[2013] The Heart Echoes

by Helena vonZweigbergk

  “What are you talking about?” Viktor asks from the backseat. “What’s wrong with Lena?”

  “We think she might be sick,” Astrid replies curtly.

  “Why don’t you call her, Mamma?”

  “I will. Later. Let’s wait until after we get home.”

  She can hear the harshness in her voice. Henrik again places his hand gently on her thigh. He knows she gets belligerent whenever she feels pressured. Annoyed, she shifts position, pulling away so that Henrik removes his hand.

  “She’s sick,” Kerstin keeps repeating on the phone when Astrid calls. “She’s very, very sick.”

  With concerted effort, Kerstin manages to explain that she went with Lena to have laparoscopic surgery. “That certainly didn’t sound so bad,” she says twice before going on. “Didn’t sound serious. But the doctor there, a very somber-looking man, was dressed so sloppy—you’d think he’d wear a tie to discuss serious matters. He told us that Lena had cancer, an incurable malignant cancer. But when I pressured him, he said there was a case in Italy . . . I have to look it up. I’ve told Lena we shouldn’t give up hope, not at all, just because . . . Those doctors don’t know everything . . . I’m sure that . . .”

  That can’t be right. Astrid wants to tell her mother to stop talking such nonsense and blowing things out of proportion. Surely she must hear for herself how silly it sounds. Lena is a healthy person, a very successful woman, and almost always cheerful.

  The first image that races through Astrid’s mind is of Lena when she was three or four years old. She had a wheelbarrow that she loved to play with in the yard. She would fill it with stones and dolls and plastic animals, all jumbled together, and then stubbornly push the wheelbarrow, huffing and puffing with the effort. Something would always fall out. When that happened, Lena would patiently stop to put the item back in the wheelbarrow. This would happen over and over, but Lena never gave up. Astrid remembers lying on the patio sofa next to her father, who lowered his newspaper, watched Lena struggling with the overfilled wheelbarrow, and said matter-of-factly, “She’s going to do great things someday.”

  Astrid gave her father a sidelong glance, even though he was deeply immersed in his paper again. She thought he looked stern, as if he were worrying about Lena doing great things.

  That alone should have vaccinated Lena against all illness. Of course Astrid realizes what an idiotic and worthless notion that is, but it’s what spontaneously comes to mind. Not Lena! Fate long ago promised something else for her.

  “What . . . Are you sure? Where is she now?” Astrid asks.

  “In the hospital. She’s in a lot of pain. I’m going over there to make sure they give her something to eat, and in two days she should be on her feet again. At least that’s what they say . . .”

  “I’ll go with you, Mamma.”

  “No,” Kerstin replies.

  Astrid is already on her way to the front hall, holding the cordless phone clamped between her shoulder and cheek, when it suddenly dawns on her that Kerstin said no.

  “What do you mean no? I’m leaving right now,” she answers, sure that she misheard her mother.

  “No,” Kerstin repeats. “I promised Lena. That’s not what she wants.”

  “What?”

  Astrid pauses in the hall. She looks down at her shoes lying on the floor. In her mind she’s almost done putting them on.

  “That’s not what she wants. She doesn’t want . . .” Kerstin’s voice breaks. She has to struggle to go on. “She doesn’t want you to come over.”

  “But why?” Astrid sinks down on a chair. Through the phone, her breathing seems to collide with Kerstin’s.

  “This isn’t easy for me, but I promised. She says she can’t bear it. She doesn’t want any visitors. Please try to understand. She’s not herself,” Kerstin explains as she begins to cry.

  Astrid feels the heat flaring in her throat and rising to her cheeks. She can’t swallow. She goes into the kitchen, but Sara is there, making herself a sandwich. So she retreats to the living room, but Viktor is lying on the sofa with Hanna next to him. They hardly notice Astrid before she backs out, heading for the bedroom. She hears Henrik talking to someone on his cell phone in there. She goes into the bathroom instead. A question is burning inside of her, a question she knows she has to ask her mother, though she hardly dares.

  “Does Sandra know?”

  “Yes,” Kerstin replies simply.

  “And?” Astrid prods, desperate for an explanation that will make sense.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Is she not allowed to visit Lena in the hospital, either?”

  Kerstin starts breathing harder, almost panting. “I don’t know. I don’t want to get mixed up in all that. Lena and Sandra will have to work things out themselves. Right now the important thing is for all of us to try to be strong and help Lena, no matter how hard or strange that may seem. She’s making the rules now. We need to band together and take care of—”

  “Okay,” Astrid interrupts. “Tell her I’m thinking of her.”

  And she ends the call.

  What’s wrong with me? Astrid wonders. There’s nothing wrong with me. There is nothing wrong with me. So what’s this all about?

  She tries to stop the loop playing inside her head. Astrid doesn’t dare think things through. Yet she keeps going over Lena’s decision again and again with Henrik.

  “Why? What’s wrong with me?” she asks him.

  Henrik manages to calm her down enough that she’s able to fall asleep that night—only to wake up at five in the morning with the same question nagging at her.

  Henrik does all he can to downplay Lena’s request, making it sound less dramatic. How can any of them imagine how they would react if they were told similar news? How can they know what she’s feeling? Panic can manifest itself in all sorts of strange ways.

  Occasionally Henrik takes a sterner tone. Right now they need to be focusing on Lena’s illness. Everything else is secondary.

  Astrid is ashamed and murmurs with embarrassment that he’s right. When he adds that they need to think about the children, especially Viktor and his recent “violent brush with reality,” she feels even worse.

  And when she is lying in bed, longing for Michael’s touch under the covers, her cheeks burn with shame in the darkness.

  It’s Saturday again, a week since Viktor was assaulted in Copenhagen. The swelling has gone down, and the bruise is now yellow. Only one Band-Aid remains on his face. He’s achieved star status among his friends, and Astrid listens to him repeatedly recount every little detail for his impressed audience.

  And yet. At dinnertime, as Astrid is fixing Sara’s hair for her first dance party, she sees a look on Viktor’s face that she’s never seen before. He comes into the kitchen to get a banana, and as he’s reaching for it, Henrik accidentally drops a corkscrew on the floor. Viktor flinches and raises his arms, as if to protect himself. Terror flashes across his face. Astrid’s eyes meet his, and Viktor appears to calm down. But she won’t forget the glimpse of the fear still haunting him.

  Henrik bends down to pick up the corkscrew and then pours a little wine into tall glasses for Astrid and himself. Astrid fastens the last hair clip, and Sara jumps up to take a look in the mirror.

  Henrik sets down Astrid’s wine glass, and she realizes that he has been talking to her for a while, but she hasn’t heard a word. He’s put on an apron and is standing at the stove now, frying some meat.

  “Well, anyway, I said no, like hell I would. We need to have some time off. A person should get something in return for his hard work. Otherwise it’s really pointless. And isn’t that why I took the position in the first place?”

  Astrid gives Henrik a baffled look. “Uh, sure.”

  “So, I’m thinking we could go sailing in Greece in early August,” he adds.

  “Greece?”

  Henrik turns to stare at her for a moment, then raises his wine glass toward her. “So what do you think?”
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  “About what?” Astrid asks, trying to focus on the conversation.

  “About the wine.”

  “The wine?”

  Henrik laughs. “Good Lord, Astrid. Is there an echo in here?”

  Astrid looks away, focusing instead on her glass. She takes a sip, savoring the taste. Red wine. Okay, so what is she supposed to say? What does he want to hear? “It’s good. Is it something special?”

  “You could say that,” Henrik replies. “Jocke recommended it. It wasn’t cheap, but after the week we’ve had, I thought we should splurge. It’s a burgundy.”

  Henrik puts on his reading glasses so he can study the label on the bottle.

  “It’s great,” Astrid quickly adds, because she doesn’t want to hear his speech about the wine. When he tells her the vintage and starts listing other details, Astrid feels an urge to stick her fingers in her ears. Instead she drinks the rest of the wine, then Henrik pours more into her glass, but again only a tasting. She finds it annoying that he always does this whenever it’s an especially fine wine.

  “And there’s something else I’ve been thinking about,” Henrik goes on. “I think we should give the kids iPads as a summertime present. The cheapest version, of course. I can probably get them through the company, and then you and I can have some peace. And there won’t be such a fuss when they want to get on Facebook and things like that.”

  Henrik wiggles his eyebrows, so she’ll get the hint that he wants some quality alone time with her. Astrid is still sitting on one of the stools at the kitchen island, and she can feel herself getting more and more irritated.

  “I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” she says. “It sounds too extravagant, and the kids are spoiled enough as it is. Look at all the things we already have. I can’t stand the thought of acquiring more stuff. The whole apartment is already packed to the brim.”

  Henrik lifts both hands in a gesture of surrender, then turns off the stove. He had put the plates in the oven to warm up, and now he takes them out.

  “Okay, okay. It was just a suggestion. But you’re right, of course. They are spoiled. The trip later in the summer is probably enough.”

  “The trip?” Astrid asks, genuinely confused.

  “To Greece,” Henrik elaborates, clearly annoyed. “Damn it, Astrid, haven’t you heard anything I’ve said?”

  “Sorry.”

  Astrid watches as Henrik places the warm plates on the oak counter of the island and serves the meat. He then takes a potato casserole out of the oven and serves that, too.

  “I realize,” Henrik says more gently, “that everything going on with Viktor and Lena and your mother is using up a lot of your time and energy. But I want the two of us to take some time off to relax, otherwise we won’t get through it. We need to think of ourselves, too, and our family. It’s important to see to yourself first, so you can help others—you know, like on an airplane. You have to put on your own oxygen mask before you—”

  “Okay,” Astrid interrupts, needing him to stop talking. “You don’t have to explain. I get it.”

  She chugs down the rest of the wine and gets up to help set the table, grabbing a plate with her bare hand. She’s forgotten that they’re hot. “Shit! Did you really have to . . . I don’t see why that’s necessary.”

  She goes over to the sink to run cold water over her hand, even though it doesn’t really hurt. She merely wants a reason to complain.

  “I just don’t want us to become like . . .” she says.

  She dries her hand as she glares at Henrik, who is putting lemon vinaigrette on the salad.

  “Like what? What do you mean?” he asks, still preoccupied with what he’s doing.

  “Like this,” Astrid says with a sweeping gesture that includes the whole kitchen. “People who talk about wine and iPads for the kids . . . and . . . and . . .”

  Henrik sets the vinaigrette down. “Or how important it is for the colors of the napkins to match, or that we have to have good quality duvet covers and towels?”

  “Okay, I know. I do it, too. But at any rate.”

  “Give me a break, Astrid,” he says. “When it comes to this privileged ‘hell’ of ours, you have to agree that it’s something we created together.”

  Astrid can’t argue. “Sure. You’re right. It’s just that sometimes it seems like, well, that food and iPads are the only things we talk about.”

  “I may talk about wine and iPads, but you’re not talking at all. So what is it you want?”

  Henrik has now set the food on the table. Astrid takes in the lovely place settings, and she knows that her children will be sitting down to this delicious meal that smells so good. Everything looks exactly the way she wants it to look.

  “I just mean we’re so predictable, and, well . . .” Astrid is standing at the kitchen table, clutching the back of her chair with both hands.

  Henrik takes off his apron and gets some bottles of soda out of the fridge for the kids. “Because I want to go sailing in Greece and drink good wine? What would you rather be doing instead?”

  She can’t think of what to say. Henrik is right, of course.

  He calls for the children. They both sit down at the table as they listen to pounding footsteps coming their way.

  “If that means we’re predictable, then I’m all for it,” Henrik goes on. “Nice wine and an occasional trip and children and good food. If living well means we’re spoiled, then all I feel is grateful.”

  “Uh-huh, but . . .”

  “You’re dealing with a lot right now,” Henrik says, looking deep into her eyes.

  Astrid looks away, glad the children come in just then and sit down.

  “I know,” she murmurs. “I guess I’m a little distracted. I’m sorry.”

  Henrik gives her a warm smile. “It’ll pass. Everything will settle down again. You’ll see. It’ll be fine.”

  The next day when Kerstin calls to ask a favor, a sense of calm settles over Astrid. At least Lena’s still alive, and they need Astrid’s help. Kerstin has come down with a cold and doesn’t want to be around Lena, because she’s afraid it might be contagious. Astrid agrees to come over and get the key to Lena’s apartment so she can pick up several things her sister needs while she’s in the hospital.

  “What about Sandra?”

  “I’m asking you,” Kerstin replies. “And that’s all I’m going to say about the matter.”

  Astrid has a shock when Kerstin opens her door later. Her mother’s face is gray, her expression stony. She’s wearing pajama bottoms and a red fleece shirt, stained with what looks like egg. Her head is trembling slightly—something that Astrid has never noticed before. She had actually planned to make this a brief visit, wanting to give the impression that she’s in a hurry. But she quickly changes her mind.

  “Come in,” Kerstin mutters, going back inside her apartment, her head still wobbling. Astrid notices the smell of garbage coming from the kitchen, and she surveys the living room with alarm. Used tissues, dirty coffee cups, and a wine bottle clutter the coffee table. Normally her mother keeps things nice and neat. And she never walks around in stained clothing.

  “I just can’t keep up with things anymore,” Kerstin admits. “And now I’ve got a cold.”

  Astrid tells her mother to sit down while she makes her some tea. She goes into the kitchen and puts the dirty dishes in the sink, which she fills with hot water and dish soap. Kerstin comes in and stands next to Astrid, telling her she’ll wash the dishes herself.

  “No, Mamma. Go back to the living room and sit down. I’ll take care of this.”

  Thankfully her mother listens and leaves the kitchen. Astrid makes tea and washes the dishes, spending a long time over the task. She has a sense of belonging and purpose and connection as she stands there. Surely nothing out of the ordinary is about to happen. Surely it’s okay to sink into the familiar feeling of security.

  But what about Lena? These days they’re able to cure so many forms of cancer.


  Astrid finds a package of cookies, which she puts on the tea tray, and then she joins her mother in the living room. When Kerstin sees the tray, her head begins shaking even more.

  “No, no, Astrid. I don’t want anything. I don’t—”

  “Mamma . . .”

  As they look at each other, their eyes fill with tears.

  “I’m so scared they’re not doing everything for Lena,” Kerstin says. “I keep thinking they might forget something. You hear all these stories about cases where the doctors are negligent and don’t pay proper attention, and it’s the patient who pays the price sooner or later.”

  Kerstin doesn’t seem to notice the tears running down her cheeks. She gets up and retrieves several brochures and papers from a nearby desk, then places the bundle in front of Astrid.

  “It’s all there. Read them for yourself, and then you’ll know. Maybe you’ll think of something.”

  Astrid looks through the stack of papers marked “For Family Members.” And then she sees what kind of cancer Lena has. It’s ovarian cancer. That much is perfectly clear. But she’s not sure what to make of all the information. “I don’t understand. What does all this mean?”

  “The doctors say that the . . . that it’s been growing inside of her for a long time, but I think that sounds strange. How can you have cancer and not notice it? Lena says that she’s been really tired for a while, and that she had an odd feeling in her stomach. She says she noticed a few lumps, or something like that. But that could have been because of all the stress and sitting. You know how much she travels for her work.”

  Kerstin pauses to catch her breath.

  Astrid’s mouth feels parched. “But Lena . . .”

  She can’t hold back her tears. Not Lena, she thinks. Not Lena. It can’t be true. She refuses to believe it. She needs her sister around, annoying her, vying with her. That’s how they’re meant to be, living their lives in parallel. Anything else is unthinkable.

  “How’s she doing?” Astrid asks.

  “What? How can you ask such a stupid question? She’s not doing well at all. What do you think?” Kerstin replies angrily.