[2013] The Heart Echoes

by Helena vonZweigbergk

  But Lena doesn’t want to hear any of that. She wants to retreat to her room, take the pills, and focus on not letting the pain take over in that harshly chaotic way it does if she isn’t prepared. If she manages to stay calm, she can make the waves of pain coincide with her breathing. It’s still bad, but at least she feels like she has some control.

  I’m so pitiful, Martha, she thinks. I’m so small and so alone. Help me. Let me sense that you’re here.

  She stretches out on her bed. Every position is uncomfortable, as if she has been lying in one spot too long. Holger is always telling her to shift positions frequently, and she’s grateful that he never talks about bedsores.

  There are certain words she doesn’t want to hear.

  She lies still, listening to Astrid and Kerstin talking somewhere in the house. She can’t hear what they’re saying, and she doesn’t want to. She wraps her arms around her torso, hugging her own body.

  It takes a while for the pills to blunt the pain and make her drowsy, and she knows that before that happens, fear and dread can set in if she isn’t careful. That’s when the questions overtake her: Why me? Is this really happening? Am I actually here? How did I end up in this situation?

  I am not this ill person, she thinks. I am not this disease. I’m someone who is walking along the streets of New York, carrying a big briefcase with a fully packed calendar and a life that has nothing whatsoever to do with cancer.

  Why should I have to hug myself with my own bony arms in an attempt to fend off fear?

  Yesterday, for the first few seconds after she woke up, Lena thought that everything was back to normal. It was morning and she had to get up and go to work. Or . . . what was it she had to do?

  That was a happy moment, with life as it should be. Acknowledging the sweetness of it all, she realized how much she loved life.

  She searched her mind for the day’s itinerary, feeling a little jittery, thinking maybe she was supposed to see Martha. But then, with dizzying speed, the pain returned. It was as if an old rag were tossed in her face, and cruel reality took over.

  And when she opened her eyes and saw Holger, who had just come into the room to check on her, she experienced one of the worst moments of her illness. She felt as if she had been dropped from a height of three hundred feet to slam onto the asphalt below. A hard blow and then she lay there with all the organs in her body smashed and bruised, all her bones broken and twisted at impossible angles. Holger must have sensed that something had broken inside of her at that instant because he was quick to sit down at her side. She looked at his big freckled hands.

  “I was home” was all Lena could manage to say as the tears spilled down her cheeks. “I was home.”

  The words hurt so much that she could barely whisper them. Holger patted her hand a bit awkwardly and said everything would be all right. Lena sat up in bed, as if to protest these constant reassurances, this covering over any anxiety, when it was really, really . . .

  Lena glared at Holger in fury.

  But then she looked at his big freckled face, with the straggly beard hiding the firmness of his mouth, and his friendly eyes, telling her that in some sense he actually believed what he was saying.

  Something will be all right. That’s what she tries to tell herself now, drowning out all the other voices as she lies in bed with her arms wrapped around herself. Something will be all right. Something has to be all right.

  It’s raining for the first time since Lena and Kerstin came to Fårö. Lena is awakened by the sound. First a cautious little tapping against the window frame. She turns her head to look out the window. The slight trembling of the lilac bush outside presages the coming downpour. With effort, Lena sits up in bed and watches everything darken outside. The special light created by the limestone dust on the islands of Fårö and Gotland dims, almost like a lilting tune dropping into a lower key.

  Lena no longer knows how to respond to so many things in her life. Rain. Is it good? Is it bad?

  She hears voices murmuring outside her bedroom door, and she decides the rain is good. On the one hand it might signal a certain claustrophobia, being shut in with the murmurings on the other side of the door. But on the other hand the rain will clear the air and make it easier for her to breathe.

  Astrid arrived with the rain. The pressure is easing.

  Wearing only her nightgown, Lena manages to slip outside without anyone noticing. She walks barefoot across the grass, squinting up at the sky. The rain is coming down harder now, and in no time she is soaked through. Her hair is plastered to her face, and she has to keep blinking the rain away. Finally, she covers her eyes to protect them. Her nightgown clings to her body, and rivulets run down her arms and legs. She’s freezing cold. Ever since she got sick, she finds herself frequently succumbing to a deep-seated chill.

  Yet it feels so good to be standing outside and surrendering to something that is fresh and clean.

  Lena is shaking all over, as if she has a fever. The ache in her body is worse than ever, but she’s glad she went outdoors to stand in the rain. She feels calmer, even though she’s not exactly sure why. After Lena came home completely soaked and with her teeth chattering, Kerstin has refused to let her daughter out of her sight. Astrid lit a fire in the living room fireplace while Lena put on dry clothes. Then Kerstin settled her in an armchair in front of the fire with a blanket over her lap.

  Astrid says she’ll pick up Sandra and Emilia in Fårösund at five o’clock. Kerstin joins the conversation to describe what a nice dinner they’ll all have together. Lena is glad Per isn’t coming, but she’s a little concerned about Emilia visiting. She remembers her niece as a noisy and conceited young girl. Almost as silly as her father, but with Sandra’s way of stubbornly jutting out her chin and walking with her toes pointed slightly inward.

  Is it curiosity that has prompted Emilia to come here to visit her?

  “I’m not sure I have the energy for all that,” Lena says.

  “No one’s expecting anything of you,” Kerstin tells her. “It’s a nice, relaxing dinner with family. That’s all. Everyone can just be themselves.”

  Lena and Astrid exchange glances. They both have to smile at Kerstin’s belief that family dinners are relaxing affairs. Lena sinks lower in her chair, thinking that there’s nothing she can do. Emilia will be here soon, and she’ll have to see her own reflection in the eyes of her niece. Well, so be it. She focuses all her attention on the fire. The damp chill of the rain disappears in the dry heat of the fire. She stares into the flames, her eyes stinging. Again she wraps her arms around her torso, hugging herself while imagining she is sinking into Martha’s embrace.

  ASTRID

  Everything is suddenly all too real. Stark black and white after being a hazy gray for so long. All that Astrid has been holding on to that was indistinct or based on conjecture has now become grounded in reality.

  Astrid watches Lena as she walks around wearing an old and stained summer dress, looking ill and emaciated but stubbornly trying to behave as she normally would. The obvious struggle that Lena is undergoing reminds Astrid of when her sister was a little girl. The same sort of dress, the same obstinate attempts to defy any physical limitations. But when Astrid looks into Lena’s eyes, she sees a gaze that is a hundred years old and eyes that have journeyed a very long way.

  It’s as if her sister’s body is tugging her in two different directions—back toward the child she once was and forward to the old woman she will never be. Astrid finds it confusing, not sure which she is supposed to address.

  “Lena . . .” she says hesitantly as she fiddles with the car keys in her hand.

  Curled up in the armchair in front of the fireplace, Lena seems far away, lost in her own thoughts.

  “I’ll go pick them up now. Okay, Lena?”

  Lena nods but she doesn’t look happy.

  It’s so insensitive of Sandra to bring Emilia along, Astrid thinks. It must be really hard for Lena.

  As she takes the
ferry across to Fårösund, she keeps repeating the same thing to herself: My God, how could Sandra be so insensitive? Doesn’t she know that Lena needs peace and quiet? So typical of her sister.

  She assumes that Sandra wants to use Emilia as a shield so she won’t have to argue with anyone. Like Astrid, for example. Is this Sandra’s new strategy? To hide behind young people or ingratiate herself with them? Like that whole business with Josefin.

  But when Sandra and Emilia get off the hissing and rumbling bus, Astrid can see at once that something major has happened. Sandra is bobbing her head the way she always does whenever she’s stressed. And Astrid hardly recognizes Emilia. The girl is alarmingly thin and keeps moving her hands nervously. Her nails are bitten to the quick, and she constantly reaches up to tuck her hair behind her ear.

  “It’s great to see you,” Astrid says, giving her niece a hug. Then she looks at Sandra and adds in a cool tone, “You, too.”

  “I was really surprised to find out you were already here,” Sandra replies. “That’s not the impression you gave when I called you.”

  “Oh?” Astrid offers in a noncommittal tone.

  “You said you weren’t coming until next week. We could have driven up together, if you’d told me that—”

  “But I didn’t,” Astrid interrupts. “And there’s really nothing else to say about the matter.”

  They drive the short distance to the ferry landing.

  “I wanted to have some time alone with Lena,” Astrid says finally, keeping her eyes fixed on the car ferry as it approaches the dock. “I hope you can understand that.”

  They board the ferry and Emilia gets out of the car to lean over the railing, her long hair fluttering in the wind. Astrid and Sandra watch her from where they’re sitting in the car.

  How many times had they done the same thing during their childhood? Eager to get to the summer house, excited about seeing the flat landscape of the island again with its winding stone walls, the dirty yellow of the dilapidated thatched roofs so typical of the area, the gnarled and stunted pines, and the meadows dusted with lime and tall stalks of dazzling blueweed.

  When did they stop leaning over the railing with anticipation?

  “She looks so thin,” Astrid says.

  “I know,” Sandra agrees. “She left the school in London. She wants to quit acting altogether.”

  “Oh no. What does Per say about that?”

  “Well, that’s the thing. What he thinks is all that really seems to matter to her.”

  “Hmm. That’s nothing new, is it?” Astrid counters.

  “No, but it doesn’t make me feel any better.”

  “So do something about it.”

  “Thanks for the sage advice,” Sandra replies, her tone sharp. Then she sighs heavily as she looks at her too-thin daughter. The wind must be blowing hard, because Emilia turns around, squinting her eyes. Then she waves excitedly to her mother, who raises her hand to wave back.

  “I really did need time to talk to Lena alone,” Astrid says. “I’m sure you know why. There were a number of things that Lena and I needed to discuss.”

  “Sure, I get it.”

  Emilia comes back to the car, her hair blowing in all directions. “Wow, that’s some wind,” she says, getting in. “I could hardly breathe out there.”

  Astrid glances in the rearview mirror. Emilia is looking out the window. Her face is filled with anticipation, but there is also something heartbreaking about her expression. She makes Astrid think of Viktor.

  My poor child, she thinks. My dear son. Here you are, stepping forward into adult life, and I’m not sure I’ve properly prepared you for that. You’re leaving your childhood behind, a childhood filled with unresolved sorrow and unexpressed secrets. Your biological father and I left a sealed vacuum between us, and it was inside that vacuum that you grew up. But how can I continue to feel bitter toward Michael when what he left me was you?

  Emilia meets Astrid’s eye in the mirror, and Astrid gives her a smile. Then she turns to Sandra. “Everything’s a lot better now that I’ve had a chance to talk to Lena,” she says. “In fact, I’m really okay with what happened, even though it was incredibly sad.”

  They leave the ferry, and Astrid shifts gears to pick up speed as they drive toward the summer house.

  “And by the way, Sandra, it was amazing what you did for Josefin, teaching her to dance like that. It was incredible. I couldn’t believe my eyes. Thank you!”

  LENA

  Lena is still sitting in the armchair. She can’t bring herself to get up to greet her sister and niece. She doesn’t want to be seen. She can hear their voices in the front hall, sounding theatrically loud, as if to drown out the obvious but unspoken question: So, where is she? Where’s the sick person?

  Lena closes her eyes as she reclines in the chair, her arms wrapped around her body. She is pretending to be asleep. She hears footsteps quietly approach, then someone is breathing nearby, but she doesn’t open her eyes to see who it is.

  It must have been Emilia because a moment later Lena hears her whispering out in the hall. She tells the others, “I think she’s asleep.” Then Emilia apparently starts to cry, because Kerstin says, “Calm down, sweetie.”

  After a while Lena again hears someone breathing close by. This time she opens her eyes and sees Sandra. When she raises her head a little, she also sees Emilia. The dark eye makeup her niece is wearing, along with her pale complexion, make her appear ghostlike. Judging by her expression, Emilia looks as if she, too, has seen a ghost. But she tries to smile at her aunt.

  “Hi, Lena,” says Sandra, though she can’t keep a quaver out of her voice.

  Lena doesn’t have the energy to smile. She’s too tired. She assumes that Sandra wants to ask her how she’s feeling, but she doesn’t.

  Emilia comes forward and crouches down in front of the armchair next to Sandra. “We’re here now,” she says solemnly, her eyes shiny with tears.

  Lena can’t help smiling at the youthful tone of her niece’s voice. “I can see that,” she says. “Hi.”

  While the others cook dinner, Lena goes to her room to lie down. She would have liked to stay in the living room, but her body hurts too much. Holger arrives just as the smell of food begins to waft through the house.

  “I see you have visitors,” he says as he sits down in a chair next to her bed. “And here you are, hiding away.”

  “I just can’t do it anymore,” Lena tells him, slipping her hand into his. It disappears in his huge grasp, reminding her of when she was a child and her father’s big dry hand enveloped her own. She is whispering, as if she has been holding her breath ever since Astrid exploded in fury, and now she can finally breathe again. “I told my sister I was sorry,” she says to Holger. “It’s done now. So I can let it go, can’t I?”

  “Yes, just let it go,” Holger says, though he sounds a little distracted. He checks Lena’s medicines, wearing his reading glasses perched on his nose, as usual. He notices that she has taken more pills than usual, so he asks if the pain has been worse today.

  “I guess so. But listen, I wanted to ask you something. The people who have been as sick as I am that you’ve cared for, did they also want to ask forgiveness for a whole bunch of things?”

  Holger looks at her for a moment before answering. “You know, one thing that’s really sad,” he says, “is when people can’t bring themselves to express how much they care about each other. When they don’t acknowledge their feelings and instead have to act so sensibly and do everything right.”

  “But why would they care about me now? I’ve never felt that they’ve cared much about me before.”

  Holger gives her a melancholy smile. “I don’t know why people fail to realize that others care about them.”

  Lena reluctantly agrees to get out of bed so she can join the others at the dinner table. The pain pills are still making her feel nauseated, even though it’s a little better now that she has changed meds. But she has no appetite whats
oever. She never feels hungry anymore. Her abdomen is stretched tight, and it’s as if what’s happening to her body is eating her up from the inside. She doesn’t want to think about food or eating or her stomach, or anything related to it.

  Kerstin helps Lena up. She’s glad to have her mother’s support, because for a moment everything goes black when she gets to her feet. With a sense of hopelessness, Lena grips Kerstin’s shoulder as they walk toward the living room. Why do I have to deal with all this eating and drinking? she thinks.

  Emilia is standing in front of the living room door, which is closed. She gives her aunt a sly look as she pulls the door open. Lena sees Sandra and Astrid standing next to the big table with at least twenty candles flickering in various candleholders around the room. A newly pressed white cloth covers the table, and all four windowsills hold vases of blueweed. A fire is blazing in the fireplace, and ivy and wild thyme have been artistically arranged on the table.

  Lena’s eyes fill with tears until the whole room is a blur of lights and fragrances. Kerstin and Emilia stand on either side of her, holding her arms as they usher her to the table. Someone has put a sheepskin on her chair, and that small gesture makes Lena’s lips quiver even more.

  “It’s so beautiful,” she whispers. “And how lovely to sit on something so soft.”

  At first a certain awkwardness hovers over the dinner table, as if the beautiful room demands their undivided attention. And, as always, Lena’s illness is what sets the mood. For a few minutes Lena simply stares down at her plate. She sees a salad with chicken and avocado. She knows she should try to eat something for her family’s sake, if nothing else. The others cast surreptitious glances at her as they begin to eat their dinner. Everyone is focused on whether or not she will have any appetite.

  It’s not me they’re interested in, Lena thinks. It’s not me they’re offering respect. It’s this fucking illness that they’re all tiptoeing around. And it’s standing in the way of everything else.