East of the Sun, West of the Moon

by Carole Bellacera

  Their long leisurely strolls through the mall became very important to them, but Leigh worried about his draining strength. Was it her imagination or was he already growing weaker? At her insistence, they rested often on park benches along the grassy paths. Knut drank in his surroundings as if he were filling his memory banks with the essence of Washington. One sunny afternoon, they found themselves at the threshold of the Vietnam Memorial. Leigh silently tugged on Knut's hand to change direction. This was something he definitely didn't need right now. But Knut stopped and stared at the statue of the three Vietnam veterans standing in bedraggled companionship. He squeezed her hand. “I'd like to walk through. Do you mind?"

  She did, but didn't try to dissuade him. Even on the best of days, she found the Vietnam Memorial a difficult place to go. Still, she followed behind him as he walked along the black wall etched with the names of the dead. Here and there, clumps of dried flowers lay on the ground, forlorn remnants of grief from wives, parents and children. The ones left behind. Knut stopped at a point about halfway along the wall. Leigh caught up with him and took his hand. There, in the grass in front of the wall, stood an unopened bottle of Coors beer with a red bow attached to it. Up until this moment, Leigh had managed to keep her tremulous emotions under control, but this incongruous sight caused her to break. Her eyes blurred with tears.

  Silently, Knut placed his arm around her. A sudden gust of wind blew a blizzard of cherry blossoms around them and one lodged in Leigh's hair. Knut plucked it out and brought it up to his nose to smell its perfume. Then, for the first time in almost two weeks, he brought up the subject that had been weighing on their minds.

  "At least, I've had forty-six good years. Not like these poor guys. Mere children, some of them."

  Leigh stared at him. “You sound like you've made a decision."

  He took her hand, and they walked toward the end of the wall. When they exited, he led her to a park bench just outside the memorial. For a long moment, they sat silently, holding hands. For Knut's sake, Leigh tried to compose her face into a semblance of serenity, but inside, her brain shrieked an alarm. She knew what he was going to say, and she didn't want to hear it.

  In a quiet, even voice, he began, “Back when Sigurd and I were first married, I watched my mother die of ovarian cancer. There had been months of chemotherapy where she was so ill she couldn't keep anything down for days at a time. It was horrible to watch, but I kept telling myself the treatments were helping her to get better. Finally, she went into a remission that lasted ten months. But then she got sick again. There was more chemotherapy, more nausea. Her hair fell out again. After four months of chemo, a scan showed that the cancer had spread. We decided to take her home to die.” A jogger ran by, a male in superlative physical condition. Knut's eyes followed him. “That's what she wanted. But she didn't die right away. Instead, she was tortured by pain. They gave her morphine for it. It helped a little, but in the process, it caused severe constipation. Her stomach swelled like a basketball.” He closed his eyes and shook his head. Leigh squeezed his fingers, but didn't speak. “Christ! Can you imagine how she felt? Plugged up like a helium balloon ready to burst? Shriveled like an old raisin? She was a wasted shadow of her former self. That's when I realized the emaciated human in that bed was no longer my mother. She had died long before her body did."

  When he didn't speak again, Leigh realized he'd said all he had to say. And she knew what it meant. Still, she couldn't bring herself to believe it.

  Knut turned to look at her. “Yesterday, I received an answer from Kristin. She wants me to come home. Sigurd added a note to her letter. She agrees it would be the best thing."

  Leigh bit her lower lip. “You'll go to Norway to have chemo?"

  "No.” Knut's eyes dropped. “I'm going back home to die."

  An airliner passed behind the Washington Monument to make its descent into National Airport. The planes come too close to the monument, Leigh thought as she watched it. Some day there was going to be another horrible air disaster in the nation's capitol. A toddler ran by the bench, shrieking and laughing, followed closely by a bearded man dressed in casual slacks and an ‘Izod’ shirt of bright yellow. Capitol Hill lawyer, Leigh guessed. Or maybe a congressman. Probably married to an attractive business woman, one who'd taken a month off to have the baby, all the time conducting her affairs by phone...

  Vaguely, she realized Knut was talking again. She tried to focus on what he was saying, but the numbness that had set in when he'd told her of his decision melted away to be replaced by anger. Why? She wanted to scream at him. How can you give up like this? Don't you want to live? But when she opened her mouth to blurt out these questions, the words died on her lips. It was the look in his eyes. Not an expression of defeat or resignation. Just the sure steadfast expression of a man who'd made a decision and was at peace with it. Her heart dropped. There would be no more discussion about it. He knew what he wanted to do.

  "I've been reading Elisabeth Kubler-Ross’ books. It's all about making peace with yourself before you die. Taking care of all the ‘unfinished business.’ That's why I need to go back to Norway. I left a lot of unfinished business there."

  "I'll go with you,” she said. Then a disturbing thought occurred to her. Maybe he didn't want her there. After all, some of that unfinished business surely had to do with his ex-wife. “That is ... unless you don't want me to."

  A tender look crossed Knut's face. His hand tightened on hers. “You have your job here, your kids. I can't ask you to drop everything and come watch me die."

  Leigh winced. Did he have to be so blunt?

  Knut noticed and said, “Better get used to it. I'm beginning to face up to what's going to happen. You must, too. Especially if you really intend to come to Norway with me."

  "I do,” Leigh said. “I'll talk to Ward about a leave of absence. I can probably find someone to sub-let the apartment. I'm sure Ward will take Rosie. And as far as my kids are concerned, I know they'll understand when I tell them why I'm going.” Her hand lifted to touch his chiseled cheekbone. Was it her imagination, or was he already beginning to lose weight? “Knut, you're the most important thing in my life. And if you really want me to be with you when...” She couldn't say it.

  "When I die? Say it, Leigh.” His eyes implored her.

  "When you die.” It was a whisper.

  He gathered her into his arms. From the green lawn of the mall, a blur of orange whizzed toward them. The Frisbee landed with a clatter at the foot of the park bench.

  Knut released her and reached down to scoop up the flying disc. He stood up and threw it back to the group of teenage boys in the middle of the green lawn.

  "Thanks, mister,” one of them called out.

  Knut waved at him and returned to the park bench. “That felt good. We should get one of those things."

  Leigh nodded and attempted to smile. “We'll stop by Woolworth's on our way home."

  Chapter 35

  By the middle of May, all the arrangements had been made for the trip to Norway. They were to leave in mid-June, just after Mel's graduation from high school. With stunned faces, the children had listened to Leigh's explanation about Knut's condition. Melissa had burst into tears and run from the room. In the months since Christmas, she'd grown close to Knut. For the first time in her life, she had a father-figure who really seemed to see her when he looked at her. To listen when she spoke. And now, he was to be taken from her? Aaron and Mark were just as upset, but showed it in other ways. Mark had withdrawn into himself and Aaron's anger had come out in temper tantrums and blatant disobedience. Leigh was surprised the news of Knut's terminal illness had had such an impact on them. How ironic that just as they'd grown to love their mother's companion, he was to be taken from them.

  It was a Saturday afternoon and the apartment was quiet. Knut had gone off on his own to Rock Creek Park. More and more lately, he'd been doing that. As if he needed the time alone. To do what? Make deals with God? Or come to terms wit
h the inevitable? That, Leigh hadn't accepted. And she didn't know if she ever would.

  She was curled up on the sofa, sketching in her pad. Lately, she hadn't been able to draw anything but somber landscapes and people with hollow eyes. She felt empty of everything but pain. The doorbell rang three times before she heard it. Lethargically, she got up to answer it, and for a moment, she stood staring at Deanna's face without a flicker of recognition. Before she could speak, Deanna took her into her arms.

  The dam inside her broke, and once again she allowed her pain to escape, even though she knew it would be back. She sobbed into her friend's comforting shoulder, much as Deanna had done more than a year ago in her New York penthouse. When there were no more tears left to cry, Leigh straightened and looked at Deanna. Her friend's face was haggard, her eyes wet.

  "It's so fucking unfair,” Deanna said.

  Leigh turned and walked into the living room. She grabbed a tissue from the end table and blew her nose. “How did you find out?"

  Deanna sat down upon the sofa. “Melissa called me. The poor kid was so distraught she could barely talk. God damn it, Leigh, why didn't you tell me? You shouldn't have to go through this alone."

  Leigh shook her head. “Dee, I didn't want to remind you about your cancer. It's bad enough having had it once. You've got to worry about it showing up again. And ... there's not going to be a happy ending here. Not with Knut."

  Deanna's eyes darkened. “Mel said there's no hope. That's true?"

  "Not as long as he refuses chemotherapy. God, Dee, he's so stubborn. I can't convince him not to give up.” She dropped to the sofa next to her friend, a new hope flickering through her. Perhaps Deanna would help her convince Knut to change his mind.

  Deanna was silent for a long moment. When she finally spoke, Leigh had never seen her so serious. “He must know he's going to die. He feels it. Leigh, you can't win against a certainty like that. And if you can't accept that, you're going to be worse off than he is."

  Leigh jumped up. “Damn it! I'm so sick of hearing that. There are people out there who have survived cancer. You're one of them. Deanna, you can convince him not to give up hope. Just tell him what happened to you."

  Deanna looked at her sadly. “I can't, Leigh. Don't you understand? He has already given up hope. Mel told me he's going back to Norway to die. And you're going with him.” She grabbed Leigh's hand and pulled her back down to the sofa. “Don't do it, Leigh. Not unless you're willing to let him go. Because if you go to be with him at the end, he needs someone who can do that. It won't help him if you keep hanging on."

  "How can I not?” Leigh cried. “I love him."

  Deanna's eyes were solemn. “I know you do. And that's why you're going to have to let him go."

  * * * *

  Erik canceled his meeting with Dr. Stalsett at the university. There was no way he could concentrate on his studies while Dr. Oien's shocking revelation thrummed in his mind. It had to be a mistake. Gunny was his son. Wasn't he? If he wasn't ... if Gunvor was the father, that meant Erik had married Margit for nothing. Their entire marriage was a sham. Of course, it was anyway, but now with this disturbing news, what little meaning it had held for him was gone.

  Kayleigh. Oh dear God, Kayleigh. That day in the hospital, he could've gone to her. Told her how much he loved her. That he wanted to go back to America with her. But for Margit's arrival, he would've done exactly that.

  Of course, he couldn't blame Margit. From the very beginning, she'd believed the child she was carrying was Gunvor's. If it weren't for the blood test when Gunny had been ill with hepatitis, no one would ever have known of the blood incompatibility. But Bjorn had figured it out.

  Bjorn. Could it be possible he'd made a mistake? Erik decided to drive over to his office. It was almost lunch time. He hoped he'd be able to catch his brother before he left.

  Cranky children and harried mothers filled the waiting room in Bjorn's office. The blond receptionist was only slightly less disheveled; she looked up and smiled wearily when she recognized Erik. She was an unusually attractive woman, and not for the first time, Erik wondered why she was working in a dead-end job as a medical receptionist. Amazing how Bjorn always managed to surround himself with glamorous women. He couldn't imagine his brother offering employment to a woman who couldn't qualify for the Miss Norway title.

  "Hello, Erik,” she said. “What brings you here today?"

  "Hi, Britta. I have something to discuss with my brother.” Erik looked around. “What's going on here today? I thought he'd be ready to leave for lunch."

  The woman sighed. “He was called out to deliver a baby just before ten and didn't get back until a few moments ago. Meanwhile, we have a backlog of patients here. But if it's important, I can ask him to see you after the patient he's with now."

  Erik glanced over at the morose face of a young mother holding a screaming infant in her arms. He grimaced at the din the child was making. “No. I'll wait until he has a break. This is his early day, isn't it?"

  "Yes. As soon as he finishes here, he has some free time until he has to make hospital rounds at three o'clock."

  "Thanks.” Erik took a seat in the corner as far away from the wailing baby as he could get. Every female eye in the room bored into him. Ignoring them, he leaned forward to take a magazine from the table in front of him. It was about kids. Babies. “Christ,” he muttered in English and threw it back down.

  It was almost two o'clock when the last mother led a big-eyed sulky little girl out of Bjorn's examination room. Britta looked at Erik and smiled. “I'll tell him you're here."

  A moment later, Bjorn walked into the waiting room, wearing a welcoming grin. “Erik. What are you doing here?"

  Erik stood up. “I need to talk to you."

  A curious look appeared in Bjorn's eyes. “Okay. Sure. Come on in my office."

  Erik sat down in a plush chair as Bjorn settled himself unceremoniously on the edge of his desk. He peered at his younger brother. “What's up?"

  Erik didn't know what to say. What was he doing here anyway? What did he really expect to find out?

  "Erik?"

  Bjorn's concerned voice brought him back to the reason he'd come. He had to find out for sure. “It's about Gunny,” Erik said. “You were the one who discovered Gunvor couldn't be his father, right? Were the blood tests really conclusive? Or was it possible a mistake was made?"

  Bjorn stared at him. Abruptly, he stood up and walked over to the window. The rain drummed against the windows, slanting diagonally across the angry skies. “What's this about, Erik? Why are you so concerned now?"

  "I have my reasons.” There was no way he was going to get into his medical problems with Bjorn. “I just need to know if a mistake could've been made."

  Bjorn moved briskly to his desk and pushed a button on his intercom. “Britta, can you please bring me Gunvor Haukeland's records?"

  "Of course, doctor."

  He looked back at Erik. “It should be only a moment."

  The two brothers were silent while they waited for Britta. Erik sat quietly in his chair and stared at a poster of Bert and Ernie from “Sesame Street” while Bjorn gazed out the window at the rain.

  Britta walked in, smiled at Erik and handed Bjorn a blue folder. He waited until she left before opening it. His eyes flicked over it. “Here it is.” He placed the opened folder on the desk in front of Erik. “My notes. You see here that Gunny's blood type is AB positive and here, I've recorded Margit's blood type. B positive.” His index finger dropped to the next line. “And here, finally, is Gunvor's. O negative. It's a medically-known fact that B and O cannot produce a child with AB blood."

  Erik stared at the file for a long moment. Finally, he spoke, “Is it possible there's a mistake in Gunvor or Margit's blood type?"

  Bjorn shook his head. “No. We did another type and cross match on Margit as soon as I saw these results. It came out the same. And as far as Gunvor is concerned, his medical records list this blood type three
separate times. When he had an appendectomy at seventeen, when he joined the service at twenty-two and when he and Margit were married at twenty-four. Not to mention his birth certificate that has the same type listed. There's no mistake, Erik. Gunvor Lovvig was definitely not Gunny's father. Now, do you mind telling me what this is all about?"

  "Then who is his father?” Erik said quietly.

  Bjorn's eyes bulged. “What kind of question is that? You are."

  Erik stared up at his brother. “That's where you're wrong, Bjorn. According to my urologist, I can't get a woman pregnant. I've been sterile since I had the mumps at thirteen. So, if I'm not the father, and Gunvor wasn't the father, that leaves only one other alternative. Sweet, innocent Margit was screwing around with someone while she was supposedly happily married to Gunvor."

  * * * *

  It had been eighteen months ago that Leigh had first made this trip across the North Atlantic to Norway. How different it had been then. At that time, she'd been filled with a mixture of anticipation and worry at the thought of seeing Erik again. Now, she felt a sick fear in the pit of her stomach. It had been there since that day in early April when Knut had walked into the gallery and given her the chilling news about his terminal illness.

  On that other flight, he'd been sitting next to her, as he was now. But then he'd been cheerful and healthy, drinking aquavit and entertaining her with anecdotes of his native country. Now, he was sleeping uneasily, his head lolling against the tweed-covered seat. His lean face was drawn and shadowed. It pained Leigh to look at him. The vitality was draining out of him as surely as if a huge leeching machine had been attached to draw out his diseased blood.

  Since Knut had made his decision to forgo treatment, Leigh had found herself getting unreasonably angry at little things. She knew her anger was the result of the helplessness she felt at Knut's decision. In order to relieve the frustration, she realized she should direct that anger at him, but couldn't bring herself to let him know how she really felt. She'd promised to be there for him no matter what decision he made, and that, she was determined to do. Even if she had to watch him give up. Watch him die.