Commissioned Writer
Zeshan Shakar, Norway
Zeshan Shakar (b. 1982) grew up in Stovner, Oslo. He holds a degree in political science and also studied economics at BI Norwegian Business School. Shakar has worked in various government ministries and directorates and currently works at Oslo City Hall. For his first novel, Tante Ulrikkes Street (2017), he was awarded the Tarjei Vesaas Debutant Prize. The book sold over 150,000 copies. His second novel, Yellow Book, was released in 2020.
Shakar received the Oslo City Artist Prize and the Neshorn Prize. In 2022, he was nominated for LO’s Literature Prize for Workers’ Literature.
They Call Me the Wolf (2022) is his third novel.
DYRENE I SKOGEN
Sent på ettermiddagen sto de ofte slik, dyrene i skogen. Med nakken bøyd og munnen nede i tjernet slurpet de i seg vann. I midten sto den store elgen med sitt imponerende gevir. Benene var stilt opp bredt så den kunne rekke hodet ned til vannet. Ved siden av elgen sto to rådyr og en rådyrkalv, de skottet hastig til hver side mens de drakk, øyne og ører alltid på vakt. På den andre siden av elgen sto, eller mer lå, grevlingen, skogens eldste dyr, den bøyde knapt hodet da den drakk. Foran dem drakk tiuren et par slurker, men spradet ellers rundt i vannkanten med hodet høyt hevet og lot sola lyse opp den vakre fjærdrakten sin. Og til slutt, i skyggen av de større dyrene, i ett med den brune jorda, var det en gjeng med piggsvin med så små ansikt at når de drakk, forsvant nesten hele ansiktet i vannet.
Ved tjernet, under de kraftige grenene til gran- og furutrærne, møttes dyrene, litt før solnedgang, før den blodtørstige myggen ble for mange. Elgen, rådyrene og tiuren fylte opp med vann etter dagens anstrengelser, mens grevlingen og piggsvinene som nettopp hadde våknet, fylte opp til nattens jakt etter mat.
Noen ganger, hvis uventede hendelser inntraff, som da en omstreifende ulv dukket opp, for til slutt å bli jaget vekk av elgen, var tjernet også et sted hvor dyrene rådslo. I det siste hadde det vært flere uvanlige hendelser. Først og fremst vannet som sank. Det hadde ikke regnet på lenge. Gamle røtter hadde blitt synlige og vannplanter lå visnet i leirbunnen. Elgen kunne gå på tvers av tjernet uten at magen ble våt. Den gamle grevlingen beroliget dem med at vannet hadde vært like lavt for mange år siden. Kanskje ville dyrene slått seg til ro med det, om det ikke var for ravnene.
Ravnene tilhørte ikke denne skogen og de skarpe skrikene deres hadde forstyrret de vante lydene av vann som ble slurpet opp, insekter som summet og dyrenes lavmælte prat. Fra de kom hadde ravnene bombardert dyrene med påstander. Først kom det to av dem, så to til, til det nå satt et titall ravner på grener rundt tjernet, et skrikende kor av problemer. Vannet forsvant ikke bare i dette tjernet, påsto ravnene, men også i andre deler av skogen. Enda verre, skogen hadde tatt fyr. Lenger borte var det flammer og trær var blitt til kull.
“Jeg ser ingen brann”, mumlet grevlingen.
“Hadde du kunnet fly, hadde du sett det”, svarte ravnene.
“Jeg trenger ikke å kunne fly for å se det jeg ser, og jeg ser ingen brann”, gjentok grevlingen.
“Det er ikke flammer, dumme ravn, det er bare sola”, sa tiuren og ristet på hodet. En ravn pekte nebbet mot den røde og oransje solnedgangen. “Har du ikke sett at fargene er enda sterkere enn vanlig? Det er brannen som gjør det. Fly selv og se.” “Det trenger jeg ikke”, svarte tiuren. “Noe så vakkert, kan uansett ikke være et problem.” Som for å vise det stilte den seg i solen så fjærene glinset.
Ravnene ga seg ikke. De insisterte på at dyrene måtte ta bedre vare på tjernet, de måtte drikke mindre for å bevare det som drikkevann og som beskyttelse mot flammene. En av ravnene kom til og med flyvende med en forkullet kvist og slapp den ned foran dyrene.
“Det har alltid vært gamle, brente kvister i skogen”, brummet grevlingen, og ble liggende, men rådyrene, og deretter piggsvinene, gikk bort og studerte kvisten. De vendte seg bekymret mot elgen, som ennå ikke hadde sagt noe. Den ble stående taus en stund, før den gikk to skritt frem og svingte med det store geviret.
“Vi skal beskytte vannet”, erklærte elgen. “Men det er vi som kjenner vår skog best. Ingen utenfra kan fortelle oss hva vi skal gjøre.” Med den ene kloven skjøv elgen den brente kvisten ned i vannet og vendte seg mot ravnene. “Forlat oss nå så vi kan snakke sammen.”
Ravnene gjorde som de ble fortalt og dyrene kunne snart diskutere i fred. De måtte ta vare på vannet, det var flesteparten enige i, men der endte enigheten. Piggsvinene sa at de ikke ville drikke mindre enn før, de var riktignok mange, men de var små, hvor mye de drakk spilte egentlig ingen rolle. Det var dessuten de store dyrene, de som drakk mest, som hadde fått dem i problemer. Elgen svarte at den trengte mye vann, for å ha nok krefter til å tråkke opp stier for de andre dyrene og beskytte dem mot farer. Rådyrene sa at de hadde lært seg å drikke forsiktig, de sølte knapt, og at det uansett var urettferdig om rådyrkalven skulle drikke mindre, den var et uskyldig barn. Til det svarte grevlingen at det heller ikke var rettferdig at den, som hadde levd hele livet sitt på samme måte, plutselig måtte forandre på det. Tiuren sa at uten vann mistet fjærene dens glansen sin, og at skjønnheten dens kom hele skogen til gode, og uten skjønnhet var de bare en hvilken som helst skog.
Diskusjonene varte til sola hadde gått ned og myggen summet i ørene deres. Elgen oppsummerte: “Vi skal alle drikke litt mindre vann.”
Dyrene var for slitne til å diskutere mer. Selv om alle var misfornøyde, sa de seg enige. Så gikk de hvert til sitt.
Vannet fortsatte å synke. Det nådde ikke høyere enn elgens knær. Himmelen forble like blå som den hadde vært. Det ble holdt et nytt råd, og etter nye diskusjoner ble de enige om at de skulle drikke enda litt mindre vann.
Likevel sank vannet.
Dyrene ble i dårlig humør. Myggen ble flere, tusenvis av egg klekket fra den voksende leirbunnen, så innpåslitne at flere av dyrene hoppet ut i vannet for å unnslippe dem. Dyrene drakk fortsatt nok til ikke å være altfor tørste, likevel snakket de bare om vann, og støtt og stadig kranglet de, nesten alltid om hvem som egentlig var tørstest. Når de ikke kranglet satt de tause og stirret på den spektakulære solnedgangen, og selv om varmen fra sola bare gjorde dem tørstere var det som de glemte det, når de stirret på de gyldne strålene.
En kveld, da dyrene nettopp hadde gått hvert til sitt, snudde elgen halvveis og gikk tilbake til tjernet. Månen lyste over trekronene og speilet seg i tjernet. Elgen tok et skritt mot vannet, men i det samme hørte den det rasle lavt i blader og lyng. Den stirret mot den tette skogen. Fra hver sin kant nærmet de andre dyrene seg tjernet. De oppdaget hverandre omtrent samtidig, og ble stående stille.
“Jeg sjekker at ingen drikker”, sa elgen.
“Vi også”, svarte de andre.
De var enige om at det var det de gjorde. Så gikk de igjen hvert til sitt.
Vannet i tjernet nådde ikke høyere enn elgens ankler. Himmelen hadde et gråskjær. Dyrene stirret opp mot den, i påvente av regn. Det kom ingen regn. Snarere ség en grå dis gjennom skogen. Kun noen få solstråler nådde gjennom disen, og de forsvant bak den like fort som de kom, men til gjengjeld var de sterkere, mer fargerike enn noen gang. Selv grevlingen var imponert. Tiuren jaget etter solstrålene, og jo tykkere disen ble, jo færre solstråler som slapp gjennom, desto mer frenetisk var tiurens jag.
Med den tykke disen kom også lukten. Sterkere og sterkere, til det ikke var noen tvil. Det luktet av svidde blader, kvister, grener, trestammer, blåbær- og røsslyng.
“Fly og fortell oss hva du ser!” ropte rådyrene til tiuren, men selv hvor mye de maste hørte den ikke etter, oppslukt i jakten på sola.
Solstrålene forsvant. Det mørknet, men myggen summet ikke rundt dyrene. Heller ingen andre insekter. Skogen var stille og dunkel, i en liten stund, før lyset og fargene kom tilbake, men denne gangen som et langt belte, helt nede ved bakken, bare en tynn stripe først, så vokste stripen i bredde og høyde. Disen ble tykkere, og den sved i nesa og øynene på dyrene. Rådyrene begynte å løpe retningsløst fram og tilbake langs vannkanten. Tiuren ble stående rådvill og se rundt seg. Piggsvinene rullet seg sammen til baller. Grevlingen ble liggende.
Elgen stampet i bakken med klovene, svingte med geviret og kallet dyrene til seg. Budskapet var kort.
“Vi har ingen valg. Vi må dra.”
Så satte elgen avgårde gjennom skogen og så seg ikke tilbake. Rådyrene fulgte etter så godt de kunne. Tiuren, som så de store dyrene forsvinne, slo ut vingene og med et par kraftige tak lettet den og forsvant i samme retning. Piggsvinene pilte avgårde så fort de små bena bar dem, men flammene kom stadig nærmere. Et av piggsvinene snudde seg mot grevlingen, som lå igjen.
“Løp!”, ropte piggsvinet.
“Jeg er ikke rask nok uansett”, svarte grevlingen.
“Kanskje ikke vi er det heller”, sa piggsvinet. “Men la oss prøve. Det er andre skoger.” Grevlingen ristet på hodet. “Dette er min skog.”
Den reiste seg og tok noen skritt nærmere vannkanten. Der la den seg ned og ble liggende.
THE ANIMALS IN THE FOREST
They could often be found standing like this late in the afternoon, the animals in the forest. Their heads were bowed as they lapped up water from the pond. The big elk stood in the centre with its impressive antlers, legs spread wide so its head could reach down to the water. Two deer and a fawn stood beside the elk, glancing quickly from side to side as they drank, their eyes and ears always on alert. On the other side of the elk stood—or rather lay—the badger, the oldest animal in the forest, barely bowing its head as it drank. The capercaillie took a few sips as well but mostly just strutted along the water’s edge with its head held high, letting the sun illuminate its ornate feathers. And finally, in the shadow of the larger animals, blending in with the dark soil, there was a group of hedgehogs with heads so small that when they drank, their whole face practically disappeared beneath the surface of the water.
By the pond, beneath the sturdy branches of the spruce and pine trees, the animals gathered just before sunset, before the bloodthirsty mosquitoes became too abundant. The elk, the deer, and the capercaillie refilled their water reserves after the day’s efforts, while the badger and the hedgehogs, who had just woken up, were filling up for the evening’s foraging.
Sometimes, if something unexpected occurred—such as when a roaming wolf appeared only to be chased away by the elk—the pond was also a place where the animals would confer. There had been several rather unusual events lately. First and foremost, the water level in the pond had dropped. It hadn’t rained for a long time. Old roots had become visible and aquatic plants lay dry and withered on the clay bottom. The elk could walk across the pond without getting its belly wet. The old badger assured them that the water had been just as low many years ago. The other animals might have been satisfied with this explanation had it not been for the ravens.
The ravens didn’t belong in this forest and their harsh cries disturbed the familiar sounds of water being lapped up, insects buzzing, and the animals’ subdued chatter. The ravens had bombarded the animals with accusations ever since they arrived. First, two of them came, then two more, and now ten ravens were perched on the branches around the pond, a screeching choir of problems. The ravens claimed that the water wasn’t just disappearing from this pond, but also from other parts of the forest. Even worse, the forest had caught fire. There were flames further away, and the trees had been turned to charcoal.
“I don’t see any fire,” the badger grumbled.
“You’d see it if you could fly,” the ravens replied.
“I don’t need to fly to see what I see, and I don’t see any fire,” the badger repeated.
“It’s not flames, stupid raven, it’s just the sun,” said the capercaillie, shaking its head.
One raven pointed its beak toward the red and orange sunset. “Can’t you see that the colours are even stronger than usual? The fire’s doing that. Fly there yourself and take a look.”
“I don’t need to,” the capercaillie replied. “Something so beautiful can’t possibly be a problem.” As if to prove it, it stood in the sun so its feathers shimmered.
But the ravens wouldn’t relent. They insisted that the animals take better care of the pond, that they drink less to preserve it for drinking water and for protection against the flames. One of the ravens even came with a charred twig in its beak and dropped it in front of the animals.
“There’s always been old burnt twigs in the forest,” the badger muttered from his fixed spot on the ground, but the deer and the hedgehogs went over to study the twig. They turned and looked anxiously at the elk, who was yet to say a word. It remained silent for a while before taking two steps and swinging its enormous antlers.
“We will protect the water,” the elk declared. “But we’re the ones who know our forest best. No one from outside can tell us what to do.” The elk used one hoof to shove the burnt twig into the pond before turning toward the ravens. “Leave us so we can discuss this.”
The ravens did as they were told and the animals could soon talk in peace. Most of them agreed they had to take care of the water, but that’s all they could agree upon. The hedgehogs said they wouldn’t drink less than before. There were a lot of them, to be fair, but they were small, so it didn’t really matter how much they drank. Besides, it was the larger animals—the ones who drank the most—who’d gotten them into this mess. The elk responded that it needed a lot of water to have enough strength to tread paths for the other animals and protect them from danger. The deer said they’d learned to drink carefully so they barely spilled any water, and that it was unfair to make the fawn drink less since it was just an innocent child. To that, the badger insisted that it also wouldn’t be fair for it to suddenly be forced to change its way of life after all these years. The capercaillie said that its feathers would lose their lustre without water, and that the whole forest benefited from its beauty; without beauty, it would just be a regular old forest.
The discussions lasted until the sun set and the mosquitoes started buzzing in their ears. The elk summarised what had been decided: “We will all drink a little less water.”
The animals were too tired to discuss any further. Even though everyone was dissatisfied, they agreed to the terms. Then they all went their separate ways.
The water continued to sink. Now it wasn’t any higher than the elk’s knees. The sky stayed as blue as ever. A new meeting was held, and after more discussions, they agreed to drink even less water.
Yet the water still sank.
The animals became irritable. The mosquitoes multiplied as thousands of eggs hatched from the growing clay bed, so persistent that several of the animals had to jump into what little water was left to escape them. The animals still drank enough to not be too thirsty, but all they talked about was water, and they were constantly arguing over who was actually the thirstiest. When they weren’t arguing, they sat in silence, staring at the spectacular sunset, and although the heat from the sun only made them even thirstier, they seemed to forget that as they stared at the golden light.
One evening after the animals had gone their separate ways, the elk turned around and went back to the pond. The moon shone over the treetops and reflected in the water. The elk took a step toward the water’s edge when it heard a sudden rustling in the leaves and heather. It stared into the dark, dense forest. The other animals were approaching the pond from every direction. They all spotted each other at about the same time and stood there in silence.
“I’m checking to see if anyone’s drinking,” said the elk.
“Us too,” said the others.
They agreed that this was what they were all doing. Then they each went their separate ways once again.
The water in the pond was no higher than the elk’s ankles. The sky had a greyish hue. The animals stared up at it, expecting rain. But no rain came. Instead, a grey haze started creeping through the forest. Only a few sunbeams made it through this haze and vanished almost as quickly as they appeared, but when they made their brief appearances, they were stronger and more colourful than ever before. Even the badger was impressed. The capercaillie chased after the sunbeams, but the thicker the haze became, the fewer sunbeams that got through and the more frantically the capercaillie pursued them.
A smell accompanied the thickening mist. It grew stronger and stronger until there was no doubt: it smelled of burnt leaves, twigs, branches, tree trunks, blueberries and heather.
“Fly and tell us what you see!” the deer shouted to the capercaillie, but no matter how much they begged, it didn’t listen, too absorbed in its pursuit of the sun.
The sunbeams disappeared entirely. It got darker, but the mosquitoes were no longer buzzing around the animals. No other insects, for that matter. The forest was quiet and dim for a while before the light and colours returned, but this time as a long belt close to the ground—just a thin strip at first, but then the strip grew in width and height. The haze got thicker, stinging the animals’ noses and eyes. The deer started frantically running back and forth along the water’s edge. The capercaillie looked around in bewilderment. The hedgehogs rolled themselves into balls. The badger just lay there.
The elk stomped the ground with its hooves, swung its antlers, and called the animals over. Its message was brief:
“We have no choice. We have to leave.”
Then the elk set off through the forest without looking back. The deer followed as best they could. The capercaillie, watching the large animals disappearing, spread its wings, took off, and vanished in the same direction. The hedgehogs darted after them as fast as their little legs could carry them, but the flames were getting closer. One of the hedgehogs turned back toward the badger, who was still lying there.
“Run!” the hedgehog shouted.
“No point. I’m not fast enough anyway,” the badger replied.
“Maybe we’re not either,” said the hedgehog. “But we can at least try. There are other forests.”
The badger just shook its head. “This is my forest.”
It got up and shuffled over toward the water’s edge. Then it lay down and stayed there.
