Bjorn poured himself another cup of coffee, not at all convinced by Maria's arguments. By her logic, people like Hitler would be innocent. After all, he never killed anyone himself.
Bjorn felt suddenly provoked and angry with Maria's arguments, and he had a strong urge to comment on Maria's line of thought, pointing out its obvious flaw. But only registered users could comment, so he was left to simmer with frustration over the ignorance of the woman. Unable to contribute with a rebuttal, he felt the anger swell in him. Suddenly he felt convinced that he had the ultimate counter argument at hand. And he just had to get himself an account on the Blacklist to post this for everybody to see. Letting this woman get away with her nonsense, was just too much to bare. Not least because the woman was obviously influencing people with her flawed logic.
Bjorn opened an account with the Blacklist, filling in the required fields only. He had no desire to say much about himself. All he wanted to do was to post his killer argument against Maria's nonsense. But when he returned to the case against the foreign minister, he got second thoughts. Maria had after all defended a representative of the Norwegian government. Being himself a representative of the government, he could hardly start arguing for the prosecution of the foreign minister. He had to find some other place to post his argument, so he clicked on Maria's name to see what other cases she was commenting on.
There was no lack of cases that Maria had commented on, but the list was confusing, with only titles and status shown. There was no good way to know which one to choose. He recognized the case against the head of the child protection services in Alta, but that was as hopeless a place to post Bjorn's argument as the case against the foreign minister. Bringing up Hitler and the Holocaust in either of these cases would not do. He had to find a case against some private individual, and use his argument there.
Bjorn took another sip of his coffee. Then he recognized the case against Ane and the fish waste she was dumping into the water under her factory. The case was resolved, but that didn't necessarily mean that the comment field was closed. And, with her being an authority figure, Maria might have used her flawed logic there too. Bjorn clicked on the case, hoping to find it an opportune place to put his rebuttal.
Bjorn browsed through the case and the first few comments until he got to the point where Maria had commented that the plaintiffs had no case against Ane as long as there was no damage made to their properties. But Ane was fighting an uphill battle against Jan and Pedro, with the men arguing that they would rather see Ane come up with a solution before any damage was made. If she persisted in dumping fish waste into the fjord, this would surely result in a pollution problem at some point, and then they would demand generous compensation for the damage caused.
At that point, Maria made the comment that Ane was not in fact spewing fish waste into the waters below her factory. This task was done by one or more of her employees. Ane was innocent of any pollution coming from her factory as long as she was not personally doing the polluting. The case should not be made against Ane, but the employees doing the dumping.
"But that's insane," Bjorn thought as he read this. "The poor workers are probably not even aware of the fact that they are doing anything wrong. You can't hold them responsible for this. They are just doing their job." And Bjorn was not the only one reacting as he did. Ane made the very same argument, to which Maria responded that it nevertheless was the case, and that she was putting her employees at risk of being prosecuted if she did not do anything about the situation.
Following up on Maria's comment, Jan told Ane that he would inform all her workers of the risk they were taking. He would print fliers and distribute them among her workers so that no one would be able to claim ignorance. Every worker would know that they may be stranded with colossal fees unless they stop the dumping immediately. And this threat, Jan figured, would most likely set an immediate stop to the dumping. Ane, in his opinion, had no choice but to find a solution to the problem.
What followed was a brief exchange of messages relating to practical issues and conditions required for Ane to continue her business until Sunday when she suggested a meeting with Jan and Pedro to resolve the problem. They all agreed to meet after church, and to let Ane continue her business as normal until then.
On reading this, Bjorn remembered how Ane had approached Jan and Pedro after mass on Sunday. And whatever they had agreed had proved to be fruitful since the case was closed that same evening. There was no explanation to what the three had agreed on, but the case was resolved. The threat against Ane's employees had made her fold, and the case had ended in some kind of compromise.
Bjorn wondered what they may have decided, but he quickly realized that the possibilities were practically limitless. It could have been anything from a joined ownership of the factory, to some practical solution pertaining to the waste itself. Maybe Ane had to pay some monthly fee, or give the men a cut of the profit. There was really no way to tell, and no point in speculating.
Then, looking at the comment field at the bottom of the page, Bjorn realized that his argument would be completely misplaced on this thread. The case was resolved. Threatening to sue Ane's employees had proven successful. To mention Hitler and the Holocaust on this thread would simply make him look like a complete moron.
Bjorn felt suddenly lost. His killer argument was not as good as he had thought. In fact, it was a stupid argument. And he knew what Maria would answer. She would simply repeat herself, saying that being a psychopath is not a crime. Just as following orders is no defense, giving orders is no crime. The crime is not what a psychopath says, but what the executioners do.
Showing posts with label ane. Show all posts
Showing posts with label ane. Show all posts
Tuesday, February 10, 2015
Friday, February 6, 2015
176
Bjorn had just sat down in his chair when he became aware of a car coming down from Neiden. Every time the car made a turn, the headlights flickered in the big mirror hanging outside the office. Bjorn watch the car as it came down the windy road, disappearing behind rocks and hills, reappearing a little later, and then disappearing again, off and on until it finally arrived at the checkpoint.
"Passport!" Bjorn said in a formal voice. Then he proceeded to tell the driver about the new rules before typing in the number found in the passport handed over to him. Bjorn hit return, and up came a copy of the passport he was holding in his hand, complete with a green banner telling him that all was clear.
"So I better stock up on things today, while it's still legal?" the driver asked rhetorically.
"That's right!" Bjorn answered with a friendly smile, handing the passport back to the driver. Then he pushed the green button to raise the barrier.
Bjorn followed the car with his eyes as it wound its way downhill until it disappeared behind the hill to the north east, and he was again left to his own thoughts. He looked at his PC. Then he pulled up a second tab on his browser. "I wonder what the Lundby Blacklist has to say about Einar," Bjorn thought, finding the web address in his browser history. "Somehow I doubt they have anything on the man." And sure enough, the Blacklist used by the citizens of Lundby did not contain any mention of Einar.
Bjorn typed in Katinka's name. Nothing. Then he typed in Roger's name: also nothing. "How about David?" Bjorn wondered. He typed in his name, and got nothing. "But he's married to that Maria woman. That's probably worth something," Bjorn thought while idly typing in Cecilie's name for a final search. Bjorn hit return, and to his surprise, he got up Cecilie's profile. However, it was the same page he had seen earlier so his surprise soon passed. She was, as Bjorn already knew, listed as plaintiff in the case against the head of the child protection service in Alta. There were no charges against Cecilie. No one had charged her of anything.
Bjorn looked at the woman's profile. "So, which is it?" he wondered. "Is she dangerous and a criminal, or not?" He thought back to the episode in the church where Cecilie had come with her daughter, all done up and pretty. It did not look like anything was amiss. And they sat down with Ane and Ola. Why would Ane and Ola be involved with this woman if she was dangerous?
On the other hand, why would the child protecting service want to interfere if nothing was amiss? That made no sense either. Bjorn stared at the computer screen, trying to make sense of the situation. But the pieces simply did not fit together. He was missing something, some important fact that would solve the puzzle. Then he became aware of the status field associated with Cecilie's complaint. The case was on hold. It was not new, not active, nor resolved. It was on hold, and curious to know why, Bjorn clicked on it.
Up came the details of the complaint with its long list of plaintiffs. Bjorn clicked on the name of the defendant. However, all he got was her summary page. The woman was either ignorant of this case, or more likely, ignoring it as a crank thing with no legitimacy. Either way, she did not have a profile on the Blacklist.
Bjorn returned to the complaint. Then he scrolled down to the comment section, the last comment being posted by Maria. "Again, and I repeat myself," it read. "Just like following orders is no defense, giving orders is no crime. Unless you can show hard evidence that this woman has acted and aggressed personally against you and your children, you have no case. Please go to my defense of the foreign minister for a complete explanation."
"Passport!" Bjorn said in a formal voice. Then he proceeded to tell the driver about the new rules before typing in the number found in the passport handed over to him. Bjorn hit return, and up came a copy of the passport he was holding in his hand, complete with a green banner telling him that all was clear.
"So I better stock up on things today, while it's still legal?" the driver asked rhetorically.
"That's right!" Bjorn answered with a friendly smile, handing the passport back to the driver. Then he pushed the green button to raise the barrier.
Bjorn followed the car with his eyes as it wound its way downhill until it disappeared behind the hill to the north east, and he was again left to his own thoughts. He looked at his PC. Then he pulled up a second tab on his browser. "I wonder what the Lundby Blacklist has to say about Einar," Bjorn thought, finding the web address in his browser history. "Somehow I doubt they have anything on the man." And sure enough, the Blacklist used by the citizens of Lundby did not contain any mention of Einar.
Bjorn typed in Katinka's name. Nothing. Then he typed in Roger's name: also nothing. "How about David?" Bjorn wondered. He typed in his name, and got nothing. "But he's married to that Maria woman. That's probably worth something," Bjorn thought while idly typing in Cecilie's name for a final search. Bjorn hit return, and to his surprise, he got up Cecilie's profile. However, it was the same page he had seen earlier so his surprise soon passed. She was, as Bjorn already knew, listed as plaintiff in the case against the head of the child protection service in Alta. There were no charges against Cecilie. No one had charged her of anything.
Bjorn looked at the woman's profile. "So, which is it?" he wondered. "Is she dangerous and a criminal, or not?" He thought back to the episode in the church where Cecilie had come with her daughter, all done up and pretty. It did not look like anything was amiss. And they sat down with Ane and Ola. Why would Ane and Ola be involved with this woman if she was dangerous?
On the other hand, why would the child protecting service want to interfere if nothing was amiss? That made no sense either. Bjorn stared at the computer screen, trying to make sense of the situation. But the pieces simply did not fit together. He was missing something, some important fact that would solve the puzzle. Then he became aware of the status field associated with Cecilie's complaint. The case was on hold. It was not new, not active, nor resolved. It was on hold, and curious to know why, Bjorn clicked on it.
Up came the details of the complaint with its long list of plaintiffs. Bjorn clicked on the name of the defendant. However, all he got was her summary page. The woman was either ignorant of this case, or more likely, ignoring it as a crank thing with no legitimacy. Either way, she did not have a profile on the Blacklist.
Bjorn returned to the complaint. Then he scrolled down to the comment section, the last comment being posted by Maria. "Again, and I repeat myself," it read. "Just like following orders is no defense, giving orders is no crime. Unless you can show hard evidence that this woman has acted and aggressed personally against you and your children, you have no case. Please go to my defense of the foreign minister for a complete explanation."
Friday, January 23, 2015
170
Bjorn woke up right before the alarm on his mobile was about to go off. He had slept like a log and felt superbly well rested despite having had one of his uncomfortable dreams. The medicine must have taken the sting out of the dream. He had been more active in his dream than usual, defending himself as it were, holding the goblins at a distance and refusing to succumb to despair.
There had been the usual episode with him and his ex. But this time he had a ready answer for her. He was where he was because he felt like it, and with that simple answer she was gone. However, she returned later in his dream, this time with a sheet of paper in her hand. It was the official inheritance document which he had sent to the local tax office for them to calculate the inheritance tax. It was the document that had put him hopelessly in debt to the tax office, and when she asked him why he had signed it Bjorn was again lost for words.
But he did not react in despair. He simply observed that his ex had a point, and that he should not have signed it, at least not before checking that the stipulated value of the inheritance was in fact correct. It was a stupid mistake, a ruinous mistake, but nevertheless an understandable one. He had acted in good faith. He had nothing to be ashamed of. If anyone should be ashamed, it was his ex for abandoning him as soon as it was clear that he was bankrupt and in eternal debt to the state.
The thought of his hopeless economic situation did not bother him even as he rose out of bed. The situation was as it was, and he had to deal with it as such. Lamenting the situation was not going to set anything right. And this insight was strangely liberating. There had to be a solution to the problem, he felt, and he could almost hear his children beg him to do it, whatever they meant by that. "Do it for us," they had pleaded in his dream, begging him to take some action, and Bjorn had replied, "yes of course," as if he had understood exactly what they meant and knew exactly what to do.
However, these were but episodes in a larger dream dominated by the citizens of Lundby, but also featuring people like Odd the painter, and Ingunn with her wild and surreal interpretation of the world. Odd had painted a ship for her on a large canvas, and she stepped into it as if it was a real ship. "Let us join Jesus and Mother Earth in holy matrimony," she exclaimed from the stem of the ship. And with those words it sailed out of the canvas on a cloud of frothy water. Then, to everyone's consternation, she vanished in a puff of smoke, leaving a large blank spot on the canvas.
The vanishing act took place in Pedro's apartment. Bjorn was there together with a large group of people. They had come to see the painting, and now it was ruined. Odd was there too, and immediately picked up his pencils to repair the damage, excusing himself for having painted the ship a little too life like.
"This is what happens when you invite people like Ingunn to your house," Frederico commented dryly to Pedro in the back of the room.
Pedro chuckled and shook his head. He did not seem the least bit concerned about what had just happened. "It is a good thing we have Odd here, isn't it?" he commented. Then he pointed to Bjorn, calling out his name and telling him to behave on Tuesday, making it clear that it would be a grave mistake to disappoint him.
Bjorn did not know what to say, but Katinka was suddenly there, right next to him. "It's quite simple, really," she explained. "The whole thing is a network. If you push the red button and then make a quick calculation before pushing the green button, you'll be fine. But whatever you do, do not push the green button before the red."
"Is that so?" Bjorn asked, puzzled.
"Nah, just beat him about the head with a plank," Einar suggested. "That's the quickest and easiest solution."
"You're mad," Bjorn protested.
Then he heard a cold feminine voice asking "who you calling mad?" When Bjorn turned to look, he stared into the ice cold gaze of Jan's two daughters. Behind them stood Ane and Ola, both dressed like villains from an old Western. "You should be a little careful about who you call mad down here in good old Lundby," Ane added, putting her hand on the handle of the large pistol strapped to her thigh.
"Oh my. Here we go again!" said another voice. It was Olga, and she was clearly unimpressed by the other ladies. "It's all show and no substance. Take no notice of them."
Tyrone was there too, chuckling to himself. "If you think Lundby is crazy, you should try Liberia," he said, smiling from ear to ear. "That's crazy, if you know what I mean."
And then there was suddenly music. Elisabeth and Aung started singing, and everybody were praising the Lord and swinging from side to side. "Hallelujah, hallelujah. Praise the Lord. We are the citizens, and we will inherit the Earth."
There was much more to the dream, but Bjorn was getting ready for breakfast, and his memory of the dream was fading rapidly. However, the overall feel of the dream stuck with him. The fact that he had not woken up with a start was a victory to him. He had observed and even enjoyed the challenges in his dream. The medicine had definitely helped calm his nerves, and he felt ready to face the world. Not with apprehension, but with anticipation. He was genuinely looking forward to what the day might bring.
There had been the usual episode with him and his ex. But this time he had a ready answer for her. He was where he was because he felt like it, and with that simple answer she was gone. However, she returned later in his dream, this time with a sheet of paper in her hand. It was the official inheritance document which he had sent to the local tax office for them to calculate the inheritance tax. It was the document that had put him hopelessly in debt to the tax office, and when she asked him why he had signed it Bjorn was again lost for words.
But he did not react in despair. He simply observed that his ex had a point, and that he should not have signed it, at least not before checking that the stipulated value of the inheritance was in fact correct. It was a stupid mistake, a ruinous mistake, but nevertheless an understandable one. He had acted in good faith. He had nothing to be ashamed of. If anyone should be ashamed, it was his ex for abandoning him as soon as it was clear that he was bankrupt and in eternal debt to the state.
The thought of his hopeless economic situation did not bother him even as he rose out of bed. The situation was as it was, and he had to deal with it as such. Lamenting the situation was not going to set anything right. And this insight was strangely liberating. There had to be a solution to the problem, he felt, and he could almost hear his children beg him to do it, whatever they meant by that. "Do it for us," they had pleaded in his dream, begging him to take some action, and Bjorn had replied, "yes of course," as if he had understood exactly what they meant and knew exactly what to do.
However, these were but episodes in a larger dream dominated by the citizens of Lundby, but also featuring people like Odd the painter, and Ingunn with her wild and surreal interpretation of the world. Odd had painted a ship for her on a large canvas, and she stepped into it as if it was a real ship. "Let us join Jesus and Mother Earth in holy matrimony," she exclaimed from the stem of the ship. And with those words it sailed out of the canvas on a cloud of frothy water. Then, to everyone's consternation, she vanished in a puff of smoke, leaving a large blank spot on the canvas.
The vanishing act took place in Pedro's apartment. Bjorn was there together with a large group of people. They had come to see the painting, and now it was ruined. Odd was there too, and immediately picked up his pencils to repair the damage, excusing himself for having painted the ship a little too life like.
"This is what happens when you invite people like Ingunn to your house," Frederico commented dryly to Pedro in the back of the room.
Pedro chuckled and shook his head. He did not seem the least bit concerned about what had just happened. "It is a good thing we have Odd here, isn't it?" he commented. Then he pointed to Bjorn, calling out his name and telling him to behave on Tuesday, making it clear that it would be a grave mistake to disappoint him.
Bjorn did not know what to say, but Katinka was suddenly there, right next to him. "It's quite simple, really," she explained. "The whole thing is a network. If you push the red button and then make a quick calculation before pushing the green button, you'll be fine. But whatever you do, do not push the green button before the red."
"Is that so?" Bjorn asked, puzzled.
"Nah, just beat him about the head with a plank," Einar suggested. "That's the quickest and easiest solution."
"You're mad," Bjorn protested.
Then he heard a cold feminine voice asking "who you calling mad?" When Bjorn turned to look, he stared into the ice cold gaze of Jan's two daughters. Behind them stood Ane and Ola, both dressed like villains from an old Western. "You should be a little careful about who you call mad down here in good old Lundby," Ane added, putting her hand on the handle of the large pistol strapped to her thigh.
"Oh my. Here we go again!" said another voice. It was Olga, and she was clearly unimpressed by the other ladies. "It's all show and no substance. Take no notice of them."
Tyrone was there too, chuckling to himself. "If you think Lundby is crazy, you should try Liberia," he said, smiling from ear to ear. "That's crazy, if you know what I mean."
And then there was suddenly music. Elisabeth and Aung started singing, and everybody were praising the Lord and swinging from side to side. "Hallelujah, hallelujah. Praise the Lord. We are the citizens, and we will inherit the Earth."
There was much more to the dream, but Bjorn was getting ready for breakfast, and his memory of the dream was fading rapidly. However, the overall feel of the dream stuck with him. The fact that he had not woken up with a start was a victory to him. He had observed and even enjoyed the challenges in his dream. The medicine had definitely helped calm his nerves, and he felt ready to face the world. Not with apprehension, but with anticipation. He was genuinely looking forward to what the day might bring.
Monday, October 6, 2014
130
Bjorn found Ante busy talking to a strange looking character up by the altar, a big African albino with a pair of very thick eyeglasses. The man was wearing a bomber jacket with a stylized image of an armillary sphere on the back, and Bjorn realized on seeing the logo, that he had indeed seen this a lot in Lundby. But since he had not associated the logo with anything, he had not thought anything of it.
Olga and Igor were standing next to the albino, nodding and smiling as he told his story.
"Hi Bjorn, this is Tyrone," Ante said with enthusiasm as Bjorn approached them. "He's from Liberia, and you won't believe the things he's been going through before getting up here to Lundby."
"No?"
"I mean, seriously! This guy has been chased through a village with machete wielding nut jobs. Isn't that so Tyrone?"
"Well, yeah, pretty much." Tyrone answered with a strange apologetic smile. "You see some people down there think people like me are daemons,"
"Really?" Bjorn asked, a little overwhelmed by this strange introduction.
"Yeah, yeah, they do... And there was this Ebola outbreak, and some people blamed it on me."
"Ebola?" Bjorn asked, taking a step back from the man.
"No, no," Ante said, waving his hands. "This is like two months ago, isn't it?"
"More than that," Tyrone said thoughtfully. "Three months, maybe."
"Yeah, at least," Olga added. "I mean, I've already known you like almost two months now, isn't that so?"
"Well, anyway... you work for Olga now, don't you?"
"Yeah, I'm helping her out with the lingerie project."
"How?" Bjorn asked, finding Tyrone a very unlikely character to have anything to do with lingerie.
"I got this sewing machine," Tyrone explained. "I'm helping her out making her first batch to send to Paris."
"You are?" Bjorn asked in amazement.
"Yeah, he is," Olga answered with a chuckle. "You're quite a wizard with the sewing machine."
"That's what you keep telling me," Tyrone said with a smile.
Bjorn looked at the big man with his strangely pale skin, yellow hair and thick eyeglasses.
"You wouldn't think it, would you?" Ante asked, smiling enthusiastically.
"No, I wouldn't."
"So your family scraped together the money for a ticket to Oslo, isn't that so?" Ante continued, turning back to Tyrone.
"Yes, they did, and then I was sent up here to Lundby as one of the first ones to be transported to this new asylum centre... I've had small jobs here and there ever since."
"Quite a contrast with Liberia, I would think," Bjorn commented.
"Sure. But I kind of like it. You see the sun isn't very good for my skin."
"Well, you've come to the right place," Igor commented with a smile.
"Yeah. And when I first came, there wasn't any sun at all... Terribly dark and cold."
"But you're finding your way?" Bjorn asked politely.
"Yeah... People are friendly. And there's no shortage of jobs."
"Mostly, pretty bad paying ones, though," Olga added.
"Sure! But you know... Things aren't exactly wonderful in Liberia either."
"No! That's true. But that's no excuse to be a scrooge like Ane."
"You know, I think you're a little too hard on Ane. She wasn't that bad a boss. Helping her getting the factory ready was a better job than many other jobs I've had."
"Well, I think she's keeping everybody down with her ridiculously low wages."
"You think so. She's not the worst."
"But she's the biggest single employer. She kind of sets the standard."
Bjorn looked at Olga, a little puzzled by her attack on Ane's salaries.
"Isn't that good for you, though?" Bjorn asked. "Makes it easier for you to keep salaries low."
"It does, but there's no need to drain every last bit of potential out of every employee. I worked for her a week, and I say, never again! Tyrone and I will create an alternative to her factory, and we'll get every one of her workers behind a sewing machine. Just you wait. We'll make a positive impact. None of this leaching mentality. I'm running a cooperative. We'll all share in the profits."
"And share in the costs too," Tyrone added with a polite smile. "I had to buy my machine. No one at Ane's factory are taking any risks."
"Well, would you rather go back to work for Ane?" Olga asked, a little irritated.
"No, no," Tyrone protested. "But it's not like you've been making the sort of investment Ane has. Everyone wanting to work for you has to buy their own machines. And you don't have a factory building. These things make a difference."
"Yeah, but seriously. She's a scrooge!"
"A very pretty scrooge," Tyrone said in a friendly mocking manner. "You're not jealous are you?"
"Of her? Come on!"
The conversation was taking a strange turn, and Bjorn thought it a good time to cut into it with Georgio's suggestion.
"You want to come and have a look at the apartment building they are finishing over by the main road?" Bjorn asked, turning to Ante. "One of the carpenter's over there has invited me to come have a look."
Ante looked over at Georgio, and so did Olga, Igor and Tyrone.
"Sure! That sounds interesting," Ante answered with a smile.
"Can we come too," Igor asked, clearly quite enthusiastic about the idea himself.
"That would be interesting, wouldn't it?" Olga added.
"I'm not sure," Bjorn answered. "I'll have to ask Georgio. How about you, Tyrone. Feel like having a look you too?"
Tyrone looked over at Georgio, and then at his watch, as if unsure of the time.
"No," he said. "I have quite a bit of work I plan to get done today. I'll have to prioritize that, I think."
"Yeah," Olga confirmed with a nod. "We'll have visitors from Paris coming up this week. We better have everything ready by the time they get here."
"So you're too busy as well?" Bjorn asked.
"No, I'm mostly done with my batch. I'm fine. I'd love to have a look at the apartments."
Olga and Igor were standing next to the albino, nodding and smiling as he told his story.
"Hi Bjorn, this is Tyrone," Ante said with enthusiasm as Bjorn approached them. "He's from Liberia, and you won't believe the things he's been going through before getting up here to Lundby."
"No?"
"I mean, seriously! This guy has been chased through a village with machete wielding nut jobs. Isn't that so Tyrone?"
"Well, yeah, pretty much." Tyrone answered with a strange apologetic smile. "You see some people down there think people like me are daemons,"
"Really?" Bjorn asked, a little overwhelmed by this strange introduction.
"Yeah, yeah, they do... And there was this Ebola outbreak, and some people blamed it on me."
"Ebola?" Bjorn asked, taking a step back from the man.
"No, no," Ante said, waving his hands. "This is like two months ago, isn't it?"
"More than that," Tyrone said thoughtfully. "Three months, maybe."
"Yeah, at least," Olga added. "I mean, I've already known you like almost two months now, isn't that so?"
"Well, anyway... you work for Olga now, don't you?"
"Yeah, I'm helping her out with the lingerie project."
"How?" Bjorn asked, finding Tyrone a very unlikely character to have anything to do with lingerie.
"I got this sewing machine," Tyrone explained. "I'm helping her out making her first batch to send to Paris."
"You are?" Bjorn asked in amazement.
"Yeah, he is," Olga answered with a chuckle. "You're quite a wizard with the sewing machine."
"That's what you keep telling me," Tyrone said with a smile.
Bjorn looked at the big man with his strangely pale skin, yellow hair and thick eyeglasses.
"You wouldn't think it, would you?" Ante asked, smiling enthusiastically.
"No, I wouldn't."
"So your family scraped together the money for a ticket to Oslo, isn't that so?" Ante continued, turning back to Tyrone.
"Yes, they did, and then I was sent up here to Lundby as one of the first ones to be transported to this new asylum centre... I've had small jobs here and there ever since."
"Quite a contrast with Liberia, I would think," Bjorn commented.
"Sure. But I kind of like it. You see the sun isn't very good for my skin."
"Well, you've come to the right place," Igor commented with a smile.
"Yeah. And when I first came, there wasn't any sun at all... Terribly dark and cold."
"But you're finding your way?" Bjorn asked politely.
"Yeah... People are friendly. And there's no shortage of jobs."
"Mostly, pretty bad paying ones, though," Olga added.
"Sure! But you know... Things aren't exactly wonderful in Liberia either."
"No! That's true. But that's no excuse to be a scrooge like Ane."
"You know, I think you're a little too hard on Ane. She wasn't that bad a boss. Helping her getting the factory ready was a better job than many other jobs I've had."
"Well, I think she's keeping everybody down with her ridiculously low wages."
"You think so. She's not the worst."
"But she's the biggest single employer. She kind of sets the standard."
Bjorn looked at Olga, a little puzzled by her attack on Ane's salaries.
"Isn't that good for you, though?" Bjorn asked. "Makes it easier for you to keep salaries low."
"It does, but there's no need to drain every last bit of potential out of every employee. I worked for her a week, and I say, never again! Tyrone and I will create an alternative to her factory, and we'll get every one of her workers behind a sewing machine. Just you wait. We'll make a positive impact. None of this leaching mentality. I'm running a cooperative. We'll all share in the profits."
"And share in the costs too," Tyrone added with a polite smile. "I had to buy my machine. No one at Ane's factory are taking any risks."
"Well, would you rather go back to work for Ane?" Olga asked, a little irritated.
"No, no," Tyrone protested. "But it's not like you've been making the sort of investment Ane has. Everyone wanting to work for you has to buy their own machines. And you don't have a factory building. These things make a difference."
"Yeah, but seriously. She's a scrooge!"
"A very pretty scrooge," Tyrone said in a friendly mocking manner. "You're not jealous are you?"
"Of her? Come on!"
The conversation was taking a strange turn, and Bjorn thought it a good time to cut into it with Georgio's suggestion.
"You want to come and have a look at the apartment building they are finishing over by the main road?" Bjorn asked, turning to Ante. "One of the carpenter's over there has invited me to come have a look."
Ante looked over at Georgio, and so did Olga, Igor and Tyrone.
"Sure! That sounds interesting," Ante answered with a smile.
"Can we come too," Igor asked, clearly quite enthusiastic about the idea himself.
"That would be interesting, wouldn't it?" Olga added.
"I'm not sure," Bjorn answered. "I'll have to ask Georgio. How about you, Tyrone. Feel like having a look you too?"
Tyrone looked over at Georgio, and then at his watch, as if unsure of the time.
"No," he said. "I have quite a bit of work I plan to get done today. I'll have to prioritize that, I think."
"Yeah," Olga confirmed with a nod. "We'll have visitors from Paris coming up this week. We better have everything ready by the time they get here."
"So you're too busy as well?" Bjorn asked.
"No, I'm mostly done with my batch. I'm fine. I'd love to have a look at the apartments."
Thursday, October 2, 2014
129
The singing and swinging continued until the music stopped. Then there was a round hand of applause for Frederico, Aung and Elisabeth who bowed for the congregation as if they had just completed a theatre show.
Frederico wished everybody a prosperous week until next Sunday, when he hoped to see everybody back in his church.
"And for those who want some coffee or chocolate before leaving for home, we will shortly be serving some goodies over there," Frederico added, pointing to the back of the building.
"Well, that's always a winner with me," Ante said with a smile. "Coffee and chocolate! Why not?"
People were moving about in the church, some leaving, but most staying on for the refreshments. Bjorn noticed again how Olga seemed to dislike Ane, staying clear of her as much as possible. But Ane did not seem to notice or care that Olga had a dislike of her, and passed her by with a friendly nod on her way over to Jan and Pedro, apparently eager to have a quick word with the two of them.
However, Bjorn had no time to think about this as he bumped into Georgio, one of the carpenters he had been talking to at the Casino Friday night.
"So you're here!" Georgio commented. "In uniform and all. That's kind of cute, isn't it?"
"What you mean?" Bjorn asked.
"An army soldier in the empire. It's a bit of a contradiction isn't it?"
"With me working for the state, you mean?" Bjorn answered, vaguely getting Georgio's point.
"Exactly!" Georgio said with a nod. "But never mind that. Did you like the show?"
"Yeah I did. It's not quite my thing, all this hallelujah and stuff. But I liked it, I have to admit."
Bjorn noted how Aung and Elisabeth were putting coffee and chocolate out on a table and suggested to Georgio that they get some for themselves.
"So how are things progressing over at the apartment building you're working on?" Bjorn added, more to be polite than out of any great curiosity.
"Very well, I'd say. We're pretty much finished. Another week at the most, and we'll be heading back to Venice."
"You're looking forward to that, I bet."
"Sure! Will be nice to get back home."
Bjorn and Georgio picked up a piece of chocolate and a Styrofoam cup with steaming hot coffee, then retreated from the crowd before continuing their small talk.
"You can come and have a look at what we've been doing if you please," Georgio said, taking a bite of his chocolate.
"In the apartments, you mean?"
"Yeah."
"Well, that's very generous of you. You're going over there now?"
"I am. I got a few things I'd like to do in order to get ready for a full day of work tomorrow. You and your friend can come with me if you please. I've got my car parked over by the vicarage."
"That's great. I'm sure Ante will love that... I'll just have to check with him, though."
Frederico wished everybody a prosperous week until next Sunday, when he hoped to see everybody back in his church.
"And for those who want some coffee or chocolate before leaving for home, we will shortly be serving some goodies over there," Frederico added, pointing to the back of the building.
"Well, that's always a winner with me," Ante said with a smile. "Coffee and chocolate! Why not?"
People were moving about in the church, some leaving, but most staying on for the refreshments. Bjorn noticed again how Olga seemed to dislike Ane, staying clear of her as much as possible. But Ane did not seem to notice or care that Olga had a dislike of her, and passed her by with a friendly nod on her way over to Jan and Pedro, apparently eager to have a quick word with the two of them.
However, Bjorn had no time to think about this as he bumped into Georgio, one of the carpenters he had been talking to at the Casino Friday night.
"So you're here!" Georgio commented. "In uniform and all. That's kind of cute, isn't it?"
"What you mean?" Bjorn asked.
"An army soldier in the empire. It's a bit of a contradiction isn't it?"
"With me working for the state, you mean?" Bjorn answered, vaguely getting Georgio's point.
"Exactly!" Georgio said with a nod. "But never mind that. Did you like the show?"
"Yeah I did. It's not quite my thing, all this hallelujah and stuff. But I liked it, I have to admit."
Bjorn noted how Aung and Elisabeth were putting coffee and chocolate out on a table and suggested to Georgio that they get some for themselves.
"So how are things progressing over at the apartment building you're working on?" Bjorn added, more to be polite than out of any great curiosity.
"Very well, I'd say. We're pretty much finished. Another week at the most, and we'll be heading back to Venice."
"You're looking forward to that, I bet."
"Sure! Will be nice to get back home."
Bjorn and Georgio picked up a piece of chocolate and a Styrofoam cup with steaming hot coffee, then retreated from the crowd before continuing their small talk.
"You can come and have a look at what we've been doing if you please," Georgio said, taking a bite of his chocolate.
"In the apartments, you mean?"
"Yeah."
"Well, that's very generous of you. You're going over there now?"
"I am. I got a few things I'd like to do in order to get ready for a full day of work tomorrow. You and your friend can come with me if you please. I've got my car parked over by the vicarage."
"That's great. I'm sure Ante will love that... I'll just have to check with him, though."
Wednesday, September 24, 2014
126
Bjorn remained confident that Frederico's attack on the state was complete and utter hyperbole. But he had exhausted his arguments against Frederico's claims. Frederico had clearly spent much more time thinking about the true nature of the state than Bjorn had ever done, and any attempt by Bjorn to counter Frederico's assertions were bound to fail.
"This is the danger of charismatic leaders," Bjorn thought to himself as he turned to look for Ante who had quietly walked away while Frederico was holding his little lecture for Bjorn. "They have a way with words that capture the imagination and makes one believe in absurdities."
"Why don't you stay for the show?" Frederico asked, sensing Bjorn's desire to leave.
"I might," Bjorn answered. "I'll see what Ante thinks."
Then he thanked Frederico for having taken time to share his thoughts with him before heading over to Ante who was waiting for him in the back of the church, engaged in some light conversation with Igor, who had just entered the church together with several other people.
"Hi Igor. How are you?" Bjorn asked as he approached the two men. "And you must be Olga, am I right?" Bjorn continued, turning to a tall blond woman with Asian features, standing next to Igor.
"Yes, that's right," she said with a smile. "How do you do?"
Bjorn introduced himself as one of Igor's many passengers, telling Olga that her husband was clearly very proud of her.
"I know," she said with a smile. "He is such a darling."
They kept the light conversation going for a little longer. But then, as Ane entered the church with Ola at her side, Olga suddenly clammed up. And Bjorn too was a little stunned to see her enter.
"Well, we better find a place to sit before all the good places are taken," Igor said with a smile, as if unaware of his wife's sudden discomfort. "How about you? Care to join us?"
"Well, why not?" Ante said without consulting Bjorn.
And Bjorn, not finding a convenient way to protest, tagged along despite being a little reluctant to being exposed to even more of Frederico's propaganda.
They found four seat conveniently located far away from Ane and Ola where they sat down before resuming their conversation.
"Well, look at that!" Olga said with enthusiasm as Jan entered the church with his two stunning daughters. "He has brought Pedro with him."
"Where?" Bjorn asked, curious to see the man in person.
"The guy in the beige coat," Olga said in a hushed voice.
"So that's Pedro!" Bjorn said, taking note of Jan's guest.
"It's the first time I've seen him here in church," Olga continued. "It looks like everybody is here today, though."
And Olga was right. The little church was quickly filling up with people, and Bjorn recognized several faces. The three Italian carpenters were there, and Peter the stall owner was there too. The arbitrator woman who had been so active on the Blacklist was also there, looking exactly like her picture on the web. And the woman he had let into the colony without a passport, Cecilie, was also there with her daughter, nicely dressed and done up for the occasion.
Cecilie looked around for a moment, before finding her way down to Ane and Ola who had evidently set aside two seats for her and her daughter.
Bjorn could not help feeling uncomfortable about Cecilie's presence. He had let this woman into the colony, almost certainly against the law, and here she was, reminding him of his unprofessional behaviour by her very presence. And yet, there was something innocent and pure about both Cecilie and her daughter that conflicted with the idea that they had done anything wrong. Cecilie was no doubt on the run, and Bjorn should have apprehended her when he had the chance. But the very thought of doing that made him cringe, and her presence in the church was, as it were, a thorn in the side of his divided conscience.
"This is the danger of charismatic leaders," Bjorn thought to himself as he turned to look for Ante who had quietly walked away while Frederico was holding his little lecture for Bjorn. "They have a way with words that capture the imagination and makes one believe in absurdities."
"Why don't you stay for the show?" Frederico asked, sensing Bjorn's desire to leave.
"I might," Bjorn answered. "I'll see what Ante thinks."
Then he thanked Frederico for having taken time to share his thoughts with him before heading over to Ante who was waiting for him in the back of the church, engaged in some light conversation with Igor, who had just entered the church together with several other people.
"Hi Igor. How are you?" Bjorn asked as he approached the two men. "And you must be Olga, am I right?" Bjorn continued, turning to a tall blond woman with Asian features, standing next to Igor.
"Yes, that's right," she said with a smile. "How do you do?"
Bjorn introduced himself as one of Igor's many passengers, telling Olga that her husband was clearly very proud of her.
"I know," she said with a smile. "He is such a darling."
They kept the light conversation going for a little longer. But then, as Ane entered the church with Ola at her side, Olga suddenly clammed up. And Bjorn too was a little stunned to see her enter.
"Well, we better find a place to sit before all the good places are taken," Igor said with a smile, as if unaware of his wife's sudden discomfort. "How about you? Care to join us?"
"Well, why not?" Ante said without consulting Bjorn.
And Bjorn, not finding a convenient way to protest, tagged along despite being a little reluctant to being exposed to even more of Frederico's propaganda.
They found four seat conveniently located far away from Ane and Ola where they sat down before resuming their conversation.
"Well, look at that!" Olga said with enthusiasm as Jan entered the church with his two stunning daughters. "He has brought Pedro with him."
"Where?" Bjorn asked, curious to see the man in person.
"The guy in the beige coat," Olga said in a hushed voice.
"So that's Pedro!" Bjorn said, taking note of Jan's guest.
"It's the first time I've seen him here in church," Olga continued. "It looks like everybody is here today, though."
And Olga was right. The little church was quickly filling up with people, and Bjorn recognized several faces. The three Italian carpenters were there, and Peter the stall owner was there too. The arbitrator woman who had been so active on the Blacklist was also there, looking exactly like her picture on the web. And the woman he had let into the colony without a passport, Cecilie, was also there with her daughter, nicely dressed and done up for the occasion.
Cecilie looked around for a moment, before finding her way down to Ane and Ola who had evidently set aside two seats for her and her daughter.
Bjorn could not help feeling uncomfortable about Cecilie's presence. He had let this woman into the colony, almost certainly against the law, and here she was, reminding him of his unprofessional behaviour by her very presence. And yet, there was something innocent and pure about both Cecilie and her daughter that conflicted with the idea that they had done anything wrong. Cecilie was no doubt on the run, and Bjorn should have apprehended her when he had the chance. But the very thought of doing that made him cringe, and her presence in the church was, as it were, a thorn in the side of his divided conscience.
Tuesday, July 8, 2014
95
Bjorn walked up to the car that had stopped in front of the casino entrance. It was an old rusty Volvo, and there was no sign of it being a taxi. However, Bjorn was used to these kind of unregulated services from Oslo where illegal cab services had been quite commonplace until the new government had made a point of shutting them down, and when Bjorn learned that they had a taxi service in Lundby, this was exactly the sort of thing he had expected.
"I´m going to the checkpoint up the Neiden road," Bjorn said to the driver, who he immediately recognized as the driver of Pingo's grocery van.
"That will be forty MG," the driver said with a smile, apparently recognizing Bjorn from their brief exchange up at the checkpoint the day before.
"Well, that's practically nothing," Bjorn thought to himself as he stepped into the back seat of the old car. Then, while buckling up he commented on how he keeps bumping into the same people over and over.
"Well, that's because Lundby is a village," the man said before putting the car in motion. "We're only a few hundred people all together... I'm Igor by the way. And you must be the new guy up at the checkpoint... Bjorn, right?"
"That's correct," Bjorn answered, surprised to hear him say his name. "How do you know."
"Ante told me... Made excuses for you making yourself difficult up there."
"And Ante told you my name?"
"Well, I asked him about your name. I like knowing the names of everybody... It's a thing. A hobby if you like."
Bjorn looked out at the moonlit surroundings as the car drove up the road to the construction site, and noticing a shimmer of dawn to the east, Bjorn checked his watch.
"Kind of early for the sun to be rising," Bjorn commented as Igor turned east, towards the deep red glow.
"Well, this is the arctic," Igor said. "Another five weeks and we will have midnight sun... Besides, we are much further east than most people realize, so morning comes early."
Bjorn felt strangely happy where he was sitting, and the big Russian driving the car fascinated him.
"So, where are you from?" Bjorn asked, hoping to start a conversation.
"I´m from Nikel, just across the border."
"And what brings you to Lundby? You're not asking for asylum, are you?"
"Oh no!" the Russian replied. "That would be stupid."
"Why?"
"Well, you would not let me out again, would you?"
"No, that's true," Bjorn conceded.
Igor had a good point. Anyone asking for asylum would immediately have their passport withheld, and without a passport there's no way to get out of Lundby. Besides, Russia was, as far a he knew, not on the list of places considered dangerous enough for people to qualify for asylum, so he would probably not be taken seriously even if he had applied. But Bjorn had no time to dwell on this as Igor happily continued the conversation.
"I'm here to make some money," Igor explained. "There's no work to be found in Nikel these days, and Kirkenes is just as bad."
"It's the crisis, isn't it?" Bjorn asked rhetorically.
"Sure is. Things are getting pretty desperate."
"But isn't it terribly difficult to find work here in Lundby too?" Bjorn asked. "I mean... Ane at the fish factory is paying a lousy hundred MG per day to her workers. That's saying something, isn't it?"
"Ane is a crook!" Igor said with contempt. "But she won't be able to keep her racket going for long."
"No? Why not?"
"People will find other things to do."
"Like what?"
"Well, I'm not working for her, am I?"
"No, but not everyone can work for Pingo."
"But everyone can start their own business if they like."
"Doing what?" Bjorn asked. "This is the arctic. There's nothing here but rocks and ice."
Igor smiled as if he was harbouring a secret.
"They could make little toy animals to sell to tourists for instance," Igor said casually. "Or T-shirts with popular slogans on them, or underwear to be exported all over the world."
"And does that pay any better?" Bjorn asked.
"It does," Igor answered with a big smile.
"How do you know?"
"Because my wife runs a cooperative making these kind of things."
"She does?"
"Yep!"
"And what does she pay her workers?" Bjorn asked.
"Nothing... She only pays them for what they produce. But if you got a sewing machine, and you're good at what you do you can easily make three times as much as what Ane offers her workers."
"But what if you don't have a sewing machine? Or if you have one, but aren't very good at using it?"
"Well, then of course, you´ll have to find some other kind of work."
"Then you're screwed?" Bjorn asked.
"No. Even then there are better jobs to be found than to work for Ane. Heck... I know house maids who make more money than Ane's workers."
"So why are people still working for her?"
"Beats me."
"She's locking them in, isn't she?"
"No! I don't think so... That would be illegal. And everyone would know by now."
Bjorn had been getting so used to thinking of Lundby as a place where everything goes that he found Igor's use of the word "illegal" almost misplaced in the whole conversation.
"Illegal?" Bjorn asked, unable to formulate a good question around the term.
"As in against the law," Igor explained, as if unsure if Bjorn was struggling with his English.
"What law?" Bjorn asked.
"The legal code here in Lundby."
"There is such a thing?" Bjorn asked, genuinely surprised.
"Yeah, sure."
"And who's in charge of it?"
"Who?" Igor asked, as if he had not thought of this question before. "Everyone, I guess."
"Everyone is a lawyer?"
Igor chuckled at Bjorn's genuine puzzlement.
"I know what you're thinking," Igor said while suddenly slowing down to avoid a couple of particularly deep potholes that he evidently knew the exact location of from having driven along the road many times before. "But it's quite simple to explain, really."
"So, go ahead, educate me!" Bjorn said, challenging the man to give him a quick introduction to Lundby's legal code.
"Well, we basically stop dealing with people who don't behave," Igor explained. "If you steal or hit or imprison people, you'll soon find yourself without any friends."
"But how does that prevent people from behaving badly?"
"Well, how well do you think you would be doing without anyone wanting to do any business with you?"
"Not very well, I guess. But what if people decided to gang up on me?"
"And why would anyone want to do that?"
"I don't know. To get some kind of advantage over me maybe."
"Like what?"
Bjorn could find no answer.
"So you basically isolate people who behave badly?" Bjorn asked, not at all convinced that this qualified as a legal code.
"Yep, that's about it."
"And do you have any objective criteria for what it means to behave badly?"
"No, not really... There's always the golden rule of course."
"And that's your legal code?"
"Yep... That's all you need to know."
Bjorn shook his head in disbelief. Then, tired of the subject, Bjorn returned to what Igor had mentioned about his wife.
"So your wife runs a clothing factory here in Lundby?" Bjorn asked.
"Not a factory exactly," Igor corrected. "She runs the business from here, but many of her workers actually live in Nikel, and do all their work over there... They all work from home."
"Really? So why are you her? Wouldn't it make more sense to run it from Nikel?"
"You would think so, wouldn't you?" Igor answered. "But there is so much red tape, and they will tax you even before you make a profit. They are ruthless."
"So your wife is here to avoid taxes."
"And all the paper work they force her to do. If it was only the taxes, I think Olga might have put up with it. But all those taxes comes with so much paper work. It's just too much... And now that we got Lundby, why even bother."
"But the authorities over in Nikel can't be too pleased with this?" Bjorn asked.
"Actually... They are turning a blind eye to this at the moment... They know that if they clamp down on this, they will only spark resentment... And since there's no factory or headquarter to crack down on, it's hard for them to even start controlling this, short of going door to door to see if anyone is sewing stuff."
"But your wife runs a headquarter of sorts, doesn't she?"
"Yes she does. That's why she's here and not in Nikel. She organizes everything via the internet. The girls come to her to deliver their finished products and pick up new assignments. Olga and I haven't been back to Nikel since we left two months ago."
"And how do the girls bypass the border patrols? Why aren't they stopped at the border with their bags full of stuffed animals and underwear?"
"Well, that's one of Olga's little secrets, and I'm not going to share that with you. You are a border guard, after all."
"I´m going to the checkpoint up the Neiden road," Bjorn said to the driver, who he immediately recognized as the driver of Pingo's grocery van.
"That will be forty MG," the driver said with a smile, apparently recognizing Bjorn from their brief exchange up at the checkpoint the day before.
"Well, that's practically nothing," Bjorn thought to himself as he stepped into the back seat of the old car. Then, while buckling up he commented on how he keeps bumping into the same people over and over.
"Well, that's because Lundby is a village," the man said before putting the car in motion. "We're only a few hundred people all together... I'm Igor by the way. And you must be the new guy up at the checkpoint... Bjorn, right?"
"That's correct," Bjorn answered, surprised to hear him say his name. "How do you know."
"Ante told me... Made excuses for you making yourself difficult up there."
"And Ante told you my name?"
"Well, I asked him about your name. I like knowing the names of everybody... It's a thing. A hobby if you like."
Bjorn looked out at the moonlit surroundings as the car drove up the road to the construction site, and noticing a shimmer of dawn to the east, Bjorn checked his watch.
"Kind of early for the sun to be rising," Bjorn commented as Igor turned east, towards the deep red glow.
"Well, this is the arctic," Igor said. "Another five weeks and we will have midnight sun... Besides, we are much further east than most people realize, so morning comes early."
Bjorn felt strangely happy where he was sitting, and the big Russian driving the car fascinated him.
"So, where are you from?" Bjorn asked, hoping to start a conversation.
"I´m from Nikel, just across the border."
"And what brings you to Lundby? You're not asking for asylum, are you?"
"Oh no!" the Russian replied. "That would be stupid."
"Why?"
"Well, you would not let me out again, would you?"
"No, that's true," Bjorn conceded.
Igor had a good point. Anyone asking for asylum would immediately have their passport withheld, and without a passport there's no way to get out of Lundby. Besides, Russia was, as far a he knew, not on the list of places considered dangerous enough for people to qualify for asylum, so he would probably not be taken seriously even if he had applied. But Bjorn had no time to dwell on this as Igor happily continued the conversation.
"I'm here to make some money," Igor explained. "There's no work to be found in Nikel these days, and Kirkenes is just as bad."
"It's the crisis, isn't it?" Bjorn asked rhetorically.
"Sure is. Things are getting pretty desperate."
"But isn't it terribly difficult to find work here in Lundby too?" Bjorn asked. "I mean... Ane at the fish factory is paying a lousy hundred MG per day to her workers. That's saying something, isn't it?"
"Ane is a crook!" Igor said with contempt. "But she won't be able to keep her racket going for long."
"No? Why not?"
"People will find other things to do."
"Like what?"
"Well, I'm not working for her, am I?"
"No, but not everyone can work for Pingo."
"But everyone can start their own business if they like."
"Doing what?" Bjorn asked. "This is the arctic. There's nothing here but rocks and ice."
Igor smiled as if he was harbouring a secret.
"They could make little toy animals to sell to tourists for instance," Igor said casually. "Or T-shirts with popular slogans on them, or underwear to be exported all over the world."
"And does that pay any better?" Bjorn asked.
"It does," Igor answered with a big smile.
"How do you know?"
"Because my wife runs a cooperative making these kind of things."
"She does?"
"Yep!"
"And what does she pay her workers?" Bjorn asked.
"Nothing... She only pays them for what they produce. But if you got a sewing machine, and you're good at what you do you can easily make three times as much as what Ane offers her workers."
"But what if you don't have a sewing machine? Or if you have one, but aren't very good at using it?"
"Well, then of course, you´ll have to find some other kind of work."
"Then you're screwed?" Bjorn asked.
"No. Even then there are better jobs to be found than to work for Ane. Heck... I know house maids who make more money than Ane's workers."
"So why are people still working for her?"
"Beats me."
"She's locking them in, isn't she?"
"No! I don't think so... That would be illegal. And everyone would know by now."
Bjorn had been getting so used to thinking of Lundby as a place where everything goes that he found Igor's use of the word "illegal" almost misplaced in the whole conversation.
"Illegal?" Bjorn asked, unable to formulate a good question around the term.
"As in against the law," Igor explained, as if unsure if Bjorn was struggling with his English.
"What law?" Bjorn asked.
"The legal code here in Lundby."
"There is such a thing?" Bjorn asked, genuinely surprised.
"Yeah, sure."
"And who's in charge of it?"
"Who?" Igor asked, as if he had not thought of this question before. "Everyone, I guess."
"Everyone is a lawyer?"
Igor chuckled at Bjorn's genuine puzzlement.
"I know what you're thinking," Igor said while suddenly slowing down to avoid a couple of particularly deep potholes that he evidently knew the exact location of from having driven along the road many times before. "But it's quite simple to explain, really."
"So, go ahead, educate me!" Bjorn said, challenging the man to give him a quick introduction to Lundby's legal code.
"Well, we basically stop dealing with people who don't behave," Igor explained. "If you steal or hit or imprison people, you'll soon find yourself without any friends."
"But how does that prevent people from behaving badly?"
"Well, how well do you think you would be doing without anyone wanting to do any business with you?"
"Not very well, I guess. But what if people decided to gang up on me?"
"And why would anyone want to do that?"
"I don't know. To get some kind of advantage over me maybe."
"Like what?"
Bjorn could find no answer.
"So you basically isolate people who behave badly?" Bjorn asked, not at all convinced that this qualified as a legal code.
"Yep, that's about it."
"And do you have any objective criteria for what it means to behave badly?"
"No, not really... There's always the golden rule of course."
"And that's your legal code?"
"Yep... That's all you need to know."
Bjorn shook his head in disbelief. Then, tired of the subject, Bjorn returned to what Igor had mentioned about his wife.
"So your wife runs a clothing factory here in Lundby?" Bjorn asked.
"Not a factory exactly," Igor corrected. "She runs the business from here, but many of her workers actually live in Nikel, and do all their work over there... They all work from home."
"Really? So why are you her? Wouldn't it make more sense to run it from Nikel?"
"You would think so, wouldn't you?" Igor answered. "But there is so much red tape, and they will tax you even before you make a profit. They are ruthless."
"So your wife is here to avoid taxes."
"And all the paper work they force her to do. If it was only the taxes, I think Olga might have put up with it. But all those taxes comes with so much paper work. It's just too much... And now that we got Lundby, why even bother."
"But the authorities over in Nikel can't be too pleased with this?" Bjorn asked.
"Actually... They are turning a blind eye to this at the moment... They know that if they clamp down on this, they will only spark resentment... And since there's no factory or headquarter to crack down on, it's hard for them to even start controlling this, short of going door to door to see if anyone is sewing stuff."
"But your wife runs a headquarter of sorts, doesn't she?"
"Yes she does. That's why she's here and not in Nikel. She organizes everything via the internet. The girls come to her to deliver their finished products and pick up new assignments. Olga and I haven't been back to Nikel since we left two months ago."
"And how do the girls bypass the border patrols? Why aren't they stopped at the border with their bags full of stuffed animals and underwear?"
"Well, that's one of Olga's little secrets, and I'm not going to share that with you. You are a border guard, after all."
Wednesday, June 25, 2014
87
Bjorn leant back in his chair, sipping his beer in silence. He felt a fuming frustration with Thomas and his definition of slavery, but also a sneaking suspicion that the real source of his frustration was Ola and Ane, and that the thing that was really upsetting him was a jealousy of their youth and success.
Bjorn was not the oldest one in the casino, but he was clearly a good deal older than most. And what did he have to show for it? Nothing. For a few weeks he had lived under the illusion that he too was rich, when in fact he had signed the papers that would bankrupt him. And the fall had been horrendous, brutal and unyielding, with the tax man showing no mercy as he rejected every single one of Bjorn's arguments. The inheritance tax could not be recalculated. It was set in stone as it were, and would never be forgiven.
Ola's great sin was simply to be the man that Bjorn would liked to have been. His success reminded Bjorn of his own failure, and it was this more than anything that made him feel so edgy and hostile towards both Ola and Ane. But this was neither the place nor time to dwell on the past. Bjorn was on a journey of his own, he thought, even if he was just an observer. Lundby was an exciting place, and the casino was full of life and energy. He was an explorer of sorts, and his success would be a private one, not measured in wealth, but in experiences.
Sipping his beer, Bjorn convinced himself that he would be successful in his own way, and that his life was as exciting as anyone's. And pretty soon he felt almost relieved to know that Ane was living her own life, quite separate from his, for he had better things to do than to be together with a woman obsessed with fish and profits. Bjorn was free. And his very lack of material wealth was the source of this freedom.
Looking out on the dance floor, with people dancing and moving about, some hoping for love, and others looking to make some money, Bjorn felt relieved to know that he was above this. He was beyond this hustling and sentimental nonsense. Bjorn was the observer, separate from the daily struggles, hopes and fears of the people around him.
Bjorn took another sip of his beer, enjoying the sense of calm that was starting to fill his every fibre. Then Espen made a comment out of the blue.
"They were both from Fredrikstad," Espen said, as if announcing something deep and significant.
"Who," Bjorn asked.
"Ola and Per."
"Yeah? And?"
"Well, they said they were from Longyear... But no one grows up in Longyear. It's not a place where people raise families."
"True... The place is so far north it's a wonder anyone lives there at all."
"Yeah! Compared to Longyear, Lundby is almost a tropical paradise." Thomas added. "But what makes you so sure they are from Fredrikstad?"
"Their dialect... I got family in Fredrikstad, and they talked just like them... Toned down a bit, but still..."
"So you think they were lying about Longyear?" Thomas asked, confused by Espen's story.
"No, no... I'm just saying that they must have grown up in Fredrikstad. I'm sure they've been working the mines up at Svalbard. But that's not where they are from originally."
"Okay?" Thomas answered without any sign of interest in what Espen was talking about.
Bjorn didn't find Espen's comment very interesting either and slipped back into his meditative mood rather than making any effort to keep the conversation going. Bjorn looked over at the table where he had last seen Frank and Ante, thinking that it would be nice to have Ante back at their table, but the table was empty. He looked around, but could see neither Frank nor Ante anywhere in the room. However, Bjorn didn't feel like making a point of their disappearance, preferring to sit quietly and enjoy his meditative state instead.
"It's nice how they keep the music down enough for us to be able to talk without shouting on top of our voices," Espen commented idly, apparently trying to start another conversation.
"It's the way they positioned the loudspeakers," Thomas explained. "See how they hang right above the dance floor. That way it is loud where it matters, and more mellow out here."
"So that is how they do it," Espen answered in apparent wonder.
"Yeah, there are no loudspeakers out here, as you can see."
Bjorn looked up to verify Thomas' claim, but felt immediately dizzy.
"Oh my! I'm more drunk than I thought," Bjorn said, turning his gaze quickly to the floor to fight a sudden spell of nausea.
"You're all right?" Espen asked.
"Sure... I just have to stop drinking."
"Need some help getting out in the fresh air?" Thomas asked.
"No, no... I'm fine. I'm not sure why I feel this way... I haven't drunk all that much."
Bjorn quickly regained his balance. "What was that all about?" Bjorn thought to himself with an uneasy feeling that his sudden spell of dizziness was more than just alcohol related. But Thomas broke Bjorn's line of thoughts with a question before he had time to even start speculating on an alternative cause.
"Where is Ante?" Thomas asked. "He's not getting drunk again, is he?"
"I don't know," Bjorn answered, feeling less dizzy by the second. "I haven't seen him in a while."
The three men looked around, unable to find any trace of Ante. And Frank was also nowhere to be seen. But just as Thomas were about to get up to go looking for the two men, Ante appeared from the back of the room, all smiles and with a glass in his hand.
"Is that a cocktail, you got there?" Thomas asked as Ante presented himself at the table.
"No, it's a long drink," Ante answered with a broad smile. "A Rum Fizz to be exact."
"But you are our designated driver!" Thomas said with quiet despair.
"Sure... But I'm not drunk... I'm fine... I'll get you all back safe and sound to the checkpoint when the time comes."
Bjorn was not the oldest one in the casino, but he was clearly a good deal older than most. And what did he have to show for it? Nothing. For a few weeks he had lived under the illusion that he too was rich, when in fact he had signed the papers that would bankrupt him. And the fall had been horrendous, brutal and unyielding, with the tax man showing no mercy as he rejected every single one of Bjorn's arguments. The inheritance tax could not be recalculated. It was set in stone as it were, and would never be forgiven.
Ola's great sin was simply to be the man that Bjorn would liked to have been. His success reminded Bjorn of his own failure, and it was this more than anything that made him feel so edgy and hostile towards both Ola and Ane. But this was neither the place nor time to dwell on the past. Bjorn was on a journey of his own, he thought, even if he was just an observer. Lundby was an exciting place, and the casino was full of life and energy. He was an explorer of sorts, and his success would be a private one, not measured in wealth, but in experiences.
Sipping his beer, Bjorn convinced himself that he would be successful in his own way, and that his life was as exciting as anyone's. And pretty soon he felt almost relieved to know that Ane was living her own life, quite separate from his, for he had better things to do than to be together with a woman obsessed with fish and profits. Bjorn was free. And his very lack of material wealth was the source of this freedom.
Looking out on the dance floor, with people dancing and moving about, some hoping for love, and others looking to make some money, Bjorn felt relieved to know that he was above this. He was beyond this hustling and sentimental nonsense. Bjorn was the observer, separate from the daily struggles, hopes and fears of the people around him.
Bjorn took another sip of his beer, enjoying the sense of calm that was starting to fill his every fibre. Then Espen made a comment out of the blue.
"They were both from Fredrikstad," Espen said, as if announcing something deep and significant.
"Who," Bjorn asked.
"Ola and Per."
"Yeah? And?"
"Well, they said they were from Longyear... But no one grows up in Longyear. It's not a place where people raise families."
"True... The place is so far north it's a wonder anyone lives there at all."
"Yeah! Compared to Longyear, Lundby is almost a tropical paradise." Thomas added. "But what makes you so sure they are from Fredrikstad?"
"Their dialect... I got family in Fredrikstad, and they talked just like them... Toned down a bit, but still..."
"So you think they were lying about Longyear?" Thomas asked, confused by Espen's story.
"No, no... I'm just saying that they must have grown up in Fredrikstad. I'm sure they've been working the mines up at Svalbard. But that's not where they are from originally."
"Okay?" Thomas answered without any sign of interest in what Espen was talking about.
Bjorn didn't find Espen's comment very interesting either and slipped back into his meditative mood rather than making any effort to keep the conversation going. Bjorn looked over at the table where he had last seen Frank and Ante, thinking that it would be nice to have Ante back at their table, but the table was empty. He looked around, but could see neither Frank nor Ante anywhere in the room. However, Bjorn didn't feel like making a point of their disappearance, preferring to sit quietly and enjoy his meditative state instead.
"It's nice how they keep the music down enough for us to be able to talk without shouting on top of our voices," Espen commented idly, apparently trying to start another conversation.
"It's the way they positioned the loudspeakers," Thomas explained. "See how they hang right above the dance floor. That way it is loud where it matters, and more mellow out here."
"So that is how they do it," Espen answered in apparent wonder.
"Yeah, there are no loudspeakers out here, as you can see."
Bjorn looked up to verify Thomas' claim, but felt immediately dizzy.
"Oh my! I'm more drunk than I thought," Bjorn said, turning his gaze quickly to the floor to fight a sudden spell of nausea.
"You're all right?" Espen asked.
"Sure... I just have to stop drinking."
"Need some help getting out in the fresh air?" Thomas asked.
"No, no... I'm fine. I'm not sure why I feel this way... I haven't drunk all that much."
Bjorn quickly regained his balance. "What was that all about?" Bjorn thought to himself with an uneasy feeling that his sudden spell of dizziness was more than just alcohol related. But Thomas broke Bjorn's line of thoughts with a question before he had time to even start speculating on an alternative cause.
"Where is Ante?" Thomas asked. "He's not getting drunk again, is he?"
"I don't know," Bjorn answered, feeling less dizzy by the second. "I haven't seen him in a while."
The three men looked around, unable to find any trace of Ante. And Frank was also nowhere to be seen. But just as Thomas were about to get up to go looking for the two men, Ante appeared from the back of the room, all smiles and with a glass in his hand.
"Is that a cocktail, you got there?" Thomas asked as Ante presented himself at the table.
"No, it's a long drink," Ante answered with a broad smile. "A Rum Fizz to be exact."
"But you are our designated driver!" Thomas said with quiet despair.
"Sure... But I'm not drunk... I'm fine... I'll get you all back safe and sound to the checkpoint when the time comes."
Monday, June 23, 2014
86
Ola leant back in his chair, looking around as if to take in the place one last time before leaving.
"Well, I think we'll leave now," he said to Per. "We can have a few last beers over at my place if you're still thirsty." Then, leaning over towards Bjorn and his two colleagues, he excused himself, putting his hands on his knees, ready to rise and leave.
"So you're staying at Ola and Ane's place tonight," Bjorn asked, looking at Per.
"Yes he is," Ola answered. "The ferry back to Kirkenes does not run at these hours."
"No?"
"No! But we got a housekeeper, so there's no extra work for Ane or me to have people staying over," Ola added proudly.
"A house keeper! That sounds fancy," Bjorn commented acidly.
"Ganga... a Tamil girl," Ola explained, taking no notice of Bjorn's acid remark. "That's one of the great advantages of buying a place in Lundby. You can get a housekeeper for as little as fifty MG a day."
"But that is even less than your wife pays her factory workers."
"Sure, but Ganga gets a room and food for free, so she is in many ways better off than the factory workers."
Bjorn looked blankly at Ola for a second. "So those barracks over by the factory are not free for Ane's workers?"
"No, she rents them out for a hundred MG per night."
"But that's what the workers make in a day!" Bjorn protested, shocked by Ola's revelation.
"Sure, but the workers typically rent the rooms together with three or more other workers. That way they have plenty for food and other necessities."
Bjorn was speechless. Ane's shameless exploitation of her workers was much worse than he had thought. And Ola did not seem the least bit ashamed of it either. "What a loveless cold couple they must be," he thought to himself. But he had the wits to keep this thought to himself, and did not say anything to stop Ola and Per from raising up from their chairs.
"Take care, and enjoy the rest of your evening," Ola said with a friendly smile. Per said goodbye too and the two men left, leaving Bjorn, Thomas and Espen to themselves.
"I think Ola is right," Thomas said, breaking the silence around the table.
"About what?" Bjorn asked, still shocked by Ola's revelation.
"About the house... Per should buy it now while prices are down... The influx of asylum seekers isn't going to be nearly as bad as people think."
"I agree!" Espen said with a nod. "I don't think Ola was very pleased about the way you put it though."
"Yeah," Bjorn said with a smile. "Mentioning Frank's fence was hardly a winning argument."
The three men smiled and shook their heads over Thomas' silly remark that had set Ola´s arguments back by quite a bit, and possibly stopped Per from ever considering buying a house in Lundby.
"It's a good thing you're not working as a diplomat," Espen commented, still chuckling.
"But you know what I found to be the winning argument?" Thomas asked rhetorically to change the subject.
"No? What?" Espen asked.
"The housekeeper."
"Really?" Bjorn asked in disbelief.
"Sure! Imagine having someone to sort out your house while you're off doing other things. I'd love to have that."
"But it's slavery!" Bjorn protested.
"No, it's not. This Ganga, or whatever, is making just as good a living as any of the factory workers."
"But they are slaves too?"
"No... They can all choose to do other stuff if they please. You're only a slave if you have no say in choosing your employer, or if you have to give away your earnings to a third party without your consent."
Bjorn did not agree, but could not find any quick counter-definition for slavery, so he found himself again lost for words.
"But you agree that the wages are terrible?" Espen commented, apparently agreeing with Bjorn, at least to some extent.
"Sure," Thomas agreed. "But as long as people are not forced to part with their earnings against their will, and have freedom to work for whoever they please, it is totally wrong to call this slavery."
Then, after taking a sip of his beer, Thomas continued.
"There is simply an oversupply of unskilled labour, and that forces the price down."
"And at what point does low wages become so low that it becomes slavery?" Bjorn asked.
"Never," Thomas answered confidently.
"Never?"
"Exactly. Slavery has to do with wage extraction and force. It has nothing to do with the amount a person earns. If Ganga is forced against her will to do a bunch of stuff she does not voluntarily agree to, she is a slave, but we have no evidence of anything like that going on in the Ola & Ane household."
"But she has no choice!" Bjorn protested. "She has no choice but to accept her lot."
"Not true," Thomas countered, still cocksure of himself. "She can work in the factory, she can open a stall at the market, she can start a business herself. She sure as hell does not have to work for Ola and Ane unless they are indeed locking her up and forcing her to do stuff. And only then would I consider her a slave. As long as I have no reason to believe that Ola or Ane are forcing Ganga to be their housekeeper, I see no reason to assume that she's a slave."
Bjorn was again unable to find a good argument to counter Thomas' assertion, but he had a distinct feeling that Thomas' definition was lacking, and he felt frustrated with Thomas insisting that the word slavery did not apply to the misery and hardship doubtlessly experienced by Ane's housekeeper and factory workers.
"But you have to admit that it would be great to have a housekeeper?" Espen asked Bjorn, evidently trying to make Bjorn see things from Thomas' perspective.
"Sure," Bjorn had to admit. "Who wouldn't like to be rich and successful? But if it had to be on other people's expense, I think I'd rather not."
"But it is not on other people's expense," Thomas insisted. "If Ane didn't employ all these people, they might be without work entirely, or working under even worse conditions. Remember, everyone working for Ane is working for Ane because they did not find a better deal with somebody else. They would in other words be worse off without her."
"Unless they are indeed slaves," Espen corrected.
"Sure... But there's no evidence of that."
"Well, I think we'll leave now," he said to Per. "We can have a few last beers over at my place if you're still thirsty." Then, leaning over towards Bjorn and his two colleagues, he excused himself, putting his hands on his knees, ready to rise and leave.
"So you're staying at Ola and Ane's place tonight," Bjorn asked, looking at Per.
"Yes he is," Ola answered. "The ferry back to Kirkenes does not run at these hours."
"No?"
"No! But we got a housekeeper, so there's no extra work for Ane or me to have people staying over," Ola added proudly.
"A house keeper! That sounds fancy," Bjorn commented acidly.
"Ganga... a Tamil girl," Ola explained, taking no notice of Bjorn's acid remark. "That's one of the great advantages of buying a place in Lundby. You can get a housekeeper for as little as fifty MG a day."
"But that is even less than your wife pays her factory workers."
"Sure, but Ganga gets a room and food for free, so she is in many ways better off than the factory workers."
Bjorn looked blankly at Ola for a second. "So those barracks over by the factory are not free for Ane's workers?"
"No, she rents them out for a hundred MG per night."
"But that's what the workers make in a day!" Bjorn protested, shocked by Ola's revelation.
"Sure, but the workers typically rent the rooms together with three or more other workers. That way they have plenty for food and other necessities."
Bjorn was speechless. Ane's shameless exploitation of her workers was much worse than he had thought. And Ola did not seem the least bit ashamed of it either. "What a loveless cold couple they must be," he thought to himself. But he had the wits to keep this thought to himself, and did not say anything to stop Ola and Per from raising up from their chairs.
"Take care, and enjoy the rest of your evening," Ola said with a friendly smile. Per said goodbye too and the two men left, leaving Bjorn, Thomas and Espen to themselves.
"I think Ola is right," Thomas said, breaking the silence around the table.
"About what?" Bjorn asked, still shocked by Ola's revelation.
"About the house... Per should buy it now while prices are down... The influx of asylum seekers isn't going to be nearly as bad as people think."
"I agree!" Espen said with a nod. "I don't think Ola was very pleased about the way you put it though."
"Yeah," Bjorn said with a smile. "Mentioning Frank's fence was hardly a winning argument."
The three men smiled and shook their heads over Thomas' silly remark that had set Ola´s arguments back by quite a bit, and possibly stopped Per from ever considering buying a house in Lundby.
"It's a good thing you're not working as a diplomat," Espen commented, still chuckling.
"But you know what I found to be the winning argument?" Thomas asked rhetorically to change the subject.
"No? What?" Espen asked.
"The housekeeper."
"Really?" Bjorn asked in disbelief.
"Sure! Imagine having someone to sort out your house while you're off doing other things. I'd love to have that."
"But it's slavery!" Bjorn protested.
"No, it's not. This Ganga, or whatever, is making just as good a living as any of the factory workers."
"But they are slaves too?"
"No... They can all choose to do other stuff if they please. You're only a slave if you have no say in choosing your employer, or if you have to give away your earnings to a third party without your consent."
Bjorn did not agree, but could not find any quick counter-definition for slavery, so he found himself again lost for words.
"But you agree that the wages are terrible?" Espen commented, apparently agreeing with Bjorn, at least to some extent.
"Sure," Thomas agreed. "But as long as people are not forced to part with their earnings against their will, and have freedom to work for whoever they please, it is totally wrong to call this slavery."
Then, after taking a sip of his beer, Thomas continued.
"There is simply an oversupply of unskilled labour, and that forces the price down."
"And at what point does low wages become so low that it becomes slavery?" Bjorn asked.
"Never," Thomas answered confidently.
"Never?"
"Exactly. Slavery has to do with wage extraction and force. It has nothing to do with the amount a person earns. If Ganga is forced against her will to do a bunch of stuff she does not voluntarily agree to, she is a slave, but we have no evidence of anything like that going on in the Ola & Ane household."
"But she has no choice!" Bjorn protested. "She has no choice but to accept her lot."
"Not true," Thomas countered, still cocksure of himself. "She can work in the factory, she can open a stall at the market, she can start a business herself. She sure as hell does not have to work for Ola and Ane unless they are indeed locking her up and forcing her to do stuff. And only then would I consider her a slave. As long as I have no reason to believe that Ola or Ane are forcing Ganga to be their housekeeper, I see no reason to assume that she's a slave."
Bjorn was again unable to find a good argument to counter Thomas' assertion, but he had a distinct feeling that Thomas' definition was lacking, and he felt frustrated with Thomas insisting that the word slavery did not apply to the misery and hardship doubtlessly experienced by Ane's housekeeper and factory workers.
"But you have to admit that it would be great to have a housekeeper?" Espen asked Bjorn, evidently trying to make Bjorn see things from Thomas' perspective.
"Sure," Bjorn had to admit. "Who wouldn't like to be rich and successful? But if it had to be on other people's expense, I think I'd rather not."
"But it is not on other people's expense," Thomas insisted. "If Ane didn't employ all these people, they might be without work entirely, or working under even worse conditions. Remember, everyone working for Ane is working for Ane because they did not find a better deal with somebody else. They would in other words be worse off without her."
"Unless they are indeed slaves," Espen corrected.
"Sure... But there's no evidence of that."
Saturday, June 21, 2014
85
Bjorn was suddenly speechless, and if it hadn't been for the waitress appearing with four beers, he would probably not have been able to hide his disappointment. But with the other men suddenly all busy paying for their beers, Bjorn could let the initial shock sink in in silence.
It was ridiculous to be disappointed, of course, and this in itself was half the embarrassment for Bjorn. It was not like he knew Ane, and she was in many ways way out of his league, successful, young and beautiful as she was. But he had come to think of her as an heroic lone ranger of sorts, and himself as her trusted ally. And now, that illusion was broken.
Bjorn lifted his glass to his lips, and swallowed a mouth full of beer, not for the thirst, but as a way to hide his embarrassing emotions. He looked at Ola, as he paid the waitress, and he was again struck by the sheer physical size of the man. Had he been just a little bit bigger, he could properly be classified as a giant. And to think that this enormous guy was involved with tiny Ane was almost obscene in its erotic implications.
But Ola had asked Bjorn a question, and it deserved an answer. It also gave Bjorn an opportunity to catch his balance again, and rid himself of his silly immature disappointment.
"I inspected Ane's factory on Wednesday, together with a colleague," Bjorn explained.
"Ah! So you are one of the millimetre guys," Ola said with a friendly smile.
"Is that what she called us?"
"Yep!" Ola answered, still smiling. "Are you the nasty obsessed one, or the nice clueless one?"
Bjorn could not help smiling despite the insult. "Who do you think?" he asked.
"I guess you're the nice clueless one."
"I guess you're right," Bjorn answered. "But was it really that obvious?"
"I'm afraid it was, despite your best efforts."
"Well... Maybe we shouldn't talk more about this," Bjorn continued, looking over at Thomas and Espen who were following the conversation with amusement.
"So you are all from the checkpoint?" Per asked, helpfully changing the subject for Bjorn.
"Yeah," Thomas answered.
"That makes sense."
"How?"
"Well... Five guys, obviously not all from up here, and not working at the mine either... Where else could you be working."
"True..."
Thomas took a sip of his beer, leaning back in his chair to look at the people out on the dance floor.
"But you're not from around here either, are you?" Espen asked.
"No... We moved down from Svalbard when they opened the iron mine down here," Ola said helpfully.
"You worked in the coal mines up there?" Espen asked full of wonder. "I've heard it's a crazy place."
"It is... But not as wild as Lundby."
"You think this place is weirder?" Espen asked. "But at least we don't have polar bears wandering the streets in Lundby."
"Sure... But they aren't sending thousands of people to the Longyear village, are they."
"But if it wasn't for that, then Longyear would be weirder than Lundby."
Ola took a sip of his beer. Then, after swallowing the brew with a thoughtful look on his face, he continued. "Lundby is like Longyear on steroids, minus the polar bears."
"What do you mean?" Thomas asked.
"Longyear is a tiny project in comparison to this. And it is more isolated," Ola explained. "This has the potential to become something really big."
Then, turning to Per, Ola continued. "You know, if you don't buy that house, I think I will... I'll see if I can find the money to buy it, and I'll sell it in a few years and make a ton of money."
It was ridiculous to be disappointed, of course, and this in itself was half the embarrassment for Bjorn. It was not like he knew Ane, and she was in many ways way out of his league, successful, young and beautiful as she was. But he had come to think of her as an heroic lone ranger of sorts, and himself as her trusted ally. And now, that illusion was broken.
Bjorn lifted his glass to his lips, and swallowed a mouth full of beer, not for the thirst, but as a way to hide his embarrassing emotions. He looked at Ola, as he paid the waitress, and he was again struck by the sheer physical size of the man. Had he been just a little bit bigger, he could properly be classified as a giant. And to think that this enormous guy was involved with tiny Ane was almost obscene in its erotic implications.
But Ola had asked Bjorn a question, and it deserved an answer. It also gave Bjorn an opportunity to catch his balance again, and rid himself of his silly immature disappointment.
"I inspected Ane's factory on Wednesday, together with a colleague," Bjorn explained.
"Ah! So you are one of the millimetre guys," Ola said with a friendly smile.
"Is that what she called us?"
"Yep!" Ola answered, still smiling. "Are you the nasty obsessed one, or the nice clueless one?"
Bjorn could not help smiling despite the insult. "Who do you think?" he asked.
"I guess you're the nice clueless one."
"I guess you're right," Bjorn answered. "But was it really that obvious?"
"I'm afraid it was, despite your best efforts."
"Well... Maybe we shouldn't talk more about this," Bjorn continued, looking over at Thomas and Espen who were following the conversation with amusement.
"So you are all from the checkpoint?" Per asked, helpfully changing the subject for Bjorn.
"Yeah," Thomas answered.
"That makes sense."
"How?"
"Well... Five guys, obviously not all from up here, and not working at the mine either... Where else could you be working."
"True..."
Thomas took a sip of his beer, leaning back in his chair to look at the people out on the dance floor.
"But you're not from around here either, are you?" Espen asked.
"No... We moved down from Svalbard when they opened the iron mine down here," Ola said helpfully.
"You worked in the coal mines up there?" Espen asked full of wonder. "I've heard it's a crazy place."
"It is... But not as wild as Lundby."
"You think this place is weirder?" Espen asked. "But at least we don't have polar bears wandering the streets in Lundby."
"Sure... But they aren't sending thousands of people to the Longyear village, are they."
"But if it wasn't for that, then Longyear would be weirder than Lundby."
Ola took a sip of his beer. Then, after swallowing the brew with a thoughtful look on his face, he continued. "Lundby is like Longyear on steroids, minus the polar bears."
"What do you mean?" Thomas asked.
"Longyear is a tiny project in comparison to this. And it is more isolated," Ola explained. "This has the potential to become something really big."
Then, turning to Per, Ola continued. "You know, if you don't buy that house, I think I will... I'll see if I can find the money to buy it, and I'll sell it in a few years and make a ton of money."
Friday, June 20, 2014
84
Returning to the main hall where the music was playing and a few couples were moving around on the dance floor, Bjorn caught sight of Frank and Ante over at a table with two girls. They were obviously flirting and having fun, and Bjorn thought it better to let them have their fun without him interfering, so he turned to the table where he had left his jacket.
Thomas' balloon marked the spot, and both Espen and Thomas were still sitting there, guarding the pile of jackets on the ledge behind them. But they were not alone. The two big Norwegians he had seen at Nora's place were also with them, engaging them in conversation.
Bjorn immediately felt curious to hear what the athletic looking men had to say, and seeing that the chair he had been sitting in before leaving for a smoke was still free, he sat down with a friendly nod to the four men, making a point of not interfering in their conversation.
Bjorn leant back in his chair, looking for the black girl who had served them earlier while listening in on what the men were saying. He soon caught sight of the waitress and signalled that he wanted another beer by making a hand movement as if pulling draught himself. Then, leaning a little forward, he started to pay closer attention to what the four were talking about.
Apparently, the biggest and blondest of the two men was trying to convince his friend to buy a house in Lundby, claiming that there was no better time to buy a house than now while everyone was fearful of the imminent immigration of asylum seekers.
"You see, Per!" the big one said. "Things never get as bad as people think. And this big influx is going to prove me right again. First of all, very few people will choose to go up here. And those who do will be willing to work for peanuts. They are not going to cause any problems at all. And you can have a servant in your house... Heck... You can have two or three if you please."
"Yeah," Thomas agreed. "I'm pretty sure you're right. All this fear is completely misplaced... You know... We're having a fence put up around our barracks up at the checkpoint. It's a complete waste of time and money if you ask me."
"You are?" Per asked. "Isn't that an indication that things are in fact going to turn sour pretty soon. I don't think the military is putting up a fence just for the heck of it, budgets being as tight as they are these days."
The big blond guy looked at Thomas with a spark of frustration in his eye, clearly not finding Thomas' remark very helpful.
"But you have to admit, Lundby is not at all the place it has been made out to be," the big guy continued. "The only ones selling their houses at the current prices are people who have bought the crap they are telling us through the media. This place is thriving, and I can assure you that it will be just as peaceful and thriving in the future too. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity."
The waitress came with Bjorn's beer, and this caused the conversation to stop while Bjorn fished out a token to pay for his brew. Then, once the waitress left, Bjorn felt like breaking into the conversation.
"So, why are you so eager to push this house on Per?" Bjorn asked. "Sorry to interfere, but I'm curious."
The big guy sighed, as if Bjorn was asking a question for the thousandth time. "It's not me pushing this house," he said in his defence. "Per here has been moaning about how expensive everything is in Kirkenes, and how he wants a proper place to live, and I've been telling him that he should buy a place in Lundby. And now that there is a house for sale, I thought it an idea to bring him along for a tour just to see what a great place this is."
"You guys are colleagues?" Bjorn asked, trying to pin down their relationship to each other.
"Yeah," Per answered. "Ola is my boss. We are engineers... Miners if you like... Over at the iron mine by the port."
"And you've never been to Lundby," Bjorn asked. "I mean... The village."
"No."
"Yeah, isn't that crazy?" Ola blurted out, not able to hold back his frustration with his colleague. "I mean... There we are, going every day to the mines, and Per never once goes to the village to check it out... Not once!"
There was a pause as this insult sank in. Bjorn felt almost embarrassed about it, and took a big sip of his beer to hide his feeling of awkwardness. But Espen quickly filled the vacuum with a quick question.
"But now that you've seen it, you like it? Don't you?" he asked.
"Sure, it's a great place."
"So your only concern is that things may get messy when the asylum seekers come flying in?" Thomas asked.
"Yeah... I mean... You saw the news on TV, right?"
"We did," Thomas confirmed.
There was another pause in the conversation, and Ola leant back, looking for the waitress while asking the men if they too felt thirsty. Espen and Thomas looked at their nearly empty glasses, answering that they too could do with another beer. Per agreed, and Ola signalled with four fingers in the air to the waitress that they were ready for more beer.
"So your concern is purely related to security?" Bjorn asked, continuing the conversation.
"Yeah," Per answered with a nod.
"Have you considered buying insurance... There's this company called Lance..."
"Exactly!" Ola exclaimed, breaking Bjorn off in mid sentence. "That's what I have been telling him all along. My wife and I have bought insurance from Pedro. And it does not cost very much at all."
"You live here?" Bjorn asked redundantly.
"Sure!"
"And you trust Pedro?"
"He's a friend of Jan, and Jan trusts him. That's saying quite a bit."
"You know Jan too?"
"Well, we've only talked to Pedro briefly, so we don't really know Pedro. But my wife and Jan have known each other since for ever."
"Really?"
"Yeah... Jan is a childhood friend of my wife's father, and Jan's father was the one who stopped the guys in Oslo from completely gutting the factory."
"The factory?" Bjorn asked, a little lost.
"The fish processing plant," Ola explained helpfully. "My wife reopened it just this Wednesday."
"You're married to Ane?" Bjorn asked in disbelief.
"Yeah... Do you know her?"
Thomas' balloon marked the spot, and both Espen and Thomas were still sitting there, guarding the pile of jackets on the ledge behind them. But they were not alone. The two big Norwegians he had seen at Nora's place were also with them, engaging them in conversation.
Bjorn immediately felt curious to hear what the athletic looking men had to say, and seeing that the chair he had been sitting in before leaving for a smoke was still free, he sat down with a friendly nod to the four men, making a point of not interfering in their conversation.
Bjorn leant back in his chair, looking for the black girl who had served them earlier while listening in on what the men were saying. He soon caught sight of the waitress and signalled that he wanted another beer by making a hand movement as if pulling draught himself. Then, leaning a little forward, he started to pay closer attention to what the four were talking about.
Apparently, the biggest and blondest of the two men was trying to convince his friend to buy a house in Lundby, claiming that there was no better time to buy a house than now while everyone was fearful of the imminent immigration of asylum seekers.
"You see, Per!" the big one said. "Things never get as bad as people think. And this big influx is going to prove me right again. First of all, very few people will choose to go up here. And those who do will be willing to work for peanuts. They are not going to cause any problems at all. And you can have a servant in your house... Heck... You can have two or three if you please."
"Yeah," Thomas agreed. "I'm pretty sure you're right. All this fear is completely misplaced... You know... We're having a fence put up around our barracks up at the checkpoint. It's a complete waste of time and money if you ask me."
"You are?" Per asked. "Isn't that an indication that things are in fact going to turn sour pretty soon. I don't think the military is putting up a fence just for the heck of it, budgets being as tight as they are these days."
The big blond guy looked at Thomas with a spark of frustration in his eye, clearly not finding Thomas' remark very helpful.
"But you have to admit, Lundby is not at all the place it has been made out to be," the big guy continued. "The only ones selling their houses at the current prices are people who have bought the crap they are telling us through the media. This place is thriving, and I can assure you that it will be just as peaceful and thriving in the future too. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity."
The waitress came with Bjorn's beer, and this caused the conversation to stop while Bjorn fished out a token to pay for his brew. Then, once the waitress left, Bjorn felt like breaking into the conversation.
"So, why are you so eager to push this house on Per?" Bjorn asked. "Sorry to interfere, but I'm curious."
The big guy sighed, as if Bjorn was asking a question for the thousandth time. "It's not me pushing this house," he said in his defence. "Per here has been moaning about how expensive everything is in Kirkenes, and how he wants a proper place to live, and I've been telling him that he should buy a place in Lundby. And now that there is a house for sale, I thought it an idea to bring him along for a tour just to see what a great place this is."
"You guys are colleagues?" Bjorn asked, trying to pin down their relationship to each other.
"Yeah," Per answered. "Ola is my boss. We are engineers... Miners if you like... Over at the iron mine by the port."
"And you've never been to Lundby," Bjorn asked. "I mean... The village."
"No."
"Yeah, isn't that crazy?" Ola blurted out, not able to hold back his frustration with his colleague. "I mean... There we are, going every day to the mines, and Per never once goes to the village to check it out... Not once!"
There was a pause as this insult sank in. Bjorn felt almost embarrassed about it, and took a big sip of his beer to hide his feeling of awkwardness. But Espen quickly filled the vacuum with a quick question.
"But now that you've seen it, you like it? Don't you?" he asked.
"Sure, it's a great place."
"So your only concern is that things may get messy when the asylum seekers come flying in?" Thomas asked.
"Yeah... I mean... You saw the news on TV, right?"
"We did," Thomas confirmed.
There was another pause in the conversation, and Ola leant back, looking for the waitress while asking the men if they too felt thirsty. Espen and Thomas looked at their nearly empty glasses, answering that they too could do with another beer. Per agreed, and Ola signalled with four fingers in the air to the waitress that they were ready for more beer.
"So your concern is purely related to security?" Bjorn asked, continuing the conversation.
"Yeah," Per answered with a nod.
"Have you considered buying insurance... There's this company called Lance..."
"Exactly!" Ola exclaimed, breaking Bjorn off in mid sentence. "That's what I have been telling him all along. My wife and I have bought insurance from Pedro. And it does not cost very much at all."
"You live here?" Bjorn asked redundantly.
"Sure!"
"And you trust Pedro?"
"He's a friend of Jan, and Jan trusts him. That's saying quite a bit."
"You know Jan too?"
"Well, we've only talked to Pedro briefly, so we don't really know Pedro. But my wife and Jan have known each other since for ever."
"Really?"
"Yeah... Jan is a childhood friend of my wife's father, and Jan's father was the one who stopped the guys in Oslo from completely gutting the factory."
"The factory?" Bjorn asked, a little lost.
"The fish processing plant," Ola explained helpfully. "My wife reopened it just this Wednesday."
"You're married to Ane?" Bjorn asked in disbelief.
"Yeah... Do you know her?"
Thursday, May 15, 2014
64
The article on the conflict between the stall owners and Pedro had a link to the formal complaint logged by the stall owners, and curious to see what this looked like, Bjorn clicked on it to have it come up on his screen. The page with the complaint was set in a dark frame, with "The Blacklist" written in grey letters, as if set in stone, at the top. The subtitle stated, also in grey letters, that "all are innocent until proven guilty." And next to the title, there was a search field, and an option to go to an advanced search page.
The complaint itself was tidy and clean cut, with its title displayed at the top, followed by some basic information, such as status and location, a full list of the plaintiffs and the name of the defendant. Each person in the list was highlighted with a link, presumably to get to more details on each individual, and still curious to learn as much as he could about Pedro, Bjorn clicked on his name to see what more, if anything, the Blacklist had on him.
But instead of going directly to more personal information on Pedro, the link directed Bjorn to a short fact sheet containing only his name and contact details together with a list of accusations and another list of grievances in which he was presently involved. To get more personal details on Pedro, Bjorn had to click on Pedro's name again, but the page on Pedro was kept down to a bare minimum with no more than his full name and minimal contact details filled in.
So it was clear that Pedro's personal information page at the Blacklist did not tell Bjorn anything new. However, the short fact sheet on him did in fact tell Bjorn a little more, because it did not only list the dispute with the stall owners under open grievances against him, it also listed a dispute in which he was a plaintiff. Pedro was listed as having a grievance against Ane, and this surprised Bjorn so much that once he saw it he clicked the link to see what it was all about.
And sure enough, there it was. Pedro and Jan were complaining about Ane's fish factory. They were concerned about the pollution coming from it due to all the untreated fish waste that she was dumping into the fjord, and they wanted her to clean up her act. Their personal grievance against Ane was that her disregard for the environment would soon cause a stench, and thus negatively affect the value of the casino and the village square.
Bjorn looked at the date of the complaint, thinking it odd that it had been logged so soon after the factory had been opened. The factory was after all, only opened the day before, and it could not possibly be the case that the environment was already affected by this. And it looked like someone had had the exact same thought, because someone called Maria had made a comment on the complaint, very much to that effect. However, while Bjorn was reading Maria's short comment, another comment appeared, this one directed to Maria, and authored by Jan, saying that "we don't need to wait for the inevitable. There is no doubt that the untreated sewage will cause problems, and that this will damage our properties. Ane cannot simply ship her stench over to us without any kind of compensation. And it is not like the technology to treat her waste does not exist."
"Boy! These people don't kid around, do they?" Bjorn thought to himself. Then, curious to see what the Blacklist had on Ane, he clicked on her name to get up her short fact sheet, and then on her name again to go to her personal details. However, Ane's personal details page was not filled in. Instead the page asked him politely to fill in the page if he happened to be Ane. However, right below the polite invitation to fill in the details was a stern warning. "Do not fill in this page if you are not in fact Ane, or a person authorized by Ane," it said in bold red lettering. "Any abuse of the Blacklist is a crime and will be treated accordingly."
The complaint itself was tidy and clean cut, with its title displayed at the top, followed by some basic information, such as status and location, a full list of the plaintiffs and the name of the defendant. Each person in the list was highlighted with a link, presumably to get to more details on each individual, and still curious to learn as much as he could about Pedro, Bjorn clicked on his name to see what more, if anything, the Blacklist had on him.
But instead of going directly to more personal information on Pedro, the link directed Bjorn to a short fact sheet containing only his name and contact details together with a list of accusations and another list of grievances in which he was presently involved. To get more personal details on Pedro, Bjorn had to click on Pedro's name again, but the page on Pedro was kept down to a bare minimum with no more than his full name and minimal contact details filled in.
So it was clear that Pedro's personal information page at the Blacklist did not tell Bjorn anything new. However, the short fact sheet on him did in fact tell Bjorn a little more, because it did not only list the dispute with the stall owners under open grievances against him, it also listed a dispute in which he was a plaintiff. Pedro was listed as having a grievance against Ane, and this surprised Bjorn so much that once he saw it he clicked the link to see what it was all about.
And sure enough, there it was. Pedro and Jan were complaining about Ane's fish factory. They were concerned about the pollution coming from it due to all the untreated fish waste that she was dumping into the fjord, and they wanted her to clean up her act. Their personal grievance against Ane was that her disregard for the environment would soon cause a stench, and thus negatively affect the value of the casino and the village square.
Bjorn looked at the date of the complaint, thinking it odd that it had been logged so soon after the factory had been opened. The factory was after all, only opened the day before, and it could not possibly be the case that the environment was already affected by this. And it looked like someone had had the exact same thought, because someone called Maria had made a comment on the complaint, very much to that effect. However, while Bjorn was reading Maria's short comment, another comment appeared, this one directed to Maria, and authored by Jan, saying that "we don't need to wait for the inevitable. There is no doubt that the untreated sewage will cause problems, and that this will damage our properties. Ane cannot simply ship her stench over to us without any kind of compensation. And it is not like the technology to treat her waste does not exist."
"Boy! These people don't kid around, do they?" Bjorn thought to himself. Then, curious to see what the Blacklist had on Ane, he clicked on her name to get up her short fact sheet, and then on her name again to go to her personal details. However, Ane's personal details page was not filled in. Instead the page asked him politely to fill in the page if he happened to be Ane. However, right below the polite invitation to fill in the details was a stern warning. "Do not fill in this page if you are not in fact Ane, or a person authorized by Ane," it said in bold red lettering. "Any abuse of the Blacklist is a crime and will be treated accordingly."
Wednesday, April 23, 2014
48
Bjorn turned on the PC. "Let's check the gold price," he thought to himself. "There were something about it in the news, something about it falling, and this being a sign of health in the economy." How exactly a falling gold price was a sign of health was not explained. But with TV news necessarily being brief, this was not unexpected. A comprehensive explanation on the relationship between gold and the economy would surely required more air time than a five minute slot in the daily news. However, a quick internet search might turn up some good articles on the subject.
Finding a graph of the gold price was not difficult. The first link he clicked on turned up a scalable one where he could zoom in to see the price fluctuations from minute to minute, real time, as well as the overall movement of gold over longer periods, all the way up to years and even decades. The long term trend was clearly upwards, but the last few years had seen the gold price fall, and the price had turned sharply lower over the last couple of days, falling as much as ten percent in less than a week.
"So I guess we have had a recovery in the economy over the last few years, then?" Bjorn thought sarcastically to himself, finding this very hard to believe with unemployment and poverty relentlessly on the rise during these same years. "And this latest drop is somehow proof that everything is rapidly improving?"
However, after some more searching, Bjorn found an article on gold, and its relationship to stock prices, pointing out the obvious fact that low gold prices necessarily mean that other assets measured against gold are valued higher. Very high stock prices relative to gold is an indication of euphoria among investors, while very low stock prices relative to gold is an indication of depression among investors. The article then went on to explain that gold is a better yard stick to measure investor sentiments than fiat currencies like the dollar, since the quantity of gold is relatively stable, while the quantity of dollars sometimes increase in leaps and bounds.
"Well that makes some sense," Bjorn thought to himself. "If gold functions as a yard stick for investor sentiments, then the latest drop in the price of gold combined with the stock market making new highs every day must be an indication of optimism among investors. But is optimism among investors necessarily a good indication of economic health? Could it not just as well be an indication of unsubstantiated euphoria?"
Bjorn read the article to the end, and could not from what he had read conclude that investor sentiment in itself had much to do with the state of the economy. "What really drives the economy is real investments made with real savings," the article concluded. And by real investments, the author meant machines, factories and education. And by real savings the author meant savings accumulated from productive labour. Money created out of nothing by simple fiat would, according to the author, do little more than distort the economy.
The article was clearly anti-establishment. But it was level headed and to the point. The author was critical of what he called the Keynesian School of Economics, embracing instead something he called the Austrian School of Economics. And the author certainly gave the impression of knowing what he was talking about. It was well written, to the point, and easy to understand. Surprisingly easy in fact, which made Bjorn a little suspicious of it possibly being over simplifying things quite a bit.
Leaning back in his chair and once again looking out over the village and the fjord, Bjorn's thoughts were drawn to Ane and her factory. Her factory was certainly a good example of something created from real savings. Her grandfather had put his life savings into it at one point, and apparently gone bankrupt. But somehow managed to save it for his granddaughter. The factory had all the elements described as real investments in the article. Even education, if on the job training could be considered education.
However, the workers were barely earning enough to stay alive. All the profits went directly into Ane's pockets, which could hardly be described as fair, or even healthy for the economy. The author of the article had not taken into account the human aspect of the economy, it seemed. Ane's greed for profits was pretty much a guarantee that her workers would never earn more than an absolute minimum.
But Bjorn could not help liking Ane despite her shameless greed. She was refreshingly direct and to the point. Very unsentimental, even when talking about her grandfather, who she had mentioned with a direct and to the point fondness. She made no secret of anything it seemed, and her forwardness in explaining things to Bjorn was generous and unashamed.
Then, in a flash, Bjorn remembered the heavy revolver strapped to Ane's thigh. He could not help it, but he thought it insanely sexy. She was after all a beautiful young woman, and the gun highlighted this by its obscene contrast to her feminine frame. The gun made her the queen of her estate in a primitive, shameless and sexual way.
Bjorn imagined her pulling the gun at him, and the thought made him ice cold and excited at the same time. "What a woman," he thought to himself. Then, out of nowhere it seemed, he heard two distant knocks.
"Dinner is served," a voice said, almost equally distant, and with this Bjorn was pulled out of his budding daydream.
"I'll be right there!" Bjorn replied, shaking off the light daze of imminent sleep interrupted.
Finding a graph of the gold price was not difficult. The first link he clicked on turned up a scalable one where he could zoom in to see the price fluctuations from minute to minute, real time, as well as the overall movement of gold over longer periods, all the way up to years and even decades. The long term trend was clearly upwards, but the last few years had seen the gold price fall, and the price had turned sharply lower over the last couple of days, falling as much as ten percent in less than a week.
"So I guess we have had a recovery in the economy over the last few years, then?" Bjorn thought sarcastically to himself, finding this very hard to believe with unemployment and poverty relentlessly on the rise during these same years. "And this latest drop is somehow proof that everything is rapidly improving?"
However, after some more searching, Bjorn found an article on gold, and its relationship to stock prices, pointing out the obvious fact that low gold prices necessarily mean that other assets measured against gold are valued higher. Very high stock prices relative to gold is an indication of euphoria among investors, while very low stock prices relative to gold is an indication of depression among investors. The article then went on to explain that gold is a better yard stick to measure investor sentiments than fiat currencies like the dollar, since the quantity of gold is relatively stable, while the quantity of dollars sometimes increase in leaps and bounds.
"Well that makes some sense," Bjorn thought to himself. "If gold functions as a yard stick for investor sentiments, then the latest drop in the price of gold combined with the stock market making new highs every day must be an indication of optimism among investors. But is optimism among investors necessarily a good indication of economic health? Could it not just as well be an indication of unsubstantiated euphoria?"
Bjorn read the article to the end, and could not from what he had read conclude that investor sentiment in itself had much to do with the state of the economy. "What really drives the economy is real investments made with real savings," the article concluded. And by real investments, the author meant machines, factories and education. And by real savings the author meant savings accumulated from productive labour. Money created out of nothing by simple fiat would, according to the author, do little more than distort the economy.
The article was clearly anti-establishment. But it was level headed and to the point. The author was critical of what he called the Keynesian School of Economics, embracing instead something he called the Austrian School of Economics. And the author certainly gave the impression of knowing what he was talking about. It was well written, to the point, and easy to understand. Surprisingly easy in fact, which made Bjorn a little suspicious of it possibly being over simplifying things quite a bit.
Leaning back in his chair and once again looking out over the village and the fjord, Bjorn's thoughts were drawn to Ane and her factory. Her factory was certainly a good example of something created from real savings. Her grandfather had put his life savings into it at one point, and apparently gone bankrupt. But somehow managed to save it for his granddaughter. The factory had all the elements described as real investments in the article. Even education, if on the job training could be considered education.
However, the workers were barely earning enough to stay alive. All the profits went directly into Ane's pockets, which could hardly be described as fair, or even healthy for the economy. The author of the article had not taken into account the human aspect of the economy, it seemed. Ane's greed for profits was pretty much a guarantee that her workers would never earn more than an absolute minimum.
But Bjorn could not help liking Ane despite her shameless greed. She was refreshingly direct and to the point. Very unsentimental, even when talking about her grandfather, who she had mentioned with a direct and to the point fondness. She made no secret of anything it seemed, and her forwardness in explaining things to Bjorn was generous and unashamed.
Then, in a flash, Bjorn remembered the heavy revolver strapped to Ane's thigh. He could not help it, but he thought it insanely sexy. She was after all a beautiful young woman, and the gun highlighted this by its obscene contrast to her feminine frame. The gun made her the queen of her estate in a primitive, shameless and sexual way.
Bjorn imagined her pulling the gun at him, and the thought made him ice cold and excited at the same time. "What a woman," he thought to himself. Then, out of nowhere it seemed, he heard two distant knocks.
"Dinner is served," a voice said, almost equally distant, and with this Bjorn was pulled out of his budding daydream.
"I'll be right there!" Bjorn replied, shaking off the light daze of imminent sleep interrupted.
Tuesday, March 11, 2014
34
Geir looked at Bjorn as the two walked in the direction of the village square.
"She's full of it, isn't she?" Geir said as if to brush aside Ane's latest remark as nothing but menace. "She's making a fortune, thanks to us, and she has the nerve to accuse you of being mean. What a bitch."
"She has a point, though. Doesn't she?"
"No! Of course not. Do you really think she's running that business to help people?"
"No, but she is actually paying them. That is more than we are doing."
"Really? And how much is she paying them?"
"Hundred MG per day."
Geir made a quick calculation before concluding. "Per day? Well, that is nothing."
"That's what I told her too," Bjorn answered with a nod.
"And you're right. Those people are her slaves. They are working for free. She's only barely keeping them alive."
Bjorn nodded again. "And this is a gulag of sorts after all," he added. "I don't know why I'm surprised."
"Exactly," Geir continued. "There's a reason we're here, you know. Without us, these people would be gone. They would be in Oslo, selling drugs under bridges and turning tricks in sleazy hotels."
"They would, wouldn't they?"
"You bet."
Bjorn stopped and looked around as they came to the intersection with a road leading up to the little church overlooking the village. The drizzle had stopped and he pulled his hood back off his head. A big pile of wet snow was shoved up against the bare rock next to the street, crushing a couple of bushes struggling to survive in the harsh environment.
"At least, now they're off the streets in Oslo and doing something productive," Bjorn said, contemplating the church at the top of the hill. The tall cliff behind it made it look even smaller than it would otherwise have seemed. And the white painted wooden paneling gave it an air of innocence and purity, fragile, yet strong, like a white dove ready to take to the skies.
"That's what I've been saying all along, Bjorn. This colony is a stroke of genius. We clean up our towns and cities, and people like Ane get free labor to run their factories. It's a win win for everybody."
"Except for the asylum seekers, of course," Bjorn corrected.
"Yes, of course, but we never asked those people to come to our country, did we."
"No."
"So they have no reason to complain," Geir concluded, pulling back the hood of his jacket and glancing over towards the village square.
The two men started walking again, crossing the road diagonally in the direction of the square.
"But this Ane really pisses me off," Geir continued. "Here she is, making a fortune, yet she has the nerve to criticize us when we're the ones making all this possible. If it wasn't for us, Lundby would still be the abandoned village that it was only half a year ago."
"Well, the iron mine has re-opened," Bjorn commented, playing the devil's advocate. "That would see people moving to Lundby too. I bet people hesitate to move back here now that it is turned into a concentration camp."
"But the iron mine is also only possible because of the deal struck in Oslo back in November. It's all part of one big plan. And it's genius. It really is."
Approaching the village square, Geir looked over at Bjorn as if suddenly remembering something. "Did you tell Ane to be more insistent on having other people follow the rules too?" he asked.
"Yes. Yes, I did," Bjorn lied, eager to change the subject and explore the village more fully instead.
"She's full of it, isn't she?" Geir said as if to brush aside Ane's latest remark as nothing but menace. "She's making a fortune, thanks to us, and she has the nerve to accuse you of being mean. What a bitch."
"She has a point, though. Doesn't she?"
"No! Of course not. Do you really think she's running that business to help people?"
"No, but she is actually paying them. That is more than we are doing."
"Really? And how much is she paying them?"
"Hundred MG per day."
Geir made a quick calculation before concluding. "Per day? Well, that is nothing."
"That's what I told her too," Bjorn answered with a nod.
"And you're right. Those people are her slaves. They are working for free. She's only barely keeping them alive."
Bjorn nodded again. "And this is a gulag of sorts after all," he added. "I don't know why I'm surprised."
"Exactly," Geir continued. "There's a reason we're here, you know. Without us, these people would be gone. They would be in Oslo, selling drugs under bridges and turning tricks in sleazy hotels."
"They would, wouldn't they?"
"You bet."
Bjorn stopped and looked around as they came to the intersection with a road leading up to the little church overlooking the village. The drizzle had stopped and he pulled his hood back off his head. A big pile of wet snow was shoved up against the bare rock next to the street, crushing a couple of bushes struggling to survive in the harsh environment.
"At least, now they're off the streets in Oslo and doing something productive," Bjorn said, contemplating the church at the top of the hill. The tall cliff behind it made it look even smaller than it would otherwise have seemed. And the white painted wooden paneling gave it an air of innocence and purity, fragile, yet strong, like a white dove ready to take to the skies.
"That's what I've been saying all along, Bjorn. This colony is a stroke of genius. We clean up our towns and cities, and people like Ane get free labor to run their factories. It's a win win for everybody."
"Except for the asylum seekers, of course," Bjorn corrected.
"Yes, of course, but we never asked those people to come to our country, did we."
"No."
"So they have no reason to complain," Geir concluded, pulling back the hood of his jacket and glancing over towards the village square.
The two men started walking again, crossing the road diagonally in the direction of the square.
"But this Ane really pisses me off," Geir continued. "Here she is, making a fortune, yet she has the nerve to criticize us when we're the ones making all this possible. If it wasn't for us, Lundby would still be the abandoned village that it was only half a year ago."
"Well, the iron mine has re-opened," Bjorn commented, playing the devil's advocate. "That would see people moving to Lundby too. I bet people hesitate to move back here now that it is turned into a concentration camp."
"But the iron mine is also only possible because of the deal struck in Oslo back in November. It's all part of one big plan. And it's genius. It really is."
Approaching the village square, Geir looked over at Bjorn as if suddenly remembering something. "Did you tell Ane to be more insistent on having other people follow the rules too?" he asked.
"Yes. Yes, I did," Bjorn lied, eager to change the subject and explore the village more fully instead.
Friday, March 7, 2014
33
Bjorn was about to ask Ane for her opinion on the captain's vision of Lundby as a miniature China when Geir broke off the budding conversation.
"As I was saying," Geir interjected, giving the captain a stern look from under his hood. "This whole place will be shut down if you fail to observe the rules."
"Yes, I think I got that by now," the captain answered, clearly irritated with the man.
"But, and this is important," Geir continued, ignoring the captain's remark. "If you do your policing well, and manage to foil an attempt by the asylum seekers to escape, we will reward you for your diligence."
"Is that so? And what sort of reward would that be?"
"It depends on the scale of the break out. You can read all about it in our rules and regulations."
"So I can make money by catching someone trying to escape?" the captain persisted, suddenly interested in what Geir had to say.
"You can," Geir confirmed with a self important smile. "It pays to know the rules of the game, you know."
"Interesting..."
The captain looked over at Ane who nodded in confirmation. Having actually read the rules, she sent the captain a knowing smile, as if to say "I know what you are thinking." Then she turned to Geir, asking him if this would be all.
"Yes, I think we've covered all now," Geir confirmed. "And remember to keep anyone doing business with you informed of the rules and regulations. We don´t want any mishaps, do we?"
"No, we don´t," Ane replied. Then, turning to the captain she continued. "I'll let you know when the fish is ready to be loaded back on board. I'll be in my office if you need to talk to me."
Ane gestured in the direction of the gated fence at the end of her property, before leading Geir and Bjorn away from the fishing boat. The three walked in silence before stopping at the gate. Then, just as Ane was about to let the two out, she turned to Bjorn, asking him if he would like to help the refugees by contributing to the local charity.
"What do you mean?" Bjorn asked, puzzled by her remark.
"Well, you´re concerned about the refugees' well being, are you not?"
"Yes... But..."
"And you, just like me, are making a living from looking after these people."
"Yes... But I'm not employing them, am I."
"Exactly, so you are making money from their misery without contributing one penny to their well being."
"Hey... I'm paid by the state. I'm just doing my job. You are the one exploiting these people."
"Really?" Ane asked with her cold deliberate stare.
Ane unlocked the gate and let the two men out. Then she continued. "If you change your mind, you can go up there to make your contribution to their charity." Ane pointed in the direction of the church, partially visible from where they were standing. "Who knows, you may need their help one day yourself."
"As I was saying," Geir interjected, giving the captain a stern look from under his hood. "This whole place will be shut down if you fail to observe the rules."
"Yes, I think I got that by now," the captain answered, clearly irritated with the man.
"But, and this is important," Geir continued, ignoring the captain's remark. "If you do your policing well, and manage to foil an attempt by the asylum seekers to escape, we will reward you for your diligence."
"Is that so? And what sort of reward would that be?"
"It depends on the scale of the break out. You can read all about it in our rules and regulations."
"So I can make money by catching someone trying to escape?" the captain persisted, suddenly interested in what Geir had to say.
"You can," Geir confirmed with a self important smile. "It pays to know the rules of the game, you know."
"Interesting..."
The captain looked over at Ane who nodded in confirmation. Having actually read the rules, she sent the captain a knowing smile, as if to say "I know what you are thinking." Then she turned to Geir, asking him if this would be all.
"Yes, I think we've covered all now," Geir confirmed. "And remember to keep anyone doing business with you informed of the rules and regulations. We don´t want any mishaps, do we?"
"No, we don´t," Ane replied. Then, turning to the captain she continued. "I'll let you know when the fish is ready to be loaded back on board. I'll be in my office if you need to talk to me."
Ane gestured in the direction of the gated fence at the end of her property, before leading Geir and Bjorn away from the fishing boat. The three walked in silence before stopping at the gate. Then, just as Ane was about to let the two out, she turned to Bjorn, asking him if he would like to help the refugees by contributing to the local charity.
"What do you mean?" Bjorn asked, puzzled by her remark.
"Well, you´re concerned about the refugees' well being, are you not?"
"Yes... But..."
"And you, just like me, are making a living from looking after these people."
"Yes... But I'm not employing them, am I."
"Exactly, so you are making money from their misery without contributing one penny to their well being."
"Hey... I'm paid by the state. I'm just doing my job. You are the one exploiting these people."
"Really?" Ane asked with her cold deliberate stare.
Ane unlocked the gate and let the two men out. Then she continued. "If you change your mind, you can go up there to make your contribution to their charity." Ane pointed in the direction of the church, partially visible from where they were standing. "Who knows, you may need their help one day yourself."
Thursday, March 6, 2014
32
Stepping outside, Bjorn and Ane were met with shrieking seagulls and a light drizzle. Geir, talking to the captain over by the boat, had pulled the hood of his green army jacket up over his head to avoid the wetness drifting in from the fjord. The captain, perfectly covered from top to toe by thick water resistant gear, looked unimpressed by the weather, and even less impressed by Geir who was clearly in the middle of some mind numbing monologue.
Quickly reaching for his hood to cover his head, Bjorn walked over to the boat with Ane by his side, with Ane tilting her head somewhat to keep the drizzle from getting in her face. With her hat functioning as a small umbrella, and the trench coat keeping the rest of her dry, she was almost as well protected against the weather as the captain who lit up the moment he caught sight of her.
"Ah, there you are!" The captain exclaimed, breaking Geir off mid sentence in whatever he was lecturing. "As you can see, we have finished unloading, and I'm wondering how long it will be before you're ready with our fish?"
"Well, we are already stacking up the finished product over by the gate," Ane said with a proud smile. "We're probably ready in another two hours."
"Great! That leaves us with plenty of time to clean the hull, and even go for a quick visit to the village. I have not been here for ages."
Ane made a short pause, looking around and sending a quick glance up in the air to observe the birds circling overhead.
"Nothing has changed," she said returning her glance to the captain. "Yet everything is different. You´ll like it though. The place is full of optimism."
"So I've heard..."
There was another short pause, and Bjorn, curious to learn more about Ane's business used the opportunity to ask the captain about the fish.
"So you are taking the processed fish with you?" Bjorn asked. "Where to?"
"The fish depot in Kirkenes," the captain answered happy to explain. "You won't believe this, but we used to send this fish to China by plane to have it processed, and then returned to Bergen for distribution. Now, thanks to Ane, we can get the fish processed right here in Norway. It saves us a lot of back and forth. And I fetch a better price for my fish."
"To China? That makes no sense. Why?"
"It was cheaper that way. Labor cost here in Norway is so high that sending the fish half way across the world for processing actually made sense. Until Ane opened this business, that is. This colony is going to be like a little China one day."
"You think so?" Bjoen asked genuinely curious to hear the captain's view.
"Sure! With labor practically free, this place will be like a tiny China right here at the edge of the world."
Quickly reaching for his hood to cover his head, Bjorn walked over to the boat with Ane by his side, with Ane tilting her head somewhat to keep the drizzle from getting in her face. With her hat functioning as a small umbrella, and the trench coat keeping the rest of her dry, she was almost as well protected against the weather as the captain who lit up the moment he caught sight of her.
"Ah, there you are!" The captain exclaimed, breaking Geir off mid sentence in whatever he was lecturing. "As you can see, we have finished unloading, and I'm wondering how long it will be before you're ready with our fish?"
"Well, we are already stacking up the finished product over by the gate," Ane said with a proud smile. "We're probably ready in another two hours."
"Great! That leaves us with plenty of time to clean the hull, and even go for a quick visit to the village. I have not been here for ages."
Ane made a short pause, looking around and sending a quick glance up in the air to observe the birds circling overhead.
"Nothing has changed," she said returning her glance to the captain. "Yet everything is different. You´ll like it though. The place is full of optimism."
"So I've heard..."
There was another short pause, and Bjorn, curious to learn more about Ane's business used the opportunity to ask the captain about the fish.
"So you are taking the processed fish with you?" Bjorn asked. "Where to?"
"The fish depot in Kirkenes," the captain answered happy to explain. "You won't believe this, but we used to send this fish to China by plane to have it processed, and then returned to Bergen for distribution. Now, thanks to Ane, we can get the fish processed right here in Norway. It saves us a lot of back and forth. And I fetch a better price for my fish."
"To China? That makes no sense. Why?"
"It was cheaper that way. Labor cost here in Norway is so high that sending the fish half way across the world for processing actually made sense. Until Ane opened this business, that is. This colony is going to be like a little China one day."
"You think so?" Bjoen asked genuinely curious to hear the captain's view.
"Sure! With labor practically free, this place will be like a tiny China right here at the edge of the world."
Wednesday, March 5, 2014
31
Bjorn was clearly pushing his luck with Ane with his criticism of her low wages, and it was time to change the subject so as not to antagonizing her further. He looked around in the factory, as if looking for signs of suffering and not finding it.
"Well, they do seem very motivated and eager," Bjorn commented, noticing as he said this that he was in fact completely truthful about his observation.
"And so they are," Ane answered confidently. "They are all happy to work for me, or else they would not be here, would they?"
Bjorn had no answer to this, and after a moment of silence he decided to change the topic completely.
"We have found nothing lacking in the way you follow the regulations," Bjorn said, looking around once more as if he was still inspecting the place.
"Good, so you will be leaving now?" Ane replied, giving Bjorn her cold look as he returned his glance to her.
"Yes, I guess so."
"Okay, I'll show you out."
Ane gestured towards the gate, and the two started walking.
"It is quite a place you got here," Bjorn ventured, hoping to set off a better tone between the two before returning to the check point. "Is it all yours?"
"With the exception of some minority owners in Oslo, it is."
"So you got family in Oslo?"
"Family?" Ane answered with a puzzled look.
"Yeah, isn't this a family business?"
"It is. But I'm my grandfather's only grandchild," Ane explained with a smile, realizing what Bjorn was driving at. "My buddies in Oslo are no relatives of mine. They are in on this purely for the money."
"So you sold a part of this to raise capital?" Bjorn continued, happy to see Ane talkative again.
"You could say that, if you count political capital as capital."
The two stopped by the gate with Ane giving Bjorn a telling glance as if she had just revealed a big dirty secret.
"I took some lessons from grandpa, in a way," Ane continued before pulling aside an opening in the plastic curtain. "I don't think they will shut down this place any time soon."
"Well, they do seem very motivated and eager," Bjorn commented, noticing as he said this that he was in fact completely truthful about his observation.
"And so they are," Ane answered confidently. "They are all happy to work for me, or else they would not be here, would they?"
Bjorn had no answer to this, and after a moment of silence he decided to change the topic completely.
"We have found nothing lacking in the way you follow the regulations," Bjorn said, looking around once more as if he was still inspecting the place.
"Good, so you will be leaving now?" Ane replied, giving Bjorn her cold look as he returned his glance to her.
"Yes, I guess so."
"Okay, I'll show you out."
Ane gestured towards the gate, and the two started walking.
"It is quite a place you got here," Bjorn ventured, hoping to set off a better tone between the two before returning to the check point. "Is it all yours?"
"With the exception of some minority owners in Oslo, it is."
"So you got family in Oslo?"
"Family?" Ane answered with a puzzled look.
"Yeah, isn't this a family business?"
"It is. But I'm my grandfather's only grandchild," Ane explained with a smile, realizing what Bjorn was driving at. "My buddies in Oslo are no relatives of mine. They are in on this purely for the money."
"So you sold a part of this to raise capital?" Bjorn continued, happy to see Ane talkative again.
"You could say that, if you count political capital as capital."
The two stopped by the gate with Ane giving Bjorn a telling glance as if she had just revealed a big dirty secret.
"I took some lessons from grandpa, in a way," Ane continued before pulling aside an opening in the plastic curtain. "I don't think they will shut down this place any time soon."
Wednesday, February 26, 2014
30
Ane looked very pleased with herself as she walked over to Bjorn, leaving the workers at the end of the production line to resume their activities.
"They were planning to park the fish outside," Ane explained. "A terrible idea. It is difficult enough to keep the seagulls away from the fish we're hauling into the plant, so you can imagine what would happen if we left these crates with finished product out there for the birds to peck into."
"It would be a right mess, wouldn't it?" replied Bjorn, stating the obvious.
"You could say that again. But some of these people have never seen the sea before, let alone seagulls, so I guess they can be forgiven for coming up with such a silly idea."
Bjorn was happy to see Ane so talkative, and eager to keep her that way he glanced over at two men pulling a cartload of finished product over towards the sea side wall.
"So you told them to put the fish over there?" Bjorn asked.
Ane followed his glance. "Yes, that's the idea," she concurred, joining Bjorn in observing the men. Then, as the men stopped by the gate, Ane raised her hand in approval, signalling that the men could go ahead and park the fish at their chosen spot.
The two men, an African and an Asian smiled and waved back at Ane, clearly happy for her approval, and this made Bjorn again curious about the sort of conditions the workers were labouring under. He could not quite make up his mind as to the nature of what he was witnessing. The smiles of the workers, taking pride in doing things right, did not quite square up with the drab and dreary vision of a gulag. But on the other hand, Ane was in possession of a gun, and probably for good reasons.
"How much are you paying them?" Bjorn ventured, hoping he wasn't overstepping his welcome by asking such a loaded question.
"Hundred MG per day," Ane replied without hesitation, clearly not bothered by the fact that so little money could hardly be considered a living wage.
"But that's nothing," Bjorn protested. "Nobody can live on that."
"Well, they are alive, aren't they?" Ane replied, with her cold stare returning in a flash.
"But you can hardly get a loaf of bread for so little these days," Bjorn continued, ignoring Ane's stare, feeling rightfully outraged on behalf of the workers.
Ane paused as if considering whether or not to bother a reply. Then, apparently sensing that Bjorn was genuinely interested in some sort of explanation, she continued.
"They are paid what they are worth. There is no shortage of labour, you know. And in a few weeks time, there will be thousands coming up here, and then I may well pay them even less."
"Less than a hundred MG? There is no way anyone can survive on so little," Bjorn protested.
"Want to bet?" Ane replied. "Do you have any idea what things cost up here?"
Bjorn was suddenly reminded of the five hundred MG that he was carrying in his pocket, which Ante had assured him was enough for a full night of fun in the village. And it suddenly dawned on him that prices may indeed be radically different in the village from what he was used to in Oslo.
Bjorn had to admit that he did not in fact know what things cost in Lundby. "But can people really live on a hundred MG a day?"
"Well, clearly they do," Ane answered. "Do these people look as if they are starving?"
"They were planning to park the fish outside," Ane explained. "A terrible idea. It is difficult enough to keep the seagulls away from the fish we're hauling into the plant, so you can imagine what would happen if we left these crates with finished product out there for the birds to peck into."
"It would be a right mess, wouldn't it?" replied Bjorn, stating the obvious.
"You could say that again. But some of these people have never seen the sea before, let alone seagulls, so I guess they can be forgiven for coming up with such a silly idea."
Bjorn was happy to see Ane so talkative, and eager to keep her that way he glanced over at two men pulling a cartload of finished product over towards the sea side wall.
"So you told them to put the fish over there?" Bjorn asked.
Ane followed his glance. "Yes, that's the idea," she concurred, joining Bjorn in observing the men. Then, as the men stopped by the gate, Ane raised her hand in approval, signalling that the men could go ahead and park the fish at their chosen spot.
The two men, an African and an Asian smiled and waved back at Ane, clearly happy for her approval, and this made Bjorn again curious about the sort of conditions the workers were labouring under. He could not quite make up his mind as to the nature of what he was witnessing. The smiles of the workers, taking pride in doing things right, did not quite square up with the drab and dreary vision of a gulag. But on the other hand, Ane was in possession of a gun, and probably for good reasons.
"How much are you paying them?" Bjorn ventured, hoping he wasn't overstepping his welcome by asking such a loaded question.
"Hundred MG per day," Ane replied without hesitation, clearly not bothered by the fact that so little money could hardly be considered a living wage.
"But that's nothing," Bjorn protested. "Nobody can live on that."
"Well, they are alive, aren't they?" Ane replied, with her cold stare returning in a flash.
"But you can hardly get a loaf of bread for so little these days," Bjorn continued, ignoring Ane's stare, feeling rightfully outraged on behalf of the workers.
Ane paused as if considering whether or not to bother a reply. Then, apparently sensing that Bjorn was genuinely interested in some sort of explanation, she continued.
"They are paid what they are worth. There is no shortage of labour, you know. And in a few weeks time, there will be thousands coming up here, and then I may well pay them even less."
"Less than a hundred MG? There is no way anyone can survive on so little," Bjorn protested.
"Want to bet?" Ane replied. "Do you have any idea what things cost up here?"
Bjorn was suddenly reminded of the five hundred MG that he was carrying in his pocket, which Ante had assured him was enough for a full night of fun in the village. And it suddenly dawned on him that prices may indeed be radically different in the village from what he was used to in Oslo.
Bjorn had to admit that he did not in fact know what things cost in Lundby. "But can people really live on a hundred MG a day?"
"Well, clearly they do," Ane answered. "Do these people look as if they are starving?"
Tuesday, February 25, 2014
29
By the time Geir and Bjorn were back by the fishing boat, Ane had gone inside, presumably to take care of some business. The two men stopped and looked around, and Geir took up his usual self important pose as he observed the activity around the boat with a critical eye. Then he shook his head as if in quiet despair over the ignorance displayed by the fishermen. "No, no, no," he mumbled before turning to Bjorn. "You see how they drop the crates too close to the line?"
"Yeah, almost on top of it," Bjorn answered, again worried that his ignorance of the rules might be exposed.
"Exactly. It leaves no room for the workers to get behind the crates without crossing the line. We can't have that."
"No, that will only encourage them to break the rules." Bjorn ventured, again trying to make himself sound knowledgeable.
"Exactly. I seriously doubt that the captain is properly familiar with how things have to be done when doing business here in Lundby."
Then, after a short pause, Geir continued: "Why don't you go in and tell Ane that everything is in order, but that she has to be more insistent on other people, like this captain, doing things properly too. I'll straighten out these fishermen in the meantime."
Bjorn suspected that Geir had grown so irritated with Ane that he disliked the idea of confronting her again, and that this was the true reason behind Geir's suggestion. But Bjorn had only grown more fascinated with the woman, and was more than happy to have another chance to talk to her, so he accepted Geir's suggestion without hesitation. He headed for the nearest gate, pushed through the heavy plastic strips, and immediately caught sight of Ane down at the end of the production line. She was busy explaining something to one of the workers, and not wanting to disturb her while in the middle of whatever she was talking about, he stopped at a discreet distance, just close enough to make it abundantly clear that he was waiting in line for her.
Taking another full view of the processing plant, Bjorn's attention was again drawn to the production line where water and fish gut littered the floor. Two men, each with a hose, were spewing the mess towards open drains where it dropped down and slithered out of sight. The fish gut was clearly sprayed directly down into the water below, which explained why the seagulls that had first circled the fishing boat, had in increasing numbers disappeared in under the quay with their shrill shrieks and aggressive presence.
However, other seagulls had flocked to the quay from all around, and their total number had reached unpleasant levels outside. If it had not been for the plastic curtains in front of the gates, the factory floor would probably have been full of the pesky aggressive birds by now, and the whole processing business would have been impossible.
"Yeah, almost on top of it," Bjorn answered, again worried that his ignorance of the rules might be exposed.
"Exactly. It leaves no room for the workers to get behind the crates without crossing the line. We can't have that."
"No, that will only encourage them to break the rules." Bjorn ventured, again trying to make himself sound knowledgeable.
"Exactly. I seriously doubt that the captain is properly familiar with how things have to be done when doing business here in Lundby."
Then, after a short pause, Geir continued: "Why don't you go in and tell Ane that everything is in order, but that she has to be more insistent on other people, like this captain, doing things properly too. I'll straighten out these fishermen in the meantime."
Bjorn suspected that Geir had grown so irritated with Ane that he disliked the idea of confronting her again, and that this was the true reason behind Geir's suggestion. But Bjorn had only grown more fascinated with the woman, and was more than happy to have another chance to talk to her, so he accepted Geir's suggestion without hesitation. He headed for the nearest gate, pushed through the heavy plastic strips, and immediately caught sight of Ane down at the end of the production line. She was busy explaining something to one of the workers, and not wanting to disturb her while in the middle of whatever she was talking about, he stopped at a discreet distance, just close enough to make it abundantly clear that he was waiting in line for her.
Taking another full view of the processing plant, Bjorn's attention was again drawn to the production line where water and fish gut littered the floor. Two men, each with a hose, were spewing the mess towards open drains where it dropped down and slithered out of sight. The fish gut was clearly sprayed directly down into the water below, which explained why the seagulls that had first circled the fishing boat, had in increasing numbers disappeared in under the quay with their shrill shrieks and aggressive presence.
However, other seagulls had flocked to the quay from all around, and their total number had reached unpleasant levels outside. If it had not been for the plastic curtains in front of the gates, the factory floor would probably have been full of the pesky aggressive birds by now, and the whole processing business would have been impossible.
Thursday, February 13, 2014
28
Ane led the way down the stairs and across the factory floor. Wearing a water proof trench coat and a broad-rimmed hat she looked like someone taken straight out of a western movie. However, her outfit was in no way covering up her feminine appearance, and she made no effort to appear masculine in any way. Her long dark hair flowed freely down her back, and she moved with a natural elegance matching her stature and gender. If anything, her outfit only served to highlight her femininity.
The factory floor was teeming with activity. Not only were groups of workers hauling fish into the factory from outside, groups of women were already manning the conveyor belts, processing and packaging fish. They were all dressed in white water tight gowns and wearing thick orange gloves to protect their hands from the cold and the water.
Three groups of women, each sitting at the head of a conveyor belt on the receiving end of the production line, were busy gutting the fish and cleaning it with liberal amounts of water before tossing it onto the conveyor belt in front of them, sending the fish on its way down to a point where the conveyor belts merged and dropped the it onto a single belt.
The single belt was in turn manned by another group of women who picked up the clean fish and put it into crates, carefully arranging the fish, tail to head for optimal packaging. And every time a woman had filled a crate, she released it from her station by pulling a small lever, allowing it to move across a series of rollers to its final destination while she put another empty crate in front of her to repeat the process.
A small group of workers manned the final station where the crates rolled onto a large electronic scale to be weighed and labelled, after which the workers covered the fish in crushed ice and sealed it off for transportation.
"We really need a fork lift," Ane remarked as she led Bjorn and Geir past the second conveyor belt where two women and a small Asian man were struggling with four crates of fish stacked on top of each other. "I wish grandpa hadn´t sold the one we had."
"Your grandpa?" Bjorn enquired, curious to learn more about Ane´s connection to the place.
"Yeah, he had to sell it of course. The poor man was stabbed in the back."
"Really?"
"Well, not literally of course. But he was promised all sorts of subsidies and help from Oslo, and it never materialized. He sank his fortune into this, and it was all for nothing, until now that is... But that is of little comfort to him now... He would have loved to see this place up and going again, though."
Coming out on the quay in front of the plant, Ane switched the subject back to the rules and regulations that were the sole purpose of Bjorn and Geir´s visit. A yellow line was painted on the concrete surface, parallel to the waterside, and now that it was pointed out to him, Bjorn could see that the line stretched the entire length of the quay down to the fence with the barbed wire. He must have seen it when he entered the area, but must have overlooked it completely, not understanding the significance of it.
To Bjorn´s surprise, Geir wasted no time pulling out a measuring tape from his pocket, handing the lip of it to Bjorn and asking him to hunch down and place it at the land side of the yellow line. Taken a little aback by the suddenness of Geir's action, Bjorn nevertheless did as he was told and hunched down next to line. Geir on his side rolled out the tape to measure the distance to the edge of the quay, and it was clear that Geir was taking the business of inspecting the premises way more seriously than Bjorn had imagined.
Realizing that it was becoming increasingly clear that he himself had no idea about the exact wording of the rules, Bjorn tried to make himself sound at least remotely informed by commenting on the measurement that Geir read out loud.
"Two meters exactly," Bjorn said. "That´s good."
"Good? That leaves no margin at all."
"True!" Bjorn confirmed, and guessing the rule´s exact wording, he added "it should be at least two meters."
"Right! Some people go about these rules as if they prescribe exact measurements. Operating with such tight margins makes it damn hard to know if the rule is properly followed." Geir gave Ane a stern glance as he said this. "Come on, Bjorn, lets measure the line a bit further up."
The two men walked first down towards the fence, making several measurements, and then back up away from the fence, quietly ignoring Ane as they passed her. However, every measurement came in at exactly two meters, which clearly irritated Geir who kept repeating how such pedantic accuracy makes life hard for inspectors such as himself.
Finally giving up on trying to find a place where the line might be too close to the edge, Geir straightened up, giving the line a good hard look, before asking Bjorn if he had seen anyone crossing the line.
"No. Everyone seems to be following the rules," Bjorn replied, pleased to have another chance to pretend that he had actually read the rules.
"It looks indeed as if everything is in order," Geir continued, barely able to hide his irritation with Ane and her pedantic accuracy in drawing the line for the no go zone.
Bjorn could not muster much sympathy for Geir, though, and turned his attention instead to several box-like living units. The wooden barracks, placed next to the factory and stacked two levels high, were dwarfed by the protective rock along which the quay was built. They looked tiny and flimsy, and Bjorn wondered out loud about the plight of the workers, hoping to change the topic away from the yellow line that was absorbing all of Geir's attention.
"So this is where Ane keeps her cattle," Bjorn remarked, pointing to the living units.
"Cattle?" Geir responded, not getting what Bjorn was driving at.
"The workers," Bjorn corrected. "The barracks are for the workers, aren't they?"
"Yeah, I guess so. Why?" Geir asked, starting to walk back towards the fishing boat.
"Don´t you think it a little suspicious?" Bjorn insisted, tagging along with Geir.
"Well, what did you expect? Ane can´t very well let the poor buggers freeze to death, can she?"
The factory floor was teeming with activity. Not only were groups of workers hauling fish into the factory from outside, groups of women were already manning the conveyor belts, processing and packaging fish. They were all dressed in white water tight gowns and wearing thick orange gloves to protect their hands from the cold and the water.
Three groups of women, each sitting at the head of a conveyor belt on the receiving end of the production line, were busy gutting the fish and cleaning it with liberal amounts of water before tossing it onto the conveyor belt in front of them, sending the fish on its way down to a point where the conveyor belts merged and dropped the it onto a single belt.
The single belt was in turn manned by another group of women who picked up the clean fish and put it into crates, carefully arranging the fish, tail to head for optimal packaging. And every time a woman had filled a crate, she released it from her station by pulling a small lever, allowing it to move across a series of rollers to its final destination while she put another empty crate in front of her to repeat the process.
A small group of workers manned the final station where the crates rolled onto a large electronic scale to be weighed and labelled, after which the workers covered the fish in crushed ice and sealed it off for transportation.
"We really need a fork lift," Ane remarked as she led Bjorn and Geir past the second conveyor belt where two women and a small Asian man were struggling with four crates of fish stacked on top of each other. "I wish grandpa hadn´t sold the one we had."
"Your grandpa?" Bjorn enquired, curious to learn more about Ane´s connection to the place.
"Yeah, he had to sell it of course. The poor man was stabbed in the back."
"Really?"
"Well, not literally of course. But he was promised all sorts of subsidies and help from Oslo, and it never materialized. He sank his fortune into this, and it was all for nothing, until now that is... But that is of little comfort to him now... He would have loved to see this place up and going again, though."
Coming out on the quay in front of the plant, Ane switched the subject back to the rules and regulations that were the sole purpose of Bjorn and Geir´s visit. A yellow line was painted on the concrete surface, parallel to the waterside, and now that it was pointed out to him, Bjorn could see that the line stretched the entire length of the quay down to the fence with the barbed wire. He must have seen it when he entered the area, but must have overlooked it completely, not understanding the significance of it.
To Bjorn´s surprise, Geir wasted no time pulling out a measuring tape from his pocket, handing the lip of it to Bjorn and asking him to hunch down and place it at the land side of the yellow line. Taken a little aback by the suddenness of Geir's action, Bjorn nevertheless did as he was told and hunched down next to line. Geir on his side rolled out the tape to measure the distance to the edge of the quay, and it was clear that Geir was taking the business of inspecting the premises way more seriously than Bjorn had imagined.
Realizing that it was becoming increasingly clear that he himself had no idea about the exact wording of the rules, Bjorn tried to make himself sound at least remotely informed by commenting on the measurement that Geir read out loud.
"Two meters exactly," Bjorn said. "That´s good."
"Good? That leaves no margin at all."
"True!" Bjorn confirmed, and guessing the rule´s exact wording, he added "it should be at least two meters."
"Right! Some people go about these rules as if they prescribe exact measurements. Operating with such tight margins makes it damn hard to know if the rule is properly followed." Geir gave Ane a stern glance as he said this. "Come on, Bjorn, lets measure the line a bit further up."
The two men walked first down towards the fence, making several measurements, and then back up away from the fence, quietly ignoring Ane as they passed her. However, every measurement came in at exactly two meters, which clearly irritated Geir who kept repeating how such pedantic accuracy makes life hard for inspectors such as himself.
Finally giving up on trying to find a place where the line might be too close to the edge, Geir straightened up, giving the line a good hard look, before asking Bjorn if he had seen anyone crossing the line.
"No. Everyone seems to be following the rules," Bjorn replied, pleased to have another chance to pretend that he had actually read the rules.
"It looks indeed as if everything is in order," Geir continued, barely able to hide his irritation with Ane and her pedantic accuracy in drawing the line for the no go zone.
Bjorn could not muster much sympathy for Geir, though, and turned his attention instead to several box-like living units. The wooden barracks, placed next to the factory and stacked two levels high, were dwarfed by the protective rock along which the quay was built. They looked tiny and flimsy, and Bjorn wondered out loud about the plight of the workers, hoping to change the topic away from the yellow line that was absorbing all of Geir's attention.
"So this is where Ane keeps her cattle," Bjorn remarked, pointing to the living units.
"Cattle?" Geir responded, not getting what Bjorn was driving at.
"The workers," Bjorn corrected. "The barracks are for the workers, aren't they?"
"Yeah, I guess so. Why?" Geir asked, starting to walk back towards the fishing boat.
"Don´t you think it a little suspicious?" Bjorn insisted, tagging along with Geir.
"Well, what did you expect? Ane can´t very well let the poor buggers freeze to death, can she?"
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