When we got to the new plantation just before oldforest I recognised where we were. Now all we had to do was get up the hillside.
Thin smoke from the chimney. I didn’t knock before stepping inside.
He must have been there recently. The embers were glowing in the stove. A half empty mug of coffee on the table. I waited in case he had just gone to get water. Heated the coffee and sat down on one of the two kitchen chairs. Aimlessly checked my mobile. I actually didn’t want to be accessible. At some point during the last few days I had turned it to silent.
There were quite a few missed calls and four text messages.
Hi jana. Would you like to join the local united indoor bandy team.
Thanks but no.
Hi sis. I can come home now please pick me up. Seems the bill isn’t paid. Bror.
Will do.
Hi! This is to draw your attention to unpaid invoice number thirtyonezeroeightyeight from the rosendalen rehabilitation home. Please settle without delay.
Sorry we have no money.
Hi jana. Heard that you met sonja. I would like to talk with you. Ok if we meet tomorrow night. Get in touch. Göran.
After work. I finish at quarter to five.
Then I phoned john. It rang but no reply.
I put lukas on the leash and started walking back to the village. His eager body followed a memory trail of scents stored in his nose and we got back along the route we had come. The excursion had taken a few hours but the evening was not yet over.
The house was cold. The indoor temperature was fourteen degrees.
John’s handiwork the halfmetre billets had still not been logged. The store of last year’s logs was near rockbottom and would at best only last for another day or two. I carried most of them indoors and stacked them next to the boiler apart from one armful for the open hearth.
Before going to sleep I texted john. At quarter to three that night he phoned me.
I shouldn’t have answered.
I saw your car parked at göranbäckström’s he said. He sounded morose. Not angry or upset. But different.
Hello he said. Didn’t you hear what I said.
I did I said.
Why don’t you say something. What am I supposed to say.
Explain what’s going on. How do you mean explain.
Don’t act stupid. You know what I mean.
Would you like to find out exactly what I cooked for supper for göranbäckström’s mother. Or what medicines she takes. Sorry can’t do. Confidentiality rules you know.
He was breathing at his end.
Was there anything else I asked. I start work at quarter to seven.
He ended the call. I couldn’t get back to sleep. Lay awake thinking about our relationship if that was the word for it.
We were of the same kind. Neither belonged to someone else. And no one belonged to us. Our backstories held us together.
But during the brief exchange that night it seemed all that was good about us two together had leached away. Left behind was a sour whiff of jealousy and distrust.
I knew it wouldn’t get better. On the contrary. I would be held to account. I had started already to go over what I had said.
FORTYFOUR
I fell asleep around five and woke again about an hour later. Everything hurt. Even my jaws felt as if I had toothache. As I stood swaying on weak legs and tried to dress I felt as freezing as a runaway dog. My only coherent thought was that I must start the boiler up.
I clung to the railing because the staircase was rocking. Or so it seemed. I loaded the boiler with the last of the logs.
I took two aspirins but still felt out of sorts. Only now I was sweating instead of shivering. The ditch the burn the moor the frost all that. It must have got inside my body. Something john had whispered to me that night in the cottage came back to me. We should marry and have children together. Finally get to know diana.
He had said other things as well. That he didn’t understand how I could give my child away. And that it was something no real woman would do.
I buttoned a winter jacket up to my chin and went to the kennel. Topped up with water and dogfood. I crouched down but could barely find the strength to straighten up again.
Wood I thought. Must get more wood in. Once in the woodshed I remembered that the last batch of logs had been taken inside and burned. I had to get the cleaver going.
At first I couldn’t find the extension lead. Bror’s tiny share of orderliness had left very satisfying traces in the woodshed. There were cupboards with drawers for nails screws nuts staples. Larger objects were stored with intense neatness on the walls. Tools saws axes. Fishing nets and hoop nets and mink traps. Even the kicksled. And the cables were next to it.
The only cable with an outdoor socket looked alarming. The outer sleeve had torn so you could see the individual wires inside it. I found a roll of insulating tape in one of bror’s drawers. With clumsy fingers I wound tape round the cable until it had an unnecessarily thick covering. Connected it to the wood cleaver and put on ear protectors.
The halfmetrelong billets were heavy. Maybe the wood wasn’t even dry. The cold made my fingers quickly lose any dexterity they still had. My arms were aching. My field of vision was narrowing. Just a few more. A contrary knot was so tough that the log snapped off and hit my left hand. It quickly swelled and bled from the knuckles.
Now all I had to do was get the pile of logs into the house. It was a slow job. In the end I did it log by log. I had filled a couple of baskets at first but realised they were too heavy. I couldn’t shift them. I carried wood in my arms instead wandering in and out again enveloped in a weird fog until most of it was on the floor in the boiler room.
I leaned against the wall to recover. My body seemed out of order. Everything was hard. Breathing. Thinking. Walking. In the end I crawled over the threshold on all fours.
Mother was sitting at the kitchen table. She was embroidering. I could even see which verse. God said let there be light. Our lord created the whole world mother said.
I wondered at that. Why did he fill his world with evil.
She said it was mankind that made the world evil. Not god.
Who made father evil I asked. She replied that children who are treated like animals will bite like animals.
What will I be like then I asked. Like your father she said.
I might have slept. I was lying on the hall floor. There was a draught from the front door. My throat was so clogged the oxygen could hardly slip through. My lungs were aching.
Eventually I set out to crawl upstairs to the attic. It felt like climbing to southern slope of afta hill. The last few steps to the bedroom were impossible. I fainted or maybe I fell asleep.
Mother was back. She sat on the edge of my bed stroking my hair. Not so lightly one might wonder if it was really happening but slowly heavily monotonously. Her hands smelled of luxsoap and byre.
We stood on the edge of the grave watching as the fathercoffin was lowered into the hole. But when I leaned forward to cast down my handful of earth bror was in the coffin not father.
It was cold. So cold it was hard to breathe. Snot froze to icicles. We were taking the shortcut across the lake. The springice was up. Thick floes were drifting colliding and leaving gaps with open water. Death waits for you in the gaps mother said. Careful when you jump. I jumped and landed on a floe. Mother jumped and landed on another floe. Mine was floating away or maybe it was hers. I was freezing cold. Wanted to slide into the water to warm up. I put my finger in it. Thirtyseven degrees. I didn’t even bother with undressing. Just sank in the lovely warm water.
But like everything else it grew cooler with time. Like dough left for too long. I felt cold now. Treading water was tiring. My clothes clung to my body. Pulled me down towards the gap mother called the sea of fire. No resurrection exists down there. Nor forgiveness.
I didn’t have the strength. Couldn’t fight. Tumbled towards the bottom. Father was down there caught in
a net. He stared at me looking just like the horse on his way to slaughter. Save me his eyes begged. Do something to save me.
I tugged and tore but nothing I did could get him out of the tightly tied fishing net. When my lungs were almost out of oxygen I swam upwards and left him down there to drown.
FORTYFIVE
A sound woke me.
At first I couldn’t work out where it came from. Then I did. It was my ringtone. My mobile lay next to me on the floor. I pressed a key.
It’s göran. We were meeting. I’m outside your house but the door is locked. Are you in.
I think so I said. I wasn’t sure who he might be or where I was.
What’s up he asked. Aren’t you well. Mum said they had sent someone today who wasn’t you.
My mind grew a little less dim. My body was hurting all over. The pain in my lungs made speaking seem too hard. Or was it in my stomach my back my throat.
I think I’m dying I said. Please can you help me. I’m aching everywhere. Especially my back.
I heard him pull at the door handle.
Is there a spare key he asked. I didn’t know. Fatigue took over. The phone slipped out of my hand.
I was wandering in the valley of waste with worms crawling around my ankles. Allanberg was crying on top of a heap of goldwire with a photograph in his hand. It had faded. But her lips were red.
Come with me I said. I’ll help you to get away from here. You’re in the wrong place. I gave him my hand to hold on to. His long yellow nails dug into my palm. I pulled him along. We had to hurry. To leave gehenna you had to get to the other side of the rubbish dump. He was limping on his prosthetic leg. Whimpered and wanted to stop. He saw that the midden below him was moving with billions of worms twisting and labouring together.
Don’t look down I said to him. Look towards the light.
We walked towards the light. Our feet were gliding over the rubbish. Finally we reached the exit. Fresh air flowed into our lungs.
He let go of my hand. He was crying again standing with the light behind him with his arms along his sides. I was to blame he said. I could have saved her. I was drunk and didn’t even notice that she was giving birth. During the labour they both died.
When I came to again I was in a hospital ward. A couple of days had passed. Tubes sprouted from my arm and groin like bloodsucking leeches.
Thirst had woken me. Could I have something to drink. I spotted a washbasin a bit away. Tried to get up. A nurse came in. She pushed me back and fetched water in a plastic mug. I swallowed a few mouthfuls and threw up on her arm.
She cleaned me with baby wipes and asked me questions. Did I know my name. Jana.
Did I know where I was. In the valley of the shadow of death.
She smiled faintly. I’d say you’re out of that by now she said. You came in with both neuropathic fever and bilateral pneumonia but now you’re through the crisis.
Later I fell asleep again. I didn’t dream. The next time I woke it was dark outside. The only faint light in my room came from a small lamp in a corner.
Someone was sitting in the armchair by my bed. Someone who had fallen asleep. Her blond hair hung over the armrest. She didn’t wake and turn towards me but I knew who she was. She shifted position a little. Saliva dribbled from the corner of her mouth. Still asleep she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Scratched her forehead and slept on.
It was a moment of grace. Just like the moment when she was born.
The intense emotion that filled me was the same as then. The same gratitude. The mind recognised no present time and no future only an immediate now.
The armchair was too far away for me to reach out and touch her. I wanted to let my finger run along her eyebrows. Recall the contours of her lips. I lay on my side scrutinising my newborn child. She was perfect.
She woke disturbed by my concentrated observation of her. Straightened out a little and opened eyes as black as holes in space.
You are my child I said. This time no one can take you from me. Not even katarina.
Was that me speaking. I didn’t recognise my voice.
Who is katarina she asked.
She is dead. But she used to work for the post office here. As a postie. She stole the letters you wrote to me.
Diana looked away. It sounded like a poor lie.
How did you know where I was I asked.
Johnbäckström phoned me she said. The artist.
She didn’t know everything. And I didn’t know how much I should tell her.
Has his exhibition opened I asked. She shook her head. The private view is in a couple of weeks’ time. She looked more assured now.
He said that you’re an artist too. Working in clay.
I’m not so sure about the artist bit I said. I work for the homecare service. But I do muck around with clay.
Every word was an effort. Even my tongue hurt. I shut one eye to better focus the other eye on the young woman next to me. She was tall. Sat with her legs folded underneath her. Her neck was slender like a loon’s but her voice low and deep.
Tell me about something I said. The words came out slowly.
Tell me a fairytale.
She stretched her legs. Put her feet on the edge of the bed. Clasped her hands behind her neck.
Once upon a time there was a girl who was born from a seed. She slept in a seashell on the strand under a thick quilt of fleawort leaves. Her mother watched over her day and night until one night when she was so tired she fell asleep. A sea eagle dived for the shell and stole it as well as the girl.
The mother went searching for her child but the girl was nowhere to be found. She was in the sea eagles’ nest and was brought up with the eaglets. But she grew too large for the nest and had to move into a cleft in a rock by the sea. Sometimes one of the big eagles would come to see her. Mostly they left her alone.
She swam with the seals. Played with the children of the waves. Built castles of sand in the summer and castles of snow in the winter. Raided the fishermen’s boats and stole from their catch and their food stores.
It was said she was the patron saint of sea fishing. No one knew if she was protecting the fish or the fishermen who caught the fish.
One day a boy came down to the beach. He carried binoculars in a strap around his neck. He said he was spotting sea eagles. And had heard there was a strange little one. It could fly without wings and dive like a seal. The boy was an odd child as well. He was small for his age and dark and his mouth looked like a lion’s.
The tale was familiar. It began like thumbelina and ended like. Only I was so tired. Couldn’t keep my eyes open.
When I woke the room was light and the armchair empty. I rang for the nurse.
Sorry but you know the young woman who was here. When do you think it was. The other day or yesterday.
Long blond hair I said.
Now that was a few days ago. She left a note for you. I put it in your drawer. She nodded at the plastic bedside table. My mobile was there too.
I looked at the note once the nurse had left.
See you soon mum it said. Now I’m going to meet the boy on the strand.
And a phone number.
There was something I ought to remember. The feeling was very insistent but however hard I tried to weld the broken wiring of my memory together the past few days stayed as blankly white as mangled sheets.
I switched on the mobile. Very little charge left. Several missed calls. Märitljungqvist göranbäckström bror noragran petrabäckström and two more both unknown numbers.
Four texts. One from john. It was sent yesterday. Diana is with me. She is as lovely as you.
I read the lines many times. As lovely as you.
I dialled the number on her note. Her phone rang out but no reply. After a while an anonymous mailbox voice answered. I left a voice message. Hi diana it’s. It’s jana. Your mum. Please call me. Love.
Then I called john. His mobile was offline.
My body still a
ched and my head especially but at least the tubes had gone. My lungs made a wheezing noise. When I coughed my stomach muscles contracted and my chest burned like fingertips touching embers.
A knock on the door and the doctor entered then a cluster of her followers. The medic produced some of the tools of her job and then asked how I was.
Fine I said. But I’d like to go home. Got to look after the dog.
That’s what neighbours are for she said. Chatted with her acolytes at the same time as she prodded my body from the neck downwards.
This lady contracted haemorrhagic fever with renal syndrome. Also known as nephropathia epidemica. With bilateral pneumonia as an extra. Admitted ten days ago.
She checked her notes. In this case the renal insufficiency was severe enough for us to have to put the patient on dialysis.
She pushed down on my stomach and a strange pain radiated from the pressure point. If you palpate here you will pick up her splenomegaly. Due to the haemolytic component.
The acolytes took turns to push.
The doctor prodded my groin and felt my legs with both hands.
Observe the malnourished state of the patient. She is practically cachexic. It might well have compromised her resistance to the infection.
She pinched my thigh to show off my lack of subcutaneous fat. Knocked with her knuckle on my hip bone. It always sticks out when I am lying on my back.
It always sticks out when I am lying on my back I said.
You ought to eat more. Put on weight. Your bodyweight is. She checked her notes. Fortytwo kilograms. Another ten kilos at the very least.
How long do I have to stay in hospital I asked. Then I had an attack of coughing made worse by having to lie on my back.
You still have a fever she told me.
The patient’s condition may deteriorate she told the others. Despite our efforts to make her well. She’ll be kept under a high level of observation.
The whitecoated squad swept out of the room as fast as it had entered. A nurse came in carrying a breakfast tray.
My Brother Page 21