A Sister in My House

by Linda Olsson

  So another sudden impulse of mine, I thought, as I walked down the stairs. One with possible consequences. Why had I decided to give her the master bedroom after all? I shook my head. I would probably come to regret this one too.

  She helped me make the large double bed, and then I left her to have a shower and unpack. Meanwhile, I put cheese and fruit on a tray and took a bottle of wine from the fridge. Upstairs, on the terrace, I placed the tray on the table and sat down without turning on the lights. The sky slowly filled with stars, more and more the longer I kept my eyes on the black sky. It was as if new layers slowly emerged, as if I dove deeper and deeper into the darkness.

  There were no sounds from downstairs. Eventually, I went to see what was taking Emma so long. I knocked on her door and could hear her move inside the room.

  “I brought some fruit and cheese upstairs,” I said to the closed door. “Come and join me on the terrace for a little while if you like.”

  I waited, and finally she opened the door. She wore a sheer white dressing gown and had woolen socks on her feet. She held the top of the gown together, and again I got the impression she was cold.

  “I’m not dressed, Maria.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh.

  “Doesn’t matter here. You can come naked if you like. Nobody will see us up there. We have a stunning view. We’re higher up than almost anyone else.”

  It looked like she tried a little smile.

  “Okay, then, for a little while,” she said, and followed me up the stairs.

  I got us blankets from the lounge, and we wrapped ourselves in them.

  “A glass of wine?”

  She nodded and I poured. We sat in silence, and the sound of voices occasionally drifted up from the nightlife along the harbor front, as did the constant murmur of the sea. I twirled the glass in my hand. Then I turned to Emma.

  “I had in mind to write and let you know that I was very grateful to you for taking care of everything when Mother died,” I said. “But somehow I never got around to doing it. So I’m telling you now. I know it was a huge effort. And I don’t mean just the funeral. The time before. Most of all that. All of it. All the time.”

  It surprised me that the words emerged so naturally. She didn’t respond.

  And that was just as it should be.

  I looked up at the stars again and took a deep breath. Perhaps we would get through this after all.

  DAY TWO

  There was a smell of freshly brewed coffee. I must have sensed it before I woke up. Because for a faint moment I was back in another time. Inside the memory of what it felt like to wake up in the safe knowledge of being loved.

  The smell lingered, but the memory quickly dissolved. What remained was just a feeling. An overwhelming sense of regret. I was constantly on alert to keep my memories at bay. It happened less and less frequently that they took me by surprise. The effort of suppressing them had become a natural part of me. I was careful to avoid the triggers. But this one had caught me unawares.

  A glance through the window told me that I had slept longer than I had intended. I got out of bed and walked out onto the terrace. It was a little chilly, but the sky was absolutely clear and the white buildings down below shone as if newly washed in the morning sun.

  I had made no plans for the day. Not for any day, really. One of the few advantages of my lonely life was that I could allow decisions to evolve naturally. Do what felt right at the moment, and largely avoid making plans for the future. For now anyway. My work did require a measure of discipline. I had the odd deadlines, and I always made sure to meet them. But I had been given the time I needed, largely with no demands, not from the school nor from the gallery in Barcelona. They had allowed me time, and time was really all I had. My time was not freedom, though. It was emptiness. Nothing. But it was what I needed.

  I feared that the next few days would affect my existence in some unwanted way. It wasn’t just the fact that I didn’t know Emma now. I had never really known her. I had no memories of her as a real person of flesh and blood, with a will of her own and a distinct personality. To me, Emma was just a kind of extra in my personal life drama. I realized I knew almost nothing about her. I had no idea what she thought or felt. What she liked. I couldn’t remember her ever expressing a firm opinion on anything. Somehow she had only just drifted quietly at the outskirts of my world.

  Our childhood had not been conducive to developing hopes or dreams. When I thought about it, I realized that Emma naturally must have had her own thoughts and her own will. She had just been more adaptable, more accepting. We had both struggled to find a way of surviving in the incomprehensible inferno that surrounded us. But separately, rather than together. It felt as if Emma represented something I didn’t care to analyze or that required a strength I lacked.

  I had no idea what she might hope to get out of this visit. What expectations might she have? Perhaps I ought to plan some excursions. The idea didn’t appeal to me, for several reasons. First, I avoided planning my own time, to the extent possible. Second, I certainly didn’t want to take responsibility for someone else’s pastime. Sure, I often wandered aimlessly in the national reserve. Sometimes for a full day, with my binoculars around my neck and fruit and water in my backpack. I liked the barren landscape that demanded complete focus in order to distinguish colors and details. The shy, darting birds, the plants that from a distance looked so uniform but up close revealed such an extraordinary beauty and spectacular variety. It was an environment that shared its abundance with only the most attentive visitor. I did stroll through the town most days, too, but rarely with a goal or a particular purpose in mind. I often found myself inside the cool, soothing dusk of the cathedral, where time had ceased to exist and where my thoughts were free to roam. My walks were as aimless as everything else in my life.

  But now Emma was here, and I wasn’t sure what might be expected of me. I put on my dressing gown and went downstairs.

  Emma sat in the small courtyard at the front of the house.

  “Do you smoke?” I said, surprised.

  She exhaled a thin trail of smoke. “Do you mind? I won’t smoke inside, of course.”

  “Of course I don’t mind. I was just a little surprised. I have never seen you smoke before.”

  “I have made coffee, I hope that was okay, too. It should still be hot.”

  I went inside to get a cup and returned and sat down opposite Emma.

  “I hope I didn’t wake you up.”

  I shook my head. “Absolutely not. I haven’t heard a thing. It was the smell of coffee that woke me up.”

  “Oh, perhaps that was a bad thing?” She looked at me, her head a little cocked.

  “No. Not bad at all. Normally, I have to make my own coffee.” I took a sip and realized that Emma’s coffee was much better than mine.

  Only then did I notice the plate with two croissants on the table.

  “Have you been out already?”

  “Yes, I couldn’t sleep so I went for a walk. And I discovered that the bakery was already open.”

  I tried to ignore it, but it encroached. That creeping, shameful irritation at my sister invading my private territory. I swallowed a gulp of the strong, bitter coffee.

  As she stretched to stub out the cigarette in the tray on the table, I noticed with even greater surprise that her nails were bitten. It was unlike Emma to smoke. But it was inconceivable that she was biting her nails. I raised my gaze, and Emma quickly withdrew her hand and placed it on her lap, out of my sight.

  “Have a croissant,” she said.

  “Thank you, I think I might leave it for a little. I usually have breakfast late. In town. I like sitting there in the morning. With other people around me. And usually time it to coincide with the arrival of the newspapers.” I wasn’t sure why I felt compelled to tell her this. I was bothered by her presence, but I still
invited her into my life in a way I certainly had not intended. It wasn’t her fault.

  An awkward silence followed and Emma carefully tore off a small piece from one of the croissants. It didn’t look as if she was hungry, and instead of putting the piece in her mouth she continued to tear it into ever smaller pieces, while flakes fell through the perforated metal tabletop.

  “I usually work between nine and eleven or so, but I’m not very disciplined. I am easily distracted, happy to interrupt my work. And it isn’t work, really. I’m on leave from my job at the school in Barcelona. Still, I usually spend a couple of hours in the morning on what I call work. But I am really free to do what I choose with my time. So if there is anything in particular you would like to do, just let me know.”

  I was grateful that Emma asked no questions. I didn’t want to explain, and I didn’t want to become entangled in any kind of excuses.

  “Oh, don’t let me interrupt your routines. I can manage very well on my own. I have no plans at all. I’m happy to do nothing much.”

  “But surely we should think of something? How about walking to Cap de Creus tomorrow if the weather is good? It’s a bit of a walk. Six or seven kilometers but not hard work at all. It should take us an hour and a half, or so, one way. It’s beautiful out there, and the lighthouse is famous. We could have lunch at the restaurant. What do you think?”

  “I really don’t want you to feel that you have to take care of me.”

  “It’s been a while since I was there. I would enjoy it. If you feel like it. Today perhaps you would like to have a look at the town? Let’s take a walk a little later. Around eleven or so?”

  Emma nodded.

  I stood up to go downstairs for my shower, and Emma reached for the packet of cigarettes.

  When I returned, she was gone. In her room, I assumed. I filled my coffee cup again and went upstairs to try to get some work done. Or at least make the impression that I had something to do. A justification for still being here. Being alive. If not for others, I needed to do it for me. It was getting gradually harder to silence my conscience. I had been allowed to keep my position at the international school in Barcelona. I realized that they had made an exception, really gone out of their way to support me. But during the time that had passed, I had done nothing much, just the odd temping. A few research reports. So when I sat down at the computer every morning, it wasn’t so much to work but to try to maintain some kind of contact with the real world. I did follow the work at the gallery in Barcelona, but I knew that they managed very well without my input. I was officially the owner now, but a very distanced one. At some level I did understand that both the school and the gallery gave me tasks to do for my sake, not theirs. And however awkward it felt initially, I had been forced to admit that it helped. I was well aware that the day when I would have to take the step back was rapidly approaching. It no longer scared me as much as before. Here, in the stillness of this big house, I had been allowed the time I had needed.

  There was even less to do than usual. A few e-mails to respond to and a couple of bills to pay, and I was done. So I opened my diary and typed the date.

  My sister Emma arrived yesterday. We haven’t seen each other since Mother’s funeral. I dread the days to come. Can’t see how we will get through them. What to do, what to say to each other.

  I closed the document and turned off the computer and sat down on the terrace with a book. But I couldn’t read either. I had neither heard nor seen Emma, and I didn’t plan to go downstairs until it was time for lunch.

  Was it like this for other siblings? So impossibly much unsaid between them that every meeting became painful?

  I can’t remember when I came to understand that we were to have a sibling, Amanda and I. Emma was just there one day. And I can’t remember taking much notice of her initially. I had Amanda, and the baby meant nothing to me. But soon I came to realize that Emma changed everything. I have an image of Amanda sitting on the gray sofa with Emma in her arms. She reaches down and whispers something I don’t catch. Then she brushes her lips against Emma’s forehead. It’s just the one picture, but it has never left me.

  She helped change the baby, feed her, and pull her around in the stroller. To me, it was as if I had lost a sister. Not gained one. At first I waited impatiently for it to pass. For Amanda to tire of Emma and return to me. But Amanda never tired. She was remarkably steadfast and loyal, even as a small child. Normally, children are so selfish. Or perhaps no more selfish than adults, just unable to hide their true feelings.

  But I really don’t think that Amanda was ever selfish. This may have affected how I saw myself. How I still see myself. With a sense of inadequacy. Disappointment that I am the person I am. Of course she never abandoned me. But I wanted her whole attention. I wanted everything to be as it had been. I did not want to share Amanda with Emma.

  And it didn’t pass, either. Quite the opposite. When Emma could walk and began to talk, well, then it got worse, not better. Amanda became the constant babysitter. Wherever we went, she dragged Emma along. In the playground. When we played in the fields behind our house. When we built huts in the forest or played theater. Emma came wherever we went. Amanda’s patience and her love had no boundaries. I should have accepted it. Not demanded more than Amanda was able to give. I should have felt secure in the knowledge that she loved me. And I shouldn’t have withdrawn. But that is how it is with me. I am unable to share. I would rather go without than be satisfied with crumbs.

  The cuckoo clock on the wall in the living room struck eleven, and I stood up. Downstairs, I found Emma where I had left her in the morning, but she had changed and it looked like she had put on a little makeup. When she heard me, she stubbed out her cigarette and stood up.

  “Ready?”

  Emma nodded and picked up her cardigan from the chair.

  * * *

  When I arrived in Cadaqués for the very first time, I experienced something I had only heard described: an immediate sense of belonging. As if I instinctively knew the place inside and out without having to explore it. It has been many years since that first time. Then, much later, when Maya and I arrived here together, and I tried to explain to her how I felt, she just put her hand on my arm, looked at me, and said with a light laugh: “I know, Maria. I feel exactly the same.”

  But here I was, strolling with my sister Emma. It was impossible for me to know what she was thinking. And difficult to acknowledge that I didn’t really want to know. We walked slowly along the quay. Some of the little boats were already pulled out of the sea, and several of the touristy shops had closed for the season.

  Ever since I was a child, I have loved the autumn. There is a melancholy seriousness about it that has always appealed to me. It is as if everything becomes clearer and sharper, and a liberating stillness descends after the intense activities of the summer.

  “I can understand why you like it here, Maria.”

  “You do?” I said, laughing a little. “You have hardly seen anything yet. And we hardly know each other after all these years. If we ever did.”

  “I can still feel that this place fits you. Or that you fit this place.”

  We walked to the square, and I bought my newspaper. I wouldn’t be able to read it at the café as usual, so I folded it and stuck it in my basket.

  “You were right, Maria.”

  I glanced at Emma, wondering what she meant.

  “It’s even more beautiful in daylight.” She looked out over the sea. “I actually imagined it to be like this. Every time I thought of you, I saw you in a place like this. And always by the sea.”

  “Oh, that surprises me a little, Emma. First, I’m surprised that you have thought about me at all. And, second, that you have placed me by the sea, because I have never imagined myself by the sea, any sea. I can really only remember one holiday by the sea, and that was the year when I rented a cottage in the arch
ipelago and Anna came and stayed with me for a couple of weeks.”

  “Yes, it is strange. I realize that when I think about it. But when I saw how happy you looked when we stood there after Mother’s funeral, I had a vision of you living someplace like this. By the sea. In the sun.”

  I wasn’t sure what to say, and to gain a little time I searched my basket for my sunglasses. It felt like a relief to put them on.

  “Shall we go and sit down at the café over there?” I asked, finally. We sat down and ordered coffee and toast, and Emma lit a cigarette.

  “Do you swim in the sea?”

  I shook my head.

  “Me neither.”

  Suddenly neither of us seemed to find anything to say, and the silence sat between us, heavy and immobile.

  “Would you like to see some pictures of Anna and Jakob?” Emma said eventually.

  I nodded, grateful for the interruption, and Emma pulled out her phone and clicked to show pictures of her children. She placed the phone on the table and opened one picture at a time. I recognized them, of course. I had seen them at the funeral two years before. But there were some recent close-ups of Anna I hadn’t seen. And I was unprepared for how she had changed. There were only a few pictures, and they all seemed to have been taken at the same occasion. She wore a gray hooded jersey and her hair was very short. But what affected me was to see how very thin she was. That and her eyes. In my mind I had kept an image of the ten-year-old Anna, so excited to try anything new she could barely contain herself. But the Anna that lay between us on the table looked straight at us, with no expression at all. This was the one picture where she really looked into the camera. In all the others it seemed as if she had rather not wanted to be photographed or had perhaps not been aware of it.

  I have never really known Emma’s Jakob. When he was a child, I saw him only as an attachment to Emma. She was very protective of him. I remember thinking that she treated the children very differently, although they’d been born only two years apart. This might have contributed to my feelings for Anna. But here I could see the young man that Jakob had become. I could see that he resembled Emma, more so than Anna did now that they were adults. But Jakob had Olof’s brown eyes.