[2013] The Heart Echoes

by Helena vonZweigbergk

  “Shut up!” Sandra interrupts. “Just shut up! Nobody cares about your pathetic opinions! Why can’t you, just for once, try to do something useful? Why can’t you do something that will make people happy?”

  Sandra is shouting at Per. She has never done that before. Not like this. But she feels like she’s standing at the end of the plank, and the last thing she needs is to listen to his gloomy analysis and theories about how the world has brought her to this dire point. Because it won’t help. It just makes her feel even sadder and more resentful.

  Per stares at her in surprise. She’s so used to that bitter smile of his, the smile that has become his signature. But right now he looks like a cowed little boy.

  “Okay.”

  That’s all he says.

  Sandra leaves the room to look up the phone number for the tax office. She gets hold of a person in charge of the “more urgent cases,” which is what she has become. The voice she hears on the phone sounds gruff and suspicious. The person rattles off all the missed deadlines and the increasing amounts owed, as if they were part of a police record. And all she can do is murmur, “Oh no” and “Wow.”

  Finally, she says, “Well, I guess I haven’t been paying attention like I should.”

  The voice on the phone has nothing to add—the deadpan tone has done its best to stifle all attempts to make light of the matter or to engage in any kind of social banter. Sandra asks if she can come to the office to discuss the situation in person, and the voice acquiesces. She gets an appointment for two days later.

  Sandra is standing in front of the mirror, brushing her hair. It was yesterday morning when, for the very first time, she yelled at Per to shut up. And she meant what she said, delivering her words with sober authority. Since then, Per has kept a low profile, behaving toward her with friendly politeness. He has read the newspapers, gone out for walks, and had a few glasses of red wine, but he has refrained from any bitter remarks. When they watched the news on TV last night, it felt so dreary without his usual scathing commentary that she almost wanted to ask him to start complaining again.

  But she’s not going to do that. She brushes her hair in silence, trying to figure out what form this change in her life will take. She has gone over to the other side—that’s how it feels. But she’s not sure what that means. She keeps on brushing, making her hair fly. Then she puts on her makeup, getting ready to do battle.

  It’s evening, and Sandra is home alone. She’s mustering her courage to go over to the Dance Palace and collect the paperwork she needs to take to the tax office. Again she thinks about her terminally ill sister and decides that, in comparison, what she’s going through is nothing.

  And . . .

  Sandra pauses, standing there motionless as the realization sinks in: her life can be changed. Because she does have a life.

  Two or three times a day she talks to Kerstin to hear the latest medical updates. Sandra is slowly starting to understand what is actually happening. Lena is going to die, and soon. Sometimes Sandra has to gasp for breath, as if swallowing a scream, and at the same time her whole body is trying to steel itself.

  She has to choose life. For her own sake. And she feels the flush of shame on her face. The shame of thinking about life for herself, when for Lena there is only death.

  It’s still light outside even though it’s past ten o’clock. Per is probably sitting in a bar somewhere, drinking wine with his former colleagues. He likes to hear the latest gossip, which he will later gleefully repeat, since it somehow confirms his already bleak view of the world.

  When Sandra unlocks the door to the dance studio, she hears music. At first she thinks it must be Josefin again. But it’s a piece by Tchaikovsky, one of Per’s favorites: the prince’s adagio in the first act of Swan Lake.

  She tiptoes over to the doorway leading to the big dance space. The lights are on, and in the very center of the room stands Per. He is vibrating with anticipation, waiting for the moment in the music when he will begin to move. Then he lifts his arms and leans to one side, like a windblown pine. And just as he approaches the breaking point, when anyone else would fall, he pauses, stretching forward at that precarious angle. Sandra holds her breath as she watches him defy the boundaries of what seems humanly possible. His expression is focused, with a concurrent melancholy, and Sandra feels like crying. She doesn’t want to be cold. She wants to be the person she was before—the one who feels something.

  Per dances with an intensity she hasn’t seen in a long time. No one does it better. He’s beautiful. If only they could spend their lives here, in this room, listening to the music and dancing, then all the bitterness and money problems would seem absurd.

  They no longer have anything to say to each other. Words in their shared life have lost all meaning, having been abused and misused for so long, causing only pain and confusion.

  They can’t resort to words. Not anymore.

  But when Per turns off the music and Sandra enters the room, they approach each other with a newborn gravity. And for once they see each other. When they leave words behind, they can still do that. Their fingers touch, feeling the heartache of what they’ve been through and yet caressing each other. Sandra is standing close to Per, sensing the heat of his muscular body. They start breathing to the same rhythm. She slips her hands behind his neck. He does the same to her. For a moment they stand there, forehead to forehead, before their lips meet and they kiss as if for the first time.

  An all-consuming intensity created by the darkness surrounds them. As they begin to make love, something falls into place for Sandra. Desire, sorrow, love, determination, and an instinct to survive all converge, with none taking precedence.

  She wasn’t prepared for this. It’s something that has crept up on her. Here, in the dance studio, Sandra is reminded of the beginning of all their years together. And she realizes that, in spite of everything, she loves Per. She feels his arms around her and knows that here, in his embrace, she has rediscovered her home after being banished from it for such a long time.

  A cautious flame of joy is lit, and with it the happy sense that they might be able to find their way back to each other, after fear led them astray and caused them to wander aimlessly for so long.

  She has to do it, even though it feels wrong. But she has to do it. The whole way to the hospital Sandra keeps telling herself that she has no choice.

  When Sandra comes into her sister’s room, Lena is sitting on the bed, wearing a hospital gown. Lena looks like she’s feeling worse than the last time Sandra saw her, which was only a few days ago. She turns to look at Sandra and her face is expressionless, as if she no longer cares what’s happening in the world around her.

  “Hi, Lena.” Sandra goes over to give her sister a hug, but Lena barely responds. A thought flits through Sandra’s mind, a disturbing and horrid thought, that it won’t be long now. That it might be better if Lena doesn’t have to suffer a long, drawn-out illness. Because Sandra finds it almost unbearable to see her like this.

  Silence has begun to settle over them during her visits. And that’s painful.

  As Sandra clenches her teeth, another thought races through her head, chasing away all else. She wants to roar at time to stop; she wants to keep the sun from ever setting again. She needs to find the doctors, wherever they are in the hospital, and scream at them, “Do something!” Sandra pictures herself forcing her way into the operating room and pushing past all the doctors, then thrusting her fingers inside the opened cavity in Lena’s body to find the cancerous tumors. She will crush them with her bare hands. She will burn them. Or she will seal them inside a jar with alcohol so they can never do harm ever again.

  “So, how are you feeling?” Sandra pauses, but when she sees Lena’s expression, she doesn’t wait for an answer. “Are you in any pain?”

  “No. It’s not so bad. I’ll be able to go home soon.”

  “Oh, good.”

  A big bouquet of yellow roses is on the bedside table. Sandra notic
es there isn’t any water in the vase. She picks it up and goes into the bathroom to refill it. She sees that Lena’s toiletry bag is open, and she glances inside as she stands there at the sink. The bag is brimming with all sorts of eye shadow and blush and mascara and hairpins. Just like Lena used to be: overflowing with enthusiasm and playfulness, wearing too much red lipstick and various shades of blue and green on her eyelids.

  Sandra carries the vase of flowers back into the room, but Lena hardly seems to notice.

  “Nice,” Sandra says, meaning the bouquet. Then she takes a deep breath as she musters her courage to ask the question that has been tormenting her. “Lena, I have to ask you something.”

  Lena turns to face her. Something seems to have shut down inside of her. She is looking at Sandra, but her eyes are blank. This is a new development, something that has happened over the past few days. Sandra isn’t sure she can ask the question after all, but Lena is her last hope, and she has decided to make one last effort for both Per and the Dance Palace. What if it turns out to be possible? What if she and Per can still do something together?

  Per has finally awakened to reality. It’s as if he’s suddenly alert and yet stunned at the same time. Being an artist is no longer his only role. He now seems a little more down-to-earth, feeling sad but composed.

  The two of them have found their way again. They are closer, more intimate. They still can’t use words, so they are mostly silent with each other. But the bitter smiles and sarcastic laughter are no longer present in their home. Sandra tiptoes around, hardly daring to believe it’s true.

  “I’ve done the best I could. I’ve really tried,” Sandra begins.

  A spark of interest appears in Lena’s eyes.

  “I don’t really know how to say this, Lena.”

  “Just say it,” Lena exclaims with annoyance. “I don’t have the energy to drag the words out of you.”

  Sandra pulls herself together. “Okay. I owe back taxes that I can’t pay. Could you lend me forty-four thousand kronor?”

  Now Sandra’s hands start shaking. What sort of expression should she wear at a time like this? She feels her face twitching, as if she might either laugh or cry. She’s terrified, but the person who scares her most is herself.

  She’s terrified of the person she has become. The one who has failed.

  Lena sinks back against her pillows. She turns her head to look out the window and seems to be thinking. After a moment she turns to face Sandra again. “You want me to lend you the money? Is that what you’re asking?”

  “Yes, well, the idea is that I’ll pay you back, of course. And soon. As soon as things get better,” Sandra elaborates.

  “So I’ll get the money back as soon as things get better?” Lena repeats in her dry, drawling voice. “I would hope so. But what exactly do you think is going to get better?”

  “I’m sorry, I . . .” Sandra bites her lip so hard she tastes blood. What is she doing? She has been hounded like a beggar to the outskirts of civilization. She is running around in the big, beautiful world, carrying her beggar’s bowl and muttering servile whimpers.

  Tears start trickling down Sandra’s face. “Lena, I don’t know how things ended up like this. I haven’t been paying attention. Per and I . . . Well, things have just gotten out of hand, and the bills have piled up, and, like a fool, I thought everything would work out. Neither of us has done a good job of dealing with life over the past few years. Per wanted to continue being the star who doesn’t have to worry about petty matters, and I’ve let him do that, and now I feel so hum3iliated.”

  Lena sits up and looks at Sandra, her eyes flashing. “If you’re going to sit there and whine, then excuse me, but I’m leaving the room.”

  “Oh God. I’m so sorry!” Sandra wipes away her tears and squares her shoulders.

  But when Lena fixes her ancient, weary gaze on Sandra, the tears start falling again. She can’t help it. She sobs so hard she feels like she might suffocate. Lena sits still, her body slumping forward. As Sandra cries, she catches sight of the drooping cotton socks her sister is wearing. Her feet don’t reach all the way to the ground because the hospital bed is so high. Lena is dangling one foot, which reminds Sandra of their childhood—the two sisters sitting next to each other on the sofa, their feet swinging and kicking above the floor.

  Sandra sniffles, then stands up and leans forward to give Lena a hug, ignoring the fact that her sister feels as tightly wound as a steel spring. As she pulls her close, Sandra breathes in the hospital smell, but also Lena’s own scent—which belongs to the alive and familiar Lena. And Sandra hugs her tight, feeling her sister slowly relax.

  Sandra cries on Lena’s shoulder, not caring that she’s leaving snot and tears on her hospital gown.

  “I don’t want you to . . . I can’t stand . . . Oh Lena, please don’t leave me.”

  Sandra’s hands press against Lena’s back, and under her fingertips she feels a trembling sensation. Suddenly Lena is crying, too. She sobs and sobs as she grabs hold of Sandra, squeezing hard in her panic. And the two sisters hold on to each other, weeping as if they’ll never stop. They sink onto Lena’s bed, lying there, side by side, with their heads on her pillow and looking up at the ceiling through tearstained eyelashes.

  “It’s all so unreal,” Lena says at last. “I don’t understand why this is happening to me.”

  Sandra hugs her again, a little harder this time. “I don’t understand it, either.”

  “But Sandra, I don’t have that much money.”

  “Never mind all that. It’s not important,” Sandra urges her.

  “Of course it is. Have you talked to Mamma?”

  “I don’t want to do that. Let’s just forget the whole thing.”

  Lena grasps Sandra’s hand. “You have to promise me that you’ll be okay, Sandra. Can you work things out with Per?”

  “I don’t know,” Sandra admits.

  For a moment neither of them speaks.

  “If you don’t think so, then let him go, Sandra. Sometimes when I see the two of you together, I think you both seem so sad, and so bitter. I’m not sure how to explain it.”

  “I know. But I love him. I want to give him one last chance.”

  “Okay. I have an idea.”

  Sandra turns her head to look at Lena, who is still staring at the ceiling.

  “In my nightstand at home there’s a Rolex watch, made of white gold. It’s worth at least as much as the amount you need. I want you to take it. It’s not something I care about. It’s just gathering dust.”

  “I can’t do that!” Sandra exclaims. “How . . . where did you get such a valuable watch? Someone must have given it to you, someone who—”

  “It was a gift from a filthy-rich finance guy I met in New York last year when I went there to promote some of my clothing designs,” Lena explains. “He tried to hit on me, and I guess the watch was supposed to make a big impression. But seriously. It means nothing to me. Take the watch and sell it.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Stop saying that,” Lena tells her. “Just do it. I really don’t give a shit about that watch. But there’s something I want in return.”

  “What?”

  “I want you to be happy. And I want you to dump Per if he tries to drag you down. I’m forfeiting the watch so that you’ll live your own life. And live it well.”

  She’s not going to tell Per. Not yet. The next day, the key to Lena’s apartment is burning in Sandra’s pocket as she walks over to the building on Linnégatan. She feels like someone is pursuing her, making her hurry. Occasionally she looks over her shoulder. But she’s also cursing herself. Why should she feel guilty?

  I’m not doing anything wrong, she thinks. This is what Lena wants. Maybe it will even make Lena feel better, knowing that she’s able to help me get out of a serious crisis.

  Because that is undeniably what Lena is doing.

  Maybe an outsider wouldn’t understand. But what’s important is that Sandra and
Lena do understand each other. After she sells the watch and pays off their debts, Sandra is going to invite Per out to dinner to tell him she has solved their problem—though she doesn’t intend to give him any details. He’ll probably think she begged the money from Kerstin, in spite of what she told him before, and he won’t want to discuss it.

  Everything should work out. Please let this mean something, Sandra thinks. Let this be a turning point. I want to make good on my promise to Lena.

  As Sandra approaches the front door of the apartment building, her heart is pounding so hard that she decides to go into a nearby 7-Eleven and have a quick cup of coffee to calm down. I’m not doing anything wrong, she repeats to herself as she sips the hot coffee. I’m not doing anything wrong. There are other things that are wrong, like how hard it is to make it as an artist, or as a small business owner. The money just keeps draining away. No wonder it’s been so easy to lose our grip and live on hope.

  I’m not doing anything wrong.

  She tosses the paper cup in the trash, nods at the store clerk, and goes back out to the street.

  The building code! As Sandra clutches the apartment key, she realizes she doesn’t know the code to the building, but she doesn’t want to call Lena to ask her what it is. All she has is the key. Could it possibly open the main door as well?

  What luck! At that moment somebody opens the door to leave the building, and Sandra rushes forward to slip inside.

  And she finds herself face-to-face with Michael.

  She is astonished and disconcerted, frowning and looking him up and down for so long that he puts his hand on her arm and asks her what’s wrong. He seems equally startled and takes a step back into the foyer.

  “What are you doing here?” Sandra finally asks him in English.

  “Hello to you, too,” he says, smiling. He makes a halfhearted attempt to hug Sandra, but she can’t bring herself to respond in kind.

  She examines him more closely. Is he crazy? Is he stalking Lena? Did he try to break into her apartment? He looks jittery. There’s something strange about him.