My Brother

by Karin Smirnoff

  His eyes were fixed on the ground as he spoke. As if he needed to see his feet move in order to find the words.

  Maria was vain. She was aware that half the village would have given up an arm or a leg to be with her. It would not be her style to walk about transformed into an emaciated cancer patient. She wanted to die while her illness could remain hidden.

  He looked up and smiled his harelipped smile.

  And then I asked. What happened.

  It was summer. One of the warmest. We could even go swimming in the sea. Maria kept working for as long as she could but she had to stop eventually. She came to see me in the middle of august. We hadn’t met for a long time. We sat on the veranda with our mugs of coffee. Chatted about this and that. Joked about some of the villagers. It felt so familiar.

  Then our talk became serious. She told me she had stolen syringes and morphine. But she needed help to stick the syringe into her arm.

  Why I asked. Surely she could do that sort of thing herself.

  I honestly don’t know he said. With her you never did. Maybe she wanted to avoid dying alone or else she felt I deserved becoming a murderer.

  But why did you agree I asked.

  I responded to her just like everyone else. We all did what she wanted. It was a gift she had.

  Was that also the reason why you had sex with her one last time I asked. He looked up and his surprise seemed genuine.

  Fuck bror. We walked silently arm in arm. By now the snowfall was so heavy we could barely make out the road in front of us.

  Did she die in that clearing or somewhere else I asked. She died that evening in my house. During the night I carried her to the mill. And you think nobody saw you.

  No I don’t think anyone did. You are the only one who knows what happened.

  What about the police. They must have found traces of you. Like fingerprints or marks left by your feet.

  I wasn’t so stupid not to have thought about that he said. I wore gloves and overshoes from the homeservice storeroom. I don’t know what people have told you but the police didn’t make a great performance about her death. For a little while they went housetohouse asking questions because everyone knew who she was and what she had been doing. Bror with his backstory was clearly of interest to them at one point but they eventually ditched any suspicion of murder. The syringe was left in her vein. Her body had all the signs of longterm morphine dependence. And the postmortem showed that the cancer had spread extensively. She was dying.

  But still I said. But what he asked.

  It makes me uneasy to think I’m the only one who knows.

  Don’t you trust me he asked. No I said. I suppose I don’t.

  He stopped abruptly made a left aboutturn and took hold of my upper arms like a parent about to tell a child something that really mattered. I was getting fed up with the way people gripped my upper arms. Especially john. As if I were the one with poor hearing not him.

  Maria died by her own hand. But with assistance. I sat next to her. Held her hand to the last. I think she was too frightened to die on her own.

  We walked on.

  As far as I can see it’s impossible to find out the truth I said. The true stories go this way and that far too wildly.

  It could well be he said. But now I’ve told you everything. I have no more secrets.

  Do you miss her I asked. Of course I do. Maria was maria.

  Maria was maria. By then we had arrived at the crossing for eskilbrännström’s.

  And what about you he asked. Do you think of her as a lost sister.

  Not exactly I said. You can’t really lose something you’ve never had.

  Unlike diana he said. Yes unlike her I said.

  You’ll find your way back together that I’m certain of he said.

  You know nothing about it I said.

  Come home with me he said. Put his arm around me and pulled me towards his house but I hung back. Maria clung to his other arm. I let go first.

  FIFTYONE

  Bror and angelika had dressed the house for christmas. Not for a plain kippostyle christmas with a tree hung with coloured balls. The entire house was like a stage set for a romantic christmas comedy. Waves of coloured fairylights hung along the roofs. The windows were chockfull of wreaths churches mangers shiningstars amaryllis and candles. Small santas peeped out from behind the curtains. The usual homewoven white ones had been replaced by mother’s handcrocheted red curtains which bror had rooted out from one of the boxes in the attic. More santas sat in rows above the stoves dangling their stuffed legs in plastic boots. Even the ragrugs had been exchanged for others in chrismassy colours.

  When I came in they were dressing the tree. It was a fourmeter giant they had cut down to make room at the top for the christmas star. Angelika had climbed a ladder and placed the balls and whatever other decorations bror handed her. And for every new item he handed her and she took they beamed lovingly at each other. A fairy had passed by and waved her wand.

  How was church bror asked. Alternative I said. The padre had skived off. John was there. Besides where did you find that tree I asked.

  At the johanssons’ sheepshed near the grazing meadows bror said. Only he and I knew the precise meaning attached to that geographical location.

  Even now maria was directing the performance from the other side. Hopefully this was bror’s last venture in that direction or else angelika would suffer one day.

  It’s so nice that you’re here with us I said to her and meant it. Without you I doubt if we’d even have a tree.

  At least only if I had been out cutting it I thought and kept an eye on my brother who carried on handing up shiny balls with an adoring smile all over his face.

  We’ve got glögg he said. Ready to be warmed up.

  At that moment I said something that surprised me as much as it surprised bror.

  I’m going across to see mother.

  The home for the elderly in smalånger had been built on a hill near the river. The parking lot still hadn’t been cleared of snow.

  I knew roughly where to go and look for her.

  A carestaff person was in the kitchen arranging slices of cake on a dish. Sirikippo I said. Which room is she in.

  Third door to the right she said and carried on with what she had to do.

  I waited for a little while outside the third door to the right. Faint sounds of a tv programme came from inside. I knocked and entered.

  She was sitting in a wheelchair near the window. At first she seemed to be asleep. One of her hands was held to her breast at a twisted angle. When she turned to face me I thought I might have stepped into the wrong room. Half her face had collapsed as if muscle fibres had given way and let her face sag into a featureless mass near her chin.

  From inside the other half of her face sirikippo’s healthy eye followed her daughter advancing across the freshly polished lino. I sat down on a chair opposite hers.

  Hello I said. It’s snowing outside.

  Her functioning hand straightened the tablecloth that had become a little rucked up. Then she put her hand on my arm. I was still wearing my outdoor jacket.

  Jaana she said. I had even forgotten her voice and the way she said my name with a long aa. It’s so good of you to come. I have been hoping that you would.

  Her voice was almost as I remembered it but the words took longer to fall into place.

  It has been a long time I said. How are you.

  Well enough she said. I’m well looked after. No complaints. I’ve even got my own tv.

  We looked out through the window together. It faced a deserted back garden with snowcovered seats that nobody would sit on until the summer.

  The silence between us lasted until a woman knocked and entered without waiting for an answer. She put a tray between us and poured us coffee straight from the cafetière.

  There you are siri your christmas coffee. And for your visitor. So nice to have someone call. Your daughter is she. Or perhaps your granddaughter.


  Mother didn’t bother to reply. Read to me she said when the woman had left.

  I reached for the bible and opened it at random but when I tried to start reading my voice wouldn’t obey.

  I don’t want to I said. Won’t you come back with me to kippofarm instead. We’ll celebrate christmas with bror and angelika. I’ll drive you back here tomorrow.

  Is it what you really want she asked.

  Yes I said. I thought no. But now it was too late. I hadn’t expected her to react so quickly but she straightaway wheeled her chair over to the wardrobe and pulled out a suitcase. We hadn’t even touched the coffee.

  Will you pack my toothbrush and nightdress and the book she said with her back turned to me.

  I helped her on with her coat and hat pulling her dead arm through its sleeve. Her skin was as cold as a grass snake’s. When I pushed her wheelchair through the dining room her manner was queenly as she waved goodbye to the other inmates taking afternoon coffee and cake. Their eyes followed us with their thoughts wafting around and above us.

  Poor souls mother said. They can hardly remember their own names.

  It was tough pushing the wheelchair along against the snow. Doubt made my arms ache.

  Can you stand I asked and she nodded. Heaved herself upright. Teetered and slumped against me. She smelled the way she always did. It was a mixture of luxsoap and byre. In the end I had to lift her into the high passenger seat of the jeep.

  It had stopped snowing. Is this your car she asked.

  No I said. It’s bror’s. It’s very impractical she said.

  I turned on the radio to programme two. Afternoon news in finnish.

  Herran jestas mother said. I asked what she had just said. Herran jestas she repeated. Puhas kurjuus.

  Do you know finnish I asked. I had never heard her speak it. As far as I could remember she spoke like the rest of us. Except when she said my name.

  That is meänkielä she said. Our language. Your language too.

  How do you mean our language.

  Finnish as they speak it in tornedalen. I come from tornedalen didn’t you know that.

  No I said. I thought you. (had hatched from an egg out on the longmoor).

  You two came with me to visit once. You and bror. You were only little. Maybe six.

  I sneaked a look at the woman who was rocking in time to an accordion tune.

  She wasn’t even that old. Around seventy. Her skin was still smooth on the healthy side of her face. Once a long time ago we called her äiti. Not mother.

  Listen jaana she said. That man’s playing is very fine. Do you remember how we used to dance. I taught you to dance the polka. Säkkijärvenpolkka.

  Pa pa ra pa pa pa ra pa ra. Pa ra pa pa pa ra pa pa pa paa she sang to me.

  We had a gramophone with a handle and mother would take it out sometimes when father was away working. But we didn’t dance I said. That wasn’t something we did.

  You’re wrong about that she said.

  The radio was playing more finnish tunes but the closer we came to kippofarm the more silent she became. I stopped the engine. She made no sign of wanting to get out of the car.

  It was so long ago she said. My poor child. How she suffered. She turned to me.

  Did you ever get to know my child she asked and her expression showed no recognition of me as her child. She blinked a tear away from her good eye. The other eye was still drooping somewhere halfway down her cheek.

  I’m jana I said. Your child. Well one of them.

  But I had three children. No you had two children I told her. Twins. Bror and me.

  And maria she said. Oh dearie me.

  Did you have a child named maria I asked and she nodded. So sad but she was on the side. The kläppi had to be adopted at once. And of all places on earth she ended up in smalånger.

  Was that why you came here I asked. I don’t rightly remember she said. But I was meant to marry your father I think.

  Was he maria’s father I asked.

  No no she said. He didn’t even know maria existed. No one knew that except for me.

  Then who was her father I asked trying to make eye contact with her.

  She just sat in silence for a while staring straight ahead. When she finally turned her head to look at me her gaze was as clear as the coldwellwater.

  That part of the story is not for telling she said very slowly.

  I lifted the wheelchair from the trailer and pushed it round to stand at the passenger door. Bror had been clearing the snow. Every step up the veranda had a flaring torch on it. I helped mother to the wheelchair. She seemed to have grown heavier. Or perhaps all the stiffening energy had leached out of her. I’m cold she said. Nurse hurry so we get into the warmth.

  Bror had come out on the veranda. I could just see angelika a bit behind him.

  They had brought lukas in from the kennel. He made his way outside between bror and the door and jumped up on mother’s knee to say hello.

  It’s that lukas she said. Fancy him still being alive. He must be thirtyfive if he’s a day.

  She stroked his head. He licked her dead hand.

  Bror pushed mother into the bestroom. She couldn’t see enough of it.

  Oh dearie me she said. Dearie me this looks something else the way you’ve done it up.

  I went back outside to drive the car into the garage. Now that the snow had stopped falling the cold was setting in. The air was chilly and clear. Northern lights played across the sky. The stars were not out yet.

  Angelika had helped mother take off her coat and hat. She was halfsitting halflying on the velvet sofa with a cushion under the small of her back watching as angelika and bror got the diningtable extensions into place. The chandelier was already lit.

  Don’t forget the undercloth she said. And use granny’s linen tablecloth on top. It’s christmas after all.

  Granny’s white tablecloth still had palepink stains of spilled wine. Mother’s voice was unmistakably issuing orders. Now and then bror’s and my eyes met. Had I brought home the wrong oldie.

  We went to the kitchen. Angelchimes were chiming powered by slender candles. Angelika was choosing music. Peterjöback bror said. Say what you like that lad can sing.

  I’ll come home for christmas. I share my feelings with you.

  At least it wasn’t jameslast.

  There was a knock on the door. Almost a thump. Frozen people could be heard shuffling and snorting in the hall. Lukas was barking.

  Göranbäckström and sonja put their boots in the coldlobby and called out merrychristmas.

  I invited some old friends bror said. Thought we’d need it.

  Soon afterwards there was more knocking. And again and again. The hunting crew.

  Stefanhansson and his johan. Petra. Noragran and her gunnar. Märitljungqvist and nordin the corpseshifter. Several people from my job and other people as well whom I barely knew but who had decided that kippofarm was the place to celebrate christmas.

  In a chink between the calls of merrychristmas and merry-christmas I slipped away and went up to the attic taking a long stride to miss out the eighth step.

  I locked myself into my girl’s room. The swedish nineteenhundredandseventyfour national team watched me with serious eyes. But I wasn’t trying to hide. I just needed a moment by myself.

  I burrowed into my wardrobe to find a dress. Sniffed the material in the armpits. It would do and I pulled it over my head. I couldn’t remember when I wore it last. At my confirmation. Or never.

  It fitted me. It was unfashionable. It had to do.

  Music and voices filtered through the wooden floor. We used to lie in bed listening trying to gauge the shifts in tone. Music at a higher volume than before. Raised voices. Footsteps on the stairs.

  I needed a pair of shoes to go with the dress. I came to me that pairs of mother’s good shoes were kept in the coldattic. I found a pair of black ones with low heels that didn’t look too evangelical. While fixing the straps I caught sight
of the forgotten painting.

  I hadn’t given it a thought since I put it away. Now I dragged it to my room shut the door and ripped the brown cardboard cover off. It wasn’t framed. Just stapled onto a bit of softboard. I stared at it for so long I almost became part of it. The scene it showed was as logical as most things in our lives. Or as illogical.

  More knocking on the door downstairs. Diana’s hoarse voice reached me through the floorboards. And john’s.

  I looked at myself in the small shaving mirror on the wall. My loosened hair was hanging down my back. My lower lip had a painful crack. I squeezed out a little baby cream and smeared it on my mouth and my cheeks which were flaky with cold.

  Then I went downstairs.

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