1

‘Society is like a ship; every man must help to steer the helm.’

It is a quotation, and Petrus has it on a note on his computer screen. He has often wondered, what did Ibsen actually mean by this? As a rule there is only one at the helm, or one at a time, and being helmsman demands its own competence.

But, he thinks: that absolves no one on board from paying attention.

He pictures it: a skerry in the sea, and himself closing his eyes or looking the other way. This was probably what Ibsen was talking about.

2

Just now it is not the quotation he has in mind, but this that he sits there in the newsroom writing. Which absolutely has to do with society, for that is where Petrus has his focus, as a political journalist on what he considers the country's most important newspaper.

It started with a message on his mobile last night. It was from a colleague who was in Paris, on a photo assignment somewhat out of the ordinary.

There was a picture with it that was, to put it mildly, startling.

There also came a list with some names, and it is these names he has sat looking up information on all day.

What a crowd! Each of them not so unlike those he constantly deals with, be they pillars of society, businesspeople, artists and politicians – the sort who know how to assert themselves and theirs. What makes it so special here is the constellation – who mixes with whom, and not least why.

He pictures a spread over several pages, and the front page, of course, and some bold headlines. He pictures the photographs he has been promised as soon as the photographer is back.

And he pictures the reactions of an entire nation. Internationally too.

What a story!

3

A message appears on his screen: ‘What about the source check?’

It comes from the editor, and it is not like Arvo to dog his heels like this. He has briefed Arvo, after all. Even if ‘briefed’ is an overstatement and something that has rarely been necessary, because Arvo and he, they are one and the same thought. This too is an overstatement, but no more than that Arvo nods to most of what Petrus does, and that Petrus nods to what Arvo thinks he should do.

In this case he has told Arvo that he is working on an article, that it is something that has suddenly come up, and that it involves the colleague and something that could have political consequences.

4

He sits with the article, and it is as if nothing else exists. He is in Paris, and he follows this crowd whose identities he now knows, and pictures a few different situations.

None of these have occurred, as far as he knows, but this is how these people act. They despise one another, but put everything into not showing it. And even so: there is something that makes them seek each other out. There is something that makes them do what they do. It is about sovereignty, he writes. It is about being something more than others. Which is to say distancing oneself from others, and which at bottom is to say distancing oneself from oneself.

But as he writes this, it occurs to him that it is the same with himself, doing as he does, distancing himself from all of it.

I am certainly not going to make the judgement, he thinks; that I must leave to the readers.

5

Now he hears Arvo's voice behind him in the room. That rumbling voice that makes Arvo such a genial bear of a father. I am looking forward to showing you the article, he thinks. You are going to shout hurrah, here we have what we have been waiting for, and more.

And then Arvo will come out with an exposition on the ideological. That the world is as it is, regrettably, because people like these, and not only the ones in Paris, are as they are, not least towards everybody else.

Where is the world in which we consider ourselves all fellow men, he will shout.

Hurrah, Petrus will answer then. And not only fellow men, he will add, but equal women and men – poor as rich, black as white.

Precisely, Arvo will say; them I do seem to forget. And then they will both laugh, because they know that Arvo does not, fighting as he does for the idea of human dignity that trumps everything.

6

But Arvo's voice is not alone, back there behind him in the otherwise even hum. There is someone he is talking to, and the two of them are coming closer.

A bright, bell-clear voice, and who is that? Well, now only a small comma remains. He puts it in place, and with that the article is finished. Then he turns round, and there is Arvo, and with him, a young face with a pair of wide-open eyes and a careful smile. And this is Petrus, says Arvo.

Petrus nods, flustered, gets to his feet, puts out a hand. Nomi, she smiles.

Our new star photographer, says Arvo. She is going to stay with us a while.

He says it in a tone that sounds decided, but there is somehow no hold to be found in his eyes. While in her eyes, there is almost a little party. And what was that, he wonders afterwards, and feels himself suddenly a bit off balance.

7

He stands in front of the door to Arvo's office, hesitates. Why does he do that?

Never otherwise does he do that. But then he knocks. That is something else he never usually does.

Arvo sits there staring at his screen, but then he looks up, and rumbles a mild hello, entirely as usual. This business with the new photographer, Petrus begins. Yes, Arvo interrupts. It did happen fast.

But we don't need a new one, surely? Or do we? Oh yes we do, says Arvo, and then Petrus is told – and is it possible – that the colleague he is waiting on to come with the high-resolution pictures and explain more to him about what happened in Paris, he has left. Was let go on the spot, according to Arvo.

Headhunted in a headlong rush, he says.

But, says Petrus.

Yes, Petrus?

That is not how it usually is ...

And how is it, then, Petrus?

And just this small thing from Arvo, a little pointed in the saying of it, it throws him. And what is that; he cannot bring himself to ask, and why not?

And on his way out, but too late, he remembers what he actually came for: this business with the source check.

8

He rings him up, the photographer. Because what on earth?
Hi, Petrus ...

Listen, this can't be right, what I'm hearing. That you left on the spot ...

The voice at the other end suddenly goes so thin: Yes, I've already ...

Then it goes quiet, and then more decided: There are some official things ... I can't say more now ...

What the hell, shouts Petrus: You're not going over to the enemy, surely ... You can't do that, you ... It goes quiet around him, it goes quiet at the other end, and he checks himself; has he perhaps gone too far? He has to calm it down, hold out a hand, reel him in ... But in to what? Because he understands it now, that something has been handled, and in all haste, and that this has to do with what happened in Paris. There are not going to be any pictures, nor any article about this matter, which involves not only the photographer and himself, but Arvo too, and so this bright voice that suddenly turned up.

9

All this that Petrus has now understood, and of which he nevertheless has not picked a single berry: To understand such a thing it takes more than discovering shapes, colours, tastes and smells among the heather and the moss – such things one does all the time no matter how far off berry-picking one has wandered. Petrus could do with the eagle's eye to search the landscape. And the oracle's ability to pronounce everything that lies behind. Instead he has to make do with the ditch-digging skills he acquired studying journalism: Turn stone upon stone and build cairns along the way, and let the road come into being where one walks.