“It was a hundred years ago, Henrik. There’s nothing between us anymore. You have to realize that.”
“So it’s you and me, then, right?”
“Of course. Don’t be silly. Now let’s go to bed.”
The following day Astrid takes the ferry from Söder to Skeppsholmen. The water of Saltsjön Bay is an impenetrable, muted blue. The seagulls shriek, as if teasing that they know what can be found in the depths. They know, but she doesn’t.
As the boat pulls away from the dock, she looks at the façades of the buildings in Gamla Stan, Stockholm’s Old Town. All of them are set close together along narrow lanes. She touches up her lipstick as she stands on deck with her hair flying in all directions. A few strands stick to her coral-painted lips. She hasn’t been able to get hold of Viktor. He must have decided to sleep at Theo’s place, which he often does. In the middle of the night she got a text from him saying, Staying with friends. See you tomorrow. And what can she do other than be grateful that her grown-up son is at least sober enough to spell the words correctly?
As Astrid approaches the restaurant, she notices Michael at once. His shirtsleeves are rolled up and he’s brought along an expensive-looking leather briefcase that few Swedes would use. He’s sitting with his eyes closed, the sun on his face. But as she’s looking at him, he opens his eyes, sees her, and waves.
The garden of the Museum of Modern Art used to be their secret meeting place, all those years ago. Michael was in Stockholm on a grant, studying Nordic architecture. Astrid discovered him at a party given by a fellow student. She had just finished her degree in architecture and was working at her first job in a small office in the Kungsholmen district.
That’s how she remembers it—as if she’d “discovered” him. He was five years younger, shy and polite. Astrid thought there was something touchingly helpless about his neatly ironed shirts and jeans. It was one of the first things she told him—that here in Sweden people don’t bother ironing their clothes. At least not their jeans, and definitely not their T-shirts, like he did. After that, they talked to each other with enthusiasm, as if needing to discuss and analyze everything they had gone through up until then, their previous experiences prerequisites for their future life together. They took endless long walks, dressed in lightweight and wrinkled clothes. They studied all the buildings and houses in the city and talked about everything they wanted to do, everything they wanted to design and build, all the visions they had. They would sit in the restaurant on Skeppsholmen, with closing time drawing near, but they never tired, and they never stopped talking.
They loved each other. Astrid was twenty-eight when they fell in love. Finally, the emptiness depicted in all the songs and movies was filled. She was not merely a walk-on part in a great love story, she was the star.
With Michael, she came alive. That was how it felt. She’d been going around under the guise of her purported beauty, which everyone always praised, while inside she still resembled a pale and sprawling plant hidden from the light. But with Michael, everything fell into place and had meaning.
“There you are,” he says in greeting. “Where’s Viktor?”
Astrid regrets not phoning Viktor so they could have arrived together. She finds it stressful to be here with Michael, just the two of them.
She explains with deliberate cheerfulness that he’s bound to show up soon. He spent the night at a friend’s place. And if Michael really wants to get to know his son better, he has to realize that being punctual is not one of Viktor’s strong points—and that’s putting it mildly.
With some embarrassment they pause and look around the restaurant. It’s almost half a lifetime ago that they came here together, ordering the day’s soup with bread. That was enough food to fill them up and enable them to make it through the rest of the day, because neither of them had much money. Yet they felt incredibly rich. One thing balanced out the other, because they became a single loving organism.
“The place has certainly changed,” Michael remarks. “It was better before,” he adds, giving Astrid a warm smile.
“You’re crazy. It definitely was not better,” she tells him. “I think they’ve made it look really nice.”
“Well, you’re just as beautiful as you were back then, anyway,” he counters. “I’d actually forgotten how incredibly beautiful you are.”
Astrid feels a blush sweep over her face, and she’s not sure whether it’s because she’s angry or shy.
She decides to ignore the remark. “I think I’ll just give Viktor a call to make sure he hasn’t forgotten about lunch.”
As she listens to Viktor’s phone ring, the two of them stare at each other. Michael doesn’t say a word, but she knows him well enough to guess that he’s wondering whether he should take back what he just said. She remembers that he always pours on the compliments whenever he gets nervous. That was something they discussed, back then. “Swedes don’t hand out compliments all the time,” she complained, jealous when he happened to praise another woman’s dress or hairstyle.
“But that’s the best way to hide your own embarrassment,” he explained. “It makes people happy, and then they’ll feel favorably inclined toward you.”
Is that what he wants from me now? Astrid wonders. Or does he really think I’m beautiful?
It’s been a long time since Astrid thought of herself as beautiful, even though Henrik often says she is. Sometimes, when she looks at herself in photographs, she can see an attractive person. But in her opinion that just means it’s a good photo. A brief moment captured, but not a truth that lasts very long.
When Astrid gets Viktor’s voice mail, she shakes her head and says, “That’s strange.” Then she tries calling him again.
Viktor finally picks up.
“Hello?” he says.
“Viktor, where are you? You’re supposed to be having lunch with me and Michael. You haven’t forgotten, have you?”
“Oh shit. What time is it? I overslept.”
“Where are you?”
“Bagarmossen,” Viktor says with a groan.
“Bagarmossen?” Astrid repeats. “Well, get over here as fast as you can. And hurry up. This is not acceptable.”
Astrid is fuming as she ends the call. Michael gives her a worried look.
“What’s Ba—”
“Bagarmossen. It’s a part of town pretty far from here. He overslept.”
“Okay, well, let’s take a walk while we wait.”
Michael holds out his hand to Astrid. She gets up but refuses to take it. They take the path along the shore of Skeppsholmen, deciding to give Viktor half an hour. In the meantime, they look at all the small pleasure boats and study the buildings across the water. Both agree that if Viktor still hasn’t shown up in thirty minutes, they’ll go back to the restaurant and start without him. It feels strange for the two of them to make a decision that has to do with Viktor. Like two parents.
“Henrik is nice. I’m grateful that he seems to be such a good guy,” Michael says, interrupting the silence.
Astrid nods. “Yes, he is. Really great. Viktor’s lucky. I am, too. What about Linda? How long have you been married?”
“Almost seven years. She’s terrific.”
Michael stops abruptly and places his hand on Astrid’s arm. “I have to show you something. Come with me.”
They walk over to the water’s edge, and Michael points at the royal palace across from them. The sun is strong, glinting off the water, and Astrid has to shield her eyes with her hand.
“Do you see what I see?” he asks.
“The water. The palace. What do you mean?”
Michael places his hands on Astrid’s shoulders to turn her slightly before pointing.
“Do you see it now? The royal palace at its best. Seen from right here, in this hidden-away spot on the opposite shore. Isn’t that strange? They built such a big ostentatious palace, but the best view of it is from a spot where there’s hardly even enough room to stand.”
&n
bsp; Astrid lowers her hand and squints at the rectangular light-brown edifice that is Stockholm Palace. And now she sees what Michael sees. The main section of the building looms before her, flanked by two substantial wings, like a contented cat winking secretively in the sun. Before, seen from an angle, the palace had appeared awkward and clumsy. Astrid turns to Michael.
“Wow, you’re right. When did you notice this?”
“Today. I got here a little early, so I wandered around for a while and that’s when I saw it.”
They move on, but Astrid turns her head to take another look at the palace. “How weird. I wonder what they were thinking?”
“It’s always a matter of finding a site with the right perspective. And that’s not easy.”
They start eating their lunch before Viktor arrives. Michael tells Astrid about the office in Copenhagen where he’s working now and how different it is from his New York office. He says it’s going to be fun to have Viktor come to Copenhagen, and he’s grateful that Astrid and Henrik are okay with the idea.
Astrid points out that Viktor is grown up now, and he can make his own decisions. It’s no longer up to her and Henrik to decide everything for him. She also talks about the company where she works. She says that if Michael ever has time, he should go to Linköping to see the housing development she designed there. It’s the work she’s most proud of so far. As she explains what she thinks is particularly successful about the project, she recalls how she once hatched ideas and dreams with Michael.
She sounds like the person she used to be.
Not wanting to admit this, Astrid assumes a more professional tone as she continues to speak. It’s a relief when Viktor finally shows up, even though she is palpably embarrassed at finding them all together as mother, father, and child in the traditional sense of the family unit. She feels the need to gripe at Viktor in Swedish for a few moments, just to ease the tension. What was he thinking? How could he? Especially since it was for his sake that she’d agreed to come here for lunch. Then she sinks back in her chair, deciding that Michael can handle the rest.
And he does. Astrid can’t help being surprised at how relaxed and open he seems. He goes inside the restaurant with Viktor to order his food and pay the bill. And as they watch Viktor start in on his open-faced sandwich with brie and salami, Michael talks about how strange he finds the whole situation.
“I can see that you’ve grown into a confident young man,” Michael continues in his New York accent. “I’m very proud of you, Viktor, and thankful for the chance to spend time with you. I haven’t been the sort of father I should have been. But I want you and your mother to know that I did what I thought would be best for you. I couldn’t be there for you, and you needed someone who could.”
What is Viktor thinking? Astrid wonders. And what about Michael?
Astrid goes inside to get coffee and notices that her hand is shaking so much that some of the liquid spills.
“What an idiot you are, Michael,” she mutters to herself while cleaning up the coffee with a napkin. “You can take your apologies and shove them up your ass.”
She goes back to the table, noticing how alike they are—how Viktor laughs, how he runs his fingers through his hair and takes off his jacket, rolling up his sleeves in the sunshine. Both are tall and lanky with dark curly hair, with the same smile and that quietly magical way their faces light up.
“I know that Henrik is your father now, but I’d like to have a place in your life, too, if that’s okay,” Michael says. “Sort of like an extra adult you can visit now and then. Nothing would make me happier.”
Viktor replies, “Sure,” as he fiddles with Michael’s sunglasses lying on the table. He reads the brand name out loud: “Ray-Ban.” Then he tries them on. They’re aviator shades with mirrored lenses. Viktor looks even more like Michael wearing them.
“Keep them,” Michael urges.
Viktor turns to Astrid as if to ask her permission. She merely shrugs.
“Thanks!” Viktor says enthusiastically.
Eventually they say good-bye to each other, like there’s nothing strange about any of this. It’s just the way things are.
It’s over.
Astrid wakes up on Saturday morning, a few days after Viktor’s graduation party, with those words ringing in her ears.
It’s over.
She spent so much time and energy on all the preparations for her son’s big day. That, plus all her agonizing about the impending meeting with Michael, has taken its toll. No matter how stressed she felt about seeing him again, she now realizes that it’s over. Today Viktor is going to Copenhagen to spend several days with Michael, Linda, and Leonard. Hanna, a girl that Viktor recently met, is going along, but only for a day—a last-minute decision, but Astrid doesn’t have to get involved. Viktor is grown up now, and he and Michael can make all the plans without her interference.
It’s over. She should be relieved. But instead she feels sad and uneasy, and she has no idea why.
She lies in bed with the covers pulled up to her chin and looks around the room. The dress she wore to the graduation party is still on its hanger, hooked over the wardrobe door.
Michael said she looked lovely in that dress.
And she did. She’s capable of looking very lovely. But she carries her beauty with a sense of melancholy resignation. Like having a first-class ticket, but with no idea about where to go or how to get there.
She’ll continue to look lovely in dresses every once in a while—whenever she makes an extra effort, that is, and tries a little harder. This insight strikes her as meaningless. There she’ll stand for a few years yet, her hair gray, her posture sagging, but now and then she’ll look lovely in a particular dress.
For whom? And why?
It’s over, and she feels so empty.
Astrid smells toast. She hears the sound of the fridge opening, and the teakettle boiling. She knows that Henrik is making breakfast for the two of them, just as he’ll do on many Saturday mornings to come. It’s something he’s good at. He prepares everything nicely, taking into consideration her likes and dislikes. Saturday breakfast in bed is one of their rituals. On Sundays, she does the same for him.
We’re so good together, Henrik and I, she thinks. Yes, we are. And that’s what we’ll always be. We’re both going to turn gray and sag but we’ll keep on being good together.
Viktor pokes his head in the bedroom door.
“Mamma?”
“Hmm?”
She closes her eyes and pretends to doze.
“Could you spare a hundred kronor so I can get something to eat on the train?”
Astrid lets the question sink in. To get something to eat on the train. To Copenhagen. That’s where he’s headed now. Later tonight he’ll be sitting across from Michael, having dinner.
“Everything costs a fortune on the train, and I don’t have any cash to spare. Hanna doesn’t have any money, either. We have to save what little we have for the concert we’re going to tonight.”
Astrid sits up in bed and peers at Viktor. He’s standing there with his unruly Michael-like curls, looking young and cute and so eager to leave, lacking all interest in her and his childhood home.
Does he even see me? she wonders.
His expression is impatient but purposeful. Right now she’s a cash machine. That’s all.
“Why didn’t Pappa Michael send you some spending money when he paid for the trip? Or did he think you guys should starve on the way over?” Astrid can hear how hostile she sounds.
Viktor’s face darkens. “Okay, sorry I asked. I don’t give a shit about food, anyway.”
He moves away from the doorway, but Astrid calls him back. “No, wait!”
She gets out of bed in her nightgown and looks for her purse, but can’t find it. “Oh, I must have left my purse in the front hall. Take two hundred kronor out of my wallet, just in case you get hungry.”
“I can ask Pappa Michael if he could—”
Astrid int
errupts him. “No, no. Don’t do that. I didn’t mean . . . By the way, I think you should stop calling him Pappa Michael. Why not just Michael? Henrik is your father. Michael agreed to that long ago.”
“Okay. Just Michael,” Viktor mutters, but as he leaves the room he yells over his shoulder, “You were the one who started calling him Pappa Michael!”
Astrid takes a deep breath, preparing to take back her words and smooth things over. But instead she sinks down on the bed. She looks at her red-painted toenails, wondering how many more times in her life she’ll have the energy to put on nail polish. Such lovely summertime feet. Most likely she’ll be walking around in open-toe sandals for at least a few more summers. Will she still have the impulse to paint her toenails?
Summer. Paint her toenails. Summer. Again and again.
Fire Red. That’s the name of the polish. Fire Red on her toenails, but what’s the point? Does the polish really do anything for her? Isn’t it just one of the many meaningless things she does?
Henrik comes in with the breakfast tray.
“It’s going to be a quick breakfast for me,” he says at once. “I have to drive Sara to basketball. Why do they always have to schedule practice so early on the weekends?”
Henrik gives Astrid a quizzical look. She’s still sitting on the edge of the bed, her shoulders drooping as she wiggles her toes.
“What’s wrong?”
“What? Nothing. I . . . uh . . . I just think Michael could have sent Viktor some spending money so he could buy lunch. For Hanna, too. But he’s left that up to us.”
“So?”
Henrik sets the tray on the edge of the bed. He takes off his bathrobe and lies down, wearing only his pajama bottoms. “That seems reasonable to me. We’re his real parents, so it’s our responsibility to see that he has food to eat until he’s able to support himself.”
“Sure, but . . .”
“What?”
“No, you’re right,” Astrid agrees.
Astrid and Henrik take their places in bed, sitting next to each other. Henrik plumps his pillows while Astrid pulls out the arts and entertainment section from the morning newspaper. On the tray are two glasses of Greek yogurt with a little honey and some walnuts, fresh-squeezed orange juice, toasted multigrain bread with slices of cheddar, and piping-hot Earl Grey tea. Henrik knows what she likes.
[2013] The Heart Echoes Page 3