Time to Let Go

by Christoph Fischer

  As Hanna was brooding over these questions Biddy took her hand and squeezed it hard.

  “I like you!” she said again.

  Hanna beamed at her mother and stopped worrying. She turned her attention back to the celebrity magazine they had been browsing through together and continued with her commentary on the pictures. She seemed to be doing fine caring for her mother. She’d manage to sort out her own life, too. Eventually.

  Chapter 8: The Chronicle

  Walter had decided not to go for another bicycle ride because what he really wanted to do today was to make another huge push in his family chronicle. The fact that he was aching all over from yesterday’s long ride had also something to do with it, but he would not admit that even to himself.

  He had started writing the chronicle with enthusiasm after his retirement fifteen years ago, but he had gradually lost interest. However, when Biddy was diagnosed he had regained his momentum and had vowed to note down everything he knew about the family, to be passed on for posterity and future generations: small lapses in his own memory had spurred him on to rescue what could be preserved.

  With Biddy’s memory gone many stories and family legends from the Hargreaves’ side of the family had been irretrievably lost. Biddy’s siblings had all already passed on and Walter wanted to avoid that his recollections of the Korhonen family would also be lost. So he had created a family tree and filled in a notebook with as many dates and facts as he could remember.

  Additionally, he would write down anecdotes and characteristics of the members of the family.

  He knew that he was not a proper historian and that it was probably true that no one ever would really care about what he wrote down, but at least the next generations had the option to find out everything that Walter had known and was saved some unnecessary leg work. Each new generation would find it more difficult so he was providing a service for those to come. At least the Finnish arm of the family had been reproductively industrious and maybe one of them might take up genealogy, in which case they would be thanking him for his glorious efforts.

  Today he was turning his attention to his uncle Kari with all his peculiarities. Kari had never been married and had found it the hardest of all the family to assimilate to the new country when his parents moved to England. Maybe that was because he was the oldest, or maybe it had something to do with his other character traits.

  Kari had struggled with alcoholism all of his life and Walter was not entirely sure how much of the truth he wanted to tell about that in his notes. It did not seem right to speak ill of the dead and disrespect their memory, yet it had been widely known within the family that Kari was a drinker, and moreover, a melancholic loner.

  Would it be false to withhold such a prominent fact from future generations? Kari could not possibly mind, he was long gone. Didn’t the children have a right to know what kind of gene pool they were coming from, so they could be aware of the dangers they might face in later life? Omitting it would leave a lot about his character and his misfortunes open to speculation and falsify the picture; he was providing the reader with not enough information to connect the dots to make a complete picture. But what had driven Kari to drink? Was it an inherited, innate inclination, in which case the information would be a useful warning to future generations?

  The high suicide rate in Finland was related to the darkness and the cold. Walter’s father Magnus, had come from the same gene pool but had not in the least suffered from the melancholia, as his older brother had. It was a pickle.

  Walter began his entry by putting all data in place:

  Kari Korhonen, born 25.04.1914 in Helsinki

  Reached London in 1920 with the entire family as political refugees

  Died 26.04.1987 in London of liver disease after life long battle with alcohol.

  Walter stopped and crossed off the sentence about alcohol, then continued:

  Qualifications: none completed

  Employ: amongst others:

  Daily Telegraph: 1933-1935; 1942;

  British Film Institute 1935-1938; 1947-1951; 1954; 1961-64;

  British Board of Film Classification 1955; 1967;

  Pinewood Studios: 1939-1941; 1952; 1968-1972;

  Bafta: 1977; 1981;

  Freelance journalist

  Children: none

  Spouse: none

  Notes:

  Notes, now what to write here? Kari had had only one passion: the movies. Despite being highly intelligent he left school early without any qualifications and survived through factory work.

  His knowledge about films was so impressive that a newspaper hired him to proof read film reviews and related articles and he was set to embark on a promising career as a film critic.

  However, the terrible addiction had sabotaged that and Walter knew, even though he had not referred to the problem directly, the hints were still there. The fragmented employment record was bound to raise suspicion, as well as the liver disease. Despite his alcoholism, Kari kept getting hired by other companies who valued his unique talent enough to take a gamble with his unreliability.

  He was still not satisfied. Kari had a right to his privacy but then again there were people out there who knew that Kari was an alcoholic and Walter could not get that information back from the public domain. Many well-known people including several world leaders had battled with alcoholism, so maybe it was not such a stigma as it once was.

  After several versions of the truth Walter finally decided to settle the issue with a shorter version:

  Kari Korhonen

  Born 25.04.1914 in Helsinki

  Reached London in 1920 with his family as political refugees

  Died 26.04.1987 in London of liver disease

  No children, no spouse, no official qualification

  Employed at several newspapers and film organisations

  Known as genius film critic with a tormented soul

  He wrote a long essay with everything he thought was true about Kari, the specific employment details, rumours how he had lost particular jobs, a few anecdotes about his depressed character and the truth about the alcoholism. He put all of it in a separate envelope, marked ‘confidential’.

  Walter was doing this to preserve knowledge about the history of the family, but what was he to do with the bad parts?

  It made him think of his own life. Was it right that Walter reminded his wife only of the good and pleasant moments of their life together, or was that censorship in itself? He justified it to himself with the fact that Biddy could no longer learn from her negative experiences. If she couldn’t remember tomorrow what she had learned and processed today, it was just unnecessary torture. So, what could people learn from Kari’s life?

  He was shocked when he looked at his wrist watch. Walter had not noticed how quickly the time had gone. He had missed lunch in this morbid fascination with the past and his agonising over what was right and what was wrong: he had completely forgotten all about the present. Such were the dangers of serious occupation and commitment to a task. He could only hope that someone in the future would appreciate all the time and effort he was putting into the family chronicle. Otherwise, this was a useless exercise at the expense of his presence, as Hanna had once said.

  His wife and daughter had not returned from town yet. He shouldn’t let Hanna spend too much time on her own with her mother. His daughter was good hearted and insisted that he take some time out for himself, which he probably needed, but the three of them should also try and create new memories as a family; maybe not for Biddy’s sake but at least for Hanna’s and his.

  He really needed to have something to eat quickly and so he rushed down the stairs and made a sandwich. Afterwards, he took the opportunity to do some more work in the garden. He got the trimmer out of the garage and started to cut back the hedge, a rewarding job that showed immediate and dramatic effects in only a short period of time. He was still convinced that the neighbours deliberately let the hedge overgrow on their side, but he wou
ld just have to let that one go. Pleased with his efforts and the feeling that he had used the time alone wisely, and that he was back on top of his life, he decided to sit down and read his book.

  Hanna and Biddy did not return to the house until 5pm. By then Walter had become very nervous but his daughter did not answer her phone. He decided not to leave a message since Hanna would only take offence that he was checking up on her. Presumably, Biddy would not have had an afternoon nap and often that turned her in to a darker version of herself, something that Hanna was not as familiar with as he was. It was not a pleasant experience and he wished his daughter could be spared such a memory, but now that he thought it inevitable, maybe it would teach his daughter a lesson and would get her to understand why he was sticking to routine. But of course, Hanna was going out tonight and would not be the one to pick up the pieces if Biddy became fractious and cranky.

  “Hello, we are back!” shouted Hanna as she entered the hallway. “Dad, where are you?”

  Walter came down the stairs and said a shy “Hello, welcome back.”

  The unspoken words of “Where have you been?” and “Don’t get mad at me Dad!” weighed heavily in the air.

  “I need a bath,” Biddy announced abruptly.

  Hanna remembered how Biddy hated the smell of chlorine. She took her mother upstairs and ran her a bath. She stayed with her until the bathtub had filled up, then she went to her room to unpack her bag. She looked in on her mother twice but since everything seemed fine she went back downstairs. Walter finally gave up the cat and mouse game and asked her, as neutrally as he could muster, where they had spent their afternoon.

  “After the pool we went to a beauty parlour,” Hanna reported dutifully. “We had our nails done and I had a facial. It was rather nice and before you worry, yes, Mum had a little nap while I had a facial. She had a really great time being pampered, particularly for someone who always felt so guilty for every little luxury she allowed herself. I just wish she had done this more often in her life.”

  “She always told me that she never wanted any of it. I would have let her!” Walter defended himself.

  “I know you would have but you always talk about waste, resources and money. She would have felt as if she was betraying you and your principles if she spent money on luxuries. You know what a sensitive and considerate person she was.”

  “Is!” Walter insisted. “Always is! She is still the same woman.”

  “Of course!” agreed Hanna, even though she was not convinced. Her love was the same but to pretend that Biddy had not changed was just pure ignorance. She was benign and kind but all the qualities that required thinking and planning were fading. What was going to go next? There had been temporary character changes in the past and they would come again, Hanna was certain of it. The family had been extremely lucky, so far, that Biddy remained so remarkably positive and happy throughout her disease – at least as far as could be expected - but she could easily and permanently turn angry and aggressive. Whenever there was a hint of aggression it was the disease talking, not her mother. It was one of the most difficult things to watch and see these new and unpleasant sides to her character. The stability her father saw was another one of his illusions.

  If it got worse, would they have to give up and lock Biddy up in an institution? Finally getting involved in the care of her mother Hanna was facing a difficult decision. While she would rather take a break from her job and stay home with her mother, she’d then have to start again from the bottom at the airline, and new entrants’ salaries were so low she wondered who could afford to work for wages like that?

  After their short conversation Walter rushed to join Biddy in the bathroom to make sure she did not fall asleep and drown. Hanna was mortified when he reminded her of this fact. She had not considered the dangers of leaving her mother in the bath tub, and for once had to agree that he was right in worrying. Maybe she and her father with their differences made a good team together.

  Hanna went back to her room for a little down time. Karim had seen her all dressed up in the ambulance in a way that was not really her. She had to wear something much more casual so he would not get the impression that she was only into appearances, or that she was trying to impress him. The brand new nails might already seem too much. This dinner was a distraction for her, not a date: she just needed to speak to someone outside her family and outside the airline. It would do her good to have a change of scenery, but she mustn’t lead this nice man on.

  She had never seen Karim in civilian clothes and could not second guess what to expect from him in terms of attire. Would he wear a suit and a tie, or a polo shirt and Bermuda shorts? Probably best just to choose whatever she felt like wearing herself anyway. Casually dressed with a minimum of make-up and hair products Hanna went downstairs.

  When her parents came downstairs and settled in the kitchen Biddy seemed genuinely pleased to be with Walter again and didn’t make any fuss when Hanna left.

  Chapter 9: Dinner

  On her way into town she saw another ambulance passing. Her ride in one of those with Biddy yesterday seemed now somewhat surreal. How could she have jumped the gun so quickly when it turned out to be nothing? What did the paramedic really think of that spectacle? Her amusement, however, vanished when she remembered the emergency rooms and all the medical and life saving equipment she had seen. Yesterday it had not bothered her but today the images were severely frightening. It made her stomach clench and brought back a vision of the scene on the plane. She found it difficult to focus her mind on anything else.

  She parked her car in a particularly tight spot, which took a long time and required an awful lot of manoeuvring. In her head she could hear Henrik’s instructions on parking during the driving lessons he gave her twenty odd years ago. She started to get really angry at him for not calling her back.

  Edgy, nervous and pre-occupied, she arrived at the Indian restaurant. She was greeted by a doorman in a traditional Indian costume. She had to go down several flights of stairs to get to the reception area of the restaurant, where Karim was already waiting with a glass of water.

  “Sorry I’m late,” Hanna apologised.

  “Did your mother give you any more trouble?” Karim asked. He was also dressed casually, with black jeans and a white woollen jumper.

  “More my father than her.”

  “Well, I am glad you could make it,” he said and shook her hand, then he sat back down at his stool by the bar.

  “This is such a beautiful place.”

  “Yes, I agree,” she said, grabbing the seat next to him. “I love the Hindu statues everywhere and those silk outfits the staff are wearing. I love all things oriental,” she said.

  Karim was looking to the floor and didn’t reply.

  “Oh, I am so sorry,” Hanna apologised. “What a stupid thing to say. My mind is all over the shop today. I hope I haven’t offended you.” She feared that this meal, not a date anymore in her eyes, would be as awkward and as stilted as the first meeting between them.

  “Not at all,” Karim said with a gentle grin.

  “You never got to tell me about your family background,” she said. “I’d actually love to hear about that.”

  “Oh well, my family fled from Iran before the Islamic revolution in 1979. We were brought to the UK by one of my father’s British business friends. I was four years old when we left and I cannot recall much about the country. All I remember is the plane and the airport but anything before then seems a blur,” he said. “My father had enjoyed close ties to the British oil industry from the days when the Iranian oil plants had not yet been nationalised.”

  “And you never went back?”

  “They would not let me back in. Not that I would want to. I know it sounds odd but I almost resent being associated with a nation and people I have so little in common with. Many think that it is my heritage but really, I am British. My parents always lived a very westernised and modern life under the Shah, which was why they left
when it became clear the government was going to change. The images you see of Iran on TV these days have nothing to do with the place my family left behind.”

  “I see. Well, I wish I knew more about Iran. I work as an air stewardess but we don’t fly there, so I have never been.”

  “It seems to be an interesting profession. I had a colleague once who left to become a flight attendant. Her training as paramedic helped her a lot in the interview, she said. You probably know a fair bit about medical situations, too?”

  Hanna shrugged uncomfortably and was saved by a waiter who took their drinks order.

  “You don’t drink?” Hanna asked Karim, who had ordered a bottle of still water. “Is that for religious reasons?”

  “No, that is for professional reasons. If there is an emergency at work I could volunteer to help.”

  “Why don’t you tell me more about your family?” Hanna asked.

  “Okay, well, my mother is one of the loveliest people you will ever meet,” Karim claimed. “She had a stroke three years ago but she is still the most patient and kind person imaginable. She has only physically recovered a little, and still struggles with it. Our family life revolves pretty much around her care now. She is doing well, all things considered, and never complains.”