A Sister in My House

by Linda Olsson

  As soon as we left the bay and reached the open sea, the wind picked up and the sail stretched. It wasn’t a strong wind, just enough to push us forward gently. I sat where I had landed, in the bow, and I leaned over the rail and looked down into the turquoise water.

  Like Emma, I had avoided the sea all my adult life. I also avoided boats generally, and I didn’t like swimming. My love of the sea was limited to observing it from land. And smelling it. Particularly here where it was associated with so many memories. The salty smell of the sea blending with Maya’s perfume. Her voice with the constant backdrop of the sound of the sea. And then the music that was also forever connected with the sea. Lluís Llach especially. “Bressol de tots els blaus,” the cradle of all blue. The song Pau used to sing. In another life. It was all still there, inside me. Protected and indestructible. But I could experience it only from the outside. I could remember everything, but I couldn’t re-create the mood.

  I stretched further over the rail and let my hand breach the surface of the water, sending spray into the air. The sea was cool but not cold, and I lowered my head and felt the tiny droplets on my skin.

  When I turned around and sat back, I realized that Emma had laid down on one of the thwarts, and she didn’t look in the least uncomfortable. Her bare feet rested on the rail, and she was laughing at something Pau had said.

  As I’d expected, we sailed north, past Cap de Creus and farther along the coast. The wind was still light, and we cruised leisurely in silence. Even though our pace was not fast, it was difficult to carry on a conversation across the boat and with the mast between us. This suited me just fine. I reclined and allowed the gentle October sun to warm my skin.

  Pau took in the sail, and we anchored in a narrow cove. Two rocky islets protected the inlet. The rough volcanic rock that rose out of the sea looked like something covered in elephant hide, like parts of some gigantic body resting under the water.

  Pau asked if we would like to go ashore, but we both shook our heads.

  Pau and Emma talked. Mostly Pau, who had a lot to tell about the area, about the national reserve. He talked about the unusual geological conditions where the Pyrenees disappear into the Mediterranean. And about politics, of course. And Emma was an attentive listener. At least as far as I could tell. I picked up my book and began to read, but I struggled to focus. Now and then fragments of the conversation reached me, but I made no effort to participate. I watched the blue sky above and felt the boat gently rock below. This was how the other days had been. I thought of them as so many, but in reality it was really a couple of seasons. And not many trips each season.

  “Did you bring your guitar?”

  Pau seemed to startle and looked at me. He seemed to need a moment to collect himself.

  “No. I don’t play much these days.”

  We let it drop, and neither of us said anything further.

  I had dozed off when I felt the boat rock as Pau stood up.

  “What do you think? Are you hungry? Shall we make lunch?” We brought out the basket.

  Then Pau took out his little grill.

  “Oh, I was secretly hoping you had brought it!” I said, and I couldn’t help smiling.

  “Sardines?”

  “Yes, only because they were bought fresh last night. I think Emma should get to taste them.” He smiled as if our enthusiasm genuinely pleased him.

  He placed the grill on the foredeck, and Emma and I spread a cloth over one of the thwarts and unpacked the food we had brought. Here it suddenly looked like a lot.

  Bread, cheese, olives, tomatoes, peaches. I hadn’t realized I was hungry. Now everything looked very tempting.

  “Why don’t you have a swim while I grill the sardines?” Pau said. He must have been thinking of Emma, that she really should take the opportunity to have a swim. He knew how I was with the sea.

  Emma and I looked at each other in silence.

  “The water is exceptionally clear here. It’s a popular spot for divers.”

  When he didn’t manage to get a response from us, he shrugged and focused on the grilling.

  Emma seemed interested in what he was doing and asked questions about the fish.

  Pau was squatting beside the grill, and Emma was on her knees, resting her elbows on the deck. In the stillness I could hear their voices but again I didn’t make an effort to participate in the conversation. Instead, I turned and leaned over the rail again. The water was like glass, turquoise and so clear that I felt I could see all the way to the bottom.

  The smell from the grill began to waft through the air.

  Then we ate. The fish was the highlight, of course, but the things Emma had packed complemented it perfectly. The sun was warm; the water lapped against the sides of the boat. We sipped the white wine. I returned to the bow and lay down with my feet resting on the rail.

  I heard Emma laugh again. A young, relaxed, and happy laughter. Almost sensual. As she must once have laughed a long time ago. She must have, but I had no memories of it. In my memory she was mute. I turned my head and looked at her. Now she sat across the thwart with one leg on either side of it. She was resting on her hands, which made her lean forward a little. She balanced her feet on the tips of her toes and her head was turned toward Pau, with her neck graciously bent backward. She was beautiful. A memory flashed past. For some reason, I was reminded of how I once watched her as she was lying asleep. I couldn’t remember the circumstances, just the scene. Emma was little, a couple of years old perhaps. We were alone in the room. Perhaps she was having her nap. I leaned over her without really being aware of what I was doing or why. My face was so close I could feel her warm breath, but she was still asleep. Her blonde hair lay fanned out on the pillow, and I stretched out my hand and lifted a thin strand. I rubbed the soft hair between my fingers and smelled it. And when I moved my fingers to my nose, I could pick up her scent. It was light, barely perceptible, but it still surprised me. It made me think of flowers that only give off a fragrance when you crush their petals. Flowers that smell only when you destroy them.

  The memory made me uneasy.

  Emma sat as before, and I could hear fragments of their conversation. It came over me without a warning. An irresistible impulse.

  I quickly stood up, pulled off my top, and stepped up onto the thwart. I didn’t exactly dive in. I just took a step off the boat.

  Then I sank. Deeper and deeper. I opened my eyes. The sun shot shafts of light through the turquoise water. I stretched out my hand and it cut through the light. All sounds were softened.

  I sank.

  I pressed my arms against my sides to reduce the resistance. But everything slowed down.

  Eventually, I was suspended in the turquoise for a brief overwhelming eternity. My heartbeats passed through my skin and into the surrounding sea, which was infinite. Small particles drifted gracefully in the water where rays of sunshine continued to weave ribbons of lighter blue.

  It crossed my mind that I could remain like that. I wanted it. But I began to rise slowly, relentlessly.

  Then, suddenly, above me, a cloud of white bubbles. Vibrations against my skin. The notion that I was no longer alone. Something brushing against me. Rubbing against my leg.

  I raised my arms over my head and I rose faster.

  When I reached the surface, Pau stood leaning over the rail as if ready to jump into the water.

  He took my hand and quickly pulled me on board.

  Then he turned his head and searched the surface of the water.

  “I don’t know what happened. She just suddenly jumped in,” was all he had the time to say before Emma’s head broke through the surface and Pau again stretched out a hand.

  Emma was gasping, and she seemed to struggle to stay afloat. But she didn’t take Pau’s hand. Without another thought, I jumped back in.

  She fended off my hands when I
stretched to embrace her. Instead, she kept flailing her arms and gasping for air. I took a couple of strokes and put my arms around her from behind.

  “I’m holding you, Emma.”

  She kicked with her legs and waved her arms.

  “I’m holding you.”

  I held her with one arm and took a few strokes toward the boat. Pau stretched down his hands, and with my help, he got a strong grip on Emma’s arms and pulled her on board. It looked like he carried her whole weight, with no help from her. I saw that she scraped her leg against the rail before finally landing on board. When Paul had helped me up again, I sank down opposite Emma. She looked cold, and her white T-shirt hung wet and heavy on her body. Blood mixed with water ran from the abrasion on her leg.

  “Here, take my top.”

  I held out my dry T-shirt, but Emma shook her head. She crossed her arms over her chest and avoided my eyes.

  So I pulled on the top. Pau had found a beach towel in his bag and placed it over Emma’s shoulders. She pulled it tight and nodded a thank-you.

  Pau reached into his bag again.

  “Here, have a little brandy. It will warm you up,” he said, and placed three small glasses beside me on the thwart. We drank, but none of us said anything for quite a while. The alcohol burned all the way down.

  “What is it with you two? Couldn’t you let me know before you decide to take a swim?” Pau shook his head and walked over and sat down in the bow.

  None of us said anything.

  I shivered and realized it had gotten colder and the wind had picked up. The sky had turned a pale, icy blue. It was as if the wind had removed a layer that softened the blue before. When I threw Pau a glance, I realized he had noticed it too.

  “Here, Emma, I have an extra pair of trousers in my bag. You look really cold . . .” I hadn’t finished when she clumsily stood up in front of me.

  “I told you I don’t need anything!” She spoke quietly, and it was only her expression that showed how upset she really was. “Keep your damned clothes.” Now it was a whisper. She had her back to Pau, and she was speaking Swedish, so I hoped he didn’t get what she was saying. “Keep your damned Cadaqués. Your house. Which isn’t even yours. You keep it all! I was an idiot to come.”

  The towel slid off her shoulders when she made a gesture to indicate all she didn’t want to be a part of. The T-shirt was plastered over her breasts. I averted my eyes.

  She took a step back, faltered, and the boat rocked. I could see that she was silently weeping. Then she sat down with a thud.

  I took a deep breath and looked at Pau. He had started to clean the grill and seemed unconcerned. He whistled softly and I took it as a sign that he was trying to break up the unpleasant atmosphere.

  “We are cold, both of us, and I think it looks like the weather is changing. Perhaps we should turn back?”

  “You’re right. The wind is picking up. Let’s hope it’s only temporary. It should be too early for the tramuntana anyway. And we don’t have far to sail.”

  Pau smiled, but there was a crease between his eyebrows. From concern over the weather, irritation, or disappointment at how the day had developed, or for some other reason, I couldn’t tell.

  * * *

  The wind rose further during the return trip, and we arrived chilled to the bone. I watched as Emma said good-bye to Pau before gingerly getting to the stern and balancing on the deck. I had pulled the boat as close to the quay as possible to make it easier for her, and she jumped ashore without a problem. But she avoided my outstretched hand and carried on without a word. I helped Pau get our things from the boat, and then we slowly made our way back home. The wind blew down from the mountains, and it was as if there was no shelter from it anywhere.

  “I’m sorry it ended the way it did. It was never my intention. I just had an impulse to jump overboard. I had no idea Emma would follow me. She is afraid of water.”

  It was a moment before Pau answered.

  “I think she was afraid for your sake more than anything.”

  To my frustration, I could feel a lump in my throat and my eyes filling with tears.

  “I had no idea she would react like that.”

  Pau slowed down and looked at me with a thoughtful expression.

  “And I couldn’t for the life of me imagine that you were going to jump in. I have never seen you swim before.”

  I made no comment, and he said nothing further. When we reached his house, we stopped briefly.

  “I was going to ask if you would like to come down to my house tonight. But things being as they are, perhaps we should leave it for tomorrow. That’s Emma’s last night here, isn’t it?”

  He stood in front of the blue door, his hands full. For the first time in a long time, we looked straight at each other.

  “It’s been a long time since you visited,” he said eventually.

  I nodded.

  “Yes, it’s been a long time. Everything is a long time ago now.”

  He bent and set down his bags. Then he grasped my upper arms gently and pulled me close and gave me a quick kiss on either cheek. I just let it happen, feeling a little awkward.

  “Thank you for a lovely day. It’s been a long time since we sailed too.” He picked up his bags.

  “I’m so sorry the day ended the way it did. It was entirely my fault.”

  “I had a wonderful day, Maria. A day out sailing is never a bad day for me. I should have done it sooner. We should have.”

  His green eyes were red rimmed. I couldn’t tell if it was the day on the sea, the wind, or something else. There was so much I didn’t understand about Pau. Well, about other people generally. Emma said I thought I knew what other people were thinking. But I looked at Pau and had absolutely no idea what he was thinking.

  “Yes, we should have done it sooner. We should have stopped. And we should have said more than those trivial phrases when we met.”

  He stood absolutely still and looked so sad that I again felt that lump in my throat. But the moment passed.

  “Talk to Emma and let me know about tomorrow evening.” And with that we parted.

  * * *

  I neither heard nor saw Emma when I stepped inside. But I could still sense that she was home. I moved quietly as I unpacked the lunch basket in the kitchen, and then I went downstairs to have a shower. I stood under the running water until I felt warm again.

  I made a fire in the large open fireplace in the kitchen and sat down in front of it. It was painful to revisit the afternoon’s incident, but I couldn’t help doing it. We had only one more day together, and I had caused this mess. I had made Emma come here, with my stupid invitation, and now I had ruined her visit with one more idiotic impulse. I had told Pau that I hadn’t foreseen Emma’s reaction. But was that really true? As Maya used to say, it was often more important to sort out your own thoughts than to spend effort trying to understand what thoughts other people might harbor inside their heads. So there I was, trying to understand why I had behaved the way I had. And I couldn’t for the life of me find an answer. The impulse had caught me unawares. Me more than Pau and Emma even, I thought. It felt as if the time between the process in my brain and my body’s response had been virtually nonexistent. The complete lack of control frightened me.

  After a while, I went upstairs and sat on the terrace. It was cold, but it felt as if the wind had died down. The sky was still absolutely clear. A cold sun sat low and would soon disappear behind the hills. I left the door half-open and went inside and sat down on the sofa and placed the box on my lap. I had promised Emma to open the envelope. Ridiculously, it felt as though I would compensate her for today in a small way if I finally explored its contents.

  I don’t know what I expected. Whatever it was, it certainly wasn’t what landed on the table when I emptied the envelope.

  Cards. Birthday cards.
One for each year since my nineteenth birthday. The last one was dated three years ago, when I turned forty-five. The first twelve cards were identical. Beautiful double cards with a drawn flower motif on the cover. She must have bought a whole packet. The text inside was short and more or less the same in each card.

  My dear Maria,

  Warm congratulations on your nineteenth birthday!

  We miss you here and we think about you, hoping that you are happy.

  Mother

  As they stood, the words weren’t particularly personal, yet I could clearly hear her voice behind the flowing handwriting. This was the first and only thing she had ever written to me. I placed the cards in little piles, five cards in each. Five piles. And two in the last one. After the first twelve, the cards were of different sizes and styles. And gradually the handwriting became less flowing. In the very last card, it was hardly legible. But I had no trouble deciphering it.

  My dear Maria,

  My warm congratulations on your birthday. I think of you constantly, and I hope that your life has turned out as you had hoped. That you have been able to shape it to your satisfaction. Above all, I hope you have found someone to love. Someone who understands how to love you. That is what I wish for you on your birthday.

  Your mother

  By now I was crying, of course. What was happening to me? It was as if someone had opened a tap and my tears flowed time and again. It didn’t matter now. I was alone with the cards in front of me.

  I started again. Read one at a time, starting with the first one. The slight variations were almost imperceptible, but the odd word that had been crossed out caught my eye. She must have changed her mind and started again, and I couldn’t help but wonder what she had originally had in mind. Now I noted that the text grew a word or two longer with every card. Did they also become more personal and more emotional? Or was that just something I tried to read into them?

  The big mystery was why she had never posted them, of course. She always knew where I lived, even though she never made any kind of contact. And we had met on the few occasions when I came back to visit. A few Christmases at Emma and Olof’s home. The odd Midsummer. Nothing had ever made me think she had been writing these cards every year on my birthday in May. Or that she would even have remembered the day. Or, for that matter—and this was even harder for me to envisage—that she would have been thinking about me.