[2013] The Heart Echoes

by Helena vonZweigbergk

  I have my mother here, and my sisters will be here soon. And I’m thinking about you, Martha. I can feel that you’re with me, too.

  ASTRID

  “I’m falling apart here.”

  That’s what Michael said on the phone to Astrid during that miserable excursion to the sea. But how he feels is not her problem, and she has no intention of shouldering his troubles.

  So why is she thinking about Michael nonstop? Why does she keep carrying on insane conversations with him in her mind? And why, in weak moments, does she have an urge to face him honestly? Brushing aside her anger like an annoying strand of hair, and in a gentle voice filled with the feelings they once had for each other, she wants to ask him, “Why did things turn out like this? What really happened?”

  When Astrid distractedly answered her phone in the middle of arguing with Sandra and she heard Michael’s voice, she ended the call at once.

  But after she gets home and is in the kitchen with her barely touched spinach pies still in the picnic basket, she sends Michael an indignant text: Please show me some respect. I want you to leave me alone.

  Just as she presses “Send,” she looks up and meets Viktor’s eye. He’s leaning against the kitchen counter, watching her, as if he knows.

  But of course he doesn’t. So why is he giving her that inquiring look?

  “What?” Astrid says, sighing with frustration.

  “Nothing.”

  “You look like you want to ask me something.”

  Viktor frowns but then simply shakes his head. In the bright light from the kitchen window, she sees that the skin is still slightly bruised and yellow above his eye.

  “Viktor . . . How are you doing?”

  “Good. Even though I wish I could go to England next week with Pappa and Sara and Josefin. It’s so boring that I have to stay home and work.”

  And be here with me, Astrid thinks.

  Henrik and the girls are going to spend two weeks on the west coast of England, where his colleagues are letting them stay at their house.

  “It would be too much for Lena if all of us went up there to Fårö,” Henrik said. “And maybe it would be good for you and Viktor to be alone for a while.”

  Viktor will be home all summer working at the Gröna Lund amusement park in Stockholm. He and Astrid will have a few days together before she goes to the island to visit Lena. He seems to be looking forward to having the apartment to himself.

  In two days it will be Astrid’s birthday. Henrik gives her a conspiratorial wink when she asks him whether the whole family could just go out for dinner together to mark the day. She says there’s no need for anything more elaborate on her birthday. She wants to keep it simple. She has no desire to be the center of attention, to be surprised or feted. And she can see that the joy Henrik usually displays in anticipation of her birthday is missing this year. He seems distracted.

  An hour later she finds him standing at the living room window. He is staring straight ahead, his expression closed. It’s not like Henrik to be idle. He’s a man of action who rarely, if ever, merely stands in one spot. Astrid puts her arms around him from behind and leans her head against his back. For a moment neither of them stirs. Then Henrik removes her hands and turns around. His face looks pale and strained. As he’s about to leave the room, Astrid stops him.

  “What is it?” he asks her.

  “I was just wondering if everything’s okay.”

  “Sure. Of course it is. Why do you ask?”

  “I mean with you, Henrik. Are you all right?”

  “Yes, damn it.”

  And again he gives her that slightly perfunctory and forced smile. Then he leaves.

  This year Astrid’s birthday falls on a Saturday. She can hear lots of whispering outside her bedroom door as she lies in bed and practices putting on a smile, even though she’s feeling miserable. Then Sara quietly comes into the room.

  “Mamma, are you sleeping?”

  “What? No, I was just lying here and . . . thinking.”

  “You can come into the kitchen now,” Sara says firmly, so Astrid obediently gets out of bed.

  “Here,” Sara says as she stands on tiptoe to place her mother’s bathrobe around her shoulders. “Come on, let’s go.”

  Henrik, Josefin, and Viktor are all gathered in the kitchen.

  “Happy birthday, sweetheart,” Henrik says, kissing her on the cheek. Sara takes Astrid’s hand to lead her to her place at the table. A small vase of sweet peas stands in the center of the sumptuous breakfast. Astrid sits down with panic surging inside her because she’s having a hard time smiling. Henrik and the children each hand her a birthday present, and she opens them one after the other.

  Sara gives her a necklace that she made. She’s eager to point out that the lock is sterling silver, and the beads and stones are from a special shop that sells real gemstones. “Do you like it?” she asks her mother.

  Astrid tells her it’s wonderful, and when she hugs Sara she has to blink away tears.

  Josefin’s gift is a tank top, and Viktor gives her two bars of scented soap. When Henrik hands Astrid his present, she sets it on the table and says they should pour the tea before it gets cold. While she fills her teacup, she tries to smile at Henrik with excitement, though she can tell she’s not very successful.

  “Okay, Mamma, now I’m going to sing a little song for you,” Sara announces. She lugs in a big boom box, and while she’s fiddling with the player to find the right music, the whole scene in the kitchen suddenly feels tense. While Sara is totally focused on what she’s doing, Josefin and Viktor exchange quick glances and Henrik wearily rubs his eyes. When Sara takes up a pose to wait for her cue to start singing, a feeling of embarrassment settles over the room.

  Even though Sara immerses herself in the song, the mood starts to affect her, too. She sings the last verse a little too fast, and when she’s done, she puts her hands on her hips and asks what’s wrong with everybody.

  “It’s so weird the way you’re all staring at me,” she says. And Astrid knows that even though Sara is doing her best to appear unperturbed, she might at any moment crumble from shame, convinced the others are ridiculing her.

  “That was just lovely,” Astrid says, opening her arms wide to Sara, who rushes into her mother’s embrace and groans that it was awful.

  “I’ve got a surprise for you, too,” Josefin says suddenly. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”

  “You have a surprise?” Sara asks, sounding annoyed as she pulls out of Astrid’s arms.

  Just then Viktor’s cell phone rings. He gets up to take the call. Astrid realizes who her son is talking to when he switches from Swedish to English.

  “Can I call you back later? It’s Mamma’s birthday, so . . .” He pauses, listening to what Michael is saying.

  Astrid thinks she sees Viktor taking a step toward her and can’t stop herself from gasping, “No!”

  Viktor looks at her in confusion, so Astrid quickly explains, “I don’t want to talk to him.”

  Viktor turns his back to her.

  Still feeling alarmed, Astrid notices that Henrik’s face has turned white, his expression stony as he stares at her. She gives him a quick smile. That’s the best she can do. Viktor ends the call and sits down at the table again.

  “Michael just wanted to know if I could meet him next week because he’s coming to Stockholm for some job-related thing,” Viktor says. “He wasn’t calling to talk to you.”

  “I’m sorry. I just thought . . .”

  Josefin comes into the kitchen. Her shoes make a clacking sound on the floor. She’s wearing tap shoes, and her cheeks are flushed as she takes up position in the same spot where Sara stood to sing. She’s wearing gray sweatpants and a red tank top. Even though she stammers a bit as she explains that she’s going to show them something she recently learned, she holds her head high.

  “What’s she doing?” Sara asks sullenly, looking from Astrid to Henrik, as if they should do something to
stop her sister.

  The music that Josefin puts on has a modern beat, and Viktor instantly begins tapping his foot. And then she starts dancing. At first she makes a few mistakes, prompting her to swear. Astrid notices a gleeful smile appear on Sara’s face. But then Josefin regains her confidence as she directs her full attention on her mother. Astrid blinks, finding herself out of breath, as if she, too, were dancing. She gives her daughter an encouraging smile, but Josefin’s response is a look bordering on rage. She is dancing with increasing zeal, tossing her hair and practically stomping right in front of Astrid, as if she were performing some kind of war dance.

  When Josefin is done, she stands still, her nostrils flaring as she blows loose strands of hair out of her face.

  Astrid applauds, her eyes shining with admiration, though she’s feeling slightly startled.

  “That was amazing, Josefin! Really incredible!”

  Sara, who is sitting next to Astrid, actually gasps and then says, “Where did you learn to dance like that? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Sandra taught me,” replies Josefin, sitting down at the table. She sucks in her cheeks and tries to seem nonchalant, but it’s obvious she’s bursting with pride and pleasure.

  “Sandra? When did she do that?”

  Josefin gives her mother a triumphant look. “You had no clue, right? We did it in secret so you wouldn’t find out.”

  Astrid doesn’t know what to say. She looks at her daughter, who is radiating strength and self-confidence.

  “Sandra taught me to really get into the music and to show a certain attitude. You have to believe in yourself, you know?”

  “So that’s what she said?” Astrid laughs dryly. She pictures Sandra with her exaggerated posturing, her lips spewing hot-tempered remarks, her eyes widening in the same dramatic way as when they were kids and she wanted to convince Astrid and Lena that some completely wild story of hers was actually true.

  “Well, I was doing that, too, when I sang,” Sara says. “I believed in myself, too.”

  “You were both fantastic,” Astrid assures them. “The best.”

  She gives each of them a hug. As she breathes in the scent of Sara’s shampoo, she sees Henrik looking at Josefin with emotion. He smiles at her without saying a word, standing there so rigidly, as if he’s afraid of losing the sense of awe he feels.

  “Sandra told me it’s a modern type of tap dance called hoofing,” Josefin is saying, her voice filled with pride. “And the trick is to become one of the instruments. Did you get that? It’s just so cool.”

  Josefin gets up and takes a few steps to illustrate how she makes music with her feet and shoes. “I am the music.”

  “Huh. I think it’s those things on the bottom of your shoes that are making the sounds,” Sara objects.

  “But next year I probably won’t do this sort of thing again for your birthday, Mamma,” Josefin goes on, ignoring Sara’s interruption. “It’s kind of childish, don’t you think? Like a preschool talent show or something.”

  “I’m not going to sing anymore, either!” Sara announces, fighting back tears. She grabs her boom box in both hands, and, blinking hard, she starts lugging it out of the kitchen. In the doorway she pauses to yell over her shoulder at Josefin, “It’s not cool that you didn’t tell me!”

  Henrik goes over to Josefin and places his hands on her shoulders. He looks her deep in the eyes and says, with great emphasis, “You were really amazing.”

  Then he turns to look at Astrid, his expression strangely blank.

  “I have to go out for a while. There’s something I need to do. Just an errand. I’ll be back in an hour or two.”

  Viktor gets up to go to his room, and Sara hasn’t come back. Josefin tosses her hair and leaves the kitchen as well, her shoes triumphantly tapping on the floor. Only when Astrid hears the front door slam does she realize she hasn’t opened Henrik’s gift.

  She is all alone in the kitchen when she picks up the present. For a moment she hesitates. It’s a little square package. When she opens it, she gasps. He has never given her such a stunning ring before. It’s white gold with three gemstones in a row. Astrid puts it on, seeing the glittering stones through her tears. She holds out her hand. It’s the most beautiful ring she has ever owned. But then she notices something else. The room is empty. It’s her birthday, but no one is here. The butter is melting, the cheese is drying up, the tea is cold. And she is sitting here all alone.

  Astrid goes into the living room to find Sara and Josefin curled up at either end of the sofa. Josefin is looking at other tap-dance routines on the Internet. With great concentration, Sara is braiding her long hair.

  My daughters, Astrid thinks. It feels like an eternity since she last truly saw them. They’re sitting on the floral-patterned sofa that she chose with care, eager to make it a central part of the setting for their familial bliss. Astrid thinks she ought to say something to them. Maybe she should thank them for being her girls, and tell them she’s here for them now.

  When Henrik comes home, she’s going to throw her arms around him. She wants him to know how much she loves the ring, but what she’s most grateful for is the fact that she’s married to him and that she has this wonderful family. She wants to hug him until his eyes once again fill with the love that has always enveloped her with such warmth.

  She won’t call him. She’ll wait. She doesn’t want to dilute the joy she’s anticipating upon seeing him by sending a text or talking on the phone.

  But after three hours Astrid can’t help herself. She can hear that he’s in the car driving. When he replies, his voice sounds strange, different than she’s ever heard before. He says he’ll be home soon, and then he’d like the two of them to go for a walk.

  “I need to talk to you alone,” he says.

  “Okay.”

  Astrid peers down at the beautiful ring. What does he want to talk about? She is filled with foreboding. She wants to say to him, “You can’t leave me now.” Is that what he’s planning to do? “By the way, thanks for the ring.”

  “I wanted you to have it as a memento of this time. Because you are one of three sisters, and three children. Something like that. Hmm . . . I guess I’m just being sentimental.”

  Astrid starts to tell him how lovely the ring is, but Henrik cuts her off to say she should meet him at the restaurant Mosebacketerrasen in fifteen minutes, without the kids.

  Even from a distance Astrid can tell that Henrik has come to some sort of decision. She can see it in the way he has his hands stuffed in the pockets of his beige summer jacket, as if trying to maintain his composure. When their eyes meet and Henrik merely nods curtly without smiling, she knows. Her husband has another side to his personality; he can be the professional businessman, which she sees only occasionally. But right now that’s who he is, standing in front of her.

  Henrik takes her arm and leads her over to a table. He looks around quickly, as if to make sure no one is close enough to eavesdrop.

  “Listen to me, Astrid,” Henrik says, fixing his gaze on her. “This thing with you and Michael—”

  “It’s over,” she hurries to interrupt him, wanting to put a stop to this. She wishes she could stick her fingers in her ears. Simply hearing Henrik say Michael’s name makes her feel as if something has shattered and can’t be repaired. It’s over. At least she thinks so, but she realizes now that she has been carrying that old relationship in her heart for all these years as if it were a secret treasure. In Michael she had found her great passion, and afterward she had settled for Henrik and the routines of daily life.

  She looks at Henrik. She pictures the two of them together—the couple that is Astrid and Henrik. Trying to be objective, she sees them in a way she never has before. A lucid picture that may seem a bit grayer, now that her view of their marriage as a sensible arrangement is discounted, but it’s also truer.

  “It really is,” she tells Henrik. She has to clear her throat to go on. “I mean, it’s over. It’s . . . Wel
l, I guess we needed to find out if we still . . . you may have realized . . . but we’re not. It’s really over.”

  Henrik looks angry as he stares at her. She reaches out her hand toward him but he doesn’t respond.

  “I think I need time to think about our relationship,” he tells her. “I can’t cope with the way things are anymore. That’s the simple truth. I realize that now. I want . . .”

  Henrik falls silent. He turns to look at the panoramic view. The sky is reflected in the sea below the terrace. The blue waters are calm and cold.

  Henrik makes a sweeping gesture toward the sea. “I’ve fought so hard, Astrid. Really struggled. The only thing I hoped was that someday you would truly love me. And finally the whole thing became routine. Do you understand? I’ve gotten used to being the one who’s always at a disadvantage. The one who always looks on the bright side while you keep that tiny little part of yourself locked away and never let me in, no matter how many fucking rings I buy you or anything else I happen to think up. And you know what, Astrid? I’m tired of it all. You can sit there in your glass cage, looking so damn beautiful and elegant, but you never really venture out. And then that bastard comes barging in and—”

  “But there’s nothing between us anymore,” Astrid interrupts. “I told you that.”

  “He’s able to reach you. I can see that.”

  They stare at each other. A waitress carrying a tray approaches and gives them an inquiring look. Henrik glares at her, and she quickly retreats. Astrid feels totally empty. She wants to say to Henrik, “You’re reaching me now.” She is fully present with him, but she also feels empty. Because she doesn’t know what to think. She’s a blank slate in a new reality. The man sitting across from her is her husband, but he is also someone she seems to be seeing for the very first time.

  “I’ve always loved what we have together,” she whispers.

  Henrik gives her a quick, unhappy smile. “Sometimes I wonder who you actually mean by ‘we.’ I feel like such an idiot. Can you understand that? I bring home one small offering after another—telling you about a bonus, or a new contract, or business dealings that nobody really cares about. I have to tell you, Astrid, that the whole thing is nothing but a house of cards. It can collapse at any moment. And then who would I be? Who am I to you? I can’t help thinking, Couldn’t I simply be someone who is loved? Is there love for someone like me, someone who’s not especially attractive, who seems a bit ridiculous, with my passion for fine wines and steaks? Could I be loved simply for who I am, with or without everything else?”