“And I haven’t asked either of you to do so, have I?” she replied. It was true. She’d been handling the lawn, garden, and house all on her own.
Her home with Hasse—all their lives, they’d lived here. The house was built on a slope. The main floor opened to a wonderful view. The basement level was open to the outside, with a large garage door and a second entrance. Counting the huge attic space, it was three floors, really. And although they had to fight gravity to do the gardening, the view was incredible.
Maj had always loved the house. Anneli was right that a few small problems would become big problems given enough time. But not just yet.
The house was at the top of a hill, and it had been harder for her to get outside these days, especially in the early winter when the snow had been plowed from the road and left on the sidewalk. Or in late winter, when melting snow on the road iced over—black ice, people called it. You thought it was wet asphalt, but it was frozen. At her age, if she fell and broke something, it could all be over.
Maj walked into the living room. As she was sitting down, she spied the keys—the standard one for the front door and the long one for the garage. They were centered on the flower-patterned tablecloth. She stood and stared at them for a moment. She would never toss keys on a table. Never! Leaving keys on a table brings bad luck—everybody knew that.
Her heart beat like tiny, quick feet. Had Lovisa been here? Had her granddaughter borrowed the keys for some reason? No, not for a while. Had Anneli used them? No, not for days. Her hand trembled as she reached for them. They belonged in her purse. She’d recently gotten a large purse, which could be slung on her back like a miniature backpack, and it had a pocket for keys. She always put her keys back into her purse after she’d used them.
She felt a dizzying sense of anxiety as she walked over to the window. She could see the lights from the AstraZeneca building on the other side of the canal. She liked the way they glittered on the water, making her think of Manhattan. Farther up the hill, she could see the apartment buildings in Ronna. They were part of the “million homes” scheme. These days very few people spoke Swedish as their native tongue, and Ronna was a known immigrant area and as infamous as Rosengård in Malmö—neighborhoods with a greater percentage of criminal activity, including shootings and murder. The name sounded harsh to her ears, even though she knew the original meaning was pleasant. Ronna meant running water.
A rhythmic throb made her turn her head—a boat, one of those large container ships, heading between Lake Mälaren and the Baltic Sea. The lantern at the prow seemed to her a sharp, glowing eye. The tower of its bridge passed by a bit later. She had a childish desire to wave and call out: Here I am! Can you see me? Hello!
When Lovisa was small, Maj had often taken her in her baby carriage and walked along the side of the canal on the way to the locks. She’d pick up Lovisa and show her to the men in their orange overalls. They’d wave and make faces at her. Boat was one of the first words Maj had taught her. Yes, in fact, boat had been her very first word.
The vessel passed and the water was now as smooth as a pool. Maj felt exhaustion wash over her. She moved away from the window and into the bedroom, turning off the lights as she went. The stairs to the basement level were a huge, gaping maw of black.
Once she’d returned to her bedroom, she realized she’d forgotten to brush her teeth.
“Don’t care,” she muttered to herself, a flutter of defiance in her chest. She took off her dirty nightgown and found a new one. She stood and stared at her naked body in the mirror with a sense of resignation. Thin limbs, a stomach poking out, and breasts that no longer did. Her pubic hair had almost disappeared. She grunted and shut her eyes.
The bed creaked as she settled into it. She pulled her nightgown over her feet to warm them. Her body finally began to feel heavy. She took a few deep breaths and was just about to drift off to sleep when the noise returned. A bang and then scraping sounds, as if someone were moving around the house. She heard it clearly coming from the basement hallway. She opened her eyes and lay fully awake. Anxious. Empty.
Could it be the cats? No. The cats were always silent. Mama and Kitten. The thought rose as a scream, desperate and silent, inside her mind: Mama, Kitten, come here and be with me!
A dog could defend itself. Defend her too. Cats lacked that kind of loyalty.
She hesitated before turning on her bedside lamp.
Had she forgotten to lock the front door after all? She had checked, hadn’t she? Or had she just thought she’d checked? The papers were filled with reports of burglaries in Södertälje. People were supposed to stay alert.
“Hello?” she called out. “Anyone there? Come and show yourself!”
For a moment, she thought it might be Hasse. She slipped back in time and Hasse was returning home after a night out with the guys: a night that lasted into the wee hours of the morning. They’d meet in someone’s garage and work on their cars together. She could see him standing on the hallway rug, wearing his grubby, oil-stained overalls, his large hands hanging at his sides.
After his death, she’d seen him a number of times. Not imagined him—she’d seen him. Once he was sitting on the side of the bed with his face, filled with love for her, turned in her direction. She hadn’t been the least afraid. Another time, he was on the stairs to the basement. He’d stood and watched her without saying a word.
“Hans? Hasse?” she’d whispered, and it felt as if all the blood had drained from her head so quickly that she became dizzy. “Hans? Is it really you? Are you here?”
She’d grabbed the railing and begun to walk down. “Wait for me! I’m coming!” Then a bolt of lightning had seemed to go through her skull—sharp, fire-red flames. She didn’t dare mention the visions to anyone. One day, she read about the phenomenon in a magazine. It was called änkesyn—widow’s vision—and it was fairly common. Nothing to worry about.
Her feet felt like blocks of ice. Where were her slippers? She usually put them beneath the chair where she hung her clothes. She couldn’t find them. Strange. She always put them there, side by side, beneath the chair. In bare feet, she snuck into the hallway. The floor had loose gravel on it, small grains that pressed into the soles of her feet.
“Kitties? Mama Cat? Kitten?” her voice cawed like a crow.
She almost reached the bottom of the stairs.
“You’re imagining things!” she said aloud to herself. “Pull yourself together! Otherwise you’ll find yourself in a home whether you like it or not!”
She walked back up to the main level for the third time that night. At least I’m getting my exercise!
As soon as she reentered her bedroom, she understood something was wrong. Hasse’s bed. She always kept his bed made. His cover was thrown back as if he’d just gotten up to pee. She caught her breath and then let out a dry, rattling cough. She was truly frightened now. Her entire body was shaking.
Is Hasse here? Is my dead husband here in the house? She moaned and her hand went to her throat. What does he want? Does he want to hurt me?
I have to call someone, she thought. Anneli, I have to call Anneli.
She stared at Hasse’s bedcover as she headed to her nightstand. Her red cell phone had extra-large buttons so she could easily make out the numbers. Anneli had gotten it for her. Normal phones were too difficult to use.
She picked it up, but her shaky hand dropped it immediately. It hit the wooden floor with a bang.
She knelt down to look for it, quickly realizing it was unusable as it had broken into two pieces. She pushed the two halves together and put it back on the nightstand. Tomorrow she would see about getting a new one.
For now, she had to pull herself together. She glanced over at Hasse’s bed. There had to be a logical explanation. There always was. Perhaps she had moved the bedcover herself without noticing it. She might have gone into Hasse’s bed instead of her own. She missed him, she was freezing, she longed to be with him. It must be that simple.
&
nbsp; She moved his pillow to her bed and propped it up behind her back. In this half-sitting position, she eventually fell into a fretful, dreamless slumber.
* * *
Maj woke up at dawn. By the subdued gray light, she judged it to be about six. She got up, dressed in her long pants and the thick sweater she’d knitted many years earlier, before her arthritis had gotten too bad. She brewed some coffee and opened a can of cat food.
“Kitties!” she called out. In spite of having sardines yesterday evening, they should be hungry by now. Still, entire days could pass without them eating anything. Perhaps they found food somewhere else. Once she’d discovered a half-eaten rat foot outside the front door. It had flesh-colored toes with tiny toenails. She’d felt nauseous as she swept it up and dumped it in the garbage can.
She touched the lid of the bread bin, but decided against it. She had no appetite. She stood in front of the window as she sipped her coffee. The light outside grew brighter. She heard the sounds of a motor—the newspaper deliveryman’s yellow car, slipping and sliding along the asphalt. She adjusted her glasses and took a look at the outside thermometer—it hovered around freezing.
Finally day broke. She began systematically searching each room of her house. If someone had been inside, she would detect it and then she would contact the police. The kitchen seemed undisturbed. So did the living rooms. The pillows on the sofa were in their proper places. The potted plants were drooping—she had to remember to water them more.
She walked to the top of the stairs that led to the basement. She listened and imagined Hasse downstairs. He was busy with the boiler. He’d soon walk up, scratching his cheek as he always did when he was unhappy about something. The scratchy sound stubble made.
“Something’s wrong with the boiler! I can’t get the heat going!” he’d call up to her.
She’d sigh. “So what should we do? It’s starting to get cold. There was frost last night for the first time.”
“I know,” he’d reply angrily. She’d hear the decisiveness in his voice. He wouldn’t give up.
Maj headed to the bottom level. The hallway was dark; it seemed the lightbulb had burned out. Dumb. She’d have to ask Anneli to come and change it for her. It was too high for her to reach, and Anneli had a good sense of balance and could stand on a chair. Perhaps Johnny could come. He was good at fixing things. Still, she didn’t like to ask him for anything.
I’ll be fine, she told herself. It’s only a small thing. It can wait.
Maybe Lovisa could come by? When was the last time Lovisa was here? Of course, she was busy with school. She was in her senior year and would graduate in the spring. Her dear grandchild. Johnny had children from his first marriage too, a pair of sinewy, silent boys. Twins. She would offer them cookies, but they’d always refuse, shaking their heads and saying nothing.
“All children love cookies!” she said out loud, and then was surprised at the sound of her own voice.
She caught sight of something down there—she couldn’t make out what it was. She returned upstairs to get her flashlight. She found it in her junk drawer in the kitchen, but the battery was nearly dead. Still, it was enough to shine a weak beam down the stairs. She swept the beam back and forth and spied something on the third step from the bottom. One of her slippers! One of her own slippers that she’d carefully set beneath the chair in her bedroom when she’d gotten undressed last night. A percolating effervescence filled her skull. Had she been wearing her slippers when she’d gone downstairs last night? No, she remembered she was barefoot. How had it ended up here? And where was the other one?
The cats, she thought. Strange, but it must have been the cats.
She picked up the slipper and pressed it against her chest. She aimed the flashlight at the ceiling, where the old pipes ran like rough intestines. Everything seemed to be in order. She inhaled air through her nostrils, making a weak, whistling noise. She pushed down the handle on the door leading to the garage and the smell of oil hit her. She turned an ancient knob and the garage was filled with blinding fluorescent light. It shone over the car. She slid into the driver’s seat, shifted gears, and turned on the ignition. The motor started immediately. It had always been dependable. Hasse’s old cap was in its place as always, as if he’d just set it there, as if he’d just parked the car and was heading up to the kitchen for a cup of coffee.
A short scream resounded within her eardrums. It took a few seconds before she realized it came from herself.
“What am I doing?” she said out loud. She straightened up and heard her spine creak and pop.
She’d just turned off the motor when she heard footsteps above her on the main level. Her heart began to pound. She spied the axe in the corner. Nobody had used it after Hasse had passed away. She got out of the car, picked it up, and snuck back through the laundry room.
Yes, someone was upstairs, all right. She saw a pair of muddy shoes. She could taste iron in her mouth.
“Hello? Anyone up there?” she managed to croak.
“Mama!”
Relief spread through her like a warm wave. “Anneli? Is that you?”
Her daughter’s face was red and glowing. “What are you doing, Mama? Cutting wood?”
“No, well . . .”
“Why didn’t you pick up the phone? I’ve been calling over and over. I started to worry. You have to pick up the phone, Mama! You have to pick up when people call you!”
“I dropped it on the floor and it broke in half,” she said, suddenly remembering what had happened.
Anneli raised her shoulders. She was tense and stressed, standing in the middle of the hallway floor. “How could it break in half?”
“Go see for yourself.” She gestured toward the bedroom, but Anneli shook her head.
“I believe you. But now how am I supposed to reach you?”
“I’ll just have to buy a new phone.”
Anneli shook back her dry, henna-dyed hair. “No, I’ll take care of it. But I don’t have time this week.”
Maj stepped closer to her daughter to give her a hug. Just to show she loved her. They were still mother and daughter. They would always be mother and daughter. Until the end of time. But something in Anneli’s rigid stance made her draw back.
“I’ve got to get going.” Anneli glanced at the clock in the kitchen. “Is that the right time?”
Maj nodded.
“Mama, have you thought about it some more? You know . . .”
Maj’s stomach clenched. “About what?”
“Really, Mama, it would be so much easier for me if I knew you were all right. If I knew there was someone who could look in on you, someone who made you meals, and all the rest of it. You have to try to understand my side, Mama. I can’t just pick up and leave work when you don’t answer the phone. Things are difficult right now. There might be more layoffs.”
“Sweetie, you don’t have to worry about me, I’m doing just fine—”
“But for how long, Mama? How long? You have to think about the future too.”
“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”
Anneli grimaced. She looked tired and worn. Her jacket had frayed along the bottom edge.
“Wait a moment,” Maj said. She went into her bedroom and opened her linen cabinet. She moved a heap of pillows aside and took out a few hundred kronor from their hiding place. “Here. Take this and buy something nice for yourself. Spoil yourself a little.”
Anneli turned her face away and mumbled something Maj couldn’t hear.
Maj stuffed the bills into Anneli’s jacket pocket. “Go on, so your boss doesn’t get angry at you. I’ll be fine. I promise.”
* * *
Maj stayed inside all day. The cats too. They came out to sniff at their food bowls, but she never saw them eat. She wasn’t hungry either.
Anneli worked at Scania. She was one of the ones able to keep her job after the layoffs a few years back. Still, Anneli had had to take a wage cut. Johnny had also worked at Scania
, which was where they’d met. He’d been one of the ones who lost his job.
“You should find someone else,” she’d grumbled to Anneli. “My daughter deserves a better man.”
Maj decided to lie down and rest for a while. A strange despair came over her and tears welled up in her eyes. She hardly ever cried. Not even when Hasse was in the hospital and they moved him to a hospice room, and she’d realized what that meant. Not even then!
Their black-and-white wedding photo hung on the wall in the bedroom. They looked so incomprehensibly young! Shy and expectant. Where had all the years gone?
She pulled her blanket over her and shut her eyes. Perhaps she slept. Yes, she must have fallen asleep in the mix of wool and warmth. When she opened them again, it was dark. At first, she didn’t know where she was. She tried to sit up, but her tailbone was aching and she felt a stab of pain that made her cry out. This happened sometimes. It must be age.
What time was it? As if it had read her thoughts, the grandfather clock began to strike. She counted the strokes—it was nine. Nine at night? Must be. It was dark outside. Had she really slept the day away?
She was thirsty. She walked into the kitchen and switched on the light. She was just about to turn on the faucet when she saw what was on the counter. Her wedding picture. She and Hasse on their wedding day. Fear shook her shoulders. She swallowed hard and stared at the bouquet of roses in the young girl’s hand—the hand that had been her own a very long time ago.
At that moment, she heard a loud bang on the stairs. Terror struck her with great force. She saw the cats had crept beneath the table and pressed against each other. Their eyes were wide and filled with fear.
“You heard it too, didn’t you, kitties?” she whispered.
Kitten got up and his tail hit the floor hard a few times. He crept toward her on his silent paws and wound around her legs.
Mama Cat had also gotten up and moved toward the kitchen door. She raised her back and all her fur stood on end. She hissed. Her brushy tail swished. Her ears flattened.
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