by Philip Teir
He took off his jacket. ‘So Elisabeth has been over to visit?’
It took a moment for his mother to answer. Over the last ten years Ebba’s health had been up and down, but it was her moodiness that had been the major problem. These days she took antidepressants, a dozen pills with names like escitalopram and mirtazapine. Max didn’t know much about medicines, but she had seemed happier during the past two years, so apparently the pills helped. He had a feeling that she wasn’t the only resident of the nursing home who took pills for depression. He assumed that he would end up doing the same when he got older.
‘Yes, she was here … when was it? Last week? Was it Christmas last week?’
‘No, two weeks ago.’
She nodded.
Max felt a pang of guilt. If he’d had a car he could have brought his mother home for the holidays and let her celebrate Christmas with the girls and with Amanda and Lukas, but it was too late for that.
‘The grandkids came over for Christmas. They’re getting so big.’
Ebba didn’t respond, so Max searched for something else to say.
Suddenly she asked, ‘Does Amanda still play the piano?’
‘I think so.’
‘I’m glad. It’s good to play music. It’s good for your health.’
Max nodded. For a few minutes neither of them spoke, and he thought how good it was that she was able to live here.
‘I’m thinking of staying overnight at the cottage.’
He spoke louder than normal, even though he knew there was nothing wrong with her hearing.
‘How is Katriina?’
She was looking at him intently.
‘She’s fine. She’s on a trip to the Philippines right now. For work.’
‘Oh,’ she said. ‘The two of you travel so much.’
Max turned away and stared out of the window. Then he picked up the tube of hand cream, unscrewed the top, and sniffed at the contents. It smelled pleasant, like the sea. His mother had always had cosmetics at home – hand creams and suntan lotions – and in the sixties she’d even worn a fur coat, since his father had been so adamant about keeping up with the bourgeois customs of a provincial town.
Max remembered that as a child he would wrap his mother’s fur coat around him after she’d hung it up. It was a good hiding place because it reached all the way to the floor, and it became almost a daily retreat for him, embraced by its warm darkness. As a grown man he was struck by what a Freudian image that was, practically a parody. His mother had meant everything to him when he was a child, since he never felt comfortable with his father’s passion for sports and physical strength. Vidar wanted his son to take up skiing and orienteering, but Max preferred to read books. At most he might kick around a football, and later on he rode a motorcycle to various parties in the Österbotten region.
If Laura hadn’t been waiting for him in town, Max would have stayed longer. But after half an hour, or maybe forty-five minutes, he couldn’t help glancing at the door.
‘Well, I think I’d better get moving.’
He knew that for Ebba the most important thing was that he’d turned up at all. She had other things to keep her occupied here, other people she could talk to, various activities and visits. A couple of years ago, Max had received a phone call from one of the staff. She told him that his mother and one of the other patients, a man named Harald who was close to ninety, had started up some sort of relationship. Harald had his own car, so their plan was to drive down to Helsinki to visit Max and his family. Harald also had relatives in the city. But after multiple discussions with the staff and with Elisabeth, everyone had agreed that it would be a bad idea, since Ebba would have a difficult time getting from her wheelchair into a car. Both Ebba and Harald vigorously protested this decision, and in an outburst of almost adolescent rebellion, they threatened to make the trip all the same. But Max managed to persuade his mother to take the train to Helsinki instead, accompanied by Elisabeth.
Harald passed away only a few months later, and since then Ebba had not mentioned any more car trips.
Now she nodded as she looked at her son. Max wondered whether he ought to help her back into bed, or leave her where she was.
‘Would you like to go to the dining hall?’ he asked.
She stared at him for a moment without speaking. Then she said, ‘I think I’ll just sit here and read the paper.’
‘Okay, Mum. I’ve got to go now.’
‘All right. Take good care of Katriina,’ she told him.
‘I will, Mum.’
Then Max got to his feet and picked up his jacket. He went over to his mother and gave her a hug. She smelled the way she always did now, of medicine and the food that they served in the home. Her cheek felt cool, and her hair was so soft, like that of a young child. Max’s parents had been married for decades, but how happy had they really been?
He went back out to the corridor. The woman he’d spoken to earlier was setting the tables for dinner.
‘So, you’re off, are you?’ she said.
‘Uh-huh. I’ve got to head back home.’
‘How was she?’
‘She seemed fine.’
‘She’s a very special lady. You have a very special mother.’
‘Thanks.’
When Max stepped outside, he found that the wind was blowing hard. As he started walking towards town, he rang Elisabeth.
‘Okay, I saw Mum and I’m just leaving now.’
‘What are you going to do next?’
‘I’m going to spend the night at Råddon.’
‘Isn’t it a little cold for that?’
‘It’ll be fine.’
‘How are you going to get out there?’
Max paused for a moment before replying. What should he say? As far as his sister knew, there was nobody who could drive him out to the cottage.
‘I suppose I’ll take a cab.’
‘I can come and pick you up in the morning if you like. And drive you to the bus. You’re taking the bus home, right?’
‘No, that’s not necessary. I’d like to do some writing, so I’m not sure when I’ll be leaving.’
‘Okay. If you think you can afford the expense of a taxi.’
Max had no desire to listen to his sister’s reproaches about how he squandered money.
‘Elisabeth, do you think Mum seems a little more … tired than usual?’
‘I don’t know. I see her so often, so I’m not sure I’d notice the difference. When was your last visit?’
Max tried to remember. ‘In September, when we came to visit you. But I talk to her on the phone all the time.’
‘Well, maybe she is more tired. But she’s getting older, you know. Can you picture Dad living in a place like that?’
‘No,’ said Max. ‘I think it’s good that he didn’t even have to consider it.’
‘Me too.’
Half an hour later Max rejoined Laura. By then it was three thirty, and she looked a little worn out.
‘Sorry it took so long.’
‘That’s all right. Are we ready to leave now?’
‘Definitely.’
A thick layer of snow covered the yard in front of the cottage. There was a damp smell in the air, and autumn leaves were piled up against the stairs. Max hadn’t been out here since August. Back then it was warm and sunny, with lots of birds everywhere. Now it was almost four o’clock and already dark, but it was a lovely, aching kind of darkness with pines towering behind the cottage and a dignified silence hovering over the entire property.
Max was hoping that Laura would find the setting romantic. He was expecting to find firewood stacked up inside so they could light a fire, and maybe then one thing would lead to another.
‘Has the cottage been in your family a long time?’ Laura asked.
Her cheeks were pink from the cold. Max thought she looked like Snow White, dressed in her black coat as she walked beside him.
‘I took it over from my parents twenty yea
rs ago. The girls spent a lot of time here when they were kids. We call it Råddon. My mother had a tendency to use it as a sort of extra storage place when she was still able to get around.’
‘It looks nice.’
‘I just hope we can warm it up a bit. We don’t have to stay long if you’re tired. But it might be nice to have a cup of coffee before we drive back.’
They went inside, and Max immediately made a fire. Laura sat in a chair to watch. She took out her mobile and tapped on the keys.
‘The coverage isn’t great out here.’
‘I can see that,’ said Laura. ‘I can’t get online.’
For Max, the cottage was filled with memories. On the windowsills were white and black stones that his daughters had collected. The shelves held books that had once completely captured his attention – though it felt as though that was in another lifetime. And it was in the bedroom that they’d always believed Eva was conceived. There were folders with newspaper clippings that his mother had saved from early in his career, and occasionally he’d find himself paging through the articles with a certain perverse pleasure.
It was not a large summer cottage. It had two bedrooms, a bathroom, a living room with a tiled, wood-burning stove, and a small kitchen. In the yard was an outbuilding where they’d put in a sauna and shower. Max had also built a veranda, and it was there that the family ate their meals in the summertime. Actually, he hadn’t built it on his own – he’d had help from his son-in-law one summer when Helen and Christian had come to visit, just after Amanda was born. Max had felt like an idiot, since he seemed to be constantly getting in the way whenever he tried to help. Finally, he allowed Christian to take over most of the project, and that made both of them happy.
In the summer the cottage was airy and filled with light. With the windows open, a breeze could blow right through, and the sun shone on the kitchen table every morning when they had their breakfast. Now the place was closed up like a cocoon. The view from the window revealed nothing of the world outside. It was like staring at a blank wall. The cottage could just as well have been floating in space.
‘This is so nice. Do you come here every summer?’ asked Laura.
‘The girls don’t come out here much any more. Sometimes Helen brings the kids, if they feel like making the drive. We’ll have to see what happens with the cottage when … well …’
He stopped in mid-sentence. It wouldn’t be very erotic to start talking about getting old and dying.
‘Max?’
‘Yes?’
‘Are we really going to do some work, or did you bring me out here to seduce me?’
There were plenty of ways Max might have answered that question – after the fact he came up with several different options that would have been better. But he had no time to think, so he did the only thing that came to him, the only thing he could possibly do: he pretended not to have heard her. He simply got up and went into the kitchen and opened a tin of tomato soup to heat for dinner, wondering if he’d ever be able to muster enough courage to go back into the living room. He thought about the yoga exercises he’d learned. He thought about Katriina. He thought about his daughters.
Did you bring me out here to seduce me?
He thought about adding some fresh chilli peppers, garlic and diced tomatoes to make the soup taste better.
The problem is that I wasn’t thinking at all.
He thought that if he simply failed to answer her question, she might not ask him again.
When he went back to the living room, he set two bowls of soup on the coffee table and sat down. He was just about to say something, when Laura spoke first.
‘Is there any bedding here? Because I think I’m too tired to drive home tonight. Could we sleep here and drive back tomorrow?’
Max would have been lying if he claimed that the same thought hadn’t already crossed his mind. He had hoped that Laura might suggest this change in plan. He’d even brought along a DVD they could watch if they got bored. It was the British film Brief Encounter from the forties. Max had watched it with Katriina back in October when they both happened to be home and had no other plans for the evening. But she had fallen asleep halfway through, even though she’d later insisted that she’d enjoyed the film. Max had accused her of being shallow, and they’d ended up having a row about it.
This time things were different.
The minute they put the DVD into Max’s computer, Laura was so immersed in the film that she almost seemed to have forgotten he was there. He thought it was pleasant to watch a movie that way, with someone who was truly into the whole mood. Yet Max found it difficult to surrender himself to the story. When Laura set her feet on his lap (‘Is that okay?’) he suddenly felt as nervous as a teenager, worrying that he might get an erection – something that would have been unthinkable only a couple of weeks ago. The whole situation, being out here in a remote place with another woman, and for once not knowing what direction the evening – or even his life – was going to take, made him feel both restless and terribly self-conscious.
It got so bad that he had to count backwards from a hundred just to focus his mind on something else.
When the credits began to roll, Laura kicked her feet into the air as nimbly as a gymnast and then reached for the wine bottle to pour herself another glass.
‘Oh, that was great. It’s been a long time since I saw a black-and-white film. I especially liked the scene at the train station in the beginning, when the man starts talking about what it’s like to be a doctor, and she says that he reminds her of a little boy. It made me think of you.’
‘That’s Trevor Howard. One of the best British actors. It was good, wasn’t it?’ replied Max as he straightened his trousers, which had hitched up and felt tight across his crotch. They discussed the movie some more, and Max was able to show off how much he knew about British talkies from the 1940s, and about the background of this film in particular.
‘I brought something too, if you’re interested,’ Laura told him. She went over to her handbag and took out a small plastic bag that contained something Max quickly realised had to be marijuana.
‘It’s been ages since I smoked dope,’ he said, looking at the plastic bag and then watching as Laura rolled a joint.
‘But you have tried it before, right?’
‘Sure, just like anybody who was young in the seventies. But maybe things are different these days. I’m not going to develop a liking for techno music or start wearing latex outfits, am I? Because I haven’t got time for that sort of thing.’
‘No. Ha, Ha. You must be thinking of ecstasy, or something like that. The dope I brought isn’t that strong. At the most, you might start giggling a bit.’
Max was sceptical. Yet he’d surprised himself lately with so many other things. What was keeping him from trying something new? He needed a distraction, something that would make him stop thinking about his mother and would put him back in a blissful, dreamlike state. He wanted to release those forces in his brain that would make him feel like he didn’t have a care in the world.
‘Okay. What do we do?’
Laura showed him, and a sweet fragrance quickly spread through the room.
‘What would my daughters say if they saw me now?’
‘Do you think they’d be surprised?’
‘I can’t believe they’ve tried this themselves.’
Laura laughed.
‘You think they have?’ asked Max. ‘Wait, don’t tell me. The less I know, the better.’
After smoking one of Laura’s joints, they sat in silence for a while. Max was waiting to feel something. Back in the seventies he’d tried cannabis at a party in Berkeley, but he didn’t really know how to do it properly. This time Laura had shown him how to hold the smoke in his lungs.
He’d never felt a greater urge to kiss someone, but he sat there as if turned to stone. A shiver raced through his body when Laura leaned back and stretched.
‘My mother seemed so frail today, s
o vulnerable,’ he said.
Laura looked at him and then reached out to take his hand. ‘How old is she?’
‘Eighty-five,’ said Max.
Laura settled herself more comfortably on the sofa. Max stayed where he was, staring at her. In his fantasy they moved into the bedroom, where Laura took off her clothes. He imagined how they would pull the covers over themselves, the sheets cold and stiff, but quickly warmed from their bodies as they pressed close to each other. Her breasts were incredible, of course, the most exquisite breasts he’d ever seen in his life – and he felt euphoric at the mere thought of touching her breasts, of being allowed to do that.
‘Do you feel anything?’ asked Laura.
It took a few seconds for Max to remember where he was. She was still sitting next to him, fully dressed, giving him a crooked smile.
‘Maybe a little,’ he said and suddenly had a strange feeling that she was there but not there, as if he were dreaming the whole thing. As if the entire room was about to disappear. A dream from which there was no awaking.
Max got up and stumbled to the bathroom, thinking it might help to splash a little water on his face. Laura’s make-up bag was next to the sink. It held a toothbrush, contact lens solution and a familiar-looking tube: ‘Dr Oppolzer’s AFRO-Schlamm contains an African clay that has both …’
He turned on the tap of the large water container that they’d brought along and splashed water on his face. It was fresh and cold, and made him feel better. He looked at himself in the mirror and saw a face grimacing at him.
Max knew that he needed to go outside and breathe in some fresh air. So he put on his shoes and coat and opened the door to the yard. Edvard, who’d been lying on the floor in front of the fire all evening, got up to follow him out. A strong gust practically blew them off their feet and made Max’s coat flap in the wind. It was snowing. In fact, it was more than just a snowstorm – it was a blizzard, bending the bare gooseberry bushes towards the ground and changing the shape of the entire landscape. What struck Max the most was the noise: the roaring of the wind. It was as if he could hear every nuance: the low rumbling at the bottom, the rushing sound at mid-level and the high-pitched whine on top of everything else that cleared his mind of all thought, making it impossible to think of anything whatsoever. He stood out there in the yard for a long time. It was great to feel at one with nature, to let the wind sweep him up. Then he moved further away from the cottage and leaned on the wall of the sauna building to listen. Edvard ran around in circles, and Max tried to follow the snowflakes as they fell, but there were too many to distinguish one from the other. He walked down to the shore and stopped to look out across the ice, thinking that this might be the most beautiful sight he had ever seen.
