152

"What was that all about?" Bjorn asked Ante immediately after leaving the pharmacy.
"What?"
"The heroin thing."
"Well, what do you think? I mean... heroin... And I could buy it just like that."
"Yeah?"
"Hey! Wouldn't that be cool?" Ante asked, making a sweeping gesture with his hands. "Have a bottle of heroin available, just in case."
"You were seriously considering buying it, weren't you?"
"Yeah, I was. Just, you know, to have it."

Bjorn shook his head.

"And take it with you up to the checkpoint?" Bjorn continued.
"Yeah, of course."
"That would have been kind of illegal, wouldn't it?"
"Yep, it would. Just like your cannabis oil," Ante retorted with a big smile.

Bjorn looked at Ante, suddenly realizing the obvious. He had just bought himself a bottle of contraband, and would have to smuggle it into his room on returning to the checkpoint.

"Gosh, I didn't think of that."
"You didn't did you?" Ante said, still smiling from ear to ear. "That David guy really convinced you, didn't he."
"But he said this is better, better than the synthetic alternative, that is."
"But even that would have been illegal," Ante continued. "I'm sure the alternative is a prescription drug, and you haven't been to a doctor, have you?"
"No, but..."
"But what?"

Bjorn had to think for a moment. He felt very confident that he had been well advised, and that the medicine he was carrying would at its worst be harmless, and at its best be quite effective. Yet, Ante was right. He was carrying contraband, and was technically speaking breaking Norwegian law.

"You're not going to tell anyone, are you?" Bjorn asked.
"No, of course not. But I have to say I find this whole thing amusing."
"You do?"
"Yeah. Here we are. Two representatives of the law, preparing to smuggle contraband into the checkpoint. It says quite a lot, doesn't it?"
"Like what?"

Ante looked over at the vicarage where a small line was forming with some truly miserable looking people.

"You didn't think of it being illegal when you bought it, did you?" Ante asked.
"No, I didn't," Bjorn confessed.
"And why was that, you think?"
"Well, David came across as pretty serious, didn't he?"
"Yeah?"

Bjorn didn't know what more to say, and being distracted by the sight of people in front of the vicarage, he stopped and changed the subject completely.

"They are lining up for soup, aren't they?" Bjorn asked.
"Looks like it, doesn't it," Ante confirmed with a nod.
"But they are not letting them in, are they?" Bjorn continued.

Then, before Ante could vent his opinion, the door of the vicarage opened, and out came Elisabeth and Aung, each with a small tray with Styrofoam cups, which they proceeded to hand out to the people who had gathered outside.

"Looks like they are keeping them at an arm's length," Ante commented.
"That's kind of condescending, isn't it?"
"It is," Ante agreed. "But to let them in... Would you?"
"Sure, why not? It's a big house. I mean... if they are serious about charity, shouldn't they?"
"And risk getting stuck with these people?"
"Well..."

Bjorn had to admit to himself that the sad looking group hardly was the kind of people he would have eagerly welcomed into his home. But a charity should operate differently, he felt, and was about to formulate this idea when Ante broke it off by pointing out that Bjorn was doing precisely nothing for the people over by the vicarage, and should for that reason be a little careful about criticizing the well doers.

"But..." Bjorn protested, still unable to articulate his objection.
"But what?"
"It's not the way we do it, is it? Like in the rest of Norway."
"It isn't?"
"No. I was unemployed for more than a year, and I never had to stand in any line."
"Ah... But what about those who can't even find their way to the unemployment office? You know... the really down and out people."
"The bums?"
"Yeah?"
"Well... I don't know."
"You never bothered to find out, did you?"
"Ah... no."
"But my sister who lives in Oslo works every now and again at a soup kitchen. And it's quite overwhelming at times, she says. And lately it's been getting much worse."
"Really?"
"Yep."
"And?"
"She says you just can't get too involved in these people, because they will drag you down. They really will. It's just too much. So you just have to put up a distance, a polite one for sure, but nevertheless a distance. And that's exactly what they are doing over there. It's the only way to run a charity. You have to keep a distance. You can't get involved in every little tragedy out there."

Ante started walking again.

"But if you do it right," Ante continued, getting Bjorn along with him. "You can keep it going for ever. And it can be very rewarding. Especially if you manage to do more than just feed them, but lift them out. Help them get a job. Get them back on their feet. That's what charity is all about in the end."
"Except for those who can never get a job, like cripples and retards," Bjorn commented.
"Yeah, but that's different. Those people over there are neither cripples nor retards. They may be depressed or hooked on drugs or whatnot. But they are not completely incapable of doing anything useful."

Bjorn still thought the whole thing condescending, almost to the point of being cruel. But he knew, despite his objections, that Ante was right. Things were no different in Oslo. And anyone crazy enough to open their home unconditionally to the needy would quickly find themselves completely drained both physically and emotionally.

"Unlimited generosity is a silly utopian idea," Ante commented, as if he had listened in on Bjorn's private thoughts. "It will quickly drain the life blood from anyone attempting it. And in the end, everyone will be worse off. The charity will be dead, and the recipients will have nowhere to go."

121

The village was relatively quiet, but by no means dead. Several market stalls in the village square were open, with their customers a mix of tired night owls and perky early birds.

Ante drove around the square in the direction of the parking lot. But instead of driving up the knoll to park his car he passed it by.

"Let's see if we can find the bowling alley everybody were talking about," Ante said, as he drove past the knoll towards the narrow street leading in behind the casino.

Bjorn nodded, thinking "why not", and started looking for the bowling alley, which turned out to be very easy to find. It was located along the road right behind the casino with a big neon sign above it saying "bowling" in bold letters, with the o drawn in the shape of a bowling ball, and the i and the l shaped as pegs.

The bowling alley was located next to a large shed that served as an auto garage, and with Ante driving slowly passed it, Bjorn had no trouble getting an impression of the place. There were at least three cars in there, and two men were hunched over the engine of one of them, clearly busy at work.

"This place really has everything," Bjorn commented as Ante took another left to get back to the square.
"It does seem so, doesn't it?" Ante agreed. "And to imagine that these people would otherwise have been locked up in the old asylum centres. What a waste of human resources."
"Yeah, you got a point there," Bjorn said with a nod. "It's actually better for everyone, isn't it? Bringing them all up her, I mean."
"Well, I think so anyway. It is a shame the way they have been treated."
"So why do you think they're protesting in places like Lier?"
"Good question. They must be thinking that this is some kind of hell."
"And it is, in a way, isn't it?" Bjorn said cheekily, knowing full well that Ante was rather fond of the arctic.
"Careful now, Bjorn!" Ante replied. "You're talking about my parent's home town. I have fond memories of this place, you know."
"I know. I just couldn't help myself."

Then, as Ante circled the village square a second time, Bjorn noticed the young black boy who had begged for money the other day, still hanging around Pingo where the odd bargain hunter was coming out with trolley loads of stuff. And sure enough, he was already at it, running over to people to offer his help as they came out of Pingo.

"You don't see that much any more do you?" Bjorn wondered out loud as he saw the kid rush over to a man with a full trolley.
"What?" Ante asked.
"Kids offering to help people for a penny or two."
"No, kids stopped doing that long time ago."

Bjorn nodded thoughtfully. He could remember his grandmother telling him about these things still being quite common during her father's time, and wondering whatever happened to that kind of service oriented attitude. So even his grandmother thought it a forgotten habit. Yet, here in Lundby, the olden days were in some respect being revived. Kids were out in the streets looking for ways to make a penny or two.

The desperation caused by the rampant poverty in the village had revived the old and much forgotten habit of always trying to find a way to make a penny.

94

Back inside the casino everything seemed louder and more intense than when he left, and Bjorn felt again a relief from knowing that he would not have to hang around there waiting for his colleagues. He was on his way back to the checkpoint, and all he had to do was to tell his colleagues that he had found himself a taxi.

"I haven't seen Frank anywhere," Bjorn told Ante as he reached their table.
"We know," Ante answered with a smile.
"Really?"
"Yeah, he appeared out of nowhere, and now he's out on the dance floor."

Bjorn turned around to see if he could see him, and there he was showing off to two girls as if he was some sort of gift to women. The girls on their side were more than happy to indulge him, but the dance floor was so crowded that it was hard to say if they were girls who just happened to enjoy his clownish behaviour, or if they were in fact impressed by his slick appearance.

"He is not exactly hiding his gun, is he?" Bjorn said as he turned back to Ante.
"No, he's not... He clearly thinks of it as a great girl magnet."
"And it seems to be working, doesn't it?"
"That, and his gold card."
"He's showing that off too?"
"Waves it about every time he's buying a drink."
"What a clown!"

Ante smiled, and nodded in the direction of Thomas and Espen sitting at the other side of the table, engaged in conversation with an attractive blond girl. "But we're not complaining," Ante added. "He's like a honey pot the way he attracts the flies."

Bjorn looked at Ante with a frown, finding his statement a little too indiscrete. "Oh... Don't you worry," Ante said with a smile. "They are all Russians. They hardly know a word of Norwegian."

Still, Bjorn found Ante a bit out of line with his derogatory comment and promptly switched the conversation to his latest discovery.

"They got taxies here in Lundby, did you know?" Bjorn proclaimed proudly.
"Really?"
"Yeah! The bouncers at the door will get you one if you need one, and I've ordered one for myself."
"You're leaving?"
"Yeah."
"All ready?"

Bjorn shrugged his shoulders. "Well, I'm an old guy I guess," he said, partly to prevent Ante from being the first to bring up his age.
"You're not that old," Ante protested. "Come on, why don't you stay. The party has just started."

Bjorn was happy to hear Ante's protest, but he had made up his mind, and the taxi was already ordered, so he excused himself, fending off Ante's protests, and headed back to the exit. He walked briskly out of the large room, noticing on his way that Jan was standing by the table where drugs were traded openly to anyone who cared to buy some. Jan was clearly engaged in some sort of business discussion, and it struck Bjorn as odd that this man who seemed to welcome both druggies and prostitutes to his establishment was at the same time a patron of the church charity, and also enforcing strict anti smoking rules on his premises. It made absolutely no sense. But at the same time, there was something refreshingly eccentric about these inconsistent rules, and it put a smile on his face.

Stepping once again out into the cold night air, Bjorn was told by the bouncer that his car would arrive in about five minutes. "Just enough time to have a cigarette," Bjorn answered, letting the bouncer know that he would be standing over by the paraffin heaters having a smoke while waiting.

The bouncer nodded silently, and Bjorn went over to the designated smokers' area to have his cigarette. There were several other people standing there, and some were sitting in the chairs that had been put outside with woolly blankets for the guests to cover up while having their smoke. But there were no familiar faces among the smokers, and Bjorn was no longer in any mood to start a conversation, so he smoked his cigarette in silence, looking idly over at the market, the church up the hill, the moon, and the people coming and going.

Then, just as he finished his cigarette, a car pulled up to the curb, and the bouncer signalled to Bjorn that this was his taxi.

93

The sense of relief that Bjorn felt on learning that he could in fact get a car to get him back to the checkpoint was surprisingly strong, and he thanked the security officer wholeheartedly for the tip. Suddenly, Bjorn had gone from being more or less trapped in Lundby to being completely free to get back to his bed without having to wait for his colleagues, and this made everything suddenly seem so much better. "What a great place this is!" Bjorn thought to himself as he crossed the street, heading directly for one of the bouncers.

"Hi! Is it true that you can help me get home?" Bjorn asked, deliberately formulating his question in an open and nonspecific way to let the bouncer make recommendations himself.
"Depends where you live," the bouncer answered. "If you're from Neiden, you're stuck."
"How about Kirkenes?" Bjorn asked, curious to hear what kind of services were available.
"Then, you might have a chance."
"Really?"
"Yeah, there are two boats going in that direction. You'll find them over by the fish factory... Kids from Kirkenes who've come over to buy cheap stuff and make a few bucks ferrying people home."
"That's a good idea!"
"It sure is. Who needs the ferry over at the port when you can get a boat directly from here?"
"True!"

The bouncer who had answered Bjorn without loosing sight of the guests coming and going, suddenly stepped forward to stop a beggar from harassing a couple of smokers.

"No begging here!" the bouncer said firmly. "If you need help, go up to the church. They run a charity."
"They are closed," the beggar protested.
"No, they are not. But even so, you can't go around hassling people here."
"Give me a break, will you."
"Not here I won't. Off you go!"

The beggar shrugged his shoulders and left, crossing the street back to the market where he came from. But even before the beggar reached the market, the Lance security officer was heading towards him, clearly prepared to send him away from the market too.

"I'm sorry about that," the bouncer said politely to the smokers who had followed the brief exchange with some discomfort. "But there is really no need for people to go around begging in this village. There are plenty of jobs for everyone."

The smokers thanked the bouncer for his intervention, but gave clear indication that they would not have minded giving the poor guy some spare change. However, the bouncer shook his head, telling them that such charity is better given to the church where they have a program to take care of the poor.

"You see that box over there?" the bouncer said, pointing to an old fashion collection box, clearly taken right out of the church. "Put whatever you would have liked to give to the beggar into it, and it will find its way to the right people."
"You think so?" one of the smokers asked sceptically. "More likely to end up being spent by some fat cat, I'd say."
The bouncer smiled politely. "Well, it's the charity that Jan supports, and he's not known for giving money away to fat cats."

"So Jan is a friend of Frederico?" Bjorn asked as he followed the bouncer back to his station by the door.
"A friend from college, I believe," the bouncer answered, still not paying much attention to Bjorn.

Bjorn found it interesting how everyone seemed to know everyone in the village, but did not pursue the thought. Instead he asked the question he had originally intended to ask.

"So you need a car?" the bouncer asked a little annoyed by Bjorn's continued presence. "Why didn't you say that right away?"
"To the checkpoint," Bjorn explained, ignoring the bouncer's rhetorical question.
"At the port?"
"No! Up the Lundby Neiden road."
"Okay," the bouncer answered, fishing out his smart phone from his pocket. "You need it now?"
"Can you give me ten minutes, I'll have to say goodbye to my buddies inside."
"Sure, go ahead, I'll get you a car."
"What will it cost me? Do you know?"
"It's sixty MG to the port, so it will be less than that."
"Less than sixty! Well, that's not much is it?"
"Not to you maybe, but it is to us," the bouncer answered with a polite smile.

41

Bjorn could not help admiring the boy's optimism in the face of the hopeless situation he and his father had gotten themselves into. With the minimal wages paid by Ane, neither the boy nor his father were likely to see their family in Senegal again any time soon. Certainly not as long as they were sending whatever little extra they were making back to their loved ones.

"Here is five MG for your help," Bjorn said, fishing out the smallest chip he could find from his pocket. "Keep the change!"
"Thank you," the boy replied, suddenly switching to Norwegian, and grinning from ear to ear.
"So you speak Norwegian, do you?" Bjorn asked, also switching to Norwegian.
"A little, I lived almost six months in Oslo before we got busted and sent up here."

Bjorn found the boy's story fascinating while Geir clearly found it less so. Impatient to get going, Geir demonstratively got into the car while Bjorn exchanged a final few words with the boy, encouraging him to keep up his Norwegian, and wishing him good luck for the future.

When the boy finally left, heading back to the village square, Bjorn discovered that he was holding the receipt from Pingo in his hand, and he was for a moment surprised by this before remembering that he had absentmindedly picked it out of one of the bags when putting away the groceries in the trunk of the car. He scanned the receipt briefly before entering the car, seating himself in the passenger seat next to Geir.

"That's interesting," Bjorn said, as Geir started the engine. "This receipt from Pingo has a field for the sales tax, and it is set to zero."
"And?" Geir asked with an irritated tone of voice that Bjorn chose to ignore.
"Well, it means that king Pedro is not collecting any taxes on the food. So we still don't know how he's making any money on this project."
"Maybe he owns Pingo," Geir suggested.
"You think he went to all this trouble just to open a grocery store in the arctic?" Bjorn asked mockingly.
"I don't know," Geir replied, even more irritated. "And you know... I don't really care either."

A bus had stopped to let out a fairly large number of passengers right next to the parking lot, and it took some maneuvering on Geir's part to avoid the many pedestrians crossing the road. Then, he drove the car over to the petrol station where a man greeted them at the pump. Geir rolled down the window on his side, and asked the man to fill up the tank.

"You don't see that very often anymore," Bjorn remarked as the man went ahead with the business of filling their tank with petrol. "In fact, I can't remember having seen this kind of service since I was a kid."
"We have thankfully progressed from back then," Geir countered while tapping the steering wheel lazily with his hand.
"Yeah," Bjorn agreed. "It is not hard to come up with this kind of services when salaries are close to zero."
"Exactly!" Geir nodded. "We have come a long way since the seventies."

40

Bjorn felt strangely exited as he stepped out into the grey outdoors together with Geir, with a bag containing three wine bottles in one hand and a bag full of carrots and cheeses in the other. Everything about the village felt both strange and familiar at the same time. Its exotic foreignness contrasting sharply with the drab predictability of its arctic setting.

A light drizzle had started once again, and Bjorn felt a sting of pity for the merchants out on the market place, struggling to keep their wares dry by covering their flimsy make shift stalls as best they could. An enterprising merchant had hammered together a roof of sorts, covered with canvas, which he slid into place with the help of three teenage kids. The others simply covered their wares with large sheets of transparent plastic.

Everything about the village seemed ad hock and badly planned. But there was no sign of despair anywhere. People seemed to accept their lot, some even with visible enthusiasm.

"You need help carrying that?" a tall black teenager asked, appearing out of nowhere.
"No," Bjorn answered instinctively, feeling uncomfortable by the sudden and uncalled for attention.
"One MG, and I'll carry it all the way home for you," the teenager insisted.
"One MG?" Bjorn asked, surprised by the miniscule amount asked for. Then, still feeling uncomfortable, he excused himself by saying he didn't carry such small change.
"That's all right," the youth continued. "I got change for as much as twenty MG." And he held up a handful of tiny casino tokens to prove his point.

The teenager smiled broadly as he nagged Bjorn once more, insisting on helping him carry the bags.

"You heard him, didn't you?" Geir said with an aggressive tone of voice, clearly in an effort to help Bjorn rid himself of the teenager.
"But you're not helping him, are you?" the teenager insisted, pointing out that Bjorn was carrying two bags, while Geir was not carrying any.
"He's my assistant," Geir proclaimed proudly. "Now, go away, will you."
"Is that so?" the teenager asked, looking at Bjorn with a mocking smile.
"Yeah," Bjorn admitted reluctantly. "But you know what?" he continued. "Why don't you carry these bags for me over to our car up there at the parking lot."

The teenager broke out in a big smile, took the bags, and started strolling in the direction of the parking lot, alongside the two men. Geir hissed a Norwegian curse. "Don't feed the stray dogs," he said, lecturing Bjorn on his mistake. "You'll never get rid of him now."

But Bjorn ignored Geir's whisper, turning to the boy instead.

"So where are you from?" Bjorn asked. "Your English is very good."
"Thanks! I'm from Senegal."
"Really? And you speak English in Senegal?"
"No. We speak French. I learned English at school."
"Comes in handy up here, doesn't it? Not very many people speak French here, do they."
"Quite a few do, actually. But English is the language that everybody understands."
"It is, isn't it?" Bjorn agreed. "And you are here with family?"
"I'm here with my father. My mother and sisters are back home in Senegal."

Bjorn had no idea where Senegal was, and completely clueless to its language, history or culture, he wondered out loud why someone would want to leave sunny Africa for the arctic.

"We were sent up here from Oslo, just the other day," the boy explained. "My father was working for a cleaning agency. But they got busted."
"Really? So you are not looking for asylum."
"Officially we are. But we are really just looking for work."
"Officially?" Bjorn asked, curious to learn about the boy's and his father's thinking.
"Well, with the new rules and all, we knew that we would be sent up here for free if we asked for asylum. So when my father got busted, he asked for asylum, and we got sent up here."
"But that´s hardly an improvement on what you had, is it?"
"We would have preferred to stay in Oslo. But since that isn't an option any longer, my father figured we'd try our luck up here."
"And how is that working out so far?"
"Not very well," the boy had to admit. "But at least my father still has a job."
"He does? Where?"
"At the fish processing plant."
"Not making very much money, is he?" Bjorn asked, looking for a confirmation for his quiet outrage over Ane's terrible wage policy.
"No, it is much less than what he used to get in Oslo. But it is still better than no job at all. And my father and I still have enough to send some money home to the family."
"Really? How is that possible?" Bjorn asked, genuinely surprised.
"We don't spend much money on ourselves."
"Clearly..." Bjorn nodded in confirmation.
"But things will get better," the boy concluded optimistically as they reached the car at the parking lot. "A lot better."

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."