Night in the Guard-House
The Night in the Guard-House marks a turning point in the narrator's descent into the abyss of homelessness and psychological disintegration. After losing his key and finding himself locked out of his tinker's workshop on a rain-soaked night, he follows a policeman's suggestion and reports himself as homeless at the guard-house. There, under the false name Andreas Tangen, he claims to be a journalist for the Morgenbladet and is shown to the "reserved section" — a cell he later mockingly compares to a Cabinet Minister's quarters. The night that follows becomes a crucible of sensory deprivation, linguistic invention, and near-madness, from which he emerges only with the first grey light of dawn.
Causes and Background
The event is the culmination of a long period of escalating deprivation. The narrator has been wandering the streets after a day of failed attempts to raise money for food; he has not eaten for three days. Earlier that evening, he had been sitting on a bench near the railway bridge, where he fell asleep and was woken by a policeman who called him a "Juggins." After wandering aimlessly, he discovered he had dropped his keys and could not enter his room above the stable. The rain soaked through his clothes, and he felt the cold penetrate to his shoulders. A policeman at the Town Hall suggested he go to the guard-house and report himself as homeless — a capital idea, the narrator thought, and thanked the constable on the spot.
What Happens
At the guard-house, the narrator gives his name as Andreas Tangen and, when asked his occupation, hesitates before declaring himself a journalist. The guard, impressed, writes it down and bows politely, showing him to the reserved section. The cell is bright and friendly, with a gas jet that will burn for ten minutes. The narrator sits on the bed, hat in hand, and revels in his successful deception: "Journalist! — Tangen! if you please! and then Morgenbladet!" He imagines himself a homeless Cabinet Minister who forgot his door-key and a pocket-book with a thousand kroner at home. But when the gas goes out with a strange suddenness, the darkness becomes absolute — a dense, bottomless mass that oppresses his thoughts. He cannot see his hand or the white walls. He lies in bed, singing lullabies to himself, sweating with the effort to hush himself to rest. A nail hole in the wall at the head of the bed obsesses him; he gets out of bed to gauge its depth with his penknife, convinced it is a mysterious hole he must guard against. Then he discovers a new word — "Kuboa" — and sits up in bed, laughing with joy. He decides it must signify something psychical, a feeling, a state, and argues with himself about its meaning, refusing to let it signify knitting cotton or emigration. His thoughts grow more and more confused. He springs out of bed to drink water, then lies down again, but the darkness returns, and he imagines himself being drawn by dark monsters from the sea, whizzing down through space like a bolt. He gives a hoarse cry of terror, clutching the bed. He tells himself, "This is the way one dies!" and lies still, thinking about his own death. Then he starts up, asking severely if he is not within his right to decide what his word should signify. He hears himself raving and realizes he is insane. Seized with terror, he springs out of bed, staggers to the door, tries to burst it open, strikes his head against the wall, bewails loudly, bites his fingers, cries and curses. He falls to the floor, incapable of stumbling about any longer. Lying there, he catches a glimpse of a greyish square in the wall — a presage of daylight. He flings himself flat on the floor and cries for joy, blows a kiss to the window, and conducts himself like a maniac, perfectly conscious of what he is doing. He sits up on the floor, folds his hands, and waits patiently for the dawn. Still in the best of humours, he amuses himself by acting the Cabinet Minister, calling himself Von Tangen, and goes over to the stretcher to lie down. By the time it is light enough to distinguish the outlines of the cell, his blood flows more quietly, and he soon falls asleep.
Consequences and Aftermath
The next morning, the narrator is awakened by knocks on the door and reports himself downstairs to the officer on duty. In a large room with thirty or forty other homeless people, he is called up as Andreas Tangen, journalist. The officer smiles and asks if he slept well; the narrator replies, "Like a Cabinet Minister." He is released without being offered a breakfast ticket, though he has not eaten for more than three days. He strides out of the guard-house with the carriage of a millionaire, hands thrust under his coat-tails. The sun shines warmly, and he stands on the balustrade of Young's Market, watching the bustle below. The event leaves him physically weakened but mentally clarified for a time; he returns to his room, where he laughs at the absurdity of his situation and later attempts to write again. The night in the cell, however, has permanently altered his relationship with reality: the invention of "Kuboa" and the hallucinatory battle with darkness foreshadow the deeper psychological unraveling that will follow in later episodes.
