Welcome to America

by Linda Boström Knausgard

  I went through my things. The notebook, the filetting knife, the teddy bear I still slept with, my books: One Thousand and One Nights and the Kitty books, a dictionary. I pressed the blade of the knife against my thumb until the skin split. The blood that appeared soothed me. I went to the bathroom and found a plaster. I saw my face in the mirror. It was me, but it was someone else too. There was something unfamiliar about me, a serenity that ran through my features in a way I hadn’t noticed before. I went back through the living room, stood at the window and looked out into the park. The trees were pale green. Summer would soon be here. What would it bring? I tried to steer my mind from the unease that came over me. I definitely didn’t want to leave the apartment.

  Vendela stopped coming. She’d only been twice, which I supposed was the reason for my brother’s bad mood. He didn’t nail his door shut, but it was obvious no one was allowed in. I avoided him as best I could. Mostly there was no need for me to see him during the day. Mostly I was allowed to eat in my room. I passed my hand over the radiator and smelled the warm dust.

  I’d been such a happy child, mum said. You were always happy. And now you’re not. If only you could tell us why. But there’s nothing I can say. All I know is that I’m neither happy nor sad. Did I think my thoughts would reach her? She needed comfort as much as anyone else. Her constant worry. Hasn’t this gone far enough now? How much longer can you keep it up?

  Until I die, I could have said. I could have told her everything.

  *

  Every day you must make the most of life. Attack the day with purpose, mum told me as I lay in bed. It was what she did. She woke up and directed all her attention first to breakfast, then to herself, the clothes she was going to wear, her face, always done so meticulously and with the kind of objective detachment only she possessed. Everything she did, she did in earnest. My passivity was the worst thing that could happen to her. It got to her where she was most vulnerable. But it wasn’t my fault. I hadn’t planned or even wanted it that way. It was how I was. I do wish you’d show some purpose, mum said again, with eyes that dwelled.

  I climbed out of bed to go to the bathroom. I passed mum on the way and she grabbed hold of me and took me in her arms. We stood there and looked at each other for a moment. She was stronger than me, I had to dig my elbow in for her to let go. Her words, You’ve got no right to do this, struck me in the back.

  I went out to the park, to the leaves unfolding on the trees, to the statues and the café, busy now in the pleasant sun. The warm air smelled faintly of exhaust fumes. What was I doing here among all these dogs and cheerful people? Still, I decided to walk. I passed the dog exercise area, and the library where only grown-ups could come. I followed the path, past the crocus beds, to the café where we used to buy ice cream. Around the hill to the play area, then back to the street with our building in the middle. I crossed over at the crossing, keyed in the code, and went inside to the stairway. I opened the front door and stepped into the apartment. The place was quiet. Mum was washing up after dinner, and my brother was in his room.

  I avoided the mirror. The living room seemed huge. Like a great hall, waiting for people. The serving passage with the black-and-white diamond-patterned flooring led me into the kitchen, to mum. She turned around. Looked at me and smiled. Have you been out? How nice.

  I helped her put the plates away in the cupboard, the cutlery in the drawer, and wiped the crumbs off the table. After that I went and got the vacuum cleaner and began to do my room. Dust had collected everywhere and the air was stale. I opened the window, then went back out for the cleaning things. I didn’t miss a surface. I wanted everything spick and span. I got down on my hands and knees and scrubbed the floor, then ran the cloth over it. By the time I was finished it was gleaming. I got clean sheets from the linen cupboard in the living room. A thud of music came from my brother’s room as I went past the door. Mum came out behind me and went through to the hall on her way out to the theatre. Our paths separated and she waved as she left.

  When I went back to my room, my dad was there. He was sitting in the armchair whistling. His hair was black and he looked up when I came in. Hello, petal, he said. Nice to see you. He watched me change the bedclothes. You’re looking after yourself, he said. That’s good. Don’t forget, you’re the one in charge. I didn’t want to look at him, so I sat down with a book and tried to read. You’ve got to stand up to your mother. Don’t give her any slack or she’ll take everything. He spoke the way they do in the north, as if his years in the city had never happened. Take no notice of your brother. He’ll do you no harm, he added. You’ve got yourself nicely sorted out. That’s the way. I think about the lot of you, you know. I never stop.

  I tried to will him away, only I couldn’t. His smell filled the room. The aftershave he used. I got up off the bed and went to open the window again. Would a fall from the window do it? Was it high enough? It was you and me together when you were little. We’d be in the park waiting for your mum. Those were the best times. How was I to get rid of him? You used to be with me all the time. I’d bike out to the boat with you. You’d sit there in your little life vest in the prow while I put the nets out. You were always so excited the next morning, when we took them up again. You’d only just learned to talk, but there you’d sit, still as you like, I was never afraid you’d fall in. Just sit there, you would, staring at the fish as they came up out of the water. How could I shut him up? The knife wouldn’t help, he was already dead. Your mother doesn’t understand, he laughed. She does what she does, that’s all. Full steam ahead. I loved her too much. Never love anyone too much. I had to make him stop. I had to get him out of my room. I thought for a moment, then picked up the notebook and wrote: You’re dead. You can’t come here. I put the notebook in his lap and watched him read. So that’s what you think, is it? He laughed again. Well, since you ask so nicely.

  He was gone.

  I lay down on the bed. The room spun, and I was a part of its spinning. Round and round I went, trying to fix my eyes on a point on the ceiling. Only when I put a foot down on the floor did it stop. You’re falling away, come back. You’re falling away. Twice now I’d written in the notebook. What did it mean?

  I went to the kitchen to make some tea. The coldness my dad had left behind was in everything. I took a mug from the cupboard and heard mum coming in. She stepped into the kitchen and smoothed my cheek. But she said nothing, and I could see that her thoughts were elsewhere. She spread some jam on a couple of rusks, took her plate and went out of the room again. I followed her towards the living room, but stopped at my room and left her to herself.

  My room was back to normal. The smell had been aired away and it felt like he’d never been there. Had he been there? I wasn’t sure. I read what I’d written in the notebook. Yes, he’d been there. Was he coming back? Should I tell mum?

  Once, he came to the school and collected me. My teacher had protested, she told him we were in the middle of something important, but he grabbed my hand and took me with him. We took the bus to Gröna Lund. There was hardly anyone there, we rode the merry-go-round a few times. I had a tummy ache and wanted to go home, but he went on to the next ride and the next one after that. I had candy floss, ice cream, and sweets, and eventually I was sick in a bin. When we left, we took the ferry to Nybroplan and he said why don’t we say hello to mum at the theatre. I told him I didn’t want to. I wanted to go home. When we got back I went to bed and pretended to be ill. Dad talked to someone on the phone in the kitchen. His voice was so loud. After a while he started crying. I pretended to be asleep when he came into my room in tears. Are you frightened of me? he wept. Are you frightened?

  Mum changed. She was no longer as meticulous about breakfast. Often, she slept into the mornings with her new boyfriend. He was a young and promising director at the theatre and it was his play she was in now. My brother and I would be left to ourselves. I sprinkled the bilberries on the yoghurt the
way mum did and put the bread and cold cuts out. My brother let himself be waited on. Occasionally, he ruffled my hair with his big hands.

  Mum laughed a lot. She laughed at everything my brother said and when talking with friends on the phone. She was happy, and I told myself it was good that she was absorbed in something other than me. My brother said nothing, but I knew he didn’t care for having a stranger in the apartment. As for me, I avoided him as best I could. His blond curls and wide mouth at the table. His name was Ulrik and he was from Denmark. Sometimes I thought he hardly looked older than my brother.

  I supposed everything was all right. There was no more talk of the specialist, mum’s thoughts were elsewhere. She and Ulrik would sit entwined on a chair, or they chased each other around the apartment, mum shrieking with laughter. I liked that she was so happy, and sometimes I’d pray to God for Ulrik to stay. His youth was against him in that respect, I think mum knew that, but she didn’t seem to worry about it. I think she just wanted to be happy in the moment. Ulrik liked to cook. There was always something simmering away on the cooker, and they would eat together after the play. Ulrik stayed in with us in the evenings and got dinner ready, set the table nicely in the living room, aerated the wine. Everything had to be ready for when mum came home. I heard the way they laughed together as they ate. It struck me how much like kids they were. It was as if we’d swapped places without noticing. As if me and my brother were the grown-ups.

  Occasionally, dad would turn up and watch me as I sat in my room, but it didn’t bother me and usually he went away again as quietly as he’d come. One time, he said so much had gone wrong since he died. That mum couldn’t be trusted. Never trust a woman, he said. As if he knew I’d never become one.

  But I didn’t think about death that much. It was as if my thoughts wanted to be elsewhere. I longed to be in the light from the sea, to be sitting in the prow of the boat, before everything had gone wrong. Before illness came and smothered our lives together. I wanted to be stepping out onto the islets with my brother, mum, and dad. My brother and I looking for birds’ eggs. I think there was another child with us, a girl who lived on our street. Sofia with the long hair, who wanted me to be her baby sister. She put me in a pram once and took me for a walk. I remember the faces leaning in to look at me. The way they recoiled at the big baby who lay there. Then the nervous chuckles. Oh, so it’s a game you’re playing. Sometimes, when dad went too far with the bottle and became threatening, we’d retreat to Sofia’s house. But he always came after us. He smashed a window there and climbed in. Stood in the living room complaining to Sofia’s parents about mum, while I held my hands over Sofia’s ears, thinking it wouldn’t be good for her to hear the things he was saying. It was always something about some man mum had been playing around with, and I knew it wasn’t the sort of thing to be broadcast. The ambulance that pulled up slowly outside, and me trying not to draw his attention to it, so he wouldn’t run away. I’d dreamt about them coming to get him. Men in white coats who took him away and locked him up for good.

  Did I say that I didn’t think about illness? That’s not entirely true. It was as if every thought ended there. It’s not easy growing up.

  I tidied my room, cleaned the window with a cloth and the squeegee, dusted the bookshelf, vacuumed and washed the floor. Over and over, with the cloth and the scrubbing brush. I dried the wet floor and binned the clothes that had got too small for me. It soothed me to get the place cleaned, the smell of chemicals mingling with the air from the courtyard. I kept the window open, even when I slept. Mum bought me new floorcloths, I would never use the same one twice. It felt like my body sang when I was cleaning, as if it had been longing for something to do, as if it had tired of my sitting down and needed a change. Mum had started listening to music. Now her music came together with my brother’s, and the apartment resonated. It was as if she were shedding all responsibility, as if she had been relieved of some heavy weight. She sparkled, sparkled so brightly. I’d never seen her so happy. She and Ulrik couldn’t get enough of each other. Her joy infused us. The atmosphere at home had always been dependent on her. The way she dealt with dad. Her feeling safe was the important thing, and now she felt safe. Nothing bad could happen to her anymore. I ate the food they made together. I saw the way they lit up the apartment and felt this new contentment would last forever. That was why the note from my teacher was so poorly timed. The headmaster wanted to see us, to discuss my situation at school. There was a date and a time. The appointment was already arranged, no ifs or buts. Mum spoke to me. If only I knew what you wanted, she said. Deep down. She accentuated the words, deep down, like the actress she was, and I thought to myself that she wasn’t being sincere. That she knew what I wanted, that everyone knew, if only they had the courage to answer the question themselves. Before the meeting she brushed my hair and curled it with the curlers. She ironed my clothes and dressed me. A dazzling white blouse and dark-blue jeans. Then, meticulously, she put her face on and changed into a dress. We smelled so fresh and clean as we walked along the pavement together. Now it was us against them. We needed to stand up for ourselves.

  The headmaster shook mum’s hand, glancing briefly at me, making some polite remarks, asking her how things were at the theatre, as people often did. Mum answered vaguely, and he invited us to take a seat. He was a bald man with glasses. I’d never seen his office before. He looked like he belonged in another age and smoothed his brow repeatedly with the tip of a finger, as if it were an important preliminary to the matter at hand.

  We’ve rather a situation, he said. Ellen won’t speak, we realise that. But Britta, her class teacher, is unsure as to how to proceed. Since Ellen won’t write either, we don’t know how she’s getting on. It’s becoming increasingly hard to see how we can have Ellen progress to Year 7. That said, we’ve no reason to believe there’s anything at all wrong with the child’s intelligence. But we do have a difficult situation on our hands, and I would very much like to hear your own thoughts on the issue. At this point he paused and looked at us in turn, and all I wanted was to back out of the room and run, but I couldn’t, I was stuck there. I knew mum felt the same way. That all she wanted was to get up and leave and take me with her, to run to the convenience store and buy ice cream and celebrate that we’d got away with it. Instead we sat there, soaking it up.

  I should like to alleviate your concerns. Mum’s voice sounded deep as she spoke. Ellen—, she went on. I didn’t care to hear my name, it had been a long time since anyone had used it. Ellen has begun to communicate at home, using a notebook. I see her moving in the right direction. I think the best thing would be to wait and see before doing anything drastic.

  Have you sought medical advice?

  I hated him. I wanted to beat him to a pulp.

  As yet, no. I’m sure it’s going to pass of its own accord. There’s nothing wrong with her.

  The headmaster scrutinised me. I felt forced to meet his gaze and stared into the piggy eyes that peered out through his glasses.

  What do you say, Ellen? Just nod or shake your head. Do you want to move up with the rest of your class to Year 7 next term? I carried on staring at him. He had to understand I was stronger than him.

  I don’t think there’s much point to this, I heard mum suddenly say. Ellen’s not going to communicate with you. You’re wasting our time, and if I didn’t know better I’d think the only reason you called us in here was to satisfy your own personal curiosity. You know perfectly well she’s not going to speak to you in any way. I suggest we conclude this meeting immediately and that no further steps be taken. Mum stood up. I could hear how angry she was. I followed suit and we turned and left. No one tried to stop us. We strode along the corridor, down the stairs and out through the gates. The air was mild and pleasant, birds could be heard above the traffic. I was proud of what mum had done, she wouldn’t be pushed around by anyone, least of all a school headmaster. Nevertheless, I cried. Mum wiped my tear
s and said: Don’t ever be anything other than the way you are. She was scared, I could tell that. I imagined how the doctors and the social services would come to our fine and spacious apartment and look for things that were wrong. Mum would show them a splendid, perfectly kept home. There was nothing wrong with us, she would say, and they would have to agree. Everyone would see that we were a family of light. We were untouchable, because that was how mum wanted it.

  That evening, mum tucked me in the way she used to when I was little. Perhaps I still was little, I wasn’t sure. It was hard to place the person I’d become on a timescale. Maybe I was already grown up? Maybe growing had got me a long time ago? She gave me tea to drink and two delicate sandwiches with little rolls of cheese and ham, and cucumber with the edges cut off, and they were delicious. She stroked my arm absently while I ate. I knew it was to calm her down. She watched me from the armchair as I fell asleep.

  Ulrik. When did he go? It was like I’d forgotten him even before he left. Mum seemed to forget him too, I couldn’t see that she was unhappy, or that she missed him. An old, familiar mood settled over the apartment. My brother nailed his door shut again. Dad kept away, or else it was me who made sure. It was a delightful time. We looked after ourselves, there was nothing to disturb us, and the fact that summer would soon be upon us didn’t seem as alarming anymore. We were staying at home in the apartment. Anything else was unthinkable. I asked myself how life was meant to be lived, but found no answer. Nothing came to me when I tried to unravel the thread.

  My room was hot. The sun beat against the pane. I sat in the window with my eyes shut. Blue squiggles darted behind my eyelids. Sometimes I fell asleep like that, and in sleep I was talking like everyone else. Effortlessly and without thinking about it. I would be rowing a boat with my friend, around and around the lake. Or we’d come running from the house, squealing with joy, pulling off our clothes on the jetty before diving in. Swimming underwater, our hair wafting. Far beneath the surface, to the big rock we tried to budge.