My Brother

by Karin Smirnoff

  The family was sacred according to mother’s faith. A family stuck together regardless. If someone died the family would still reunite one day. It was like living in hell for all eternity.

  I helped bror to dress. He burst into tears when the sleeve had to go on. His neck was covered in red stripes and marks from father’s fingers and the dogchain.

  Chain a child. Shoot a puppy. I hated my parents. My hatred was so strong and vital it made me hallucinate. I had visions of their heads floating away in the biblical deluge mother frightened us with. In the vision bror and I and the animals were in a boat rowing past them and waving with hoofs and hands.

  We went down to the byre. Father was with the calves. He hardly even glanced at us. Didn’t ask about bror’s shoulder. That would’ve been to admit what he had done.

  I went to see the horse. Told him the time had come. Time to save my brother and the rest of us. Limerick’s warm breath through his silky muzzle blew courage into me. He nickered quietly and scraped the floor with a hoof.

  Then I went to the cows. Whispered into their big ears that soon they wouldn’t be kicked by blackrubber boots anymore. In response their long tongues licked me lovingly. The pigs rubbed their bristly bodies against me.

  Girl what’s that you’re doing. Just coddling the beasts. Get the milking machine.

  Bror was clearing muck with one arm. Everyone else in the byre was feeling religious.

  I lifted the milking machine out from the parlour got the cow-teats ready and put the suction cups on. The peaceful rhythmic sounds of the wheezing vacuum pumps calmed the animals.

  The hayfork stood where I had left it next to the last of the cow stalls.

  I looked after each cow in turn easing the swollen udders. Watched as the milk churns filled. Carried the full churns into the milking parlour. Poured the contents into the separator and fetched new churns.

  When I had finished milking the last of the cows I lingered with her. Spread some straw and scratched her back.

  I knew father would turn up soon. He could sense when we were being idle. The moment he turned the corner of the stall I grabbed the hayfork and rammed it into his belly. I was a feeble little prematurely born thirteenyearold. All the same the tines slid easily through his farmer’s overalls and deep into his innards.

  The byre exploded into a cacophony. Mooing neighing oinking all around father as he went down on his knees in the pissgutter before collapsing with the hayfork embedded in his sour flesh.

  Serves you right I said. You shouldn’t ever have been allowed to live.

  By now he too was mooing. Howling for his mummy. It was the sound made by wounded elks and tormented dogs. The anguished sound made by creatures fearing death. I shouldn’t ever have saved you from the sea was the last thing he said.

  Then his eyes rolled and disappeared.

  You shouldn’t should you I said. That would’ve been for the best.

  Suddenly mother stood there. She had heard the row when she was hanging up laundry. I told her to go away. She didn’t answer. Just pulled me out of the way. There was something about her eyes and the feeling in her hands. I obeyed. Went to bror who had hidden among the pigs. They surrounded him snouts pointing outwards ready to bite.

  The ambulance arrived. Drove father with blinking bluelights to the hospital in ume with the hayfork still in his belly and blood pumping out of the tight precise entrance holes.

  After supper we went down to the byre again. A dead father was neither here nor there. The milk must be dealt with and the animals fed and locked up for the night. The work was a joy. Even bror was smiling. The fearful lines had once again left his smooth childish cheeks. We gave everyone an extra helping of hay and a fistful of oats meant for the winter.

  NINETEEN

  Two days later we learned that father wasn’t going to die. The hospital phoned to tell us the good news. He was in intensive care and would pull through thanks to the hayfork having been left in place. It was miracle they said.

  The police had been visiting. Asking questions about the accident.

  Such awfully bad luck the nurse said. Slipping and spearing himself like that. And falling on the cement floor causing a bleed inside his head. He would be operated on soon. It will take time before he is well enough to come home. It could be months she said. At the time I couldn’t understand why father had lied to her.

  Our world, bror’s and mother’s and mine, was now within a time limit. Mother might even have changed. Talked more. Embroidered less.

  Bror is my twin. The task of protecting him from father demanded my presence. The same was true for bror. We had been sticking to each other a lot but now we could look outside. Join the others in the village. It could happen that someone came home with one of us. One could sense that the house was at peace. Even father’s smell had gone.

  One month passed. Then another one.

  Mother now and then travelled to ume for hospital visits.

  When she was back she was eager to tell us how father was doing. That his liver had recovered as livers do when the person stops drinking. She never mentioned the spears of the hayfork or the bag attached to his stomach.

  He has changed you know. I think he has come to jesus she said. He is kinder. Asks for you, wants to know how you are. You too jana. You must visit him.

  Must mother said. One day we set out for the city. We got a lift from allanberg.

  My regards to our erik he said. Hope he gets better soon. People miss a game of cards and a glass or three. The village is otherwise ever since he slipped in the pissgutter. Tapping with nicotineyellowed finger on the wheel to the refrain that’s life.

  Bror chewed on his nails and pulled his fringe behind his ear. I chewed on my nails and pulled my long fringe behind my ear.

  Don’t look so miserable you two in the back allanberg said. You’ll see your daddy soon.

  Daddy what a word to use. We had no daddy. We had father.

  Father now in the convalescence building that mother called his new home. We took the lift to the third floor. That was quite something anyway. We had never been in a lift.

  His hair had grown around his bald patch. He used one side for a comb over. He even smiled.

  Now look who’s here such fine visitors he said. Fancy you two daring to come along. Especially you jana that was brave.

  I was watchful. Sooner or later the wolf would tear himself loose. He reached out with his hand come here.

  We stayed in the doorway. I needed a pee. Bror’s breathing sounded odd.

  Fourteenth birthday have you had too. That must be celebrated. He pressed a bell push. A nurse turned up.

  Miss he said. Could miss trouble herself to let us have coffee with something to go he said sounding as polite as in a film from the nineteenforties. We sat down at his table and were served coffee and squash and buns.

  I broke off small pieces and dipped them in the squash. Forced down dissolving bits of bun. Bror mostly stared out of the window. There was a squirrel in the fir tree.

  Siri father said. Get the bible and read to us. I put in bookmarks to show where.

  She read.

  Come ye children, listen to me I will teach you the fear of the lord.

  Who is the man who desires life and loves a long life in order to see good. Keep your tongue from evil and your lips from speaking deceit.

  Turn away from evil, and do good. Seek peace, and pursue it. The eyes of the lord are on the righteous and his ears are open to their cry.

  The face of the lord is against the ones doing evil to cut off the memory of them from the earth.

  Psalm thirtyfour. Now isn’t that very good father said. Go to the next one siri. Matthew sixtwelve.

  She read stumbling on words that wanted to be as they were on the muchthumbed pages of her childhood bible.

  And forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors.

  And lead us not into temptation but deliver us from evil. For if you forgive men for their sins, your hea
venly father will also forgive you. But if you do not forgive men for their sins, neither will your father forgive your sins.

  Now you will understand what I wanted to tell you father said. I forgive you. We will draw a line over all that has been and return to where everything was before. He smiled towards us and held his hands out like jesus.

  The doctor says I will be discharged soon. And then I’ll be back home he said and his eyes held mine until I looked away.

  It’s for the best mother said and began to button her coat. Wellwell. We’re looking forward to that.

  TWENTY

  John had caught whitefish out at sea. They were in a bucket. He was scaling and cleaning them.

  I sat at the kitchen table watching him. Tell me something about maria I said. I want to know more about her I said even though I wasn’t sure if I did. Do you have a photo.

  Yes he said and pulled out one of the kitchen drawers. Rooted among bills and other letters until he found the right envelope.

  He chose between the photos and gave me one taken at the seaside. She was sitting on a rock. Didn’t look into the camera but she was easy to spot anyway.

  She looked like us. The same lanky hair despite not being an albino.

  I don’t get it I said. Everyone says we were so different. I thought she was darkhaired. She’s older but otherwise.

  You are rather similar he said but at the same time not. She was taller and heavier.

  Do you want to be with me because you really want to be with her I asked.

  He didn’t reply. Opened the window and shook crumbs and fish scales off the tablecloth.

  I got up. It’s no good I said. Besides I’ll have to be at work soon. Emotions were rummaging about inside me. I didn’t even know I had them.

  I collected my things. Held on to the photo. Turned it over. A few words were written on the back. Dear göran. We will soon meet again. A heart.

  Who took the photo I asked.

  I did he said. He was putting the whitefish fillets on a platter. I’ve got more here he said and pulled the drawer out again. Same image. Different names. He made a fan of them like someone selling bingo lottery tickets.

  The evening shift began when the day shift ended. I put my sandwich box in the fridge. Picked up the schedule and keys. Too weary to talk. Someone said something but I couldn’t be bothered. Took my jacket and left. I called john driving to ingelahansson. He answered with his number.

  How come you keep all these photos I asked.

  The envelope was in the mail the day after her death.

  So she sent them all to you. Just like that.

  Yes he said. There was a letter as well. But that I threw away I think.

  And you can’t remember what it said.

  Yes I can he said. But that doesn’t matter. I heard him doing chores perhaps cooking.

  He cleared his throat. Come here he said.

  The car turned right instead of left towards ingelahansson’s.

  He met me in the doorway. We tore our clothes off or at least the most essential bits. I buried my fingers in his hair. Angrily pulled his misshapen scarred harelipped halfdeaf head close. Trampled my panties off my feet.

  His hands smelled of fish. Whitefishinnards slithered along my body as I halflay on the kitchen table. Next to us maria was smiling on a rock by the sea in a photo taken slightly sideways on. I shoved her down on the floor.

  I think I came but can’t be sure. Perhaps it was just the moment itself that ached its way through my body.

  In the silence afterwards leonardcohen played. I can’t forget but I don’t remember what.

  I love you he said for the second time in the past twentyfour hours. I breathed in his skin and thought affectionately of him. But audible words I could not find.

  When I opened the door at ingelahansson’s I was half an hour late. I sensed immediately that something was wrong. As if all the signals of a human being smells sounds movements thoughts life were absent.

  I felt her neck. No pulse. I pulled her eyelids back. No gaze. The nappy was neatly folded on the bed. The sheets were wet. Ingelahansson is dead I told caronika when she answered the phone. I’ve just found her. She has died of grief.

  One doesn’t die of grief she corrected me. One dies of illness and old age.

  I didn’t have the heart to argue. Only wondered what I was supposed to do. Eight other old people were waiting for an evening visit and ingelahansson was where she was.

  You go she said. I’ll be there in half an hour.

  I tucked ingelahansson in one last time. There was an open telephone book on the bedside table. The silk ribbon marker was on the h page.

  Stefanhansson. Her son. The name had a line through it drawn with a red pencil. I wasn’t sure if acting the messenger would be right or wrong but realised that ingelahansson’s death would complicate my agreement with fredrik. I dialled the number on my mobile.

  Stefan he answered and I told him who I was. Right he said. What’s the matter.

  It’s about your mother ingelahansson. She has just passed away. I am very sorry.

  Right he said again and asked if the death had been expected. You never know with very elderly people I said.

  Isn’t katarina there. She lives round the corner after all. She is best placed to deal with the funeral and so on. It sounds a bit selfish but mum and I haven’t been in touch recently. Not for the last twenty years to tell the truth.

  His voice tailed off. As if he were holding the phone bit away from his mouth.

  Stefan could you possibly come down to smalånger. If you don’t drive yourself I’ll pick you up off the bus. Come tonight and you’ll be able to see your mother for the last time.

  By now he was sobbing openly. Snivelled up snot and said he’d phone me back.

  He called ten minutes later when I was in the car driving to göstagrönlund’s.

  The bus arrives at twenty past nine if you have a chance to come by. Of course I said. See you there.

  One more thing. I’ve tried to phone katarina but it seems the line is closed.

  I said she might have changed her number. We hung up. I called the nurse to say the son was on his way.

  Was that necessary she said. We’ve called nordin this minute.

  Göstagrönlund waited for the homevisit in the hall. He was leaning on his wheeled zimmer frame. At ninetyseven his hearing was poor but his mind was as lucid as the coldwell water.

  Our jana is it he said. It’s good you’re on tonight. I have set up the chessboard. Let’s take a glass of port too. He put one arm around my back and patted my head like a loving dad.

  I emptied the contents of the evening compartment in the pill dispenser on a flowery saucer and poured us a glass of port each. According to the list of medications he was bipolar. Just a silly word in his view.

  In the past we called it manicdepressive he said. Bipolar sounds like the shortcircuit after you’ve connected a car battery’s black wire to the red one. Besides I’m hardly ever really downhearted and only a bit excited now and then.

  What are you like when you’re excited I asked. A little merrier than usual and wittier with it he said. He was waiting impatiently by the table with the chessboard.

  Now that you’ve learned the basics we should try a proper game he said and peered shrewdly at me. You start.

  You know I’ve never played chess I reminded him. You have just taught me the moves. Of course I know he said but it’s in your blood I can tell.

  My childhood training in strategy defence and attack was transferring into a polite board game. I found I could think ahead and stay cool.

  You’re playing like kasparov himself göstagrönlund said when I took one of his pawns.

  He was truly moved when I took a knight. Then the halfhour had gone. I hugged him and again he patted my head like a loving dad.

  No one would remember him. An old boy without wife or children. A smallholding without anyone to inherit.

  An untended gr
ave.

  There were many like him in the smalånger parish. People who existed only because one would mention them by name once in a while. People who were not seen and not thought of either. In the end they would be given a memorial service. Some of them like allanberg deserved their isolation but göstagrönlund did not. He had been one of the many young men who had stayed on to manage the home farm because someone had to.

  I preferred tying fishing flies to going out with girls he answered when I asked him once why he had never married. I was shy if you see what I mean.

  Didn’t you ever have anyone I asked and he shook his head. No. Yes. There was someone but back in those days it was out of the question. Other times now.

  How do you mean I asked but I had embarrassed him. He adjusted the basket on his zimmer frame then tugged at one of his braces.

  In the rear mirror I saw him wave from the veranda. Now on to margotjonsson birgittaasplund evertsandström evasandlund edlamarkström eskilsandström johannakronlund.

  They all got their medicines and evening coffee and sandwiches. Then I drove to the bus station to collect katarina’s brother.

  He really hadn’t changed much but I would never have recognised him now what with his shoulder bag and umbrella. We said nothing much on the way to his childhood home.

  Someone had done the washing and bedmaking at ingelahansson’s. She lay on her bed looking peaceful with her wrinkled hands lightly clasped.

  Stefan sat down on the chair by the bed and I left him alone. Lit a candle for the bedside table closed the kitchen door behind me and washed up her last lot of dirty crockery.

  I thought of john while I tidied the kitchen. Our taciturn ways of being were comfortable. I could get away with not explaining myself. So could he. Despite the silence we seemed to know the answers. But as I did the kitchen in my yellow rubbergloves I used the time to think over what had happened during the last few months and there were things that still troubled and irked me.

  Our jana is a comfortable soul to have around. Rarely says what she thinks. Doesn’t ask uncalledfor questions. Demands no answers. Sits in the kitchen eating what’s left on other people’s plates.