Here was his opportunity.
‘Can you get me in?’ he asked excitedly.
‘Oh that would be amazing,’ put in Wenche.
‘Are you a Christian?’ asked the cousin.
‘Yes,’ answered Anders.
Jan Behring was a cautious and pensive man who spoke in a rather slow and long-winded fashion. The brotherhood was based on Christian values, he explained. Membership improved and refined the individual. As a Freemason, one strove to become more humble, tolerant and compassionate – with style and dignity.
Anders had always lacked a father, grandfather, uncle or trustworthy family friend who could invite him in. To be proposed for membership you had to be invited by two brothers of the order who would remain your sponsors for the rest of your life, while two more people had to vouch for you.
Now he realised that he was related to someone who was a Freemason of the Eighth Degree!
As the evening drew to an end, Anders plucked up the courage to ask outright if this remote cousin, forty years his senior, would be his sponsor.
Behring hesitated. He did not know Anders well and did not feel able to recommend him just like that. But he lent him the Freemasons’ book, the Masonic register containing the names of all the members. Anders could look through and see if he knew anyone in it who could act as his sponsor.
It was a mild Christmas in Oslo that year, with more sleet than snow. The streets turned grey, sprayed with slush that froze overnight. At home, Anders pored over the register and found barristers and judges, chief inspectors of police, renowned professors and businessmen. But no one remotely linked to him.
The Freemasons’ website spoke of ancient symbols and rituals to which only a closed circle could be admitted. They were only revealed as you rose through the degrees. Truth did not come naked into the world. It came in symbols and images, it said.
‘Every child deserves to win.’
This was the phrase with which Prime Minister Jens Stoltenberg began his New Year message that year. ‘I’m talking about the sheer joy of succeeding at something,’ he said in the address, broadcast on television. ‘Many people are making plans in this festive season, dreaming dreams great and small. There are possibly more opportunities for making those dreams come true in Norway than in any other country. Our strong sense of community gives each one of us greater opportunities for seeking success and happiness. That is what constitutes the Norwegian dream – more opportunities for more people. For me, dreams are achieved through community.’
Greater equality created a more dynamic society, the Labour Party Prime Minister maintained.
For Anders, dreams were not achieved through community. He wanted to shine out above the grey mass.
So then it was 2006. Over the New Year holiday, Anders told his mother’s second cousin that he had not found anyone he knew in the Freemasons’ register. Jan Behring was then faced with conflicting loyalties and contacted the Chairman Master of the Pillars, the order of which he was a member. The Master said they could make an exception and ask Anders in for a chat to see what he was made of.
Later that winter, Anders was shown round the Armigeral Hall, the ‘Knights’ Hall’ at the Freemasons’ headquarters. It was a magnificent, high-roofed hall with stucco and murals on the ceiling and walls. Suits of armour and helmets were displayed between flags and banners. Knights on horseback and Crusaders in white mantles with red Maltese crosses on their chests were painted directly onto the walls. A lion in relief had the cross of St George hanging round its neck. The animal’s tongue was painted red. In the cellars were the bones and skulls used in the Freemasons’ ceremonies and rituals.
Anders was taken down into the depths, to the Pillars’ little cubicle beneath the ceremonial hall. There he was questioned by the Master of the Lodge about his life and how he lived it. Anders replied politely, remaining rather quiet and reserved. The eagerness of Christmas Eve was now muted. His mother’s cousin was rather surprised at this, but the Master of the Lodge thought the young man seemed to have a strong Christian faith and provided decent answers to his other questions too. His only cause for concern was that this Behring might be rather too unassuming and weak.
The Master of the Lodge promised to let Anders know the outcome. He said it might take some time.
Anders was kept waiting. His application had to go through a complicated process. He started to sense he would be turned down. Would he be refused entry to the brotherhood, wasn’t he good enough?
The absence of a father weighed on Anders.
It was a lack that he sometimes felt quite acutely.
One day he decided to ring his father.
It was eleven years since they had spoken. Eleven years since he had last been arrested for tagging and his father had cut off all contact.
He rang the number. The receiver was lifted at the other end.
‘Hello, it’s Anders.’
His father said a surprised hello back, in his refined Nordland accent.
Anders told his father how well he was getting on, that he had his own IT company with employees all over the world. He said everything was great and he was considering further study at a university the US. He gave the impression that he was extremely content with life and that everything was going well, financially and socially.
They said goodbye, and promised that they would speak again soon.
It didn’t happen. Anders never rang his father again.
Nor was his father ever to ring him. He had his own life to live. He was now married for the fourth time. He had no contact with any of his four children.
But maybe if Anders did something really great his father would see him, truly see him. He so much wanted his father to be proud of him. At least that was what he told his stepmother, his father’s ex-wife number three, the one who had looked after him during the holidays in Normandy.
The winter proved tough; his self-esteem was sinking, his energy was gone. In February he stopped the diploma production with immediate effect. He could not cope with the prospect of being exposed in the media as a forger. So he started buying securities.
The stock market was sluggish and falling for most of the spring. He lost a bit, made a bit, but never saw anything of the big, lucky lottery ticket he was hoping to draw. In May, share prices plummeted and stayed at rock bottom.
The totals in his accounts were shrinking. Most of his capital was now bound up in shares he couldn’t sell without making big losses. He followed the stock and share prices in a feverish panic. Most of his portfolio was tied up in shares that had been suspended from sale.
When he sat down at the computer, what he liked best was to escape from reality.
Neither his annual report nor his accounts for the year were submitted in time to meet the deadline. When he finally sent them in, the auditor pulled him up for deficient accounting in both purchase and sale of shares.
Anders avoided his friends. The computer screen attracted him more and more. He swiftly typed in the addresses of the computer games he was involved in and could play for hours. If anyone called round or telephoned, they often had to wait until he had finished the level he was playing.
He could not be bothered to work out any more, his diet was poor, he no longer made the effort to dress up and go out into town; he’d had enough of partying with friends in that damn cattle market, as he called the social scene. ‘Life’s a rat race,’ he told a friend. ‘Dancing in never-ending circles to get rich. I can’t do it any more.’
His cash reserves were dwindling. The rent for the decaying two-room flat in the fashionable street was fifteen thousand kroner. In a month or two he would have to start selling low-priced shares to cover his living costs. There was no fresh money coming in.