‘We’ll have a look at you, and then we’ll talk about options.’
‘Options? What options?’
She took a breath and adjusted her lapel, making sure her badge was showing. ‘If we could look back through your family history, we will probably find a high incidence of cancer-related deaths, particularly ovarian. We can talk about ways to mitigate your risk going forward.’
I was barely keeping up. ‘What are you saying?’
‘Well, we could look at screening to begin with, and if that shows any anomalies then we can talk about preventative surgery.’
And just like that, my creeping affection for her vanished. ‘You want to cut me open.’
‘Well, no, of course not, but if it turns out you are at risk then I think we should consider—’
I was still hearing myself saying ‘cut me open’ when I stood up and walked away. Dagrun didn’t try to stop me.
I went back to the hotel and spent the night with Mr Klein’s notes, beginning with Silje Ohnstad.
Klein had drawn me a family tree that went back more than a hundred years. Silje Ohnstad and I were related, cousins, which shouldn’t have surprised me given the size of Fólkvangr. Klein wrote at length about her. In places he seemed infatuated, in others, angry enough to have killed her. He wrote how sorry he was to have such thoughts, and then wrote out loud that he would kill himself.
So he’d always had it in him.
I wondered if he was angry enough to have betrayed the village to take his revenge on her.
Maybe that’s why he’d stayed in Norway, enduring a lifetime of misery instead of returning to Germany. Maybe that was the guilty secret that had driven him, eventually, to take his own life. For such a thought to even enter my head I’d had to abandon almost two decades of history and hearsay. But now the idea had planted itself, I knew I’d never let it go.
* * *
‘No.’ Monica shook her head. ‘It’s not possible. It doesn’t even make sense.’ She pushed the notes off her bed, onto the floor.
‘Would you just think about it for a minute.’ I gathered the papers, reams of them, carefully ordered and annotated over four nights, and now scattered across the tiles. ‘What if Klein found out about the Jew?’
‘Your father confessed! Are you saying that he did that to protect a Nazi?’
‘Or maybe he confessed to protect someone else.’ I was flailing, grasping at anything, no matter how thin and fragile it was. ‘Silje Ohnstad. He loved her. If she betrayed the village wouldn’t he give up his own life to protect her?’
‘Silje Ohnstad,’ my mother said. ‘You’re going to accuse Silje Ohnstad of betraying Fólkvangr. Good God, Brigit, the woman’s a national hero! And why? Why would she do that? You’ve read the books; you know what the village meant to her. Why would she—’
‘Okay, not her. I get it.’ I pushed the bundle of papers into my rucksack and dropped into the chair.
Monica struggled and growled until she was lying where she could see me. ‘Did you have the check-up?’
I said I had. ‘You should have warned me about smear tests.’
‘It never came up.’ She replied promptly, seeming to have had the answer ready for years.
She took a mouthful of water straight from the jug and then settled back into her pillows, staring at the ceiling. ‘One day, this will all be nothing to me. Everything I’ve seen or heard or touched will just vanish.’ She swivelled her eyes towards me. ‘That’s the way I see it. The world is ending, not me.’
‘And am I ending too?’
She tried to roll over so she wouldn’t have to look at me. She was in too much pain so she just settled for closing her eyes. ‘Not you,’ she said. ‘You and me will outlive everything else.’ She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and asked me if I’d had the results back.
‘Dagrun spoke to me,’ I said.
‘Who?’
‘Dagrun, your doctor?’
‘Oh, you mean Doctor Nese?’
‘Probably. Anyway, I have “abnormal cells” according to her.’
‘And?’
‘And I have nothing to worry about yet, but I should worry nonetheless.’
‘Oh,’ said Monica. ‘I’m sorry, Brigit; really I am.’
‘It’s not your fault.’
‘Bad genes,’ she said.
‘More like bad luck.’
‘What are you going to do?’
‘Well, first of all, I’m going to have my wisdom teeth out.’
Monica blinked at me.
‘Two of them are rotten, the other’s impacted. The last one never came through. You never told me I had bad breath.’
‘It never came up.’
‘This isn’t funny, Mother.’
‘It must be recent,’ she said. ‘I never noticed it. I would have told you.’
‘Like you told me about the smear test.’
‘Oh for God’s sake, Brigit.’
‘I’m not talking about mine; I’m talking about yours. The one you had a year ago. The one you did nothing about.’
She stared at my shoulder, wringing a corner of her sheet in her hands. ‘We had to run. If we’d stopped then they would have found us.’
‘So that was the plan, was it? Just keep running until you were just a big fleeing tumour.’
‘Yes, that’s exactly what I did. And I did it for you.’
‘That’s just it! I wouldn’t have wanted you to do that! I would have wanted you to go to a hospital and get well!’
‘Well, what’s done is done, and if it would save you then I’d do the same again.’
‘No,’ I said. ‘This isn’t mine. This big mound of guilt you’re trying to push is yours and yours alone. No one is chasing us, Mother. They’ve forgotten Dad, they’ve forgotten us. The only person keeping the hatred alive is you. I just haven’t figured out why.’
I shouldn’t have said it. I thought she would fly into one of her rages, tell me what she’d sacrificed to keep me safe from Fólkvangr’s ghosts. She didn’t, and I think in some ways that was much worse.
‘I think maybe you’d better go.’
‘I’ll come back tomorrow,’ I picked up my bag, ‘when we’ve both had some rest.’
‘I think perhaps…’
‘Perhaps what?’ I said, though I already knew.
‘I think you’re right; neither of us can do this anymore.’
‘That’s what I’ve been saying. We don’t have to. When you’re better, we can get another apartment. We can go back to school, maybe think about university.’ There were tears running into my mouth; I was lying to myself. I knew what she meant, but I thought if I could lay out my dream for her, instead of us both chasing across Norway, living hers, then we could connect again.
But Monica is Monica, and the only dreams worth pursuing are those that keep us running. ‘I meant that we shouldn’t be together anymore.’
I waited to see if she would say something else, or take it back. ‘So, are we talking about forever?’ I chose the last word carefully; I wanted her to understand what she was saying.
She looked away, shrugged her thin shoulders. ‘I don’t know; maybe. Yes.’
‘Okay,’ I said. ‘Right.’
‘You want your own life, and I don’t blame you. It takes a quiet, constant courage to survive against the—’
‘Oh, don’t you do this.’
‘You’re a different generation, Brigit. More ambitious, perhaps not as strong. I understand why you would want something more for yourself. But this is the life chosen for us, and we have to make the best of it. You think I enjoy this? You think that I didn't want a normal life, with a house and a husband and brothers and sisters for you? I wanted all of those things when I was your age, but your father denied them to me.’ She sniffed loudly and tugged at her chemo line. ‘At least you don’t have children; be thankful for that.’
* * *
Dagrun was waiting outside the room when I came walking briskl
y out. She asked me where I was going.
‘Home,’ I said. ‘I’m going home.’
She hurried after me. ‘She’s not thinking straight, Brigit.’
‘Were you listening?’
‘Yes,’ she said without an ounce of shame. ‘She’s going to die; that’s hard to take in, even for someone like her.’
‘She’s not my problem anymore, Doctor Nese; she’s yours.’
‘You don’t mean that.’
‘I’ve been out there. For the first time in my life, I’ve been out in the world, without her paranoia screaming in my head. And you know what I found? Aside from the occasional knife-wielding maniac, Norway doesn’t hate us. They don’t even care. So now I ask myself, what are we running from? Or are we just running because that’s all she knows how to do.’
I thumbed the elevator button while Dagrun played with her name badge, trying to think of a few words that would fix everything.
‘She does love you’ was the best she could come up with. I told her that I never doubted it. The emotional approach wasn’t working, so she returned to familiar ground: medical reasoning. ‘She’s damaged, psychologically. I suspect you both are.’
‘But only one of us wants to get well.’
‘And while she’s here, we can make her better.’
‘This is the only life she knows. She doesn’t want to live any differently. Maybe she’s right; maybe I’m not as strong as her. It doesn’t really matter. I’ve just had enough.’
The elevator doors opened. Dagrun slid past me to stand inside and place a finger on the hold button. ‘You will come back though, won’t you.’
I promised I would be back tomorrow and she seemed happy with that.
* * *
I returned the following day for more tests and another talk with Dagrun. She said I should consider a hysterectomy as a ‘precautionary measure’.
I flat out refused.
‘Were you planning on children?’ she asked.
I said I wasn’t planning on anything, but even then that was a lie. In the few weeks I’d been on my own, strange dreams of a different life had taken hold.
I could change my name.
I could leave Norway.
I could start again.
I could marry.
I could have children of my own.
I’d never thought of any of this, not while running in Monica’s shadow, but now – God forgive me – now that I thought I’d soon be free of her, I could see a future far less grey.
I stayed for a few more weeks. I had three fillings, two wisdom teeth removed, and lunch with Doctor Nese, who sat on the side of my bed and fed me cold soup.
‘That’s going to hurt for a bit,’ she told me, ‘but it should fix the halitosis.’
‘Don’t you have other patients?’ I asked sharply. My whole head hurt, and I really wasn’t in the mood for her peculiar kind of bedside manner.
‘No,’ she said flatly and fed me another spoon. ‘It’s my day off.’
‘And you want to spend it in the hospital?’
‘No family.’ She pushed the spoon into my mouth before I could ask her any more questions. ‘Besides,’ she said, looking around my room, ‘I really like it here.’ When she looked back to me her eyes were shining, like she’d seen magic in the walls.
‘Really?’
‘Yes. The place is a great cure for self-pity. I see people come here and fade away. Sometimes it takes a few days, sometimes more than a year, and in that time, no one comes to see them. Not family, not friends.’
‘Perhaps they don’t have any.’
She put the spoon down in the bowl and rubbed at her name badge with her finger. ‘Your mother’s talking about discharging herself. She thinks the hospital isn’t safe.’
‘She’s determined to die on the run then.’
‘Don’t say that.’
‘It’s true. And she knew you’d tell me.’
Another spoonful of soup and a change of subject: ’What will you do? When you get out of here, I mean.’
I shrugged, and it made my jaw ache. ‘I was thinking of going to Fólkvangr.’
The spoon stopped about an inch away from my mouth. Dagrun looked at me as though I’d lost my mind. ‘You are joking.’
‘My family has avoided the place like trolls avoid daylight,’ I said. ‘I think it’s time one us went there and said sorry, don’t you?’
‘I don’t think that’s very wise,’ she said, ‘and I think it would look…’
‘Disrespectful?’
‘Well… yes. There are still people living in the mountains, you know.’
‘Yes, I know.’
‘And if they recognise you…’
‘Now you sound like my mother.’
She chewed nervously at her lower lip, and then put the spoon in my mouth. ‘When are you going?’
‘As soon as my face stops hurting.’
‘That could be a few weeks then.’
‘In that case, tomorrow.’
‘That’s far too soon. We still need to talk about your treatment.’
‘You said yourself, I’m not sick yet.’
‘And we can stop you getting sick.’
I told her no. ‘I’ll come back, I promise, but I have to do this first.’
‘Fólkvangr,’ she said.
‘Yes, Fólkvangr.’
Chapter 28
The children’s love for Freya rivalled Silje’s own. They would play games with her senses, demanding she name flowers from scent alone, or speaking in ever-fading whispers until their voices were lost to her.
‘You have the ears of a mountain goat!’ Jesper Bergström said.
Ingrid Haud, riding her bicycle in tight circles around them, nodded her agreement.
‘I should hope not,’ Freya said, pulling Jesper to one side to avoid her.
‘Why not?’ said Ingrid, ‘You do not know what a goat looks like.’
‘But I do know what a goat looks like.’
‘Then you are very brave.’ Jesper said. ‘I would never run my hands over the face of a goat, even one I knew very well.’
‘Do not be silly, Jesper,’ said Ingrid, ‘Freya is far too pretty and clever to ever do something like that.’
Freya blushed. ’Do you think I’m pretty?’
‘You are very pretty.’ replied Jesper, and Ingrid cuffed his shoulder on her way past. ‘Though you are not as pretty as Ingrid.’
‘Well, how could I be?’
‘Ingrid is the prettiest thing in all Fólkvangr.’
She rode past him again with her fist raised.
‘If not the whole world!’ he added desperately.
Silje watched them from her seat in front of the village hall, and took deep breaths to calm her heart.
‘Hello, Silje.’
‘Hello Freya, children.’
Ingrid treated Silje to a musical good morning she composed on the spot. Jesper, however, said nothing.
‘The weather is turning at last,’ said Freya. ‘I am looking forward to a little more warmth.’ She sat down and brushed Silje’s arm with her smallest finger; Silje thought her heart would burst.
‘You will not feel much warmer, I’m afraid, but there will be more sunlight.’
‘Which means little to me.’
‘Of course. Forgive me.’
‘I will,’ Freya said, ‘always.’
The children looked at them both with bemused eyes.
‘Jesper, Ingrid, I’m afraid I must steal Freya away from you for a short while.’
‘Why?’ said Jesper, throwing the question from behind a churlish pout.
‘Village matters, young man,’ Silje replied. ‘Nothing for your small ears.’ Though she thought Jesper’s ears were in fact quite large.
‘No,’ he said.
Ingrid cried, ‘Do not be rude, Jesper!’
‘I am not being rude. I will not let Freya go anywhere with her.’
Freya’s mouth fell open, and S
ilje herself was too stunned to speak.
‘She is a traitor. Everyone says so. She helps the Germans collect the Jews and kill them. That is what everyone says, isn’t it, Ingrid?’
‘I cannot lie to you, Silje.’ Ingrid turned her eyes to the ground. ‘It is what they say.’
‘I think you should both go,’ Freya said softly.
‘I won’t leave you, not with her.’
‘Then will you please say you’re sorry?’
‘It is all right, Freya. He does not have to.’ Silje brushed down her dress and said she would go home; there was much to be done at the cottage.
‘I will come to see you.’
‘Perhaps tomorrow,’ and while Jesper watched her for signs of treachery, she kissed Freya lightly on the cheek. ‘I think today is not a good day.’
* * *
At the cottage, Jon Ohnstad was loading bundles of orchids onto his truck, his melancholy reflecting her own.
‘Why are you sad?’ Silje said to him. ‘When people finally see the beauty in what you grow.’
‘It is for funerals,’ he replied. ‘For the Norwegians who fall to free us, and the Jews murdered for the way they choose to worship.’ He gazed at his field where the orchids grew. ‘I sometimes wonder if I will have enough left for my own son.’
‘Father, nothing is going to happen to Magnus, do you hear me?’
He nodded sadly and climbed into his truck. ‘I envy you. Would that I could walk through life and remain untouched by it.’
He hadn’t meant to be cruel, but it was cruel all the same. He started the engine and waved, smiling in a way that said his daughter alone would not be enough.
Silje went inside and sat by the fire. The day is hollow because the newsletter has arrived, she reminded herself, that is all. It is why the village shuns you and Jesper despises you, no matter what you meant to him before. She remained there for more than an hour, motionless and on the edge of tears, until the kitchen door slowly creaked open.
Freya sniffed at the air then ran to embrace her. ‘I have missed you,’ she said.
Silje tried to pull away. ‘Freya, I told you – tomorrow.’
‘I wanted to see you today.’ She tightened her hold until Silje could barely breathe. ‘You should not care so much what people say.’
The Quisling Orchid Page 27
