The Helios Disaster

by Linda Bostrom Knausgaard

  ‘Okay,’ I said, nodding appreciatively.

  ‘Oh, how nice,’ said Birgitta. ‘Then we’ll pick a day—Wednesdays. I’ll start. I can think of something unusual, something exotic. Then we’ll meet here in the kitchen at five o’clock and begin.’

  No one said anything.

  ‘The next item is a quick one,’ said Sven. ‘Personal hygiene. You ought to shower more often. In fact, this goes for all three of you, and that’s why I’m bringing it up so openly. Shower and wash up every day, and it’s a requirement after practice. So that’s that. The next item is how messy the dirty laundry is. Shape up. And now Ulf has an item.’

  Urban and I stared at Ulf.

  ‘The car,’ he said. ‘I think we should get a new car. The one we have is too small, now that Anna’s here. The engine is bad too,’ he said, putting a sugar cube between his teeth. Then he filtered his tea through the sugar cube as he looked at us one by one.

  ‘I see. The next item is perhaps a bit more serious,’ said Sven, looking at me. ‘Anna, we feel that you should do things with other people. That it’s no longer enough for you to stay here at home. You know that I’m not too happy about all this Pentecostal church stuff, and I’ve spoken to Erik and he thinks it’s a good idea too. A team sport, Anna. You know what I’m talking about. You’re starting volleyball on Monday.’

  Was that all, I thought, not understanding why Sven was being so serious. I had thought it was school, so I was definitely a little relieved.

  ‘Does that sound good?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, that sounds good,’ I said.

  ‘Then we’re finished,’ said Sven, at which Urban and Ulf stood up and went down the stairs and into their rooms.

  I wanted to go too, but there was that part about Birgitta being lonely, so I remained seated.

  ‘I ran into Anna-Lisa and Britta,’ I tried. Birgitta lit up. ‘They wanted me to come over and visit.’

  ‘Why, you want to, right?’ said Birgitta. ‘How nice. When are you supposed to go?’

  ‘We’re supposed to talk later,’ I said, and it felt like I was giving her a present, something really nice that she’d wanted for a long time.

  ‘You could have a friend, Anna,’ she said, placing her hand on mine and searching for my eyes. ‘That means a lot. More than you might think.’

  After this at least I could go, I thought, and I stood up.

  ‘Thanks, Anna,’ Birgitta said, and she stood up too.

  I walked down the stairs with the bag of candy in my hand. I knocked on Urban’s door and went in. Urban was sitting on his bed with his legs pulled up, leaning against the wall.

  ‘I have candy. Do you want some?’ I said, holding out the bag with the diamonds.

  ‘Damn it, Anna.’

  I looked at him, sitting there on the bed. What did he say?

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Volleyball and Britta. It’s wrong, do you understand?’

  ‘What’s right, then?’ I asked, not daring to look at him anymore.

  ‘You don’t speak in tongues,’ he said, looking at me for so long that I eventually met his gaze. ‘You know that, right?’

  *

  We were sitting on Britta’s bed. Her bedspread was a patchwork quilt in various shades of pink, and she had pink curtains. A small chandelier hung from the ceiling, and the glass reflected against the walls, seeming to dance. Everything was very orderly and beautiful. As orderly as Britta’s hair, which was always done up in elaborate styles. Today she had a ballerina bun. To go with that, she had a pink Bambi shirt and a burgundy corduroy skirt. She had pink slippers on her feet.

  I felt awkward in my brown shirt and my jeans, and I thought I felt that way because I was sitting here with Britta. I had never felt this way at other times.

  ‘If you went to school we could be in the same class,’ Britta said.

  ‘I don’t go to school,’ I said.

  ‘Why not?’ Britta asked.

  ‘I don’t really know. I have enough to do with church, I think.’

  Inside, I felt that everything I took for granted would seem strange here in Britta’s room. It was as if the person I was and the life I lived couldn’t tolerate questions. I felt weakened. Yes, that particular word came to me. I saw myself running in a meadow, chased by archers. The arrows slammed down around me, and I knew that a single arrow would be enough to bring me to the ground. One arrow, and I would lie there dying in the grass. I would bleed to death, and nothing of what I knew would be near me. Suddenly I felt fragile. Through Britta’s eyes, I looked like a lost girl. My father had slipped away and turned into a shadow, far away. I had nothing, here on Britta’s bed. I was all on my own, and it seemed like Britta was several hundred people.

  ‘Do you touch yourself when you’re in bed alone?’ she asked.

  ‘What do you mean?’ I asked, looking out the window. It was dark out, as usual, and I thought about the spring that would come. About what Urban had said about the river’s happiness and the light that comes so quickly that people go crazy. Sun-sick, Urban called it, when you couldn’t sleep because you just kept climbing higher and higher. The happiness that would settle in you and didn’t have room in your body so it went out through your head and made a hole.‘That’s why you should wear a hat until June,’ he had said. ‘To keep your head together.’

  ‘You know, when you’re naked under the covers. Between your legs?’

  ‘No,’ I said.

  ‘Haven’t you ever done it?’ she asked eagerly.

  I wanted to go home. Home.

  ‘Haven’t you?’ she asked again.

  ‘No,’ I said, although I didn’t know what she was talking about.

  There was a knock at the door. It was Anna-Lisa.

  ‘Would you like a snack?’ she asked. ‘It’s ready.’

  It was nice to leave Britta’s room. We went up the stairs and sat down at the table. Anna-Lisa had put out drinks and cookies. She looked at me and smiled with her mouth, though her eyes were asking something I didn’t understand. I tried to smile back as I took a cookie. Anna-Lisa was a widow; I knew that, and it was something special. I knew that something had happened, because Birgitta and Sven had said something about it. Something I couldn’t remember now. Could I ask about it?

  ‘Help yourself,’ Anna-Lisa said.

  She watched Britta and me and suddenly she looked happy. Her face, which usually guarded itself, softened. She’s so young, I thought. She’s happy because Britta and I are together, I thought. But of course that’s not how it was. Suddenly I felt guilty because I was sitting here lying to Anna-Lisa, because I was here against my will. Because I was pretending.

  ‘I’m going home now,’ I said, standing up.

  I didn’t dare to look at Britta and Anna-Lisa. I went to the hall and put on my shoes and jacket. Suddenly she was there, Britta, and I gave a start when I saw her smile.

  ‘Are you afraid of me?’ she asked.

  I didn’t answer. I just looked at her pretty face.

  ‘Are you?’

  I shook my head. Suddenly she embraced me. Then she stood for a long time with her arms around me. I think she was crying because my jacket got wet, and finally I had to hug her back.

  Anna-Lisa popped up, and her face was blotchy. She smiled at me. Stroked my hair, even though I didn’t want her to.

  ‘Come back soon,’ she said. ‘We’d like that. Wouldn’t we, Britta?’

  Britta loosened her grip on me, wiped her nose on the arm of her shirt, and looked at me with a calm I had never seen in her before.

  ‘Yes. You should come back,’ she said.

  I ran all the way home. It hurt to pull the cold air into my lungs. I ran from Britta and Anna-Lisa. From Britta’s face and Anna-Lisa’s unhappiness. The house grew closer. I saw Ulf shovelling snow out front. He ra
ised a hand in greeting and that gesture spread through me like warmth; it was a silent rejoicing that someone recognized me. That I belonged with them. With Sven and Birgitta and Urban and Ulf. I waved back, raising my hand at Ulf, who was smiling.

  I couldn’t fall asleep that night. I twisted and turned in bed with the wind outside chasing me through the hours. I really wanted to sleep. To get away from everything and then wake to a new day. I wanted to wake up, shower, and then sit down at the set table and eat Start muesli with milk, and rye with cheese, and drink tea. I wanted to talk to Sven about the Umeå team and to Birgitta about cooking. I wanted to show my gratefulness and try to please them. I’d been given so much; I wanted to give something back. Instead I thought about Sunday. We were going to have a special guest from Uppsala, and it was extra important for the voice to come as it should. Erik had said I just needed to do what I usually did, that nothing was different, but I know he didn’t mean it. Never before had they had visitors from the Pentecostal church in Uppsala, and they were coming for my sake.

  I received an answer the very next day. Strangely enough, seeing the letter in the mailbox didn’t excite me as much as the other times. I brought in the letter and didn’t even hide it; instead I carried it in my hand, as if it were a matter of course that I should receive mail. I was home alone, and maybe that could explain why I felt so calm. I had plenty of time. Birgitta was at the grocery store in town, and Urban and Ulf were at school. Sven didn’t come home before six on weekdays, and besides, he was working on making a new sign for the bathhouse.

  I turned into the kitchen and threw the letter on the counter with a gesture that showed me that I had no fear of what might be in it. I exchanged letters with my father, and now the next letter had arrived. It was that simple, I told myself. I put on the coffeemaker because I felt that the situation demanded something strong, and I took buns out of the bread basket. Birgitta had baked new ones with almond paste to make me happy. She was so happy about me and Britta. She had run into Anna-Lisa, who said that we got along so well. That we had sat talking to each other in Britta’s room for a long time.

  Why had she said that, I wondered. Was she ashamed that I had just left?

  I took out a cup and poured the coffee in; I mixed in a lot of milk and sat down at the table. I let the letter lie on the counter while I drank the coffee and ate the bun. It was snowing outside. Tomorrow would be the first of December. Birgitta had already taken out the advent candles and lit the first candle, and Sven had explained that Christmas meant togetherness for the family, and that they lit candles to brighten the darkness. He didn’t say anything about the birth of Jesus, but at the advent concert at church I had heard the songs about the star that shone over Bethlehem.

  *

  I drank the coffee, put the cup in the dishwasher, and took the letter with me down to my room.

  No hammering heart. No shortness of breath. Just me and the letter from my father. I opened the envelope, took out the letter, and read:

  I mostly spend my days at Balder. The day centre. We hang out with one another and play cards. Bismarck. I can pass with any high cards at all. The others don’t have a chance. But I still like playing. At eleven our daytime medication comes and then it’s lunch. There’s nothing wrong with the food, Anna. And then, as a rule, I’m home in the ward by three, and then I help in the kitchen if I’m allowed, preparing dinner. Then it’s dinner at five and then I go to bed pretty early. I don’t like TV very much. Then I get up early. And then I’m on my way by about half past nine.

  My name. He addressed me by name. My hands ached, as they always did before I cried. The tears tore at me, pressing out my eyes and down my cheeks. ‘There’s nothing wrong with the food, Anna.’ Anna. Anna. I read the sentence again and again, as the tears flowed. The tears pulled me down on the bed. I cried into my pillow, sobbing now. My whole body shook with tears. ‘Dad,’ I said aloud in the room. ‘Dad. Dad.’ From now on, Sven would just be Sven. The word ‘Dad’ belonged to my father and me. Was it closer? I asked myself through the tears. Dad. It was like standing next to him, close, close. Dad was like a calmness, like a familiar light, like warmth, like an intimate glance.

  I kept reading. It was a long letter:

  My mom died when I was thirteen, and after that my life changed drastically. Göran and Märta were placed with families in Skellefteå, while I was placed with my youngest aunt, Annie, in Mölndal, and the whole family sort of dissolved.

  My dad stayed in the apartment at Nygatan 95A in Skellefteå. All by himself, then. He was an alcoholic and he abused alcohol so we couldn’t live with him.

  I got to know a girl in Mölndal who was in the eighth grade. And in Mölndal boys were in one class and girls were in another. They couldn’t be in the same class. And then I was with this girl Kerstin Berntsson, Gustavsberg 524, Mölndal 2, for six months. And then Annie went to figure-skating training in Vålådalen, that is my aunt who I lived with. And then this girl and I were alone in the apartment and then she wanted to have sex with me. And my uncle had said that it was really dangerous, you could have a kid, so I said no, I said. And then she threatens me somehow and then I said then I’ll go home to Skellefteå, I told her. And then she said this: you wouldn’t dare. And just because she said it I packed my bags and I went to Skellefteå and I remember at a railway junction I dropped off a letter to the school that I had quit. And so I came back to Skellefteå when I was fourteen.

  All of us siblings moved into the apartment at Nygatan 95. Our dad, Birger, had moved to the outskirts of the city. And we didn’t have an adult, but we got help from Jansson the social-services clerk, who was from Bureå. That was twenty kilometres north of Skellefteå. She made food for us, and from Jansson we got three coats, one for each of us.

  I worked at the brewery in the summers, and I got drinks, three a day so that was twenty-one a week, and they liked that, Göran and Märta. We weren’t very spoiled. And then I started going to dances when I was about seventeen, and of course there was quite a bit of alcohol along with those dance evenings. So I remember one night I didn’t want to go home to Göran and Märta, so I climbed up into the attic. There was a little opening at the very top, where there was a chain-link fence, and I slept there. Then I came down once I’d sobered up.

  Alcohol, I thought. Sex? I read the letter again before I put it back in the envelope.

  Birgitta came in the front door. I heard the rustle of bags and her ‘hello.’

  I called ‘hello’ back, opened the drawer of the nightstand, and placed the letter inside with the others.

  I have to meet him, I thought.

  ‘We’re going to make Indonesian chicken curry,’ Birgitta said seriously, looking at us one by one.

  All five of us were gathered in the kitchen. Urban and Ulf, Sven, Birgitta, and me.

  ‘I’ve bought the ingredients and started cooking the chicken, but we’ll do the rest together,’ said Birgitta.

  Everything was lined up on the counter. Cream, bouillon, leeks, spices, peanuts.

  ‘Ulf and Sven can make the sauce. I stuck the recipe up on the cupboard door. Urban, you can start by setting the table, and then you can debone the chicken. Anna, you’re in charge of the condiments. Look at the recipe. I’ll make the fruit salad and help everyone out.’

  Everyone made an effort for Birgitta’s sake. It felt to me like it was important to keep going all the time; stopping to think might ruin everything. The next movement and the next, so Birgitta wouldn’t go to pieces. She had invested so much. It has to work, I thought, and I watched Ulf work on with the sauce, mixing bouillon and cream with the curry. It was as if everyone instinctively understood the gravity of the situation. Urban carved the meat of the chicken with his own filet knife, the one he usually used on the fish; Sven chopped the leeks. I sneaked a look at Birgitta’s taut jaw and shiny eyes while I sliced bananas and placed them in a bowl. Then the coconut flakes
and the peanuts and the mango chutney.

  Birgitta lit the candles and decorated the table with flowers. For dessert we were going to have exotic fruit. Papaya, mango, pineapple.

  ‘What’s this?’ Sven said, holding up something that looked like an orange cherry.

  ‘Ground cherries,’ said Birgitta. ‘They’re from Sri Lanka.’

  When everything was on the table, Birgitta started to cry. Ulf groaned loudly and Urban seemed to collapse into himself.

  ‘It’s really good, Birgitta,’ I said. ‘It’s the best thing I’ve ever eaten.’

  It was true. It tasted wonderful. And I wanted her to stop crying.

  ‘I’m just happy,’ she cried. ‘You’re all so lovely. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Our faith in God gives us hope. Hope that all people can experience atonement and communion with God. Hope that no situation in life is so difficult that God cannot change it. Hope for redress for our inner selves as well as our bodies and the relationships we live in. A redress that we can taste even now, but which has its fulfilment on the other side of the grave when we will meet God face-to-face. This hope means healing for our entire world, in the belief that Jesus will come back.’

  I was sitting in the room off the nave, listening to Erik’s introduction. My insides were twisting and turning. My hands were shaking. Birgitta had brushed my hair and arranged it in two braids, and dressed me in a grey flannel skirt, a white blouse, and a thin, knitted red sweater. Erik had placed me in the innermost room long before he went to greet the congregation. He didn’t want me to notice how full the church was. I wasn’t meant to see him welcoming the Pentecostal pastor from Uppsala. Everything is just like always, he had repeated time and again, as if to convince himself that it was so. But it wasn’t. Everything was different. I was to be on display. Erik would impress the Pentecostal pastor who had travelled all the way up here to listen to me. Erik had asked Sven if he could take me to Uppsala, but Sven had said no to that.

  Now they were singing about the angels in heaven and about hell, where you would burn if you didn’t have the correct faith in Jesus Christ.