My Brother

by Karin Smirnoff

  I didn’t hear anyone say jana before I felt the hand on my shoulder. It was stefan. And johan whom I had met at the funeral but only to say howdoyoudo in passing. Suddenly they stood there in the midst of the tearful hubbub of voices. They hugged me to their wet loden coats. They had brought things to eat and drink. Sweet tea in a thermos and cheese on slices of sourdough. So what happened stefan asked.

  He had tried to drink himself to death. I found him with the horse.

  I didn’t know you kept animals.

  We don’t I said.

  Johan was dark. A little younger than stefan. His eyes flitted between me and his partner.

  How did it go in the church hall I asked. Did you get them out or did it turn into a nightclub.

  Stefan’s eyes rolled upwards. The minister was the worst he said. We practically had to carry him back to the rectory. Where he threw up on the steps.

  You left quite early you and the brännströmguy. I didn’t know you two knew each other. Someone said that he and katarina. You know. Or are you an item.

  I couldn’t think of a good answer.

  He drinks too much I said. And I can’t cope with another pisshead.

  That’s a bit rich coming from somebody who set up a free bar at a funeral tea.

  We sniggered in unison.

  Now you can tell me what really happened stefan said. He looked as innocent as ever. Bror did your father in didn’t he.

  I wouldn’t know about any did in. He murdered him. Cleaved his head with a spade. It was war. Him or us.

  But his own father he said.

  That’s right his own father I said.

  What happened afterwards johan asked. I mean what happened to your brother.

  I looked at johan. He spoke very little. Even so he was somehow getting to me. He reminded me of the people in the village afterwards. They wanted to know every single detail but hadn’t shown the slightest interest in us before or raised a finger to help us despite knowing what father was like.

  We’ll talk about that some other time I said. In the silence that followed my discouraging reply I remembered and could not keep the images at bay. I leaned back on the red waiting room sofa. Closed my eyes and retreated into the scene I had feasted on during the long lonely years without bror.

  We were sitting together on the floor of the byre enjoying a calm we had never felt before and which we knew wouldn’t last. But in that moment. With father lying dead under the feed sack and the animals milked. At peace. Life was perfect. Everyone has a moment to treasure. This one was ours.

  After an hour or so mother came down to the byre. She had made breakfast and wondered where we all were. She saw us first. Bror with muck all over his body and me in a white milkingcoat that was no longer so white.

  She went to father’s body and lifted the feed sack. Looked at him for a long time and then put the sack back down over his head.

  She put his hands together as if for prayer and then clasped her own hands. We followed her example.

  Together we prayed fatherforgiveusoursinsasweforgivethosewhohavesinnedagainstus.

  I suppose I had better phone the police straightaway she said.

  TWENTYSEVEN

  Are you jana. A nurse was approaching. Could you please come with me now. She moved quickly. Checked her pager. Shouted things to people as she passed. Opened the door to a room and asked me to enter.

  It was a nurses’ office. Bror wasn’t there. Where is bror I asked. Is he alive.

  Yes she said. He is alive but we can’t promise that he will survive. We are keeping him in an induced coma. He has had a gastric haemorrhage. At present he is being managed for firststage sepsis. Hopefully it will fade so he’ll get better or else sepsis might attack all his organs and then it will be difficult to save him.

  What is sepsis I asked.

  It’s a bit like blood poisoning she replied. Quite common in people who abuse drugs. I’m assuming he takes this and that. He has needle marks on his arms.

  As far as I know he is just an alcoholic I said.

  Well one never knows the nurse said and patted me lightly on the shoulder. Anyway I must hurry off now. Goodness you look so alike. I saw in his documentation that you gave him first aid. It probably saved his life.

  I want to see him I said. I’ve got to. I can’t go home until I have seen him.

  She looked at me with stressed eyes. Tore off a piece of hand-towel and wiped sweat from under the hair at the back of her neck.

  Room seven she said.

  Room seven smelled of disinfectant. Bror was lying below oxygen mask plastic tubes heart monitoring leads. There were large red spots on his neck and face. I knew they were keeping him asleep. Perhaps he wasn’t even breathing on his own. I sat down on a chair next to him.

  Remember when we rode limerick down to the shore I said. He was so tall we had to climb up on the fence to get to sit on his back. You were in front. The closer the horse got to the sea the perkier he was. He seemed to sense a swim ahead so he could free himself of clegs and midges.

  We took the path through the forest to avoid cars. When we were just a bit away from the sea limerick began to gallop. You tried pulling on the reins but he just ran faster and faster. You were hanging on to his mane by then and I was holding on to you but then I couldn’t anymore. I fell off and landed on my back. It took a while before you managed to stop the horse. When you found me you thought I was dead. Or nearly. You lay down flat down among the blueberryshrubs so you could speak straight into my ear. I think it was your breath tickling inside my ear that woke me.

  And you cried and snivelled like a child. Well you were a child of course.

  I stood up and leaned over my senseless brother. He stank of stale booze and hospital chemicals. I wasn’t crying. Not snivelling like a child. I wasn’t a child.

  If you go and die I’ll kill you I said into his ear. It too had red rashes on it.

  Stefan and johan were waiting in the corridor.

  He’s alive I said. There’s no point in staying here now. He’s asleep and they won’t wake him up until tomorrow.

  Come home with us stefan said. We’ll cook something and open a bottle of wine. You can stay the night in our guest room.

  Thank you I said. Then I shook my head. I’d like to but some other time. Just now I have to go home and look after the dog.

  When I stepped out into the bus lane outside the hospital I realised john was waiting in the jeep. He took the window down and said that he had heard what had happened.

  I hesitated. Are you sober.

  He nodded. Claimed that he had poured the distilled stuff out soon after I had left and then gone straight to bed.

  Breathe on me I said.

  I jumped in. For twentythirtykilometres we sat in silence.

  I’m making clay men I said. A battalion of drunkards. You’re among them. How long have you been drinking.

  For as long as I can remember he said. When I stopped drinking once I took up painting. Alcohol fulfils the same function. Except the other way round. The alcohol soothes me and the painting alerts me.

  Smart thinking I said. Pity you don’t stick to painting in that case.

  I was angry. Something good had been taken from me. A sense of a connection that I had imagined existed between us removed. Only shabbiness was left. Past pissups and excuses.

  Why didn’t you tell me about you and katarina. You knew I was with her when she died. You hide everything I said.

  You never asked he said. Just as I knew he would.

  Listen I said. There are sixty kilometres left to smalånger. While you drive tell me everything about your life that comes to mind and without waiting for me to ask.

  I can’t he said. I’m not like those people.

  What people.

  People who speak about themselves. Storytellers.

  Who are you then.

  An old tired alcoholic and probably nothing more.

  We stopped talking again and stayed silent fo
r the rest of the journey.

  He stopped at eskilbrännström’s to let himself out and I moved into the driver’s seat.

  Wait here he said. I’ve got something for you.

  He went into the house and emerged carrying a painting covered in cardboard. Have a look at it sometime when you feel like it he said and put it in the back.

  TWENTYEIGHT

  Bror’s condition grew worse over the next few days and everyone seemed to expect him to die. Then the infection subsided and the looming fatality drifted away as quickly as storm clouds over the sea. Next he wanted to go home. I said no. I wanted him to go to a rehab clinic in pite instead. I had fredrik’s fiftythousand. It should be enough for a while.

  There’s nothing really wrong with me bror insisted. I don’t depend on stuff. Can stop it anytime.

  Oh good I said. It will be easy for you in that case.

  The question was still between us. He heard it but hadn’t answered yet.

  Did you intend to die I asked and he nodded.

  And leave me alone.

  He nodded again. You have your life he said.

  Come off it I said. Everyone has a life. Remember the hunting season opens soon. Stay sober and you can join the crew again. Your dog is becoming too much like father’s. Standing by his kennel barking most of the time.

  I don’t give a fuck about the hunt he said but looked away. Bror had always been easily moved.

  All I want is to go home he said. Please agree to my discharge and I promise to stop drinking. By then I had already stopped listening.

  I went back to work for a few days and then to katarina’s house. It smelled of isolation and forgetfulness. Eliminating someone’s presence is a quick process. She was buried with her parents now.

  I wasn’t sure where to begin.

  Her words were in my mind. There’s a letter. Even so I hung back. I could have come along much sooner and started turning everything upside down. But mother’s words of wisdom were stuck in my memory. What you don’t know can’t hurt.

  One pile for throwing away. One for giving away. One for selling.

  The kitchen cupboards were easy. Mostly plates glasses mugs crockery cutlery. Give away.

  The sitting room was harder. Everything could presumably be sold but at what price. I photographed all of it.

  The first floor didn’t have much space only a landing and two rooms but was full of things everywhere. It would take time to clear out.

  The bedroom was easiest. I went through the bedside table and the chest of drawers. Lined things up on the bed. It made me feel odd to root around in katarina’s private life. I had expected to find clues to myself and to john as well but the objects had no stories attached to them. Not even the dildo covered with skincoloured rubber. I pressed the button. It hummed vibrated for a bit and died.

  There were letters though. Not just one.

  I found them in an oldfashioned desk with drawers and a hinged shelf for writing on. They were piled up inside a painted wooden box with the inscription annotwothousand in fancy lettering. The lock had been broken. It dangled on one thin screw.

  Here at the desk was where the village postie katarinakarlsson had been sitting in the evenings opening letters. Read them and replaced them into their envelopes. The addresses were all to people in smalånger. I knew most of them.

  TWENTYNINE

  We were taken to sit in the back of the police car. A policeman was with us.

  You do look alike he said. How old are you. Fourteen almost fifteen we said simultaneously.

  His face looked sad. I wondered why. Today was full of joy. A day to celebrate. A day for lighting candles and eating sundaydinner. A day of freedom.

  Your mother mrskippo he said. We contacted the minister and he should be with her soon.

  Good for her I said. She likes priests.

  We had prayed. In the byre we had put our hands together and prayed. Thank you dear god I prayed because you heard us.

  Thank you dear god bror prayed because you heard us.

  Thank you dear god mother prayed because you heard us. But so quietly only the lord could pick up what she said.

  Mother had told us not to hide things. I had no intention to. I wanted everyone to know.

  The words came easily. They poured out of my mind like the squitters. I told them about the byre and father and the horse and the puppy and bror and mother and jesus and the booze and the neighbours and all the bits and pieces that fitted into the jigsaw I called my life.

  They took turns with breaks in between. One policeman left in tears. Another one took his place.

  They kept prodding bror into saying something. Instead I told them about my failed attempt to kill father with a hayfork.

  Whenever I remembered limerick griefstricken knots formed in my stomach.

  In the end they asked me to describe father’s last day alive. How do you mean I asked.

  From his perspective the policeman said. What happened to him that day.

  So he died I said. And it wasn’t by chance. It was him or us.

  But what if you were to describe your father’s last day as you think it went the policeman said.

  I told him what I knew in the present tense.

  Mother wakes him at half past four. It’s hard to wake him. It was only a few hours since he fell asleep. He hits out at her half asleep. His mouth is sticky with old booze. Some neighbour had dropped in the night before. Allanberg as likely as not. We can hear their voices all the way upstairs. We are scared that they will come up to us. They sometimes do if they want to have us perform. Twins with rabbiteyes who dance and do magic tricks look kind of fun.

  Anyway. Father sits up on the edge of the bed. Sways for a bit until he gets on his feet and pulls on his farming overalls.

  Did you personally see all this asked the policeman. Or is it something you’ve just dreamed up.

  It’s how I think things went I said. Wasn’t that what you wanted bror and I said simultaneously.

  Let her carry on the other policeman said. Or your brother could take over.

  Bror closed himself in again so I carried on.

  Father’s body hurts. He’ll soon be forty. His knees are especially sore. He has a quick look at himself in the small mirror. Thinks he’s not badlooking even though his hair is thinning and food and alcohol have made him fat. Pats his belly and feels the bag that bulges on one side but just then he isn’t thinking about the bag but about us. How ungrateful we are and how we don’t realise how everything is handed us on a plate. Our own rooms and clothes and food. And love as he says. More than he has ever had. He had to make do with scraps passed from one to another over and over. And when they finally fell apart his mother cut them into strips for ragrugs.

  Mother tried to explain to us why father was the way he was bror said. That he always went hungry and was beaten up a lot. How it was only natural that he became the person he was.

  What do you two think about it the policeman asked. Bror shook his head. I don’t know he said. I don’t know either I said but it doesn’t feel right that you torture your own children in revenge for your childhood.

  But did you have the right to kill him in revenge for your childhood the policeman wondered.

  Yes we answered simultaneously.

  There was a pause. We were given a banana each. Then I carried on.

  Mother has made coffee and a couple of sandwiches with liverpaste.

  She pats him on the arm to show sympathy but he slaps her hand. Get off with you woman he says. Can’t you see I’m sore. The bad mood has been brewing even as he slept and it refuses to go away. Instead it grows worse. And mother stands there with a daft smile on her face and tries to make him feel better even though likely as not the last thing he did the night before was beat her up. He hit her and maybe had his rights with her as he would put it. But he can’t remember that bit very well.

  He stands outside on the veranda and farts. Holds on to the railing as he steps into h
is black rubberboots and walks unsteadily towards the byre where the cows are mooing for feed and milking. It is a sunny morning but he doesn’t notice. His body is still sweating alcohol. He longs for a hair of the dog. After the milking he’ll have a stiff one as a reward.

  At ten to six he starts glancing at his watch. The bairns are bleedin late. A pig gets in his way. He kicks it. He manages to hold back from kicking again. And again.

  After another five minutes we drag ourselves along and into the byre. He pretends not to see us. The boy is small and poorly built but tough as a wolverine. The girl is the same. Still they get on with the work and that’s a fact. His eyes follow the girl when she joins the first cow up to the milking machine. She has grown this year. About to be a bonnie lass.

  So bonnie he tells bror. Your sister now he says. Soon I’ll have to stand guard with a gun.

  You couldn’t even guard a sheep bror says. It’s the first time ever that he answers back.

  But that’s all it takes. Father slaps his face. The slap makes bror even more rebellious. He hits father on the belly. Roughly aiming for the shitbag.

  They fight in an empty calf stall. Bror hasn’t a hope but keeps hitting out at what he can reach.

  In the end father gets a grip on bror’s clothes. Lifts him and carries him to the familygrave. The dungheap. And lets go.

  He wants to show that it’s he who makes the decisions and that’s how it will always be.

  It was all my fault I said. Because if I hadn’t run he wouldn’t have run after me. In his big black boots. But he sees me trip over the hayfork. The goddamn hayfork that comes back to get me so I’ve only got myself to blame.

  He regrets it as he rips my clothes off beginning with the milkingcoat. I saw it in his eyes. Not because he’s doing wrong but because from now on his daughter will have something on him.

  Snuff and spit dribble from the corner of his mouth. His eyes look teary.

  Did he cry the policeman asked.

  I don’t think so I say.