She was the one. She who comes when needed. I.
I am clear about what’s going on but will keep myself to myself. Stand by and watch as bror drinks himself to death.
I have no real friends. Because the only real friend I have had will soon be buried. I leave those who say they love. I am jealous and grudging. I have sex without contraception because if I get pregnant I will have it terminated. I take pleasure in revenge. I shoot animals during the mating season. I despise my workmates because they are overweight and dull. There are times when I want to cause pain. I could probably kill.
Later that night lying on john’s arm in the pullout bed I said all this. Told him I couldn’t be with him. I didn’t love him and had never said that I.
Now hold it he said. I can understand if things seem to happen too quickly but we have got something together.
I got up and dressed. Irritated by his gaze following me like the eyes of an anxious dog. I told him that he was hairy and ugly. That it was hard for me to bear the way he looked and that I was not at all convinced that he hadn’t murdered maria.
Outside the stars were glowing sirius strongest of all. Sirius was the strongest and I decided to go to bror. My home and the home of my brother on a hill in the parish of smalånger where the book of revelation was nailed like the theses on the panel of the doubledoor of the church.
Then I began to create.
There was a room in the house that was no longer in use. It was a large room with large windows. We called it the blueroom when we were little. Nowadays it is yellow.
Mother kept her loom there. Guests might have stayed the night. I dragged the loom across the floor. It was heavy and unwieldy.
I shoved it into a corner. It ought to be sawn up into little bits. Weaving was a curse cast on women. Weaving ragrugs for dirty boots to walk on. Weaving with strips torn from clothes nobody wanted. Weaving with monotonous movements swish dunk tramp swish dunk tramp.
Like a train without a terminus.
The train that had taken me southwards.
The loom was called something else in the south but the sounds it made were the same. Swish dunk tramp. Swish dunk tramp. Do what is expected because what is wanted is the expected.
What I painted turned into photographs and what I photographed turned into clay.
Now I was sitting on a flattened cardboard box in the centre of the yellowroom. I pulled lumps off the ball of clay and warmed them in my hands.
My fingers shaped them into people. Some were deformed and looked like dwarfs.
TWENTYONE
Stefan was still with his mother when I arrived the next morning.
He had been sleeping in his old room. Lain in bed and looked at the shelf full of sports prizes that had been collecting dust since his boyhood. Wept over his dead dad and his dead mum and his flight from his childhood home as soon as he had a chance.
How old were you then I asked.
Sixteen it was after year nine. I got a job in town as a kitchen help. Then I trained to be a barber. I’m the owner of sörenvidman’s gentlemen’s hairdresser in case you’ve noticed it.
I hadn’t.
We drank coffee. I had the day off. Ahead of us lay the inevitable talk.
Stefan I have to speak to you about something I said. Clouds of concern drifted across his handsome face. As if he sensed.
Katarina died a few days ago. I thought maybe fredrik had got in touch with you.
He shook his head and stared down at the table. Stayed like that without moving for a long time. Stared at the table letting the handstitched midsummerflowers soak up his tears.
Was she sore he said in the end.
No she was on morphine. She wanted to be remembered to you I added to comfort him.
We hardly knew each other he said. I’m not sure why. She felt ashamed of me I think. Maybe she thought I was unpleasant. Or it could just be she was angry because I moved out and left her alone with mum and dad.
Your father I said. He was an ordinary dad wasn’t he. Who sat in an armchair smoking a pipe and reading the paper. That’s how I remember him. There he was in his armchair and didn’t even look up when we came in. But katarina was his little sunbeam. That’s what ingelahansson said. Kattis was his little sunbeam.
There were shadows under stefan’s eyes. He topped up his coffee. Sure you don’t want anything?
That he preferred sis to me was obvious he said. I was a disappointment to him. I didn’t shoot. Felt sorry for the elks. Hated the filthy mucking about in the byre. Tried to sneak out of sight when there was talk of logcleaving or ingaitherin. Meantime katarina did all she could to please. Saying that I don’t think he noticed much though.
Katarina said he shot himself out in the forest. That it was suicide and no hunting accident.
I suppose no one knows for sure stefan said. His mates in the hunting team found him. He straightened the tablecloth. Looked through the winterdirty window at the spring outside.
I actually saw him some time before the accident. He came in for a haircut. I was shocked at first because he had lost a lot of weight. At the same time he seemed to be beaming in an odd way. You know like a fanatical pastor or somebody. Dad was of course quite goodlooking.
Like you I said.
Fair enough we look a bit alike but dad was different. He was strong and a hard worker even later in life. Women went for him.
Don’t they go for you I wondered because I couldn’t resist prodding even though I knew.
No I prefer men he said. I think dad understood even though we never talked about it. When he turned up in the salon it was the first time we’d clapped eyes on each other for at least ten years. He wanted a haircut and I got on with washing his hair.
We were on our own. My assistant had the day off. We didn’t speak about anything much to begin with. Chatted a little about the village. About sis and how the cancer had been cured. The elk team had been allotted two adults and five calves. His hair was still thick even though he had gone grey. I gave him a cool french styling that made him look younger still short at the back of his neck and a longer fringe. It felt really nice to work with my dad’s hair. It was the closest physical contact we ever had.
He met my eyes in the mirror. Stefan he said I’m in love for the first time in my life and I want to leave your mother. But I don’t know how to say it.
Say it to whom I asked him. This woman. Or mum. The woman of course he said.
Only someone madly in love would see it like that. As if mum wouldn’t care one way or the other. As if her world wouldn’t collapse around her just with the shame of it.
I wanted to know who this woman was and he said she was married to that brännström guy whatever his name was. And that she had wanted to leave him for years but never felt she could. Dad described him as someone quite out of order. Beat her up. Sometimes she had bruises all over her body. Dad had told her that he’d take brännström on and teach him a lesson the oldfashioned way but this woman I think her name was maria wouldn’t hear of it. She said to let her deal with her husband in her own way. After that the two of them could be together for real.
What happened I asked. Did they become a couple.
I advised dad that he should think about it and that being in love doesn’t always last. It just made him angry. He called me a weakling with no backbone. Said that I didn’t know anything about true love and that I would never experience it anyway.
Did you experience it I asked.
Yes I did. We’ve been together for twenty years now and I’m still in love. But jana what about you. Do you still live in the village.
Yes I said. Or rather no. I haven’t lived here for very long. I came back this Easter and got a job as a homecarer.
I changed the subject.
That man the brännström guy. John I think his name is. What happened to him. And to maria and your dad. It sounds like quite a love triangle.
Dad phoned me just a few days before he died. I could hear f
rom his voice that something had changed. I had to drag the words out of him. Our maria had started going with some other man in the village. Said that my dad was too old and she preferred younger men.
Why did he tell you all this I asked. Because he had nobody else he could tell.
But would all this really add up to shooting oneself I wondered. It could have been accidental.
Don’t you know about love jana. Don’t you understand the forces it sets off in someone who has never loved.
We all go about it in our own way I thought. Some people shoot themselves and others plug the gaps where emotions might trickle in.
So what are your thoughts about the funeral. Well funerals. Fredrik has asked me to arrange katarina’s but perhaps you want to do it yourself.
New tears were dripping on the tablecloth and forming fascinating patterns. I put my hand on his in an attempt to comfort him. There was a scab on his thumb. I suppressed an impulse to pick at it.
I don’t know if I can cope he said. My partner has caught a virus and it affects his balance nerve. One of my staff has handed in his notice. It’s getting to be too much for me he said. Too much.
I sensed that he was about to ask me to take on this death as well but I realised it would cause problems. Märitljungqvist would sniff like a scenthound on the track of a bear.
What about a shared funeral I suggested. I have already been talking to nordin. All we need to do is order another coffin.
I felt unsure about the idea. People might disapprove. Not least fredrik who was paying. Perhaps he never cared much for his inlaws. And people who mourned ingelahansson wouldn’t like my choice of music. Myself I’d be pleased. It would look as if stefan had fixed it all.
Who will take over at katarina’s house then. He sounded sad again. And mum’s.
One thing at a time I said. I’ve promised fredrik to clear their house and clean it. You and your partner could take on house clearing at ingela’s when you feel ready. I’ll help with the cleaning. I’m good at that.
He said he’d definitely think about the funeral.
But you had better be quick I said. Katarina will be buried in a week’s time.
TWENTYTWO
Father came back home.
The taxi driver helped him climb out of the passenger seat and then reach out for a crutch. Mother hurried along to carry his bags into the house. He didn’t bring that much just some clothes and a shoe. The other shoe we had found afterwards in the pissgutter.
Bror and I were watching from the byre door. We had done the work. Chilled churns were waiting for the milklorry. The cows were ruminating contentedly.
But there were other signs. The horse scraping the floor in his box. The pigs making a row in their pen as if they had picked up his smell.
We watched him walking to the house leaning on his crutch.
I went back to the horse. We must be brave now I told him. He’s more dangerous now than ever. He says he’s a man of god. We huddled together muzzle to muzzle limerick and I. I’ll stand up for you I said. It will be allright. He can’t hurt us anymore. He’s a cripple.
In the end we had to go into the house after all. For a moment we held hands bror and I like the children we still were. Like a christmastree decoration made like two identical albino gingerbreadmen.
Father was seated in the kitchen with the crutch leaning against the table.
There you are. Look he said and smiled patting his belly. I’ll be walking normally soon enough.
He wasn’t even a cripple.
Mother smiled and refilled his cup of coffee. Come and sit down children. Have a piece of cake. There you are.
The only free chairs were next to father.
He put his arm round my shoulders. Pinched my neck lightly. I inched away to escape but didn’t risk provoking him out of his good mood.
At last we’re all together again he said. How I’ve longed for this. If this isn’t a moment to celebrate I don’t know what is. He snapped with his fingers and mother went instantly over to the fridge and took out a fat bottle with a yellow label. Then she put four glasses close together.
Now let’s celebrate mother said excitedly but couldn’t get the cork out. Handed it to father who couldn’t manage the cork either. He went red in the face with effort.
Now what the hell’s the problem he said. Get me the wee axe siri he said one way or another I’ll open the fucker up. He decapitated the bottle with one angled blow. Festive liquid sprayed over the tablecloth and into our glasses.
Cheers father said and caught everyone’s eyes in turn. No one could look away. It’s grand to see you all again. The hospital is a good place but nothing is better than the bosom of the family.
I pretended to sip. Mother pretended to sip. Bror drank the lot in one go and held out his glass for more. Father chuckled and topped it up. Well well. Seems the lad takes after his father.
Thankfully there was nothing more to drink that evening.
A rumbling noise woke us up the next morning.
The slaughterhouse lorry was reversing into our yard. I ran out in my pyjamas.
Father was standing in the byre door. He held limerick’s bridle in a firm grip. The horse’s eyes were rolling with terror. No I screamed. You mustn’t.
I tried tearing the bridle out of father’s hand but he was strong. He might have lost strength in other parts but not in his arms.
He shouted to the butcher. Get the gun. The nag will be mincemeat.
Limerick reared. Danced throwing himself sideways.
I hit the butcher in the belly. Hit father in the belly and wherever else I could reach. They just laughed at me.
Once the butcher held the bridle father grabbed my struggling body in hard lock. Forced me to watch when the butcher put the stungun to limerick’s forehead and pressed the trigger. The horse’s legs folded under him. He sank to the ground. A few last breaths wheezing through his muzzle. His eyes fixed on me wondering why I didn’t do something.
I screamed. Father still held me. Now he was pressing me to his body and let me cry against his green overalls. I had never cried over anything. Not in the milking parlour or anywhere else but now I couldn’t stop. He was still holding me in his arms. I so desperate for support that I was weeping on limerick’s executioner.
He stroked my hair. Told me the horse was old. That it was better this way. But I understood all right. He couldn’t kill me so he killed the horse instead.
The butcher’s lorry drove off.
When father let go of me I ran to the forest. Ran past bror who had hidden behind a couple of hay bales. He didn’t even see me. He saw only father.
I skipped across rocks and stones. Ploughed through firseedlings bog myrtle wild rosemary blueberry shrubs and stopped only when I was at the chapel on the north side of afta hill. My feet were bleeding. One sleeve of my pyjamas was badly ripped. I went into the chapel to stand right in front of the wooden altar.
Jesus looked down on me. The apostles and the prophets looked down on me. Maria looked at her child.
I sat on a pew. I heard the door open and close. Someone came in. God was everywhere around us. I sensed his gentle muzzle on my cheek. His breath against my hand. If I had pulled the hayfork out father would have died and I would have been a murderer. Instead father lived and limerick was dead. This was not an act of god. It was my own fault.
I wanted to light a candle but I had neither matches nor money to pay for it.
I thought god would know for whom I lit that candle. I turned to look at the person who had sat down a few pews behind me.
It was no one I knew.
Has something happened he asked. You look so sad.
The butcher’s lorry came for the horse I said. I want to light a candle but have no matches.
He got up and held out a lighter.
Then I can well understand why you’re sad he said looking at me with his strange eyes. They were only black. As if the white bits were missing.
I don’t know what to do with it I said.
He put his hand on mine. We lit the candle together and prayed for limerick. I walked home through the forest. Too tired to run.
Father was seated at the table eating. Slurping meatsoup with dumplings.
He didn’t look up when I came in.
TWENTYTHREE
On the day of the funeral there were two coffins in the church. A flower arrangement befitting an older person was placed on ingelahansson’s dark brown coffin. The atmosphere was quietly dignified.
Fredrik and stefan had been talking. The outcome was a practical solution. Instead of bands like europe and queen we sang hymns. Morninghasbroken and thedaythougavest. Katarina would understand.
The organ played and people filed into the church. It became almost full. Ingelahansson had been a regular churchgoer and many of them turned up. Those who were still alive and capable enough that is. But katarina’s contemporaries were few and far between. True, she had lived in ume for quite a while but even so. I wondered if fredrik had bothered to get in touch or even announce the funeral in the local paper. Bror was also missing. I tried to remember when I had last seen him.
Stefan was the host and stood at the entrance to greet newcomers. I hugged him and then went to sit in a pew at the back. When the bells began to toll someone sat down beside me. No need to check who it might be.
Hi he whispered and hi I whispered back. Are you feeling allright he asked and I said yes. Do you miss me he asked and I said yes. Will you come to see me later he asked and I said maybe. Then he shuffled along to sit a little closer so our legs touched. He wore a black suit and a white shirt as was only right and proper. I wore a black skirt and white blouse as was only right and proper. We stood to pray. Ourfatherwhichartinheavenhallowedbethyname.
The minister started with ingelahansson and then went on to katarina.
Katarina was a happy and warmhearted person the minister told us. She had many friends and some of you have met up here today to say a last goodbye.
My Brother Page 10