," Bjorn said, feeling hungry at the sight of the dish.
"And do you want some wine to go with that?"
"Wine?" Bjorn asked baffled. "What does Frank say about that?"
"He is a nice guy," Ante answered with a smile. "I told you! He does not take the rules and regulations too seriously."
"Well, then I'll have a glass of red wine."