It was exasperating, for I was already running late.
“Let me help you up,” I said, taking her by the arm and lifting her upright with Anita’s help.
“I’ve put some clean clothes out for you in the bathroom,” I said. “I’ve got to go now. See you this afternoon. We can talk then. Have a nice day with Line!”
She stood with her mouth gaping, her arms still trembling, following me with her eyes as I went out and closed the door.
I was worried as I went toward the car, as if something serious had happened. It didn’t help telling myself it was nothing more than Mum having a little problem with making herself understood.
She became so small in those situations, with the importance she attached to even the most unimportant of matters. I was well aware, of course, that in all likelihood her mental and emotional faculties were undepleted, it was just that she could express so little, and anything of even the slightest complexity was impossible for her to convey.
What had she been trying to say about Line?
I stopped in the gateway and looked up at the nest that was partially hidden there among the climbing plants. Only when I took a step to the side did I see the chicks, huddled together, their small, orange-yellow beaks reaching up toward the sky.
As I stood there, one of the parent birds came sailing over the roof of the house again. Unfazed by my presence, it settled on the edge of the nest, leaned forward and began feeding its young. Its movements were quick, abrupt almost, as if it kept changing its mind.
I continued round the side of the house and got into the car, which for some reason I’d forgotten to lock when I’d come home the evening before. Perhaps it was with Line being home, I thought as I dumped my bag on the backseat, started the ignition and turned my head to reverse out onto the track. The unusual overriding the usual.
And then there was Ramsvik.
An unpleasant feeling came over me.
He’d been dead. The body lying there on the table had been a corpse, only then it had opened its eyes and emitted a low scream. As the surgeon was cutting open its chest.
I drove down the shallow slope of the gravel track and turned out onto the road that ran along the fjord. The sky in the west was still a haze, the fell above the fjord veiled.
There was a natural explanation for everything, including this, I told myself. He hadn’t been dead, that was all there was to it. The monitors had been wrong.
I came past the co-op. There wasn’t a soul to be seen so early in the morning, apart from a man sitting on a bench outside. He was always there, there was something the matter with him. Not much, but enough to compel him to spend his days there, on the bench, watching people come and go, occasionally engaging in chat.
The boats in the inlet lay motionless on the fjord; they looked almost as if they were floating in mid-air.
Then the road led into the valley, leaving behind it the yellow pastures, white houses and shimmering red barns. Trees rose up densely on both sides. Flecks of light played among their green shadows. A small stream glittered here and there between the trunks, emerging elsewhere into the open, as if borne by its light, sandy bed.
I found myself singing “Would I Lie to You?” Where did that come from? I wondered, as the waterfall appeared a bit farther ahead, the road bending before rising to ascend the fell.
Eurythmics, in the car last night.
That was it.
I’d played that album all summer when it came out, couldn’t get it out of my head.
Be Yourself Tonight.
How ironic that was!
Sverre giving me the eye as I came walking from the jetty on my way up to the community hall with Therese and Marit and Anna. A bit tipsy already, my hair rather wet, showing off my white dress in the summer rain, my raincoat still tucked under my arm, a bottle of Liebfraumilch in my other hand.
Be Yourself Tonight. It was to Sverre I had lost myself, and for so many years.
“Would I Lie to You?” One of the first things he said after we became intimate and started talking seriously was that he’d had cancer and had almost died.
There was no reason for me not to believe him. Who would lie about such a thing?
I’d walked with eyes open straight into disaster.
But it was over now! I was free. And moreover I was home, I thought to myself as my eyes saw the bogland, yellow and dry after the long summer, the low-slung hills strewn with bilberry shrubs, the fjord then re-emerging to reflect the green fellsides.
* * *
—
Half an hour later, as I crossed the car park outside the hospital, a helicopter came in from the fells, tiny, at first, as a dragonfly.
Strange how the noise of that small machine could so dominate the sky, I thought. And how ominous it always sounded.
I went down to the changing rooms and put my uniform on, and as the helicopter came in resonantly and landed outside I got myself a coffee from the machine and took the elevator up to the ward, just in time for morning conference.
On my round afterward, I went first into Ramsvik’s room. His condition was unchanged, Renate had said. His heart was functioning unaided, and the CT scan had revealed brain activity, so he was definitely alive. Though not sufficiently to allow any dignified life: the doctors had decided against IV therapy, which meant that his days were numbered. How long it took would depend on how strong and willful he was. His wife had been informed of the decision and expressed her agreement. She was with him, I knew, as I knocked on the door. And I knew too that his children would be coming in the afternoon to say their good-byes.
She was sitting in a chair next to the bed, holding his hand, and looked up at me with a smile.
She was rather small, with round cheeks and a look of mildness, the corners of her eyes and mouth finely creased.
“Hello,” I said, closing the door gently behind me.
“Hello,” she said.
“I’m so sorry about this,” I said.
She lifted her eyebrows and pressed her lips together in an expression of hopelessness. We can do nothing about it, her face seemed to say.
“It happened quickly and without pain,” I said. “If that’s any comfort.”
“He’s not dead yet,” she said.
“No,” I said.
“Won’t he be in pain when he’s not receiving any nourishment? He’ll starve to death, won’t he?”
“He’s not conscious of anything,” I said. “I don’t think he’ll be aware of any pain.”
It looked like he was asleep as he lay there with his eyes closed. His face seemed naked without his glasses. His beard was still neatly trimmed. I knew that underneath his pajama jacket his chest was heavily bandaged, but I wasn’t sure if she realized.
“What exactly happened last night?” she said.
“He suffered two massive strokes,” I said.
“I know that,” she said. “They rang and told me, and said I needed to come in. They said he was brain-dead. That his organs were being donated. He’d registered, apparently. But then they phoned again and I was told he wasn’t brain-dead after all.”
She gestured toward him, a slight movement of her hand.
“And his organs hadn’t been donated. What’s going on? Do you know? What happened last night? Now the doctors are saying there’s brain activity, but that he’s not going to wake up again.”
“They did a CT scan, and that scan revealed no brain activity. That must have been when they called you in. Apparently it was wrong. I don’t know how that could happen, I’m afraid. But when they did another in the early hours this morning, some brain activity was detected. That’s all I know.”
She turned and looked at him, still holding his hand, stroking it gently.
“If there’s anything you need, don’t hesitate to ask. Or if you’ve any more
questions. The best thing is for you to have a word with the consultant, Dr. Henriksen. I’ll ask him to look in on you.”
“Thanks,” she said, and smiled.
I smiled back and went toward the door.
“Is there no chance he’ll wake up again? Not even the smallest chance?”
“I’m afraid not,” I said. “It was a massive hemorrhage.”
“I know, of course,” she said. “It’s just that he looks so alive.”
She smoothed her hand over his cheek and I closed the door behind me and went out into the corridor.
I understood all too well what she meant. He looked as if he could wake up at any moment. That his brain was lifeless seemed therefore more like a hypothesis, a theory put forward by the doctors.
She must have had her children rather late, I thought. She looked to be at least fifty. They’d have an old mother and no father. But she seemed to be the type who could cope with most things.
Ellen came toward me.
“How did it work out with that little girl?” I said. “Is someone taking care of her? Is she all right?”
“We sorted it out,” said Ellen. “She stayed the night at a friend’s from school. Her aunt’s coming today to look after her.”
“Well done, Ellen!” I said. “And the mother?”
“Not so good. Withdrawal symptoms. They’re letting her go home tomorrow, though.”
“We can’t do anything about that,” I said. “But at least now the children’s social care team are aware of the situation. Let’s hope they can make a difference.”
“They take kids away from their parents,” she said.
“Not always. And sometimes it’s the best option,” I said.
“Not in this case,” she said.
“You’ll just have to let it go and hope for the best, I’m afraid,” I said, and went into my office, where I skimmed through the records of a new patient who’d been admitted the evening before. His name was Mikael Larsen, he was seventy years old and had suffered a mild stroke, had been found by his wife after a few hours, was unable to speak and displayed paralysis on his left side. He was due in surgery at some point during the day, to drain a clot from between the cerebral membrane and the skull.
He was in the same room as Inge, who’d been moved that morning.
I closed the document and massaged my forehead with the palm of my hand while staring at a photo of Line and Thomas; they were three and two years old and were standing holding hands in the road as they looked at the camera, Line with a wide smile, Thomas looking serious. Two toddlers, little mini-people I could lift into the air, carry and hold.
So much love they gave without knowing. And how delightful it had been when they used to lay their heads against my chest, their little faces all chubby cheeks and wide eyes.
The grief of that time being gone fluttered inside me for a moment, a shadow of loss. But a shadow nonetheless, I thought, made by the light. They weren’t dead!
I got up, went out to the staff toilet and splashed some cold water on my face at the sink, carefully dabbing myself dry before going to see the new patient.
Inge’s bed was hidden behind a curtain. I could hear he was listening to the radio, the volume turned down low, as I went to the other bed. The patient was awake and looked at me. A woman in her sixties, who’d been sitting in a chair reading when I’d come in, put her book down and stood up.
“I’m Hanne,” she said, putting her hand out. “And this is Mikael.”
“I’m Solveig,” I said. “I’m in charge of the ward here. Please, have a seat!”
She remained standing. Her face was meager and pale, her features sharp. Red hair, green eyes.
“How are you feeling?” I said, turning to Mikael, who seemed younger than his seventy years. His hair, rather long and dark, was swept back, a few locks spilling forward into his eyes. He looked like a fading film star from the fifties.
His mouth drooped at one side.
“O . . . kay,” he said.
“He’s having difficulty finding his words,” his wife said. “He knows what he wants to say, but not how to say it. Is that right, Mikael?”
“Yes,” he said.
“Have you spoken to Dr. Mattson?”
“Oh yes,” she said.
“Good. So you’re aware there’ll be some surgery this afternoon.”
“That’s what we’ve been told, yes,” she said.
“There’s a cafeteria where you’ll be able to wait, if you like.”
She nodded dismissively.
She looked down on me, I could tell. I was only a nurse in her eyes, so she was probably someone high and mighty. If she wasn’t trying to make up for her fear and uncertainty, that is.
I touched her arm.
“Don’t hesitate to buzz,” I said. “If there’s anything you’re not sure about, or anything you need.”
“Thank you,” she said, and sat down again. “We’ve got everything we need for the time being. Haven’t we, Mikael?”
She looked at her husband.
“Yes,” he said.
“Good,” I said, moving then to Inge’s side of the room. For want of a door, I tapped the knuckle of my index finger against the frame that held the curtain.
“Come in,” he said playfully.
I drew the curtain partially aside and stepped forward.
He was sitting up in bed with his bandaged head, in his blue hospital smock, smiling.
“I thought that was you on your round,” he said.
“How are you feeling?” I said.
“Fine, thanks,” he said. “A bit of a bad head, but I suppose it’s part of the package. They were rummaging about in there quite a while. And of course they had to saw the lid off first. No one’s done that to me before.”
“I should hope not,” I said. “Nothing unusual apart from that?”
“No,” he said. “No seizures, no hallucinations. The drudgery of hospital life, that’s about it.”
“Excellent,” I said with a smile I was unable to hold back.
“Yes,” he said. “As long as it lasts.”
There was a silence.
“What did you see exactly?” I said after a moment.
“The hallucinations, you mean?”
“Yes.”
“One time it was two trees floating by the side of the road. I was on my way to work, so it was early morning, the sun was up, and there above the fields were these two trees, roots and everything hanging down. The funny thing was,” he said, “it didn’t occur to me that it was a hallucination. To me it was real! I saw it with my own eyes!”
He shook his head.
“Another time, I saw a car in flames. The sun was out then as well, and there was snow on the ground. The car was in the middle of the road, engulfed. I slammed on the brakes and jumped out, only then there was nothing there. I thought I’d gone mad. But I’d seen it with my own eyes! It wasn’t something I’d imagined, it had been right there in front of me. Eventually, I didn’t know what to believe and what not.”
“That must have been terrible,” I said.
“Yes, it was,” he said.
There was another silence.
“They’re discharging you tomorrow,” I said. “Are you ready for that?”
“Just about,” he said. “It’ll be good to get home.”
Beside the radio on the little bedside table was a framed photograph. Not of his wife or children, but of an owl with outstretched wings, taken a moment before landing. Because the wings were curbing rather than propelling its flight, it looked like the bird was unnaturally suspended in mid-air.
It was a powerful image.
“Do you like it?” he said.
I nodded.
“Did you take it?”
“I
wish I had! No, it was a proper photographer. He knocked a pillar into a field, and another one next to it with a camera and a self-timer on it. He wanted to pull the birds out of the sky, he said. And that’s what he did. That one’s an owl. Amazing, isn’t it?”
“It is,” I said.
I wondered if he knew that people in the old days associated owls with death. If you heard an owl screech close to your house, it meant someone was going to die. Owls were thought to inhabit the borderland between night and day, life and death.
If he didn’t know, I didn’t want to be the one to tell him.
* * *
—
When I entered the duty room, Renate, Ellen and Mia were standing laughing at something one of them had said. Renate was dishing out medication, Ellen was seated at the computer, while Mia stood with a cup of coffee in one hand, her other fidgeting with a cigarette.
“It’s quiet today,” I said, pouring myself a coffee.
“The lull before the storm,” said Renate.
“I just looked in on Mikael Larsen,” I said. “His wife’s a bit prickly. Does anyone know what she does?”
“No idea,” said Renate. “They don’t live here, anyway. They’ve got a summer house out at Hellevika, on one of the islands in the fjord. I think maybe they own it. The island, that is. So they must have some money.”
“That would explain it,” I said, and sipped my coffee, glancing at the screen above the door, where a lamp had started flashing. Room 2. Ramsvik’s room.
I put my cup down and went out. Behind me in the corridor, someone came running. I turned. It was Henriksen.
“Solveig,” he said. “Major traffic accident coming in. A car and a bus. No word as yet as to how many injured or dead, but it looks like we’re going to be busy. I need your help. A helicopter’s on its way in now. And there’ll be ambulances too. Can you get someone to take over here?”
“Yes, of course,” I said. “Give me two minutes.”
I went back in and explained the situation to Renate. She was to call in some extra help and cancel surgery. I took the stairs up to theater, rather than the elevator, giving me a chance to call Line and tell her I was going to be late. She didn’t answer, so I texted her instead before switching off my phone and hurrying up the final flights.
The Morning Star Page 47