The dinner

I had the most pleasant yet shocking experience on Saturday night as you will see. I must apologize for the lack of updates. But you will come to realize that familiarizing yourself with my previous entry puts you in good stead to comprehend the following passage.

I arrived at Molde’s Berglund Club that evening and followed Sioux’s example of cheerily greeting the grandly uniformed doorman. But I was quickly disabused within minutes of our entering the crowded room on the first floor. I have no exact idea how this occurred – for I had not the time to ascertain the identities of anyone present – but a kind of intuitive revelation swept over me which made me feel utterly foolish about my earlier excitement that I had ever expected to find Saarinen or Utzon in such a venue. Indeed, I was so thrown off by this discrepancy between the event I had arrived and the one I had been thinking about throughout the afternoon, that all my poise, at least temporarily, deserted me, and for half and hour or so, much to my annoyance, I could not bring myself to leave Sioux’s side.

I am sure this same agitated state of mind accounts for the fact that when I now think back to that evening, so many aspects seems somewhat exaggerated or unnatural. For instance, when I now try to picture the room, it is uncommonly dark, this despite the wall lamps, candles and grandiose chandeliers above us – none of which seemed to make any impression on the pervading darkness. The carpet is very thick, such that to move around, one is obliged to drag one’s feet. Waiters too with their silver trays, lean into conversations at peculiar angles. There are hardly any ladies present and those one can see seem oddly self-effacing, almost immediately melting from one’s view behind the forest of black evening suits.

As I said, I’m sure these impressions are rather biased, but that is how the evening remains in my mind. I recall standing about frozen with awkwardness, repeatedly sipping from my glass, as Sioux chatted amiably with guest after guest, most of them a good four times older than us. I did once or twice try to join in, but my voice sounded conspicuously child-like, and in any case, most conversations centred on issues I knew nothing about.

After a while, I grew angry – at myself, at Sioux, at the whole proceedings. I felt I had every right to despise the people around me, that they were for the most part greedy and self-seeking, lacking any idealism or sense of public duty. Fuelled by this anger, I was at last able to tear myself away from Sioux and move off through the darkness into another part of the room.

I came into an area illuminated by a dull pool of light cast by a small wall lantern. The crowd was thinner here and I noticed a silver-haired man of perhaps seventy smoking with his back to the room. It took me a moment to realize he was gazing into a mirror, but by then he had noticed me looking at him. I was about to hurry on, when he said without turning:

“Enjoying yourself?”

“Oh yes,” I said with a light laugh. “Thank you. It’s a splendid occasion.”
“But a little lost, aren’t you?”
I hesitated, and then gave another laugh. “Perhaps so, sir.”

The gentleman turned around, then paused to survey the room. I noticed horn-rimmed, bronze spectacles on an incredibly intelligent, sharp looking face.

“Now let me see. I take it you’re looking for someone to give you a leg up in life. Correct? Don’t worry. Played the same game myself when I was young.” He probed further. “Now what was it you said you wanted to do with your life?”

Of course, at this point of time I had not told him anything. But now, after a deliberate pause, I answered simply:

“Architect, sir.”
“Ah. I see you came with my granddaughter tonight. Find her pretty eh?”
“Sioux? Yes, she is good looking.”

He bent down and peered into my black eyes. Pulling away, he gave a satisfied grin.

“I am Rem Koolhaas. Pleased to meet you.”