I solen som malte himmelen tulipanrød, var Haakon tilbake til Bergen.

In the sun that painted the sky tulip red, Haakon was back in Bergen.

Bergen.

Bergen.

Kjente Bergen.

Familiar Bergen.

Der fargene på husene lyste som kyss fra regnbuen.

Where the colors of the houses gleamed like kisses from the rainbow.

Der de trange gatene snodde seg som myke silkebånd.

Where the narrow streets twisted like soft silk ribbons.

Bergen, med sin skjønnhet og eleganse, omfavnet Haakon.

Bergen, with its beauty and elegance, embraced Haakon.

På hodet hans hvilte en høy vikinghjelm.

On his head rested a tall Viking helmet.

En prangende hatt med to spisse horn.

A magnificent hat with two pointed horns.

Ei hodeprydelse med stolte skinnende vinger.

A headpiece with proud shining wings.

Men i Bergens smale gater ble hans vakre vikinghjelm til trøbbel.

But in Bergen's narrow streets, his beautiful Viking helmet became a trouble.

Hjelmen, som en skjev topp, krasjet med døråpninger.

The helmet, like a crooked top, crashed into doorways.

Dørgsmeller som braket.

Doors rattled loudly.

Folk hoppet av forskrekkelse.

People jumped in surprise.

Hodet hans dunket.

His head thudded.

Men folk lo.

But people laughed.

De pekte og lo.

They pointed and laughed.

Selv Haakon, etter sinnebølgen, begynte å le.

Even Haakon, after his wave of anger, began to laugh.

Dagen ble til kveld.

The day turned into evening.

Gatene ble mørke.

The streets grew dark.

Bakken gliste kullsvart.

The ground grinned pitch black.

Haakon ville hjem.

Haakon wanted to go home.

Hjem i sin varme hytte.

Home to his cozy cottage.

Men hver gang hans høye vikinghjelm traff en ny døråpning, svingte han feil.

But every time his tall Viking helmet struck a new doorway, he swung the wrong way.

Haakon snudde.

Haakon turned around.

Han gikk.

He walked.

Han krasjet.

He crashed.

Han snudde igjen.

He turned around again.

Det var en dans uten rytme.

It was a dance without rhythm.

Folk lo mer.

People laughed even more.

Men Haakon, nå med smil, fortsatte å leke.

But Haakon, now with a smile, continued to play.

Hjelm mot dør, dør mot hjelm.

Helmet against door, door against helmet.

Smell etter smell.

Bang after bang.

Folk klappet.

People applauded.

Haakon bøyde seg.

Haakon bowed.

En perfekt ende!

A perfect ending!

Og slik, på en vanlig Bergen dag, ble Haakon en uvanlig helt.

And so, on an ordinary day in Bergen, Haakon became an extraordinary hero.

En stor mann.

A great man.

En større hjelm.

A greater helmet.

Og i smale gater, den største gleden.

And in narrow streets, the greatest joy.

Neste morgen våknet Haakon, hans hode verket, men smilet levde.

The next morning, Haakon woke up, his head ached, but the smile lived on.

Han visste at hans hjelm, hans bane, var hans velsignelse.

He knew that his helmet, his destiny, was his blessing.

For i hvert smell, i hver latter, ble hans hjerte lysere.

For with each crash, with each laugh, his heart grew brighter.

Og Bergen?

And Bergen?

Bergen var i hans hjerte.

Bergen was in his heart.

For alltid.

Forever.