They sat around the dinner table. The starter had been consumed. The main course was being carried in. Grouse. Nina pointed out that the peas which accompanied the dish were Russian, and that it had been terribly difficult to get hold of them in this country. You see, there was actually only one single shop in the whole of Oslo where it was possible to get hold of Russian peas, and then you really ought to have ordered them in advance. Professor Andersen was then able to remark that he knew the shop Nina was referring to extremely well, he himself often purchased fish there, and then he had not infrequently heard other customers asking for Russian peas. He urged the others to guess which shop it might be. He did that to change the topic of conversation which had lasted throughout the starter, indeed right from the moment they were standing with an aperitif in their hands before the meal. What had happened was this; some days ago, just before Christmas, the very first programme by Judith Berg’s daughter, Ingrid Guida, a new entertainment show called Guida, had been on TV, and on the NRK, the Norwegian Broadcasting Corporation, no less, so it was not surprising that it was subject to comment at this party, especially as one of the guests was the presenter’s mother, and since the programme had received sensationally good reviews, it was natural to congratulate Judith Berg warmly, while they stood with their aperitifs in their hands. But this entertainment programme had also been discussed all through the starter, something that would have been fine in a way, if it weren’t for the fact that only Per Ekeberg, Trine Napstad and Judith Berg had seen the programme; Professor Andersen hadn’t seen it, Nina and Bernt hadn’t seen it, and Jan Brynhildsen had also been prevented from seeing it, since he had been standing on the main stage of the National Theatre that evening; as a result they had ended up discussing an entertainment programme on TV which only a minority had seen and consequently could have an opinion on. But that did not trouble Per Ekeberg or Trine Napstad or Judith Berg. They had conducted an elated conversation about it, which the others more or less just had to follow, without contributing anything much. That was why Professor Andersen now attempted to steer the conversation towards something else by asking if the others could guess which shop it was in Oslo that was the only one that stocked Russian peas. Fjellberg, was the immediate reply from Jan Brynhildsen, and as a result the conversation about
Guida resumed. For Trine Napstad had more to say about the entertainment programme on TV, as did Per Ekeberg too, of course, and Judith Berg wanted nothing more than to hear admiring comments about, and especially intelligent praise of, her daughter’s success as a TV presenter. Now it wouldn’t have been any trouble for Bernt Halvorsen, as the host, to lead the discussion on to another topic in a discreet manner, but he didn’t. With a question for those of them who had seen it, from one who unfortunately hadn’t seen it, he gave a hint to the rest of them who hadn’t seen it that the conversation about this programme should continue, and that it was up to them to take part, using whatever means they had at their disposal. More than likely Bernt chose to do this as a token of consideration towards Judith. It was, after all, her big night, and it wasn’t going to be spoiled by him, the host, disregarding her by signalling that they ought to talk about something else. Professor Andersen thought that Bernt probably had assumed it would be tactless. Perhaps his decision had also been reached following Judith’s answer, when Trine Napstad had asked, responding to the fact that Jan Brynhildsen hadn’t seen the programme because he was on stage when it was shown: ‘But haven’t you seen it on video afterwards?’ Then Judith had said that she hadn’t recorded it on video, ‘because I think there are limits to how much interest I should show in my daughter’s affairs’. Professor Andersen had liked that answer, and Bernt Halvorsen probably had, too; it showed great modesty and a sense of decency, despite being in a sphere where one wouldn’t be observed by other people, apart from Jan Brynhildsen, her husband, that is. Obviously she was proud, her face glowed tonight, but nevertheless she had managed to fight back her urge to dwell on her daughter’s success. From the admiring comments, congratulations and genuinely interested questions which Per Ekeberg and Trine Napstad put to Judith Berg about how the programme would be continued next Friday, Professor Andersen, and the other three who hadn’t seen it, formed an impression of the kind of programme which had been so successful for Ingrid Guida, so that both he and the three others who hadn’t seen it could take part in the conversation about it now and then, both with questions, comments and also astonished exclamations. Guida was a programme that centred around the 23-year-old presenter’s personality, and celebrities from the fields of Norwegian politics, finance, culture and entertainment were her guests, bowing and scraping to her, allowing themselves to be depicted as walk-on characters in staged and bizarre episodes. She persuaded priests in sequins to dance behind her up the aisle in Oslo Cathedral, for instance, or doctors along the hospital corridors. She was the seducer who got the pillars of society to break out of their roles and profane them. She coaxed ministers of State to dress up in costumes making fun of themselves, and to strike poses which everyone would have thought embarrassing for them, if it wasn’t for the fact that they let themselves be stage-directed into them, something that led Professor Andersen, who hadn’t seen the programme, to exclaim: ‘But then they must lose their sting, surely,’ while Bernt Halvorsen, in response to almost everything he heard, exclaimed: ‘No, that surely isn’t possible,’ which made Per Ekeberg, Trine Napstad or Judith Berg laugh and relish the situation, as they had seen the programme and could assure them that it really was possible, yes, everything was possible, even though Bernt Halvorsen with his ‘No, that surely isn’t possible’ had only meant to be polite and obliging, and was certainly not expressing his intensely curious incredulity towards a programme he hadn’t seen, and probably didn’t intend to see next Friday either, while in response to Professor Andersen’s outburst Per Ekeberg retorted sharply: ‘This has nothing to do with sting, it is displaying a lifestyle.’