“Sure.”
Astrid sat there, not knowing what to say or do—retreating once again and scared into timidity.
What should she say to Lena?
That she once found the great love of her life, which Lena took away from her?
Astrid gave Lena a surreptitious glance, thinking, Here I sit with my neat and tidy façade. With my sturdy seams. With all my emotions held in check. Why can’t I ever function normally?
Her life is lived at a sort of delayed pace. She’s never angry at the right person or at the right time. The same is true when it comes to expressing love. There’s always something that isn’t quite right.
I’m so poor at saying things charged with meaning, she thought. Or charged with truth.
“I’m so sorry.” That was the only thing she could think of to say to Lena at the moment. “I’m so very sorry.”
Lena smiled wanly. She sat up in bed, found a packet of tissues, and blew her nose.
“Well, what can I say? I’m sorry, too.”
The two sisters looked at each other.
“For everything,” Lena added. “There’s so much that I . . .”
Astrid abruptly stood up, looking scared. She had come there determined to confront the truth and death and all the important things that had been kept from her. But now she was shying away.
“I have to go.” Astrid reached out and briefly placed her hand on Lena’s. “When are you leaving?” she asked.
“Next week, if everything goes well. I want to stay up there, on Fårö, until, well, until the fall.”
“Can I come and visit?”
“I’d like that.”
Astrid leaned forward to give Lena a hug. Lena’s hair tickled her cheek, and the closeness of her sister’s body made her flinch involuntarily. With Michael, for God’s sake. How could you?
Astrid felt sick to her stomach. She straightened up and nodded in agreement.
“Okay. I’ll do that. I’ve got to dash now, but I’ll see you soon.”
And she quickly left the room.
When Astrid reaches the apartment door, she is carrying four liters of milk in a plastic bag. She unlocks the door.
That’s precisely the word for what she does. Unlocks.
She opens the door to the home she has created with Henrik. Astrid has to remind herself that’s what it is, because she feels like a visitor from someplace far away. And when she sees Henrik come into the front hall with an inquiring look on his face, she immediately hands him the bag of milk cartons, as if to placate a stranger by offering a gift.
But she’s the stranger here.
She’s not the same Astrid who left for work that morning.
What Sandra told her has brought tears to her eyes over and over again, out of helplessness and rage and a dizzying sense of loneliness.
And she can still see the emptiness in Lena’s stare, which stunned her with its message: Now we’re all about to sink into despair.
Astrid sways when Henrik takes the plastic bag, as if holding on to it was the only thing keeping her upright. She tries to walk past him without meeting his gaze. She wants to hide her face.
She’s already sinking into despair.
And yet.
At the same time, she feels a nauseating giddiness, a rush of relief after discovering that it’s not her fault. She’s always had a nagging conviction that she could somehow have prevented whatever had gone wrong during that summer. And now it turns out she wasn’t to blame. She just hadn’t known the full story.
Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Henrik looking inside the bag. Then he fixes his gaze on her.
“Sweetheart, you should have asked me to go to the store for you.”
Don’t be so nice, Astrid thinks. Let me slip past, let me maintain a cool distance.
“How’s it going?” Henrik now asks, giving her a worried look.
Astrid shrugs. What should she say? Under Henrik’s eyes she feels even more lonely—a woman isolated by secrets. She doesn’t want to talk about Michael and Lena. She hasn’t yet figured out what it might mean. She needs time to think. She can’t talk to Henrik about Michael at all, not while she can still feel the tender touch of his hand on her skin.
“Fine,” Astrid answers, hopeful he’ll let her go.
“Fine? But how did it go with Lena?”
“Lena?” she asks, resigned to the conversation. “Good. Or rather, not really. It was hard. It feels like we don’t even know each other anymore. I didn’t know what to say to her.”
“You poor dear.”
Henrik pulls Astrid into his arms, rocking her in his embrace. He hugs her close, almost lifting her off her feet. As Astrid loses her foothold, she surrenders. At this moment she doesn’t want to feel anything, nothing at all. She lets her mind go blank. But suddenly she sees Viktor come into the hall with a worried expression on his face.
And he looks so much like Michael.
Astrid brusquely pulls away from Henrik. “Sorry. I think I just need to sit down for a while.”
She walks past both of them into the living room and curls up at one end of the sofa, tucking her legs underneath her. She hears Henrik saying to Viktor in a low voice that they should leave her alone for a while.
“Your mother’s had a hard day.”
Henrik is the best husband in the world. She’s so lucky to be the one he chose. With infinite patience he put her back together after Michael betrayed her, as if she were a puzzle with an unrecognizable pattern and a thousand pieces.
If asked, Henrik would say that what they’ve had together has been good. And she would agree, though with the sort of faltering conviction that is all a broken person is able to muster.
Or?
Be honest now, Astrid thinks. Haven’t I always held a tiny little secret in my hand, hidden behind my back?
Not that she’d known what she was hiding. It’s just that certain pieces of her have never fit in, as if neither she nor Henrik could find the right place for them. It’s a feeling that she has accepted, though with a certain amount of pain because she hasn’t been able to make any sense of it.
She has been a mystery of sorts, but not in an exciting way. She has simply lacked something, and as a consequence become paler and more subdued. A self without distinctive contrasts.
She remembers the quizzical looks of her children when they were growing up, as if asking her, Who are you, Mamma?
And she wanted to tell them, Hey, it’s me! This is me!
And yet. Hasn’t she tried to escape their search for answers? Hasn’t she always fumbled for some way to evade their questions, resorting to anything that would distract them from looking too closely?
“Have you cleaned up your room, dear?” she might say. “Have you done a good job? Did you finish your homework?”
She’s a mother. A wife. An architect. A daughter, sister, friend. But there have always been moments when she has felt uncertain about who she is beyond those roles, when she has turned away from any further self-examination.
And so this is how things have turned out.
There is really only one person with whom she has ever spoken in her true voice.
Astrid sits up on the sofa. Viktor and Henrik have come into the living room, but they’re keeping their distance, standing close together.
“You know what?” she says. “I think I’ll go out for a while. I need some fresh air.”
Henrik takes a few steps closer. “Sure, good idea. Take a walk. Do you want me to come with you? Viktor can make dinner. Can’t you, Viktor?”
Her son nods, but Astrid shakes her head.
“No. I need to be by myself.”
She sees the worried look on Henrik’s face. Behind his understanding expression is a deep concern. The trembling of his eyelids, the forced nonchalance of his raised eyebrows all indicate how nervous he is.
“Just for a little while, Henrik. I’ll be back soon.”
It’s still warm outside even though
it’s past six in the evening. The dark-yellow stucco of the buildings in the neighborhood around Mosebacke are saturated with sunlight. Astrid regrets wearing a cardigan, which she quickly takes off. Walking rapidly, she goes over to the stairway near Högbergsgatan, right across from the Katarina church. Her shoes make a pattering sound as she descends.
She crosses the street and hears someone shouting at her, suddenly noticing the bicyclist who almost ran into her.
“What the hell are you thinking?” she hears echoing between the buildings. “Look where you’re going!”
What was she thinking?
Was she planning to go inside the church?
No, she decides, that’s not the right place at the moment.
Instead, she sits down on a bench in the cemetery and looks around. Then she gets out her cell phone and taps in Michael’s number. She’s automatically transferred to his voice mail. She breathes hard as she listens to his voice asking the caller to leave a message after the beep.
For a moment Astrid hesitates. Then she says, in Swedish, “I’ve found out what you did. And it’s not right. So, go to hell, Michael! I mean it.”
Why is she speaking Swedish? Because it becomes real when she says the words in her own language? Because she needs to see things clearly?
“I know about you and Lena. So go to hell!” she says in English, adding in Swedish, “That’s all. That’s all I have to say.”
She ends the call, but her anger keeps surging, steady and strong. Her fury is greedy to do more. She looks around at the early summer vegetation, the sparse, light-green grass. Damn the banal sense of hope that summer always brings, she thinks. One year after another, over and over, for what suddenly seems to her an eternity.
She picks up her phone and calls Michael again. “Go to hell!” she says in English. “Did you hear that? Go to hell! That’s all I have to say to you from now on. Go to fucking hell!”
Astrid ends the call. Her pulse is racing. Go to hell. With those words careening through her brain, she suddenly smiles to herself, though tears fill her eyes. Love is everything. Go to hell.
Lena’s illness becomes a refuge for Astrid.
Astrid is ashamed that she feels that way, but it’s true. Lena’s tragedy means that Henrik and the children allow Astrid to do pretty much whatever she wants.
“I need to take a walk,” she might say. Or, “I don’t want to watch that movie. I’m going to bed instead.”
“What’s wrong?” they ask.
“Nothing. Not really. I just need to be alone. I need peace and quiet, time to think.”
Her family gives her all the space she needs. She only has to look sad for Henrik and the kids to back off.
Astrid goes to see Lena often. Lena is home now, but soon she’ll leave for Fårö along with Kerstin. Sandra and Astrid are also planning to visit and spend time there over the summer. The two sisters are both in close contact with Lena, but they’re keeping a certain distance from each other. Astrid doesn’t ask after the watch, and she says nothing about what Sandra revealed concerning the dire state of her finances. Sandra is also keeping a low profile. The sisters only discuss practical matters, like who should help Lena and Kerstin.
Two strong voices are struggling inside of Astrid regarding her relationship with Lena. One of them says, “Die, you bitch.” The other says, “Live, my beloved little sister, live.” Deep in her heart, Astrid tries to reason with the voice of rage. She points to Lena’s situation, arguing that this terrible disease is punishment enough for anything her sister did earlier in life. She insists that what happened was long ago. They were so young and it was really such a trivial matter—impetuous, ill-advised, a summertime fling.
But that doesn’t help. The rage smoldering inside of Astrid refuses to be placated. Her anger is fierce, beyond reason, and impossible to quell. She can release it only in small doses at work, going home, or on her way to visit Lena. An absurd muttering rumbles inside her head, and sometimes she thinks she’s walking around like a crazy woman, talking to herself.
She can’t direct her anger at Lena, at least not overtly.
But Sandra is another matter. Astrid sees her as dishonesty incarnate. How could Sandra keep Astrid in the dark all these years?
After the two sisters met in Lena’s apartment right after Michael’s departure, Astrid has asked only one question about what Sandra told her: Who else knows?
Astrid asked it one evening as she and Sandra left Kerstin’s apartment together. Sandra tried to put her arm around her sister in an attempt to regain some of their former warmth, but Astrid pulled away.
“Who else knows?”
“Not Mamma. But Per knows. Nobody else.”
When Sandra was about to say something more, Astrid stopped her.
“I don’t want to hear another word about it. Do you understand?”
Astrid and Sandra behave like sisters when it comes to shared family obligations. They take Lena to the hospital and help her drain the fluid from her abdomen. Occasionally they run errands for Kerstin. They make sure Lena isn’t alone too much. Sometimes it feels like they’re competing to see who can be the most attentive. Who can offer the most help. Who is the most important.
Ever since the incident with the watch, Astrid doesn’t like it when she and Sandra both happen to be visiting Lena at the same time. Astrid can’t help keeping an eye on Sandra. She watches Sandra rummaging ravenously through Lena’s things, admiring a shawl here or a pair of shoes there. When Lena says dully, “Take it,” Astrid gives Sandra a stern look. But Sandra ignores her, quickly saying, “No, I couldn’t, absolutely not.” The next time Astrid visits Lena, she discreetly checks to see if that particular item is still there, or if it has ended up in Sandra’s greedy clutches.
She hasn’t ever found proof that Sandra has actually made off with anything, but she has her suspicions.
Lena spends long hours with Caroline, a young woman who has been her business associate. Though no one says as much out loud, it’s clear to everyone that the two women are working out the future of the clothing company. One day Lena mentions to Astrid, almost casually, that Caroline will be taking over the business afterward.
Afterward.
The fabrics, designs, contacts, everything.
Astrid nods, suddenly frightened. She can’t think of anything to say. She goes over to stand at the open window, taking in the summertime air and thinking that for her the scents of summer have changed forever. What previously signaled a carefree time—the chirping birds in the shrubbery and trees, the caressing heat, the wispy clouds, the laughter and voices coming from outside beneath the light evening skies—has become claustrophobic and menacing. There is a lightheartedness evident in everyone on these early summer days in Stockholm. But Astrid regards their slightly tipsy giddiness after a long, cold, and dark winter with disdain and contempt. She counters the joyous and relaxed expressions of everyone else with scorn. She addresses shop clerks with a noncommittal or stern tone of voice. And she stubbornly refuses to smile whenever someone tries to lure her into agreeing that life is wonderful simply because the sun is shining.
Lena seems lost in her own world, but occasionally she steps forward and makes herself known.
One afternoon Astrid goes over to Lena’s apartment, bringing special rolls from a bakery she knows her sister loves. According to Kerstin, it’s important to do what they can to persuade Lena to eat. Lena usually gives them an inscrutable look when they show up with grocery bags and containers of food. But she always tries to eat a little of whatever they bring, even though Astrid can tell it’s difficult for her.
On this particular afternoon, Astrid listens to Lena telling Caroline how to take returns from a boutique in New York. There seems to be some problem, and Caroline jokes that maybe she’ll have to go over there for a few days to straighten things out in person. The next instant she turns bright red, her smile evaporates, and she looks like she’s about to cry. “Well, maybe you could go yourself,
” she stammers.
Lena stares at her in silence for several seconds, which proves too much for Caroline. Her eyes are brimming with tears.
“I’m sorry, Lena. That sounded so heartless. I know how much you always love going to New York, and I shouldn’t have . . .”
Astrid pauses on her way into the kitchen with the remains of the half-eaten rolls, ready to step in if her sister needs comforting.
But Lena smiles at Caroline, her expression both warm and melancholy. “New York,” she says. “The best place in the world. Of course you should go.”
Then they spend a long time talking about the city, comparing notes on places they’ve been and laughing as they share anecdotes. Astrid sinks down on a chair to listen. She sees Lena the way she used to be—the calm and competent Lena who always used to seem so unapproachable, someone Astrid could admire only from a distance.
Ever since Astrid told Michael to go to hell, he’s been calling her. She never answers. As soon as she hears him speaking on her voice mail, she erases his message without listening to it. She also deletes the text messages he sends.
One evening, about two weeks later, he calls her several times in a row, leaving a message each time. She’s lying on the sofa at home. Her phone keeps ringing off and on, but she hardly even glances at it, choosing to stubbornly stare out the window instead.
“Wow, you’re certainly popular. Aren’t you going to answer your phone?” Henrik asks.
“It’s just work-related stuff,” Astrid replies, muting the phone and hiding it under the blanket on the sofa. She suddenly feels restless. “I think I’ll go for a drive.”
“Really? Do you want me to come with you?”
“No.”
Before she leaves, she kisses Henrik on the lips. It’s the sort of kiss that says, “Leave me alone and don’t ask any questions, please.”
It’s late by the time she sets off. She drives out to Hellasgården, a wooded nature preserve where she has gone running with Henrik many times. Occasionally they’ve also gone swimming afterward.
The lake is completely still. Not even a ripple on the surface, as if it has fallen asleep. The woods have settled into the twilight.
[2013] The Heart Echoes Page 18