[2013] The Heart Echoes

by Helena vonZweigbergk

  Michael gently rubs her back. “It’s nothing you’ve done. I promise you that. It’s nothing like that.”

  “But you don’t understand,” Astrid sobs. “Lena and I have never gotten along.”

  Michael gets up. He glances at his watch and then looks at Astrid, who is still holding the shoe on her lap.

  “I have to go,” he says, nervously. “My plane leaves in ninety minutes.”

  “That’s okay.”

  “I didn’t intend for this to happen, Astrid,” he tries to explain. “It’s just that whenever I see you, I end up back in the middle of something that I don’t fully understand.”

  “I know.”

  “Do you want to come with me to the airport?”

  Astrid looks at the shoe in her hand. “No, I need to find the things for Lena.”

  Michael kisses Astrid on the forehead. She closes her eyes for a moment. When she grabs his hand, he kisses her again on the forehead, taking his time and stroking her cheek.

  Michael goes out to the front hall. Astrid hears him put on his shoes and then open the door. She clutches Lena’s shoe even harder as she waits for the sound that will signal he’s gone. It takes a second. Then he closes the door after him. Without thinking, Astrid picks up the blanket from the sofa and wraps it around her. She looks at the room through tear-filled eyes.

  “Michael,” she says. “Lena. Michael. Lena.”

  Her voice is barely a whisper.

  Lena. Michael. Don’t go.

  She needs to get out of here.

  A light-blue shawl. That’s what Kerstin said. It was supposed to be in the wardrobe. Reading glasses on the nightstand. A robe hanging on a hook in the bathroom. Those are the things she’s supposed to take to the hospital. According to Kerstin, it’s important for Lena to have some of her own things. Astrid is suddenly frightened by all the things in Lena’s apartment. They look abandoned and yet somehow infected with malice. She sees on the nightstand a photograph of Lena with a friend. Both of them have curly hair, and Astrid thinks they are mocking her.

  Astrid picks up the photo and studies it more carefully. She doesn’t recognize the other woman, who has dark hair and a big mouth with red lipstick. It looks like the picture was taken abroad somewhere. Lena’s blond hair is fluttering in the breeze. Her pouting lips are also bright red, and she looks very happy.

  Astrid sets down the photo and shivers as she rubs her arms. Outside, the sun has slipped behind the clouds. The apartment seems darker, grayer.

  Michael didn’t really mean for this to happen, Astrid tells herself. Not now, and not here. It was a whim, an impulse from the past. Both a requiem and an epilogue. Fate had to release them and accept that they were simply filling something in, after the fact.

  That’s all it was. Something that happened in the spur of the moment. Nothing more.

  Astrid’s legs feel wobbly. She stands still for a moment and catches sight of herself in the mirror next to Lena’s wardrobe. She straightens her back, as if trying to look normal.

  “Michael,” she says.

  Tears fill her eyes again, and she quickly turns away from the mirror. She goes over to the nightstand to get Lena’s glasses. When she picks them up, a crumpled tissue falls to the floor. She’s about to kneel down to get it, but decides not to bother. Things are messy enough in Lena’s bedroom, so she lets the tissue stay where it is. She doesn’t want to leave any more traces of her presence. Lying on the floor next to the bed are a pen, a pair of pantyhose, and a copy of the women’s magazine Damernas Värld.

  Astrid has never had this sort of opportunity to explore Lena’s apartment before. The last time she was here, it was for a Christmas glögg party. The two sisters usually see each other at Kerstin’s apartment, or Lena occasionally comes over to Astrid’s place. It has been Astrid’s role, as an adult, to invite the others over. Lena would arrive wearing a slinky skirt with a spectacular blouse and big dangling earrings. She was someone from the big wide world.

  Each time they would exchange the usual greetings. First Astrid would compliment Lena on what she was wearing. Then Lena would mention how tired and stressed she was feeling as she looked around Astrid’s kitchen and sighed. She’d say how cozy everything looked and wonder why she never managed to achieve the same comfortable atmosphere in her own apartment. But that sort of home decorating was not part of Lena’s world.

  “Is that really what you want?” Astrid might ask, and Lena would merely give some evasive reply. Astrid wondered whether her sister’s supposed longing for domesticity was either just a fleeting wish or else an outright lie.

  What does Astrid actually know about Lena’s life?

  Now and then she would mention some man, but more often she’d talk about trips she’d taken, the successes she’d achieved, or the obstacles she encountered in the world of clothing design. There was always a certain tension in their relationship, and Astrid never understood why.

  As she looks around Lena’s bedroom, it seems so defenseless. At the moment Lena can’t put up her guard—not the way she usually does with her sister.

  Astrid wants to leave. Immediately.

  Just as she has stuffed the robe, the glasses, and the shawl into a paper bag, she hears someone unlocking the apartment door. She is both scared out of her wits and embarrassed. The person comes in without stopping to take off their shoes.

  “Hello?”

  It’s Sandra. Astrid can’t bring herself to say anything. She simply stands there, holding the bag in her hand.

  Sandra stops short when she catches sight of her sister. “Astrid! What are you doing here?”

  Astrid feels herself blush, the crimson rising from her throat to her face. “Well,” she stammers, as if Sandra were accusing her of something. “Mamma asked me to pick up some things. What are you doing here?”

  “I ran into Michael in the foyer, Astrid.”

  Astrid has no idea what to say.

  “You did?” she manages.

  Sandra gives her a stern look. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Michael? What are you playing at? He seemed totally dejected. It was really strange.”

  “What do you mean by playing at? We were just talking. There’s nothing—”

  “Are you out of your mind?” Sandra interrupts. “Here?”

  Astrid just shakes her head, though she doesn’t know why. Is she out of her mind? Probably. And yet. She thinks about how sensible she has been all these years. She has eaten common sense for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. If, just once, she happened to . . .

  “I don’t think it’s any of your business, judging me . . .”

  Sandra walks past Astrid and goes into Lena’s kitchen to get herself a glass of water. Astrid follows. She watches her sister tip her head back to drink. Sandra wipes her mouth with her hand and then looks at Astrid, her lips slightly parted. Her red hair frames her face like a lion’s mane. Her neck is slender and elegant. Astrid usually thinks of Sandra as all sinews and muscles. She radiates control and restraint. There is something about her that resembles a wild animal out on the steppes, with an alertness bordering on hostility. That thin nose of hers, vibrating and trembling, that ravenous mouth.

  “I thought everything was good between you and Henrik,” she finally says.

  “It is. Things are great.”

  “And?” Sandra presses.

  Astrid looks at her sister’s moist lips. Sandra again wipes her mouth with her hand, pressing so hard that her teeth show.

  How much do I need to explain? thinks Astrid.

  In her mind, sentences crowd together as if rushing for an emergency exit.

  Something has been missing in my life. Things have gone fallow. I have survived, but I don’t know if I’ve really lived—not wholeheartedly. Now I’ve been reawakened. I’m someone who for a long time has merely functioned. I’ve been cursed with such a thick skin. I’ve closed myself off more and more. I need to get out. Something inside me needs to get out. Or maybe something needs to get in.
I may seem outwardly perfect, but I’m flawed on the inside. And I’d rather be whole inside and outwardly tarnished.

  All these phrases whirl inside her head, but nothing comes out of her mouth.

  Sandra is glaring at Astrid. They haven’t spoken since Kerstin told Astrid that Lena didn’t want to see her. Sandra has phoned a few times, but Astrid chose not to take the calls. It would have been too painful to hear that Sandra was allowed to visit their sister.

  “Mamma doesn’t know I’m here,” Sandra says. “Please don’t tell her.”

  “But what are you doing here?”

  Sandra’s expression turns serious as she looks at Astrid. Then she takes her sister by the arm and leads her into Lena’s bedroom. She squats down in front of the nightstand and reaches for the handle on the drawer.

  “I want you to understand,” Sandra begins, her voice a little unsteady. “This isn’t a joke. You know that Per and I are in desperate financial straits. This is serious, Astrid. It really is. If I don’t pay forty-four thousand kronor in taxes next Monday, I’m going to end up financially ruined, unable to get credit, in trouble with the bank, and all sorts of other shit. We’ll lose the dance studio, and everything we’ve worked for will be gone.”

  Sandra gives Astrid one last glance before she pulls open the drawer in the nightstand and rummages around inside. Astrid is about to protest, but Sandra speaks first.

  “Lena’s okay with this. She told me to do it.”

  Sandra takes out a blue box. When she opens it, Astrid sees a Rolex watch inside. Sandra’s hand is shaking as she lifts the watch out.

  “Lena told me that she got it from some wealthy businessman in New York who’s in love with her. It’s probably worth fifty thousand kronor. ‘Take it,’ Lena said. ‘If it will help you out, just take it. I don’t want it.’”

  Is this Sandra saying these things? Astrid feels sick to her stomach. She sees Sandra’s fingers trembling with greed. She notes the feverish look in her eyes. Is this really happening?

  “But . . . but . . . this is just so tacky.”

  Sandra sticks the box in her purse as she presses her lips together defiantly. The parquet floor creaks. Sandra nervously blinks. Astrid can see that she’s on the verge of tears, and her own eyes are stinging.

  “You always have such good taste, Astrid. Just imagine if everything could be as perfect as you are. Just imagine if our world were set up like the one you and Henrik created. Then we could stand here and be so perfect together. But you have to understand that I can’t afford to do that.”

  “But Lena’s sick, and—”

  “She said I should take it!” Sandra cries. “She told me to! We talk to each other!”

  Is there a hint of triumph in Sandra’s voice? Lena and Sandra talk to each other. Astrid’s tears vanish. She’s the one on the outside. Her mouth feels dry. She’s the one who is parched and unnourished and forgotten. The rejected one.

  “‘Take it, I don’t want it!’ That’s what Lena said,” Sandra repeats. “‘I’ll feel better if I can help you.’ Don’t you get it? It will make her feel better. Can’t you understand that Lena might feel better if she can share what she has, especially if she’s sick . . .”

  Astrid can’t take any more. “Okay, okay. Let’s leave it at that.”

  As she turns to leave, a big stone lodges in her heart. Suddenly she feels Sandra grab her wrist.

  “Don’t you see how mean you are, leaving me like this? Can’t you see that, Astrid? As if I’m the one who’s being tacky here.”

  Astrid wrenches her wrist away and stares at Sandra’s furious face.

  “It’s none of my business, whatever goes on between the two of you,” she says. “I just want to keep out of it.”

  Sandra clenches her fists. “Lena hasn’t always been the most honest person in the world, you know. Do you think she has? She’s the one whose behavior has been really tacky, if you want to talk about that . . . or . . . Oh, fuck it.”

  There’s something fearful in Sandra’s expression when she says this.

  “What do you mean?” Instantly, Astrid regrets asking. Her gaze wavers, and she takes a step back. She has to find out what Sandra is talking about, but something tells her it would be better to leave now, holding her hands over her ears.

  But it’s too late.

  Sandra tilts her head to one side, a pleading look in her eyes. Her lion’s mane droops. “I think you’ve suspected all along, Astrid. Or maybe you’ve known.”

  “Suspected what?”

  “Well . . .”

  Astrid lifts the bag holding the shawl, robe, and glasses up high, then slams it down on the floor. “Tell me before I scream or I start hitting you!”

  Sandra blinks nervously and then rattles off two names. “Lena and Michael.” That’s all she says. “Lena and Michael.”

  Astrid’s stomach begins to knot. “What do you mean?”

  “It was a long time ago,” Sandra starts, tilting her head more, as if further entreating her sister. “It was eons ago, and it was really nothing, and I thought you knew about it. I thought you realized”—Sandra takes a deep breath—“that it didn’t mean anything.”

  Astrid slowly repeats her words. “That it didn’t mean anything?”

  And as her stomach churns, she sees the images in her mind. The summer when Pappa died. Viktor a year old, learning to walk, so discouraged and clinging to Astrid. Pappa Hans, grumpy and restless, and Kerstin angry and frustrated. The house on the island of Fårö, both Sandra and Lena there. And Michael.

  She pictures an avalanche of moments: the evenings when Lena and Michael went for a swim, towels, wet hair, feet covered with sand. The dinner table, Michael telling a story and Lena laughing. Or was it the other way around? Was that really what happened? Astrid doesn’t know where all these images are coming from, appearing one after the other in her mind. All these pictures rolling past. Did she really see these things, or is she only seeing them now?

  “But Viktor was there, and he was so little . . .”

  Now Astrid is the one entreating Sandra. Surely that couldn’t happen! She felt so secure, or at least she thought so. She knew there were times in life when such things did happen. But not then, not when your father is dying. Not when your child is only a year old, the child you share. Not when you love each other. Not when, occasionally, throughout the day, you make sure to show your love by means of a glance, a few words, or a shared and restful certainty.

  “But that can’t be right . . .”

  Sandra opens her arms to Astrid to offer her a comforting hug. Astrid takes another step back, bumping into the dresser in Lena’s bedroom.

  “They were both young and immature,” Sandra says, teary eyed and nervous.

  Are the tears from sadness, or simply because she’s blinking with apprehension? Astrid looks at her sister and knows she will never forget this moment or the sight of Sandra’s anxious face.

  It was this moment when the world turned deceitful and yet became so horribly clear at the same time. Everything made sense, even as it collapsed upon its own perversity. All the pieces fell into place. Michael’s sudden flight, Lena’s odd distancing of herself, and the intense feeling that things weren’t right—the feeling Astrid has been carrying ever since that summer when things fell apart and her life became one long desolate postscript.

  “Sure. Young and immature,” Astrid repeats, noticing that Sandra looks a little more hopeful, almost relieved.

  “Uh-huh,” Sandra says. “And everything turned out for the best, and it was a long time ago. And now Lena is sick, and there’s nothing really to be done about it—about what happened back then, I mean.”

  Astrid picks up the paper bag holding Lena’s things and moves past Sandra to the door.

  “I’m sorry, Astrid. Do you hear me? This wasn’t how I . . . I didn’t want . . . I didn’t mean . . .”

  Astrid leaves the apartment, slamming the door behind her.

  She’s going over to th
e hospital to visit Lena.

  SANDRA

  Sandra switches on the light in the dance studio. It flickers for a moment before casting its sharp glow over the expanse of the floor. She’s always loved the sight of that floor. It stirs a desire in her to move across the entire surface and feel the freedom to do anything with her body without any spatial limits.

  “Cool.”

  Astrid’s daughter Josefin has come to the studio with her. Sandra has secretly promised to teach her niece how to tap-dance. Josefin offered her the five hundred kronor that Kerstin had given her for her fifteenth birthday, but Sandra said that wasn’t necessary. She was happy to give the lessons for free, and she thought it was a fun way for the two of them to get to know each other better. It’s not clear why Josefin has set her sights on learning to tap-dance. When Sandra asked her, Josefin merely said, “Because it looks so cool.”

  Sandra suspects that some unguarded remark from Astrid may have fueled Josefin’s dream. When Sandra tries to warn her that tap is one of the most difficult dance styles to learn, Josefin replies with flushed cheeks that Astrid said the same thing.

  “Mamma would never believe I could learn something like this. Sara might be able to do it, but not me. Do you think I can? Do you think it’s possible to learn by Mamma’s birthday, later this summer? I’d like to show her what I can do, as a birthday present.”

  Sandra couldn’t refuse. So here they are now, at the dance studio, in which Sandra and Per have invested all their time and money. A project that is about to go to hell. Those are the exact words Sandra used when she talked to Per that morning.

  “You have to realize that the whole business is about to go to hell.”

  Per smiled when she said that. His typically bitter smile. As if he’d just had his view of the world confirmed.

  In addition, the tax authorities are demanding forty-four thousand kronor from Sandra within the next thirty days. It’s part of an amortization payment schedule from the time when she had her own business and was working as an aerobics instructor. Back then she was careless about paying her taxes, so this is the result.