[2013] The Heart Echoes

by Helena vonZweigbergk

  “You keep repeating that.”

  Sandra sounds so calm that for a moment Per looks confused. He grabs his glass from the counter and takes a swig. “What do you mean I keep repeating that? Shit, now I forgot what I was going to say.”

  “You keep saying that I have no idea. You’ve said it over and over. But if that’s true, then I must be deaf, Per. Because I’ve been listening to you for years. Even when everyone else got tired of hearing your rants, I’ve still listened. I’ve heard everything you’ve ever said on the topic.”

  Per pounds his fist on the counter. “Inside a real artist there’s someone who tries to create the very best, tries to reach a place that’s virtually unreachable, approaching the boundary of what’s possible—”

  Per’s eyes are shiny, and he stops himself in midsentence.

  Sandra feels a burst of tenderness for him. You poor stupid old artist, she thinks. How many times have I listened to you rambling on like this? But nothing you’ve ever done has been as important to other people as it is to you.

  “I know what it has cost you, Per,” she says gently. “And only you can say whether it’s been worth it. But when it comes to Emilia, she has to be allowed to decide for herself.”

  “But you’re talking as if there was actually a choice! If you know you have a gift, then you have to do something with it. Don’t you understand that?”

  “Okay, but apparently Emilia doesn’t want to do that anymore.”

  Per reaches for his glass again and empties it, then slams it back down with a sharp bang. “I don’t believe it. It’s just those bastards who have made her doubt her talent. They’re always trying to drag people down. Fucking you over because of their own shortcomings.”

  “But is it a happy life, Per? Has it made you happy?” Sandra asks.

  Per goes over to the boxed wine and pours himself another glass. He gives Sandra a brief, defiant look to stop her from voicing any objections to his drinking.

  “Happy? Haven’t you heard anything I’ve said? Do you think I’ve been going around asking myself whether I’m happy, like some silly bitch writing in her diary? I’m trying to tell you what it costs, how much of yourself you have to give. That’s what I’m saying. That it’s not enough to give a hundred percent. You have to give even more, reach inside for something you didn’t even know you had in you, something that is bigger than yourself.”

  “But I know that already!”

  Sandra can feel tears rolling down her cheeks and she quickly wipes them away. In her mind she hears Per asking her how she can be so cold, and that provokes even more tears. This time she doesn’t bother to wipe them away. “You know what it meant to me to see you dance, Per. You’re amazing. You’re beyond amazing. And yet . . . I should still be allowed to ask . . .” She takes a deep breath. “Do you think I’m worth anything? I have to ask you that. With all my lack of talent, all my average skills, a person like me who has never managed to be bigger than life itself. Am I worth anything? In your eyes? Am I?”

  Per wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and looks at Sandra in astonishment. “Wait a minute. I was talking about art.”

  “Sure. I know that. But you’re also trying to say something else. About me. About us. It’s just you and me now, Per. Is it worth your while to put any effort into our relationship?”

  Per fills his glass again. Then he picks up a newspaper from the kitchen table and sticks it under his arm. “I think now you’re playing stupid when it comes to this whole discussion,” he says. “As if you don’t know what it’s about.”

  Per leaves the kitchen, and Sandra hears him turn on the TV in the living room. She looks around the room they’ve shared for more than twenty years. This is where the flower bouquets from the opening-night performances were set on the table. This is where Emilia sat as a toddler, spattering applesauce all around. This is where they’ve eaten dinner with a rebellious teenager who replied only in monosyllables or else chattered manically. A major part of their lives was spent in this room. Has she really counted for so little over all these years?

  What did she promise Lena? That she would make something of her life. Has she been such an obvious failure that she has to make that kind of promise?

  She goes into the living room. Per is sitting on the sofa with his arms crossed. He doesn’t look up when Sandra comes in.

  “A few days ago I asked you to think about something,” she says.

  Per doesn’t reply as he keeps his eyes fixed on the TV.

  “I asked you to stop drinking because I want my husband to be clear-headed and present. And you still haven’t told me what you think about my request.”

  Per gives her a fleeting glance. “But that’s . . . I’m not less present just because I have a glass of wine or two. That’s ridiculous.”

  Sandra goes back into the kitchen. As she switches on the vacuum cleaner, she wonders how many times life has to push her in one direction before she finally decides to take the necessary step.

  We’re back, Sandra thinks, as she sits at the kitchen table drinking coffee on Saturday morning. Per has gone out for a run. He hardly said a word to her before he left the apartment. He put on his running shoes and pulled on a shirt, giving her only a surreptitious glance, as if to underscore how stupid he thought all her talk was about his drinking. As if to say, See, I’m perfectly fine.

  “My foot is okay now,” was all he said.

  We’re back, she thinks again. For a brief moment I thought something would change, but we’re already back to where we were. And I’ll either have to accept that, or leave.

  Her cell phone rings. It’s Kerstin. She is whispering, and Sandra realizes she must have stepped aside so Lena won’t hear while they’re on their way to Fårö. The other day Sandra told her mother she thought it was crazy for the two of them to travel alone to the family’s old summer place. Why couldn’t they wait until Emilia came home so all of them could travel together? Maybe Astrid could drive.

  But Kerstin had decided that she and Lena should leave now. That’s what Lena wanted, and Kerstin had resolved to obey her wishes as best she could.

  “She looks so weak,” Kerstin now tells her on the phone. “I don’t know what to do. We just got off the bus in Nynäshamn. She’s really pale and acting strange. I don’t think she’s going to make it all the way to Fårö, Sandra. And I don’t know what to do.”

  “Well, you should at least take a cab from Visby when you get to Gotland. I told you this whole thing was a bad idea.”

  Kerstin’s voice seems to fade. Sandra presses the phone to her ear. She can hear her mother saying that she’ll be back soon, she’s just going to buy a newspaper. Then she’s back on the phone, but still whispering.

  “I don’t know what to do, Sandra,” she repeats. “And it might not be easy to get a taxi. Lena seems so out of it, and I’m no spring chicken myself.”

  Speaking firmly, Sandra tells Kerstin to stay calm. She’ll call the cab company and make sure a taxi is waiting for them at the ferry terminal.

  “I’ll send you a text when it’s all arranged.”

  “But I don’t know anything about texts.”

  “Don’t worry, it’s easy. When you see a message on your phone from me, that means the cab has been ordered.”

  Sandra gets hold of the dispatcher at Taxi Gotland. The man sounds so nice and pleasant that she almost feels like confiding in him about the current dilemma with her marriage. He promises to make sure a cab is waiting for Kerstin and Lena when they arrive.

  “That’s great. Thanks so much for your help,” Sandra tells him.

  And that’s the extent of the conversation. If only everything could be that simple, she thinks, with people helping each other and everyone acting so nice and friendly.

  The moment she ends the call, her phone starts ringing again. This time it’s Josefin.

  “It was amazing!” she exclaims on the phone. “You should have seen them! Mamma looked so surprised. She probably neve
r thought I could do anything that great. And Pappa looked like he might start bawling, and Sara was really mad, of course, because she always has to be the star.”

  Sandra smiles. Was Astrid happy? She must have been. “Did you tell your mother that I was the one who taught you?”

  “Of course. You’re the best teacher in the world, Sandra. Thank you so much! But you were right. I’m not going to do any more recitals for Mamma’s birthday. It’s kind of silly, when you think about it.”

  “Sure. But nice, too.”

  After ending the call, Sandra thinks that she may not have exceptional talent, but she’s still capable of doing something good.

  Sandra considers asking Astrid if she can borrow her car so she can pick up Emilia at the airport, but something stops her. Astrid hasn’t replied to the text Sandra sent to wish her sister a happy birthday. Sandra interprets her silence as displeasure about her part in Josefin’s dance performance. And she’s not about to beg Astrid for anything.

  So Sandra and Per go to the city terminal to wait for Emilia to arrive on the airport bus. Sandra tried to persuade Per to stay home and make dinner, because she wanted to prepare Emilia for the mood he’s in. But he refused.

  “Why don’t you stay home instead?” he countered.

  So now they’re both here. Per is chain-smoking. Sandra is staring at the spot where the bus will pull in, surprised to find that she’s feeling more nervous than happy about her daughter coming home.

  When the bus finally arrives and Emilia gets off, Sandra and Per both gasp in horror. She’s so thin. She must have lost at least twenty pounds. Emilia always used to seem so healthy and robust, but now she looks pale and fragile. She is wearing dark sunglasses. Her face is tense and her lips are pressed into a thin line. Per and Sandra each give her a hug. Sandra can feel Emilia’s backbone and ribs under her shirt. She has brought a big suitcase, so they decide to get a cab. Per is quick to climb into the backseat beside Emilia and put his arm around her shoulders as he blinks back tears.

  Sandra gets into the front passenger seat, casting a glance toward the back now and then. Emilia is sitting there next to her father with her head bowed.

  When they get home, Emilia immediately goes to her room and sinks onto the bed. “I want to take a shower and change my clothes,” she tells them. “I’ll come and join you later.” Then she gets up to close the door.

  Per and Sandra make dinner in silence. Whatever has gone on between them no longer has any place in the kitchen. Now the only thing they can think about is the shock of seeing the way Emilia looks.

  When she finally comes into the kitchen and sits down at the table, in the place she has occupied nearly all her young life, they both pause and look at her.

  “I’m thinking of quitting,” Emilia says, and Per’s expression turns defiant. “I can’t take it anymore. A few nights ago . . .” Emilia’s face contorts at the memory. She looks at her parents with fear in her eyes. “I panicked,” she says as she starts to sob. “I was supposed to stand on stage and listen to something Steven was saying. It was a really long monologue. The closer it got for me to say my lines, the more I panicked. My legs started shaking, and it all seemed so unreal, and suddenly I didn’t even know who I was, and everything turned all dark and shadowy, and I . . .”

  Emilia buries her face in her hands. She has on a black tank top, and a barbed wire tattoo is wrapped around her thin upper arm. Sandra has never seen that tattoo before. Emilia is also wearing wide black leather bracelets on both wrists.

  Now she looks up, wiping her nose with her hand. “So I just left,” she says. She presses her lips together and casts a quick glance at her father, then looks down at the table again. “I can’t do it,” she says. “That’s all there is to it. I’m not going back.”

  Per sits down and leans across the table toward Emilia. “You should never doubt yourself, honey. I know something about that dark feeling myself. You’ve probably been listening to someone who—”

  “I’ve mostly listened to you, Pappa,” she interrupts. “And I realize I can’t do what you’ve done. I’m not like you. I can’t fight like you do. It’s too much. I just can’t do it.”

  Per takes her hands and holds them firmly. “Whenever you have doubts, I’m here for you, honey. You have a gift. I know you do. If there’s one thing I’m sure of, it’s that you have a rare talent.”

  Sandra is about to say something, but Per gives her a stern look before turning all his attention back to Emilia.

  “You can’t let the others take that away from you. What you have is unique, something the others have never seen before, and that causes jealousy.”

  “But I can’t do it!” Emilia shouts, pulling her hands out of his grasp.

  Per leans back in his chair and looks at Sandra. She thinks she sees accusation in his eyes, as if she has somehow corrupted Emilia’s way of thinking.

  “You never listen to me!” Emilia shouts at her father.

  Per is sitting motionless across from her, staring at his daughter with a stony and sad expression.

  “Mamma!” Emilia now cries. “Mamma, why don’t you ever say anything?”

  Sandra gives a start. She realizes she has again lapsed into the role of observer during one of Per’s and Emilia’s arguments, as she has so many times before. When it comes to creativity and work, she has always fled to the sidelines.

  She clears her throat. “Per, I think we should listen to Emilia and support her no matter what she decides. It’s her life, and we should just—”

  “So that’s what we should teach her? To give up in the face of the slightest opposition?” he savagely cuts her off.

  “That’s not what I said.”

  “The slightest opposition?” shouts Emilia. “Is that what you think this is about? Do you know that I’ve thrown up every single morning since Christmas? Do you know that, Pappa? Every single morning, because I’m so fucking scared that I’ll crack under pressure! I may have a gift, like you said, but I don’t have the nerve. I can’t do it. Why can’t you see that?”

  For a long time the only sound is Emilia sobbing. After a while she calms down and begins to eat her dinner.

  “And the food was so horrible at the school,” she mutters. “All I wanted was to come home.”

  Sandra helps herself to some food, too, but Per doesn’t move. He is sitting at the table, his back erect, his hands in his lap.

  “I just wanted to . . .” He clears his throat before going on. “I just wanted to help you.”

  “I know that, Pappa. I know you want to support me. And that’s what you’ve done all along. But I can’t do it anymore. So now you’ll have to support my decision to quit. I want to do something else instead.”

  Per looks at Emilia as she ravenously devours her food. “I think I’ll go out for a walk,” he says after a while. “See you later, girls.”

  Emilia and Sandra watch him get up and leave the room. Neither of them speaks until they hear the front door close.

  “I told you Pappa would go nuts,” says Emilia, her eyes brimming with tears. “I knew it would be like this. And you’re not much help.”

  “But I told him we should listen to you, didn’t I?”

  “Sure, but you didn’t sound very convincing.”

  “But I’m really trying, Emilia.”

  “It’s always the same with you, Mamma. You’re always pretending to be so tough and cool, but when it comes to Pappa, you’re the world’s biggest wimp.”

  “You need to understand your father. He had such high hopes for the school, and for you.”

  “I know that! Don’t you think I had high hopes, too? You’re always trying to defend him. Protect him. You really spoil him. He’s always the one who gets all your sympathy.”

  Sandra can’t help sighing. She lifts her chin and tries to resume her tough pose. But after a few seconds she gives up because she can see that Emilia is right.

  They continue eating in silence.

  “So h
ow are things here otherwise?” Emilia then asks. “How’s Grandma?”

  “Well, considering the circumstances . . .”

  Oh my God, Sandra suddenly thinks. Emilia doesn’t know. Several times she and Per discussed telling Emilia that Lena is ill. But Per always said it could wait until after the premiere of Emilia’s play in mid-July.

  “Lena is sick,” Sandra says now. “I didn’t tell you about that. But it means that Grandma’s been having a hard time. We’re all having a hard time, actually.”

  “What’s wrong with her?” Emilia asks.

  “She has cancer,” Sandra answers quietly, as if her tone could somehow soften the news.

  “She’s not going to die, is she?”

  Seeing the frightened and inquiring look in her daughter’s eyes, Sandra has one of those moments when the pain of the situation fully seeps in. She can’t utter another word. She can’t even nod. All she can do is blink away her tears. And when she sees Emilia flinch, as the truth hits home, the pain she feels is even worse.

  “But why didn’t anybody tell me? Are you out of your minds?”

  “We didn’t want to upset you. You had so much going on. And Pappa and I have been dealing with other problems, too, but we didn’t want to worry you.”

  “Where is Lena now?”

  “On Fårö with Grandma,” Sandra replies. “I was thinking of going up there to see them soon.”

  “Why don’t we go now, Mamma? Please? I want to go, too.”

  Sandra pauses to think. What’s stopping her? Per? Astrid? “I’ll call Astrid and ask if we can go with her.”

  Sandra grabs her cell phone from the counter and taps in Astrid’s number. She turns to look at her daughter and Emilia gives her a tentative smile.

  LENA

  Lena has stopped looking in mirrors, but she is forced to see herself in other people’s eyes. Like when Astrid comes to visit.