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My Brother

Page 23

by Karin Smirnoff


  If I was to save myself from the burning fires of hell I would have to save my brother too.

  FORTYEIGHT

  It was time for the staff party at kippofarm.

  Eighteen homecarers plus märitljungqvist and bror were standing together holding glasses of champagne toasting the great evening ahead. Even minus had come along.

  We had laid the table in the bestroom. To seat everyone we had extended the table with both the extra table inserts. It all followed a set ritual with the felt cover first the homewoven linen tablecloth and on top a few embroidered runners with messages for all.

  Bror had insisted on choosing the runners. He had carried a box down from the attic and spread the embroideries out on the floor.

  There were hundreds of them.

  Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death I will fear no evil. Vengeance is mine. I will repay saith the lord.

  If you are hard on yourself how can you go easy with others.

  Can’t you pick something more cheerful I asked him. It’s for a party after all.

  He looked blankly at me. What’s wrong with these he said.

  Nothing. Except that they’re a bit gloomy.

  I think they’re comforting he said. Mother had a feeling for messages.

  Actually I suppose it’s the people who wrote in the bible who had the feeling I said. But she was terrific at embroidery.

  We bickered about this for a while. I laid the table with the kippochina. That was mother’s word for our blueandwhite china that was only taken out for special celebrations. Christmas mid-summer their wedding day.

  Let us walk in the light of the lord. Do not fear for I am with you.

  Such days were days of father raging and getting drunk. Just as I had toyed with the idea of seeing the byre burn I felt tempted to break the kippochina plate by plate.

  Pointless bror said. We’d keep remembering all the same. Every time we realise there’s no good party china the memories will come back.

  He placed the two last embroideries on either side of the silver candlesticks.

  I’ve been thinking about what the minister said about forgiveness I said. Should one really forgive father.

  Bror arranged the cutlery with military precision. Took his time to reply.

  No he finally said. Not father. I know all about his childhood but that is no excuse. Just as I have no excuse for my behaviour towards emelie.

  What really happened to her I asked.

  I beat her he said holding the lighter to one of the seven candles in the chandelier. Our eyes met seeing though the flame.

  First I hit her and then I was unfaithful to her. When she heard that I had been with maria and wanted to leave me I hit her again. The women’s clinic helped her to move out. I expected a police charge but nothing happened. She probably couldn’t bear facing me.

  He sounded factual and unsentimental. Why did you hit her I asked.

  To make her stop talking. You know what she was like. Complained all the time. Never content. The first beating was at christmas. There was a cured herring starter and I was already pissed. Maybe had taken something else as well. Can’t remember. I came to a few hours later. Emelie was sitting in the kitchen knitting. When I saw her bruised swollen cheek and cracked lip I couldn’t grasp at first that I had done it. It was as if mother were sitting there with her embroidery. I went to her intending to comfort her but she pushed me away. Don’t touch me she said. You’re never to touch me ever again.

  And was that how things were left.

  Yes I never got near her again. She was icecold. When I met maria and was with her it felt like a hot bath.

  So you had it off with maria on the side and beat emelie up instead of dealing with your problems I said. It was not meant as an accusation. I only wanted to know.

  Yes that’s fair enough. I couldn’t recall having hit her and felt no remorse. I simply couldn’t understand why she made such a big thing of it.

  Then what happened I asked.

  Emelie was told I was sneaking off to be with maria as soon as her back was turned. Apparently it was katarina who told her.

  Was that why you didn’t come to katarina’s funeral. He nodded.

  You’re such a fucking idiot I said while folding more napkins.

  Emelie came home and told me she was leaving. Fetched boxes from the attic and started to pack.

  And that was when you saw red again is that right.

  Yes he said. As far as I was concerned I had done nothing wrong. If she didn’t want to have anything to do with me I had the right to look for warmth elsewhere. She was welcome to move out. I didn’t mind. Once she was out of the house I could meet maria more often.

  But it didn’t work out like that.

  No. Emelie moved out and maria said it was over between her and me. That was about a year or so before you arrived.

  Bror I said. Can I ask you something.

  You’re going to ask if I killed maria. Yes I said.

  I truly don’t know he said and looked as pathetically unhappy as only my brother can. During that period I was hardly ever sober. I wanted revenge because maria had turned me down. If I wasn’t to have her no one else would. The police noted I had a motive all right. But however much I scrutinise myself I cannot find any answers. If I had done it I should remember something.

  So the police were looking into her death I said.

  Of course they did. What did you expect. A dead woman found in the grass near the sawmill and it turns out she has slept with most of the married men in the village. And a number of others as well. On top of that one of the suspects is a convicted murderer.

  Who I asked. Me of course he said.

  Come on that’s totally different. Killing father wasn’t exactly a crime of passion.

  Maybe so bror said. But that’s not how the police saw it. I was probably near the top of their lists of suspects. As for father I killed him because I hated what he did to you.

  And to yourself I said. And to mother. And the animals. What they call crime passionnel is surely supposed to be motivated by jealousy.

  Precisely bror said. But then they found traces of semen and it wasn’t mine.

  Whose then I asked. Whose do you think he asked as he was placing wineglasses exactly opposite each other. And then another thing happened he said. He called at the house.

  Do you mean john I asked.

  Yes who else. And he was furious. Furious that you had something going with maria.

  Right. He made a huge row. Screamed that there were too many useless fucking fools who didn’t understand that maria was ill.

  Was she though I asked. I knew she became psychotic after petra was born but that was years earlier.

  I didn’t know that bror said and looked surprised. I had believed it was john who went off his head when petra was born. That’s what maria said anyway. It was so bad she didn’t dare leave the baby alone with him.

  There I was again. Caught between one man’s story contradicting the other’s. And me in the middle trying to judge which story was true. Caught between two pissheads with memory deficits.

  John pushed me up against the wall and shouted you leave maria fucking well alone.

  And that you remember clearly despite being sodden with booze all the time I said.

  Yes I do. Oddly enough.

  Or do you remember that episode because it lets you escape the guilt.

  He thought for a while.

  That could well be he said. Perhaps I did kill maria. Whether I did or not is one thing. At the time I wished her dead. Things happen.

  We had to stop talking because there was a knock on the door. My mates from work came pouring into the house. They had crowded into a couple of minibuses that would come and collect them after the party.

  We all rose to drink a toast to the evening ahead. Then bror went to the kitchen to put the final touches to the food.

  Märitljungqvist gave a short speech. Said it made her hap
py to see that I had found my way back home again.

  It could be that I was the only one to notice the effort it cost her to keep her balance.

  Bror was another one with a balance problem. He carried serving dishes and gravy boats with his eyes fixed on the edges of rugs as if negotiating a pavement.

  When we met on the way in and out of the kitchen I would try to make eye contact with him and send a telepathic message that he was to go easy. He pretended to be deaf and blind. Had clearly made up his mind to drink and didn’t want any interference.

  What a very nice place eva said looking around our oldfashioned bestroom.

  We had left the dining table in the centre but the rest of the furniture had been pushed back to the walls as if in a castle hall. The large chandelier hung heavily from the ceiling. The candle flames were reflected in its prisms and made patterns on the walls.

  It has looked like this for as long as I can remember I said. Thinking back I realised how strange it was that a crystal chandelier had found its way into our home. It represented a kind of upperclass style that didn’t fit in with the rest of the house.

  The only modern feature was the stereo record player. If a gramophone from the seventies can be called modern.

  I looked through some of the records and asked what they would like to listen to. Choose anything I said. Except for everttaube and jameslast.

  What’s supposed to be wrong with jameslast märitljungqvist said. She was of the age when jameslast might well bring back happy memories. Her hips were already moving to a seventies beat.

  By then most people had finished eating and the serving dishes with roast elk gravy and potatoes had been emptied.

  Nothing wrong at all I said. It’s just me who can’t stand him. I think of it as lift music.

  What’re you on about. There are no lifts in smalånger she said and gulped down half a glass of wine in one go.

  True I said. I thought about when bror and I had been in a lift for the first time. It was in the care home where father was recovering. Perhaps telling them how I almost killed my father with a hayfork might be thought a thrilling dinner party anecdote. Obviously I would never fit in anywhere but to show willing I put on a jameslast record.

  Everyone ready for pudding bror asked as he collected plates and cutlery. Angelika made an attempt to help but he put his hand on her shoulder and told her not to worry just enjoy.

  What a lovely guy your brother is she said as he gingerly made his way to the kitchen with an armful of dirty dishes.

  Yes I said. He can be great when he puts his mind to it. He likes cooking.

  Angelika leaned closer to me and whispered. Has he got a girlfriend.

  No I told her. Not as far as I know anyway.

  We didn’t get a chance to talk any more about it. The crash as the kippochina dinner service broke into thousands of irreparable pieces drowned out the voices of sixteen females and jameslast.

  I ran to the kitchen. Bror was sitting on the floor surrounded by a mess of broken china and spilt gravy. I slipped on the rug fringes he said.

  He had a cut on his hand and stared at the blood dripping down on his trousers. He looked pissed. He was.

  The entire smalångerhomeservice crowded into the doorway to sympathise.

  Angelika took charge. She lifted bror up with strong arms and told him to sit on a chair. He obeyed. Allowed himself to be washed and a plaster put on by the trained hands of his samaritan.

  The rest of us went back into the bestroom and I pulled the corks on a few more bottles of wine. The party had been a success. Everybody was talking across each other and seemed to get on swimmingly.

  Then someone had an idea. Let’s play truth or dare. Not like at school evasvensson said. But with alcohol.

  Evasvensson was a slender woman in her forties who had started a few months after me. She had moved up north from ystad in the far south and no one knew why. Or more precisely no one could work out why on earth anyone would move onethousandthreehundred kilometres to a dump like smalånger without having any links to the village like friends or even relatives.

  She had brought a bottle of mümmelmann herbal schnapps. The bottle was placed at the centre of the table and bror produced a set of tall schnapps glasses.

  There was hard stuff on offer. His eyes gleamed with excitement.

  You give the bottle a twirl evasvensson explained. When it stops spinning the cork will point at someone. Whoever it is must be prepared to play. Truth means that you’ve got to answer somebody else’s question. Dare means you’ve got to drink a full glass of mümmelmann.

  What does mümmelmann taste like märitljungqvist asked.

  Like medicine evasvensson replied in her husky southern dialect. It was as incomprehensible as any other foreign tongue but despite that evasvensson had quickly become popular. Her frank and cheerful ways somehow deflated the muckspreaders before they got round to join forces against the invasion threat from the south.

  She got the bottle going. After spinning for a while it stopped at erikahansson.

  Erikahansson was a quiet girl who had started in the homecare service straight after school. As far as I could see she was a typical smalånger female who after school had joined the orderly queue for public sector jobs. Husband and child by the time she was twenty. I had no idea how old she really was. Probably twentyfive or so but if someone had said forty I would have believed it.

  But in the glow of the candlelight the thrill of the game had made her cheeks go as red as a bullfinch’s belly. I felt I hadn’t truly seen her before. She was pretty with her beautiful eyes and kind smile. Mother would have thought her someone you could rely on.

  Truth or dare everyone shouted in unison. Truth she said.

  I couldn’t think of anything to ask her. Didn’t think of erikahansson as someone with secrets.

  When did you lose your virginity evalindqvist asked. And because this was smalånger the next question was a nobrainer. Who did you do it with.

  When I was fourteen she said not missing a beat. With fredrikkarlsson.

  That was a surprise. Do you mean katarina’s fredrikkarlsson I said.

  Yes she said without hesitating. Then she spun the bottle.

  It stopped at märitljungqvist. Dare she said quickly and was given a glass of mümmelmann.

  Arrghh she said afterwards and grimaced. Arrgh my ears. They’ve folded double. This is bloody awful stuff she said stressing the words. Then she laughed. As if relieved because she had passed a severe test and come through unscathed.

  The game went on. We twirled and drank and answered questions.

  Have you slept with a woman. Have you been in a threesome. Do you shave between the legs. What’s your most secret sex fantasy.

  Minus had to put up with it too even though he was twisting like a maggot on a hook.

  The first time it was my turn I said dare but when the bottle pointed at me again I had to go for truth. Because by then the rules had just been given an extra twist it was freeforall to add questions if they followed on from the subject of the first one.

  Are you and john an item. No. Do you think he killed maria. No.

  Are you sleeping with each other. It happens.

  Is it true he’s big. Like rumour has it. Evalindqvist made a telling gesture and everyone laughed except bror.

  And just as I was about to answer he happened to knock over a glass of wine so that darkred spills trailed across the starched linen tablecloth.

  Quickly get some salt someone said. No not salt. Use bicarbonate. Or cornflour. Or vinegar on a sponge.

  A flood of practical ideas. Bror came back with a roll of kitchen paper.

  Plenty of tablecloths in this place he said leaning against angelika. He wanted to crawl into her arms to rest on her soft bosoms. Be cared for. Our eyes met and stayed fixed on each other. I picked up his thoughts.

  Go for it I said like a cheerleader.

  By one in the morning the minibuses arrived. The mümmelmanndr
unks squeezed into the seats and were driven home.

  Bror and I cleared away the last glasses and sat for a while in the kitchen. I made tea. Bror carried on drinking wine.

  I thought you were meant to have stopped drinking. So I’ve started again.

  What about the future then I asked. If you go on the way you did before you’ll lose your job again.

  I don’t care he said and pulled his hand through his hair in a habitual gesture though his head was shorn like a new army recruit.

  Is that so. What about me. Am I supposed to act the nanny and watch out so you don’t go off somewhere to die.

  His mobile jangled. A text from angelika. She wants to see me he said. What does she know about me. Everything there is I guess.

  Even that I attempted to murder father he asked. Yes and that you succeeded as well.

  He wrote something in return and got a reply immediately.

  Apparently we’ll meet up tomorrow.

  So she can become your new nanny I thought. But I was pleased for bror.

  Thoroughly grounded Angelika would win out in the long run. Bror who was so detached he almost levitated. Just then he drifted over to the sink. Drank a glass of water and said goodnight.

  Bror was back in his boy’s room in the attic. Together, we had carried all the furniture in the parental bedroom downstairs driven it to the recycling centre and also got rid of the rubbish bags that had been heaped up on the trailer since easter.

  As he went upstairs, the eighth step creaked.

  FORTYNINE

  At first i saw neither john nor diana. All I could see were the enormous paintings which had been framed and hung in groups or singly depending on the scenes they depicted.

  I should have been prepared. Wherever I looked my life was on display.

  And not only my life.

  The paintings were arranged chronologically starting in the forest cottage where a woman lay dead on a wooden bed. A boy was asleep next to her. A man sat on a chair. A dog lay by the door. An embroidered text hung on the wall. Akana mukav tut le devlesa. Romany for I now leave you to god.

 

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