[2013] The Heart Echoes

by Helena vonZweigbergk

  Lena is lying in bed in her apartment in Stockholm, remembering that day, her cheeks flushed.

  So now what?

  She laughs at the memory.

  They kissed. At first Lena was flustered, unsure where to put her hands. She was used to placing her hand behind a man’s neck or holding his growing erection. What was she supposed to do now?

  But her confusion lasted only a few dizzying seconds. Then her hands were all over Martha’s wonderful body. Her hands and her mouth. She was so soft and sweet, smooth and lovely. Martha and Lena looked at each other with awe, as if they’d discovered a legendary treasure and couldn’t believe it was real. Lena’s fingers intertwined with Martha’s, and there was something incredible about being with another person like that. Lena’s tongue felt like it wanted to do so many things, in ways that she’d never experienced before. She wanted it everywhere, intoxicated with scent and desire.

  Afterward they lay together for a long time, simply looking at each other without speaking. Hardly daring to move, as if that might awaken time, and time was their enemy. They knew that.

  Lena searched Martha’s eyes, knowing they were strangers and yet feeling as if they knew each other better than anyone else in the world. One of them born in Manhattan, the other in the Norrmalm district of Stockholm. Two people with different backgrounds, living on opposite sides of the Atlantic, but together they had stepped inside an enchanted circle and created a shared home.

  Finally Martha sat up in bed, shaking back her beautiful curly black hair as she said, “I love you.” And Lena said the same words, almost at the same time. So simple, so true.

  “I love you, Martha.”

  Lena says the words now, out loud, as she stares up at the ceiling to avoid noticing how empty the bedroom is.

  “I love you more than anything.”

  That was about a year ago. Since then, Lena has been going to New York at regular intervals on the pretext of taking a business trip, but mostly to see Martha. They have never discussed changing the parameters of their relationship. It has always been understood that Martha loves Ted, and above all else she loves her children. So far Lena has accepted this. She has been happy simply to spend time with Martha, knowing that Martha exists in the world, and that nothing can tarnish her joy. In the glow of her love, Lena has also developed a great fondness for Ted and the children. She has become a family friend and gladly spends entire weekends at the family home. Even though she has to sleep in the guest room while Martha lies in bed next to Ted, she never loses faith in the unique and glorious love that she and Martha share. It takes only a glance from Martha for Lena to feel completely secure.

  They love each other.

  Nobody knows. And there’s something lonely about that. On the other hand, it also gives their relationship a certain charged aura. It’s not something they have to share. Lena’s friends have remarked on her starry-eyed secretiveness, which has made some of them suspect she’s involved in a so-called forbidden love affair, but they’ve left her in peace.

  And none of them would ever have imagined that she has been carrying on an affair with a married American woman who is also the mother of three.

  Did her body know when her love for Martha began?

  Over the weekend Lena can’t stop thinking about that. She fends off Kerstin’s attempt to visit her, saying that she wants to rest, and above all she wants to have peace and quiet to think.

  Did her body know that there was reason to hurry? Is there some subconscious plan for her to experience all the love she was supposed to have enjoyed in life in a greatly intensified form?

  Her love for Martha is like a lifetime in every glance, in every hidden thought, in every shared breath.

  Did her body know what it was going to need? Armor, candor, courage, all based on love. Falling gently. Embracing warmly. Finding peace and sanctuary.

  Lena doesn’t leave her apartment all weekend. She sets her sparkly blue shoes on the coffee table. Martha has an identical pair, although hers are green. They bought them together, before going out one evening. They joked about being two Cinderellas on the loose. Martha quoted Bette Midler, who said, “Give a girl the right footwear, and she can conquer the world.”

  Just like in the Cinderella story, that night turned out to be enchanted because of the special shoes they were wearing.

  And they did conquer the world. On those wobbly heels, they stood firmly together, giddy and happy at constantly rediscovering each other. They were like gift-wrapped packages for one another, and there was always one more to open, and one more, and everything they saw was astonishing.

  Lena lies down on the sofa, stretching out full-length as she stares at the shoes. She picks them up, running her fingers over the sides and touching the scratches on the soles, which she knows resulted from going out with Martha.

  Four times over the weekend they talk to each other on Skype. The weekends can be difficult because Martha has to spend time with her family. Lena decides not to mention her illness, at least not yet. When she sees Martha’s face, she feels so happy that everything else fades.

  During one conversation Martha wears a towel wrapped around her head because she has just taken a shower and found a few minutes to escape the hubbub of the morning with her family.

  The next time Martha slips away from a boring family dinner with Ted’s parents and is slightly tipsy from too much wine.

  And the next call is with a hungover Martha the following morning, while the rest of her family is still in bed, except for little Frank, who is watching TV. Martha’s face leans close to the screen. “I want you. I love you. I feel sick without you.”

  And Lena replies, “It’s the wine from last night, darling.”

  “No, it’s because you’re not here. It’s because I can’t touch you.”

  Lena leans close, too, before she answers, “I’m sick when I’m not with you. It’s almost unbearable.”

  And it’s only when they both turn off their computers that Lena realizes she’s just confessed to being sick.

  She said she felt sick without Martha, but she didn’t say that, unfortunately, she’s sick even when she’s with her.

  The last time they talk over the weekend, Martha can see that Lena looks sad, that her expression has turned serious.

  “What’s wrong, darling? How is Sweden treating you?”

  Lena gives an evasive reply and suddenly feels very tired—as if she can’t even hold up her head. She needs a shoulder for support, and it’s not there anymore.

  Martha blinks nervously. She bites her lip and says that she’s afraid she must be upsetting Lena’s life, that she’s not enough for Lena, and that Lena isn’t getting what Martha wishes she could give her.

  “But don’t you understand?” says Lena hesitantly. “You give me everything just by looking at me. Everything I need to . . . well, to keep going. And to live. You are everything to me, Martha. You’re my everything.”

  And they simultaneously press the palms of their hands against the computer screens.

  Monday morning. Lena wakes up before the alarm goes off and glances at the clock. Six thirty. In an hour and a half she’ll be admitted to the hospital, and later in the day she’ll undergo surgery so more precise tests can be done. In an hour Kerstin will come over and wait on the sidewalk across the street, and then the two of them will go to the hospital together. Lena gets out of bed and goes over to her desk to sit down in front of the computer. She writes a brief e-mail to Martha. “Will be gone for two days. Work. Love you more than ever.”

  Tears sting Lena’s eyes, but she manages to hold them back. She looks again at the message she typed before she sends it off. It’s unusually terse, but she hopes Martha will think she’s just feeling stressed because of work. She can’t write anything more about her life right now, not today. And she doesn’t want to lie to Martha. No, she can’t lie to Martha.

  Lying on the desk is Lena’s sketchbook with ideas for the new season—design ide
as that she’s going to start working on as soon as the surgery is over. No matter what happens, she’ll have time to finish the sketches, which are going to be fantastic. She’s sure of it.

  Lena gets dressed, having decided to wear the outfit that is Martha’s favorite, a sleeveless top made of pale-beige silk and a pair of ankle-length chinos with a tiny floral pattern in beige and red. She puts on red lipstick before stepping into a pair of red high-heeled sandals. Then she studies herself in the mirror. Looking like this, how can she possibly die? Someone who is in love, the way she is, must have some sort of defensive resources stockpiled. But whether they’re meant to protect against death itself or against the fear death instills, she’s not sure.

  She drops some cash, her ID, and her keys in a small purse made of light-brown suede with a red silk tassel. She tucks a paperback book under her arm and then leaves the apartment, locking the door behind her.

  “Oh,” says Kerstin when she sees Lena. But that’s all she says. Lena knows what sort of impulsive remarks her mother would have offered if it weren’t for the gravity of the situation. “Oh, you look so . . . that outfit is a little much, don’t you think?” Kerstin might have murmured. And after giving her daughter a sharply critical look, she probably would have added, “Although it’s very . . . hip, of course.”

  They head for the bus that will take them to the hospital. The heels of Lena’s sandals clack against the sidewalk. Kerstin is wearing turquoise sweatpants with a matching sweatshirt. She has her spring coat draped over one arm, and she’s carrying a big nylon shopping bag. Her shoes are made of canvas with comfortable rubber soles. Lena swings her purse as she walks, aware that her mother keeps glancing at her.

  “I’ve sold a lot of these pants,” she tells Kerstin.

  “I’m sure you have, sweetie,” Kerstin says, her voice gentle. “They’re really cute.” She tries to smile but doesn’t quite manage it.

  Lena can feel her courage fading. Please, Mamma, she thinks. Just be your usual self. Say something snide like, “So . . . is that how you’re supposed to look these days?” Be skeptical, like you always are. We each have our separate roles. Play yours, and I’ll play mine. I’m the one who’s young and slightly tasteless when it comes to fashion and most other things. You’re the one who’s older and sure of everything, whether it’s fashion, ethics, politics, or whatever. I hate these roles, but it’s what I want. I want it because that’s how things normally are. That’s the life I know.

  “I know you don’t really like my clothes. Don’t start getting all hypocritical just because I’m sick.”

  Kerstin is about to protest, but Lena takes a firm grip on her mother’s arm. “I’m serious, Mamma. What I want most of all is for you to act normal. And besides, I know what you like and don’t like.”

  Kerstin pauses, looking as if she’s considering what Lena just said. Then she tilts her head to one side as tears well up in her eyes. “Those pants look a little busy, if you ask me.”

  “That’s much better,” Lena replies. “I feel a lot calmer now. Things would have to be really bad for you to keep your opinions to yourself.”

  Kerstin appears startled, but she tries to laugh.

  “And Mamma, please don’t look like that. I don’t have the energy to comfort you. Do you understand?”

  Kerstin nods and again tries to smile, but without much success.

  Lena wakes up after the surgery with a feeling of terror. She breaks into a cold sweat and her mouth is dry. Fear is forcing her toward consciousness, but part of her is still caught in a bad dream. The bed feels sticky. Suddenly she realizes what must have happened.

  Martha! She’s dead! There’s blood everywhere!

  Lena tries to sit up, but she’s so dizzy that she bends over to throw up on the floor. Vomit splashes onto the linoleum. She catches sight of Kerstin, who looks half-asleep as she gets up from the armchair where she’s sitting. She fumbles with the call button on Lena’s bed to summon help.

  Lena studies her mother’s face as she tries to ward off another attack of nausea. Why is Kerstin here? What is this place? Maybe Kerstin is here to tell her what happened. To tell her Martha is dead.

  Lena tries to prop herself up on her elbows. “Just tell me.”

  “Tell you what? What do you want me to say, Lena?” Kerstin looks so nervous that Lena sinks back against the pillows.

  So it’s true. Martha is dead. Someone has killed Martha, and it’s her blood Lena feels on her body. She heard it. The scream. It was Martha’s death cry that interrupted her sleep. Martha has died and left her behind. What sort of monster could be so malicious?

  She has to find out what happened. She has to . . . Lena throws back the covers and tries to take off her sticky gown.

  Kerstin moves to stop her, crying, “Please, Lena, don’t do that. You need to stay calm. Stop that!”

  Lena looks at Kerstin and tries to speak, but her mouth refuses to obey. At first only a stifled groan comes out. Making a great effort, she manages to stammer, “Is she . . . dead? Is she?”

  “Nobody’s dead, Lena. Listen to me. You must have been dreaming.”

  She’s trying to comfort me, Lena thinks. She presses her lips together and gives her mother a hostile look. Why can’t she just tell me the truth?

  A nurse’s aide comes into the room and says, “Oy,” when she sees the vomit on the floor. “Wait here and I’ll go get a nurse,” she tells them. She’s wearing a nametag that says “Carina.”

  “Wait here? Where else would we go?” Kerstin says scornfully, after Carina has left the room. “What a dumb thing to say.”

  The typically disdainful tone of Kerstin’s voice brings Lena back to reality. But she’s still filled with terror. She feels sweaty and nauseated, and the light in the room seems frightening, cold, and gray.

  Lena recognizes her mother. And she realizes now that she’s in a hospital, that she herself is the patient. A young woman comes in with a bucket and mop to clean up the mess on the floor. Lena watches her work and makes another attempt to throw off the covers and take off her gown, as if it, too, needs to be washed.

  “She’s acting strange,” Lena hears Kerstin saying. She turns her head and sees her mother talking to someone. “She seems really confused,” Kerstin adds.

  “Is she dead?” Lena asks, hearing how clear her voice is at last. But the moment she says those words, she realizes that something doesn’t seem right. She looks down at the checked hospital sheet. She looks at her own hands, and there’s not a trace of blood on them. She looks first at the nurse, then at her mother.

  “She’s not dead,” Lena whispers, and her eyes fill with tears of joy when she realizes it was only a bad dream.

  Martha is alive!

  Lena looks at Kerstin and at the woman she doesn’t know, who is wearing a white coat over green scrubs. She wants to tell the two women how beautiful they are, standing there and looking at her with concern. But right now Lena doesn’t have the energy to say anything else.

  She sinks back in bed and falls asleep with a smile on her lips.

  Lena’s doctor is not the sort of person to mince words. He doesn’t skirt around matters when he explains the situation to her. These summer months will be her last, he tells her. That’s how severe the cancer is. If she has chemotherapy she might survive partway into the fall. On the other hand, she will feel very sick the whole time. As he’s explaining that it’s a matter of length of time versus quality of life, he suddenly has to hold back a cough. He presses his hand to his mouth and says, “Excuse me.”

  For what? For coughing? Lena wonders.

  He shouldn’t have said that last part, about length of time versus quality of life. Quantity versus quality. Lena can’t get the words out of her mind. They are too rational and not the way she wants to describe the pitifully few remaining days of her life.

  While the doctors wait for more test results, they have to decide on a treatment plan. And she needs to think about what she wants.

/>   Lena glances at Kerstin, who is sitting nearby with her hand over her mouth.

  Lena wants to leave the room and get away from this doctor. She can appreciate that he’s opting for honesty. But his manner is so cut-and-dried; he seems like such a deplorably dull person. He has a whole life ahead of him, and he could have chosen another shirt or done something about this ugly, dreary office of his. In general, he could have made an effort to look as if he takes care of himself, since he can.

  This is her life and her death that they’re discussing.

  They don’t know each other. Under ordinary circumstances, they would have passed each other on the street without paying any attention. Now, in front of this vapid, scruffy-looking man, she has to bow her head as she’s dubbed “terminal.” And he sits there, dangling her life as if it is hanging from a thread attached to his finger. A silly little trifle. Quantity versus quality. A or B. No sensible person would choose either one.

  Lena stands up, swaying for a moment as she pushes aside the threatening nausea. Her abdomen is swollen, with a stitched-up incision, and she can’t stand up straight.

  “I’m . . .” That’s as far as she gets. She wants to say something about who she is. Someone who is loved and successful. Or at least becoming successful. I’m not just a pitiful few months left on this earth, she thinks. And the choice you’re offering me is absurd. I’m supposed to choose between two pathetic options for what remains of my life. That’s all that’s left to me. But I have something that doesn’t show up in this shabby little room.

  And that’s why Lena stands up in protest. Or at least she tries to.

  “Let’s talk about the rest later,” she says. “Right now I want to go back to my room.”

  Something else has occurred to Lena. She’s going to have to stay in the hospital for a while. And that means the trip to New York in six days isn’t going to happen.

  Lena sobs as she leaves the office where Kerstin and the blunt doctor are still sitting. As the door closes behind her, Lena hears Kerstin burst into tears, saying that her daughter isn’t herself anymore.