The Butterfly House

by Katrine Engberg

  Her eyes were on the table and for a long time she said nothing.

  Jeppe studied his mother. She and his father had divorced when he was little and she had been single-handedly responsible for almost all of the childrearing—the school lunches, the PTA meetings, the early mornings, and the serious heart-to-heart talks and practical matters. At the same time she’d made a career at the university. She had been ambitious and conscientious about her job, and although Jeppe remembered how busy she had been, she had rarely complained about the challenges of combining their little family with her professional life.

  In Jeppe’s eyes, his mother had always been a fighter, a straightforward and principled woman who could accomplish anything in the world with her determination. Now, here she sat at the table, frail and sunken, and it hit him that she was getting old. He was overwhelmed by the need to stop her movement through time and keep her from dwindling until she was snatched away from him.

  She lifted those blue eyes, which, over the years, had grown increasingly foggy and watery.

  “I’m lonely.”

  Her words hit him like a punch to the kidneys. His strong, independent, fierce mother… lonely?

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s not that hard to understand, is it?” She smiled wistfully. “I live by myself. You’re busy with your life. All my friends are in poor health or dead. I don’t have a job anymore; nothing is expected of me. Plus, I’m starting to forget things… sometimes I feel so confused. I try to stay active and hold myself together, but… Maybe I had hoped that you and I could spend a little more time together while you were living here. You know, that it would maybe bring us closer. I miss you.”

  Jeppe’s head fell. Damn it! Why do we insist on embracing our parents with sawblades on our arms? Did he really have to punish her for getting older?

  “I’m sorry, Mom.”

  He went around the table and squatted down so he could put his arms around her. She leaned closer and tousled his hair, like when he was a kid.

  “The coffee is probably cold.”

  “Should I heat more water?” Jeppe asked, standing back up with a smile.

  She thought about it, and then shook her head.

  “I can’t drink any more, anyway.”

  “I slept at a woman’s place last night,” he admitted, sitting back down again.

  “Yeah, I figured out that much. Is it serious?”

  “I think maybe.” Jeppe considered the question. “It feels more serious than anything else I’ve tried in my life. I don’t really know where she stands on the matter, but… she’s the one. Is it okay to say that when you’ve been married before?”

  “It is!” His mother smiled warmly. “You can say it as many times as you feel it. Who is she?”

  “A coworker—yeah, I know, that’s not optimal. Her name is Sara, and she has two kids, two girls. She’s a little shy, has hazel eyes, is quick on the uptake, and—”

  “And she really lights your fire?”

  Jeppe held up his hand.

  “Whoa, the two of us are not going there, Mom! But, yes, ‘lights my fire’ would probably cover it.”

  She laughed.

  “Can I give you some good advice?”

  One of those questions that is hard to say no to, even though very few of us ever really want good advice. Jeppe flung up his hands in a neutral gesture. His mother took that as a yes.

  “Don’t get boring, Jeppe.”

  “Boring?! What are you talking about?”

  “Boring! Predictable. It happens to men so easily.” His mother grasped his hand and squeezed it. “Women need variety. We always want to be loved in a new way. That tick-off-all-the-boxes tyranny that you seem to feel so comfortable with has the opposite effect on us.”

  Jeppe pulled his hand back, laughing.

  “Are you seriously going to give me the men are from Mars and women are from Venus talk? Haven’t times moved on from that interpretation of the sexes?”

  “It’s quite possible. But it is still true.” She got up and started clearing the table. “It’s about being true to yourself. Especially as a man, Jeppe.” She took his plate with a slight smile, seeming pleased to have a glimmer of their old distribution of roles. “Just because you’ve inherited my sensitivity, that doesn’t mean you’re not strong. Some women misunderstand that kind of thing.”

  Jeppe smiled at his mother. For the first time in a long time, he did it without feeling annoyed or wanting to escape the conversation.

  “What about her kids? Have you met them?”

  “We want to make sure we’re ready first.” Jeppe felt his nose wrinkling skeptically.

  “Did you not just tell me she was the one?”

  “Yeah…”

  “So what are you waiting for?” she asked, dishcloth in hand. “It is with love as it is with fish, Jeppe. You can’t just buy the fillets: you have to take the whole carcass.”

  * * *

  TO BEGIN WITH she just lay there, her eyes blurry, trying to orient herself as she drifted in and out of consciousness. The world was fuzzy and distant, in a way that she had never experienced before, like being wrapped in a cotton ball, isolated and grainy. Her lack of pain told her that she was either heavily sedated or dead.

  “Anette, can you hear me?”

  The voice was warm and firm and didn’t sound particularly angelic. Anette forced her eyes open again and saw a smiling nurse standing next to the bed.

  “Ah, you’re coming back to us. That’s wonderful! You’ve been through quite an ordeal. We’ve been really worried about you.”

  “Where’s my family?”

  “Your husband is taking a stroll with your daughter. She’s a bit overtired. They’re bound to be back in a second.” The nurse hesitated. “It’s been a hard night for your husband. He’s… uh, quite upset.”

  Upset, of course he was upset. Nervous and worried, but probably also pretty angry. She would be, too, in his position.

  The nurse took Anette’s blood pressure and her temperature and stroked her forehead. She had survived. She had come through the darkness and the pain, had made it. She and Svend would grow old together like they had planned and she would see her daughter again, watch her grow up to become big and beautiful. Nothing else mattered at all.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, yeah, it’s nothing. Just…” Anette sensed that she couldn’t give words to her thoughts right now.

  “I’ll go find your husband and tell him you’re awake. He’ll be happy to hear it.”

  Anette smiled gratefully and closed her eyes again, exhausted from the brief conversation.

  The sound of a baby crying made her look toward the door. Svend was on his way into the room, his eyes red-rimmed and glassy, the baby in his arms. My family, Anette thought, my family is crying because of me.

  She reached up to Svend who placed their daughter tenderly into her arms. The baby smelled the milk and immediately started looking for Anette’s breast.

  “Are you sure it’s okay to nurse her? You’re on a lot of painkillers.” He avoided making eye contact.

  “I think it’s fine. The amount that would come out in the milk would be negligible anyway.” Anette opened up her hospital gown and put her daughter to her breast, watching her as she started nursing right away with her eyes closed and her little hands groping unconsciously. Anette’s heart fluttered with relief.

  Little human being, my beloved daughter.

  “Your numbers look good, they say. With a little luck, you can come home tomorrow.” Svend stood by the window with his hands in his pockets, looking out at the seagulls.

  Anette sat up straighter in the bed.

  “Can you manage until then, with the baby?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “Maybe your mom could…” Anette stopped herself.

  Svend didn’t need help, he would be fine on his own. Maybe he didn’t even need her anymore. Maybe she had crossed the line this time and p
ushed his patience too far. She looked down at the little girl in her arms. She had caused harm, irreparable harm, maybe. She had lied, and the lies had punched holes in their marriage. Anette felt her heart breaking in her chest, like a crystal glass dropped on the floor. She raised her arm and wiped her nose on her sleeve, carefully, without jostling the baby. Whispered to her daughter, “No matter what happens from now on, you can count on me, kiddo, no matter what.”

  “Did you say something?” Svend’s voice was cool and distant, his back still turned.

  Better get it over with. How hard could it be to admit that she had screwed up?

  “I’m sorry, honey. I know I’ve been a jerk. I’m really sorry.” Actually, it wasn’t that hard once she got going. Her voice started choking up. “It’ll never happen again.”

  “What won’t?” Svend turned around to look at her. He looked devastated.

  “What won’t ever happen again? You won’t lie about where you’re going? You won’t run off on our baby? You won’t risk your life for an investigation you’re not even part of? I just need to understand what you’re not planning on doing again, and what I may expect to be a recurring incident.”

  In their almost twenty-five years together Anette had never seen her husband like this. Resigned, as if he didn’t love her anymore. He normally never got angry, and she could always coax a smile onto his face with a little teasing or a kiss. But not now.

  “I can forgive a lot, Anette, but this isn’t about me anymore. Or even about you for that matter. This is about her.” He pointed to the baby. “We have a child. You’re acting like it hasn’t occurred to you what that means.”

  Anette didn’t know what to say. And even if she had known, she wouldn’t have been able to say a word, her throat was so constricted.

  “What are your plans? I mean, for the future. Are you going to run out on her baptism because you’re bored? Or on her first day of school? Is that the mother you want to be?”

  The mother she wanted to be? Anette closed her eyes to avoid the look of defeat on Svend’s face. How was she supposed to decide what kind of a mother to be when she didn’t feel like a mother at all?

  “You went after a murderer on your own and you were this close”—he demonstrated with his fingers just how close—“to dying! You are not at liberty to do that anymore, Anette. You have a kid now, who depends on you. You can’t take chances like that anymore!”

  She had to try to defend herself, to explain. She cleared her throat and spoke in an unsteady voice she hardly recognized as her own.

  “I don’t know who I am anymore.”

  “No one does, Anette.” Svend squeezed his eyes shut. His words felt like a knife wound. “We’ve just been hit by a bomb. Do you think I know who I am anymore? I’m just putting one foot in front of the other.”

  “Yeah, but you seem so calm and happy.”

  “That’s just because you forget to ask how I’m doing, because you’re so preoccupied with all the things you’re missing out on! Of course I think it’s hard right now. Everything in life that’s worth anything is hard. But it won’t always be like this. She’ll learn to sleep and become more and more independent in time.”

  Anette knew he was right. He was also entitled to be angry.

  “I just miss— Forgive me, Svend. You’re right, about everything.” She could tell from his shoulders that he relaxed a little.

  “We’ll get it all back again, Anette. You’re not losing anything, not yourself, not your job. It’s just right now, in the beginning, that everything is kind of chaotic, and we have to find our footing in all the new.”

  “Do you think other people find it this hard?” She tried to smile a little.

  “What do I care what other people think?” He smiled back at her, still reserved.

  Anette watched her husband and suddenly felt the love for him again, pulsating and alive.

  “You know what?” she said. “Speaking up suits you.”

  That made him laugh.

  “Ha! And apologizing suits you!”

  The baby whimpered. Svend gently picked her up and kissed her before passing her back to Anette.

  “She can’t still be hungry, can she?” Anette carefully rocked her daughter, who settled down in her arms. She looked like a tiny little marzipan person who grunted and breathed, a perfect creature. Maybe this is just what parental love is, Anette thought. This moment, and then the next one, and then the one after that.

  “I think you’re right,” she said, caressing the tiny, downy-soft head. “We’ll name her Gudrun after my mom.”

  CHAPTER 27

  Copenhagen is a dormant plant that lives off the scant sunlight falling on its leaves. The city can be all curled in on itself during the dark, wet, windy times that comprise most of a Scandinavian year. But when the sun’s rays finally hit, the city unfurls in a blossoming that is every bit as sudden as it is breathtaking.

  Today, Copenhageners sat on benches by the Lakes, their faces turned to the sky and their inner clocks on pause. Like an entire colony of lemmings with rechargeable batteries, they were sucking up the solar energy. It wasn’t even particularly warm, just clear and sunny—apparently that was enough. Esther inhaled the mild air, letting it soothe her sorrow.

  A pair of swans came into view by the water’s edge, beautiful in all their monogamous self-sufficiency. She stopped to admire the white birds gliding through sunny patches on the surface of the water, felt in her pocket for her phone so she could take a picture, and realized she had forgotten it at home. When you’ve spent the first fifty-five years of your life without a portable telecom device, it’s not always easy to keep track of where your cell phone might be.

  Esther walked on along the lakeside, following the path under the embankment, and took a short cut through Fredens Park until she was standing in front of National Hospital. She had brought the newspaper and a bag of pastries for Gregers; if only she could bring him a little of the sunshine as well. But maybe he would be fit enough for a brief walk in the yard. The last few days he had seemed healthier than he had in years, almost as if the mere prospect of a balloon dilation had a curative effect.

  Esther headed for entrance three and went up to the fourteenth floor. In a sliding glass door, she caught her own reflection, and was startled by how stern she looked. Bringing her bitterness up to Gregers wouldn’t do any good; she would have to park her resentment for a bit. Afterward she might follow through on her plan to stop by the Netto supermarket on Korsgade, where the mover named Adam advertised his services according to her new downstairs neighbors. Not that she knew what to do with his phone number if she found it, but it would be a start.

  When Esther pushed open the door to Ward 3144, a nurse came right up to greet her. She nodded somberly.

  “Good that you could come so quickly. I didn’t even know they had managed to get in touch with you.”

  Esther froze.

  “I haven’t talked to anyone.” She cursed her forgotten phone. “What’s happened?”

  In an instant, the nurse’s eyes conveyed a series of emotions, going straight from compassion to resentment at being the one who had just drawn the short end of the stick.

  “WHAT HAPPENED?” Esther dropped the bag she was holding and pastries rolled out, spreading crumbs and shards of icing across the floor.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry…” The nurse grabbed hold of Esther’s arm and guided her skillfully to the nearest chair. “It was an unexpected cardiac arrest this morning. I’m afraid he couldn’t be saved.”

  Esther locked eyes with the nurse. This couldn’t be true! Gregers couldn’t be dead. He was just doing so well.

  “But he was totally healthy when I visited him yesterday. How could he suddenly die?”

  Esther’s chest imploded into a black hole, and she buried her face in her hands. Her protests were useless. Death always won in the end. Yet again she had lost a close friend without warning. As far as she was concerned, the floor could just open up an
d swallow her then and there.

  She felt the nurse’s hand on her shoulders and leg, trying to help her hold onto reality, calm her down somehow.

  “I’m afraid I also need to inform you that the police have been called. We have reason to suspect that a crime may have been committed.”

  “The police, what do you mean?” Esther struggled to understand what she was hearing.

  The nurse took her hands and squeezed them, preparing her for the awful news to come.

  “We have reason to suspect that John was murdered.”

  “John?” Esther asked, furrowing her brow. And then, when the nurse didn’t respond, she continued, “Who the fuck is John?”

  In the awkward silence that followed, the nurse gaped at Esther, opening and closing her mouth like a goldfish.

  Esther stood up.

  “Tell me what’s going on here! Is Gregers alive?”

  “Are you Gregers Hermansen’s next of kin?”

  “Yes! I’ve been here every day since Tuesday. Is he okay?”

  “I’m so sorry!” the nurse exclaimed, her hands flying up to her face. “I thought… they’re both in room eight, so I… Oh my God, I’m really so, so sorry!”

  The nurse pulled herself together and spoke rapidly.

  “Gregers is alive and doing well, considering the circumstances. Of course he’s upset about John’s death, the other patient in his room, we all are. Gregers has been moved down to room four, where he’s resting. I’m just so sorry about this!”

  “Can I see him?” Esther had not a single second more to spare for this conversation. “I’ll just go down there. Thanks.”

  Esther left the nurse—and the pastries on the floor—and walked to room four as quickly as her shaking knees could carry her.

  Gregers was not dead.

  Of course it was terrible that John, the friendly typographer in the other bed, had passed away, but Esther still allowed herself to feel relief.