My Brother

by Karin Smirnoff

  Often they were just statements.

  You are your brother’s twin sister aren’t you? Yes that’s right.

  You’re very alike. True. You live together on the home farm. Now we do.

  You went off to live down south before. Yes and then up north.

  The q&a session was interrupted by märitljungqvist clapping her hands to get our attention.

  Be careful out there she said. It reminded me of a police drama but I couldn’t remember what it was called. In a way she sounded sweet. But annoying as well.

  The first name on my list belonged to somebody I knew. Ingelahansson. She was in bed and I used my key to get in. She called out hello when I stepped inside. Hello I answered this is jana from the homecarers.

  Jana. I only know one jana and she moved down south years ago. She went to the same class as katarina. My little katarina. They had their babies at the same time as I recall.

  Hi I said and sat down on the chair by her bed so she could have her fill of looking at me.

  Is it really you jana she said with a sob in her voice touching me as if to make sure that I was truly there.

  Yes I said it’s me.

  You haven’t changed. You’re like your dad. How’s he doing our erik.

  Well enough I said thinking of how excellently it suited him to lie in a coffin. How’re you doing yourself. It says here you have broken your hip.

  I was just going to change the curtains.

  Let’s see she said and pulled the quilt back. The old lady was lying on wet sheets. Her nappy was neatly folded next to her. She patted it and said look it’s nice and dry. It ain’t right for an old person to put on a nappy and in her own home as well.

  We made our way to the bathroom together. It was under the stairs where most of the bathrooms in the village seemed to be and the sixtiesstyle tiled floor was familiar. She was chittering in her damp nightdress but didn’t want a shower because that was an affa waste.

  Not today she said. I showered last thursday and the next time I shower it’s thursday again. That’s when she comes maria my little angel. I couldn’t bear to tell her that at this point her angelic maria had passed on to become a real angel. That was surely a given what with her lying there in the grass with her hands clasped.

  And who’re you anyway she asked fixing me with stern eyes. I’m jana and I’m standing in for maria.

  Jana jana she repeated and looked frantically for the jana she had recognised a little while earlier but forgotten by now. Off came the nightdress and I washed her with a washcloth but under the coldwattertap because she thought warm watter was an affa waste forby.

  When she was finally seated at the kitchentable slurping coffee from the saucer and wearing a flowery jersey dress compression stockings a cardy I was dogtired. I looked through the tasks for the other eleven people on my list. It was going to be a long day. Märitljungqvist’s caution hovered at the back of my mind. Max half an hour for each one. I had already spent an hour here and still hadn’t had time to make the bed.

  The next place was on the northern border of the district several tens of kilometres from ingelahansson’s. This was when I grasped why homecare service cars always overtook. It was the only way to get to where you should be but probably wouldn’t reach in time.

  Svenkorpela. An old man who was deeply asleep with just the tip of his nose showing above the quilt. I looked him up on the list. Note important to administer medicine at the exact time. But that was a good hour ago. All the same I made a cup of coffee first and didn’t wake him until yesterday’s dishes were drying on the rack.

  Hello sven I said and patted his arm. My name is jana and I’m your homecarer.

  He sat straight up in bed rightaway and yelled fuck off you damned homeparasite I don’t need no help.

  Puzzled I stopped next to his bed with the pill dispenser in my hand. But since I had no idea what my proper response should be I fetched coffee for both of us and put the hot mug into his hand aware that anything too hot or too cold might switch his mood one way or the other.

  The coffee must have scalded the lining of his mouth but he drank it in big gulps until he had emptied the mug. Then he pushed the quilt away apologised for his morning glory reached out for a fistful of tablets and swallowed the lot without a drink.

  Now you’d better help me to the bathroom. My eyesight isn’t what it was.

  I survived the morning. Gained time by pushing the environmentally approved service car to its limits and checked in for lunch with my colleagues only quarter of an hour late.

  You mustn’t do anything unnecessary for them you know said one of the colleagues whose name I’ve already forgotten. Mustn’t spoil them once because they’ll just expect the same every time and then we’d never get a break. But you understand that surely.

  The lunchbreak was sacred because it was the time to talk.

  Johansson had shat himself and the entire bed not to speak of eriknäslund. And our erik had smeared poo all over the headboard. As for alicia. Piss everywhere. One after the other they reported the old folks’ faecal status and spent much time on loose bowels which was considered an especially tough test of one’s patience.

  What about you jana. You went to ingelahansson’s didn’t you. Was the nappy lying by her or did she have it on. They turned to me with burning eyes.

  It was lying by her I told them. I felt that the simple question had a right and a wrong answer. Yees someone shouted waving her arm in victory. Oh shit others muttered.

  We have a running bet the fat one explained and gestured towards a whiteboard. All our names including märitljungqvist’s and mine were neatly listed on the board. Each one had been given a number in red or black. Tomorrow you must put twenty kronor in the jar.

  The afternoon wasn’t exactly easier. People needed showers. Food had to be provided but because there was only a four minute slot set aside for preparing it almost everything except porridge or softboiled eggs was out of the question. Incontinence pads must be changed and the immobile elderly have cream put on to ease any bedsores. Everyone had a pill dispenser and no one took less than four different tablets. Perhaps they were mostly vitamins or heart medicines but something seemed to make the old folk uncommonly lethargic even given the withdrawn personalities so common in my home village.

  The last person to visit was a cancer patient who, the note said, had been discharged from hospital for palliative care at home. Whatever that meant. Her surname was unfamiliar and I didn’t reflect on who it might be until facing the sleeping woman. Then I recognised her.

  Strangely katarinahansson or katarinakarlsson as she now was hadn’t changed much.

  We had been in the same class at school. There were no other girls in our part of the village and we got on well enough. By the fourth form her shape already attracted everyone’s gaze. Nothing much seemed to grow on my body.

  What had started as breast cancer had spread to other organs and finally ended up in the brain. Teddies holding cards with bestwishes powerhugs and thinkingaboutyous were lined up along the length of the bed as if hordes of wellmeaning visitors had wanted to comfort her with a teddy. She shifted a little when I sat down on the chair next to her bed.

  Katarina I said and realised that she responded to my voice. Katarina it’s me jana. Do you remember me.

  Of course I remember you she said drowsily. We siphoned wine from my dad’s gallon container. And then you went off with my boyfriend whatever his name was.

  Magnus I said. Magnusstålnacke. His parents were from gällivare. We kept teasing him for his accent until he was fourteen and grew taller than anyone else and really goodlooking.

  Hunkymagnus katarina said. He married tony’s sis after you left but perhaps you knew that.

  I didn’t steal your boyfriend I told her but by then she was asleep again. I checked the list to find out what I was expected to help her with and looked around in the room. The oxygen cylinders and drip stands were alien to my limited notions of homecare
. I didn’t intend to touch any of that unless absolutely necessary.

  But the necessity came soon enough. Katarina woke moaning with pain. Morphine she said. Fuck’s sake gimme morphine.

  Help me I said. I don’t know what to do.

  Take that syringe and push it in there. She pointed to her arm where a stump of a plastic tube with a lid seemed to be held in place with layers of tape.

  There was a syringe on the table but what if she hadn’t got it right. On the other hand what if she was right and I didn’t allow her something to relieve her pain. I took the syringe inserted it under the lid and injected a few millimetres of fluid.

  All of it she gabbled. The whole load of shit do it.

  That was all she got round to saying before unconsciousness took over. Or sleep or whatever her state of mind should be called.

  A key rattled in the door and a woman came in. She moved quickly to the bedside.

  Hi she said. I’m Monica. The nurse. I’m here to deal with katarina’s pain. Sorry to be a little late.

  I stayed where I was on the chair and she bent over the bedside table to scrutinise the syringe.

  Has someone been here already she asked. I shook my head adding that I had just arrived. The nurse checked katarina’s pulse then fleetingly stroked her hairless head.

  She seems to be sleeping normally even though the dose was rather too large she said meeting my eyes for the first time. Look I’ll be back later to give her some more. You change her nappy and turn her.

  In the car on the way back to the office I cried uncontrollably all the way to the staff parking area and for a while longer after I had gone inside. Then my tears stopped flowing. Sixteen individuals stared at me. Their irritated body language demanded to know how come I was so late and wasn’t I aware that the working day ended at quarter past five.

  I had to apologise and promise it wouldn’t happen again. We had a joint debriefing session to hand over to the evening crew and then we were free to go home.

  I thanked god that in my ignorance I hadn’t killed someone.

  EIGHT

  The jeep was cold and wouldn’t start at first. I drove slowly up the slight incline towards the eastern end of the village.

  Only a week had passed since I took the bus down to bror. It felt longer. Everything ached. Head arms back feet crotch soul.

  The turning to eskilbrännström’s drew closer and I slowed down then stopped. Sat there not knowing what I should do. Or what I wanted to do. Finally I turned and drove along the track to the farm. The paraffin lamps made the farmhouse steam and glow with light.

  He stood on the steps. I lingered by the jeep’s door. The distance between us could be interpreted in various ways.

  But we met halfway and I let myself be escorted into the warmth. He had been cooking. It was stuffed potato dumplings with butter and cowberry jam. I eyed the roughlyshaped little boulders. Served myself a small piece and chewed reluctantly even though I probably hadn’t eaten anything since the morning. The kafkaeyes looked at me and at the bed.

  Lie down if you want. I’ll come to bed later.

  I wanted to rest but didn’t have the energy to get up from the chair.

  The kitchen smelled of turpentine and so did his hands. Once more he undressed me but this time with the same caring hands that I had used for the oldies all that day. When everything was off and I stood there naked and listless he pulled a clean vest over my head. The vest reached halfway down my thighs. It too smelled of turps.

  I saw your names on the auldbirch by the sawmill I told him. Your two names were there below our childish carvings. It didn’t feel right.

  Perhaps that was her doing he said. If you want me to I’ll tell you about her but I guess you’ll have heard enough about her for one day.

  I’ve heard about an angel I said. There was malice in my voice. Lying dead in the grass with her hands clasped in prayer.

  He didn’t comment and I understood his silence to mean he had nothing to add.

  John I said lying in the sofabed like an indolent cat and following him with my eyes. Come here so I can touch your hair. He seemed not to have heard and carried on mixing colours on a palette. Then he left and closed the kitchen door behind him as if I were already asleep.

  Many hours later I slept but was still conscious enough to sense him climbing gingerly into bed and placing my head on his arm to make room. Felt his lips against the back of my neck. And his hands that couldn’t leave me alone.

  This will end badly I mumbled without knowing what I was saying. He said hush. Then his lips silenced my mouth. His penis found its way in under the vest. We lay belly against back and he didn’t slide out of me until his breathing had become that of someone sleeping.

  I had fallen asleep early so I woke at dawn. I could watch him in peace now as he was lying with the burn on his face in my field of vision. There were spots of paint on his face and on his hands. He stirred a little when I got out of bed.

  I tiptoed across the kitchen floor to the loo. Just as stealthily I made my way from the loo to the bestroom. It seemed to be somewhere very private but I couldn’t help myself. My curiosity was deeply rooted in my childhood need to be in control. I detested secrets and I detested surprises. Despite the lovely beginning our fairytale already held too many secrets and surprises.

  He lived in an abandoned farm that had stood empty for as long as anyone could remember. He had been married to a woman who had died near the sawmill.

  My responsibility to myself and perhaps also to bror tugged at me and made me enter the bestroom.

  The floorboards creaked. The door squeaked as I gradually pushed it open until the gap was wide enough to get through. I listened into the kitchen. The clock was ticking.

  The room was darkened. He had pulled the curtains across the windows presumably to keep daylight out but my eyes slowly became used to the gloom. I wanted to take my time examining the paintings stapled up close together on the crowded walls.

  The easel was standing at the far end of the old feast room. I had to get closer to see what he was painting at the moment. The floor was chirkin’ wherever it felt like chirkin’. Like a burglar I stopped after each step and listened for sounds from the kitchen.

  A sheet hung over the easel. He was painting something no one was allowed to see and my impatience to pull back the sheet made me careless. I took a few quick steps forward and didn’t notice in the sneaklight that something was in my way. A bucket with empty beer bottles tipped over and the bottles rattled noisily across the floorboards. Now I could hear him. The door banged against the wall.

  What the fuck he said. Who the hell said you could.

  I backed away towards the window. Held up my hands in front of me and felt for the first time how cold the room was. The primate ape towered over me. His black hair stuck out in all directions like a wild man’s and he was breathing rapidly. Even his smell was different. We squared up took each other’s measure. Ayla facing the neanderthal brute who might kill her any minute now.

  For what did I know about him. In that moment I was nothing but a pathetic creature who had begun to believe that the closeness I had felt was something other than lust. He took a few steps forward and grabbed my arms. Shook me as if I were a naughty child and he an adult who wanted an answer.

  My head flopped from side to side. All energy all will to defend myself vanished. His grip on my arms kept me upright. Then I peed myself. It just came and I couldn’t do anything to stop it.

  NINE

  We used to sleep together bror and I. Or maybe it is better to put it this way. That we fell asleep in our own beds but woke up in the same bed.

  Except for the night we did it the other way round.

  It was a friday and fridays were always the same. A jolly father came home from work ready to make a weekend of it as he said. Put bottles away in the fridge. Cracked open a beer and was fed. Best nicely cooked motherfood aimed at keeping him in a good mood.

  After a cou
ple more beers he would call us. We ran to him tails wagging. Sat in his lap hoping that his fickle hand would hold some sweets. We were his circus dogs rewarded for doing stunts and feats. Bror did magic tricks and I danced. We were the friday entertainment spot and sometimes even mother joined the audience.

  If she didn’t come along he might call for her. Siri damn it come here.

  After sun comes the rain. After the beers comes the hard stuff.

  At this point on a friday night events would unravel one of two ways.

  One. A neighbour like say allanberg turned up bringing a bottle of hooch and a deck of cards. Consequence. We were forgotten and father amused himself with the cards booze and bickering with the neighbour until he needed to be led into the bedroom where he would fall asleep in his dayclothes.

  Two. No neighbour turned up with spirits and a deck of cards. Consequence. When there was no male around for card games father made do with mother. She embroidered her endless tablecloths and said her endless prayers while listening to father telling her about his struggles at work as a foreman in a port some thirtyodd kilometres down south. During the week he slept in a workman’s cabin. He was someone to reckon with. Chosen after all to boss people around. The others never seemed to get anything right.

  Mother would hum and mumble yes if it suited and no if it suited and filled his empty glass. She was his wailing wall and seemed not to mind. At some point or another during these evenings a mumbled no would become a mumbled yes and then war broke out. A war against an undersized weak enemy who submitted before the first battle was fought.

  Bror and I were lying low in the maid’s room hoping to be able to do something or at least understand what was going on and it was harder for bror. He felt for mother. I hated both of them. The sounds of blows as fist struck cheekbone travelled through the wall. I cupped my hands over his ears to stop him from hearing.