A Question Mark is Half a Heart

by Sofia Lundberg

  Micke wouldn’t let go of Marianne. He bit her on the ear, making her let out a little shriek. Embarrassed, she met Elin’s gaze, and tried to push him away. Elin slammed her book shut and stood up. Micke never gave up, she knew that. He turned Marianne to face him and she held her wet hands high in the air and closed her eyes as he kissed her.

  Elin walked past them with her eyes on the floor. She turned around on the first step, saw him lift Marianne by the hips. A glass fell to the floor and smashed. Elin sped up, taking the stairs two at a time.

  The noises from the bedroom shortly afterwards made all the children leave the house. Erik and Edvin snuck back to their den in the tractor shed, each with a blanket under their arm. Elin and Fredrik climbed down the ladder below their window and then ran hand-in-hand towards the sea and the stars.

  The fat package felt heavy in her jacket pocket. It had come in the post earlier that day and she’d recognised the handwriting immediately but hadn’t dared open it. In the firelight she took out the padded brown envelope and showed it to Fredrik. He understood straight away.

  ‘Is it from him?’ She nodded. ‘Open it, aren’t you curious?’

  ‘He hasn’t written to me for four years. Not a word.’

  ‘Have you written to him?’

  Elin thought about all the words, all the things she’d told her papa. But none of it had ever been posted. She shook her head and had started to pick at the sealed flap of the envelope when Fredrik took it from her, tearing it brutally right across.

  ‘There, now you can look.’

  Elin stuck her hand in and took out a black plastic box and a pair of headphones. She looked at it doubtfully.

  ‘It’s a Walkman. Wow, I heard everyone in Stockholm has those.’

  Elin turned it over, running her fingers over the buttons.

  ‘What do you do with it?’

  Fredrik put the headphones over her head and pressed the button. She smiled when she heard the music and bopped her head to the opening bars of ‘Eye of the Tiger’.

  Fredrik pressed ‘stop’ and took out the tape to show her.

  ‘It works with any tape, with all our mixtapes.’

  ‘Can I see, what does it say?’

  Elin took the cassette and read the narrow label.

  Elin’s Musical Treasure Trove.

  He’d written the words carefully and that was all. There was no other message. Four years of silence and then a mixtape. Elin flung the Walkman aside and Fredrik just saved it from hitting the ground. He stuffed the lump of black plastic safely in his back pocket.

  ‘Look, we can carry it everywhere with us.’

  ‘But how would you be able to listen to the music then? If there’s only one set of headphones, you can’t share them.’

  ‘I can borrow it, can’t I? We’re not together all the time, are we?’

  ‘Pretty much.’

  ‘I’m going to Mama’s tomorrow, you know that.’

  ‘Stay here.’

  ‘You know I can’t, she’s coming to get me early. But I’ll come to visit. I promise.’

  Fredrik gave her a little shove on the shoulder. She curled up and put her head in his lap, looked up at the sky and sighed.

  ‘When you’re gone all the stars go out. It’s all black.’

  ‘Then you’ll have to be the moon, and let the sun’s rays reach you. Light up all the blackness. Never forget that the sun is always there, beyond the darkness.’

  ‘You’re starting to sound like a poet, where did that come from?’

  ‘What? It’s true. Never let the darkness eat you up. It’s not worth it. Fight back.’

  Elin stretched her legs out and rolled over onto her stomach. Little stones dug into her elbows as she rested her chin on her hands.

  ‘Have you noticed that Mama’s gone back to how she used to be?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘She’s somewhere else, she just stares ahead of her. Like she used to do before we moved here. It’s almost impossible to reach her. She never smiles.’

  Fredrik snorted.

  ‘They haven’t got any money, that’s why. It’s always like that at this time of year. Papa throws it away, he just spends and spends. My mama always used to get angry about it, they used to fight about it. I think that’s why she left. But everything will sort itself out, you’ll see, they’ll get money from the harvests soon. Then it will be party time again. That’s how it works.’

  ‘Aina’s money is all gone now, I saw it in Mama’s bankbook. That was meant to make us happy.’

  ‘We’ll have to find other things to make us happy. Stuff all that, anyway. Stuff the money, stuff the grownups. Come on let’s go for a swim.’

  He stood up and started to take his clothes off, throwing them off one after the other until he was wearing nothing but his underpants.

  They raced to the water. The horizon was still a soft pink-purple, like a reminder of the sun that had just set, and the lapping water shone black and silver. Elin dived in first, deep under the surface. She took long, powerful strokes underwater and came up close to where Fredrik was standing with his arms crossed, shivering, drops of water glistening on his chin. She tried to push him over, but he was too quick, and vanished below the surface.

  They dried themselves on the blanket, the woollen one that jabbed their skin like a thousand tiny needles. Then they built a new tower of dry twigs in the fireplace that was theirs alone, and lit it with matchsticks from the worn matchbox they kept hidden there, under a mountain of stones.

  At night everything was so simple. They rolled themselves up in the damp blanket, from each end, and let the fire warm them.

  NOW

  NEW YORK, 2017

  Only minutes to go. Elin waits by the red staircase in the opera house’s lobby, watching the entrance expectantly, longing to see Alice’s curly hair and beaming smile. She reluctantly advances up the stairs and checks the time. From the orchestra pit she hears stray notes from instruments being tuned, and all the people that so recently thronged around her have disappeared into the auditorium to find their seats.

  She hears doors closing and the instruments fall silent. She’s wearing an emerald green dress of delicate lace, cut close to her body with a silk slip underneath. Around her neck she wears the diamond necklace she was given by Sam, long ago when they were first in love. Her hair is loose, freshly blow-dried and curled specially for the evening, an evening she’s been longing for.

  But the doors remain closed. She sighs heavily and takes the two tickets out of her handbag. She drops one behind her, and it floats down the staircase as she heads towards the stalls.

  ‘Mom! Wait!’

  The familiar voice makes her stop: Alice is behind her. She turns around slowly. Alice stops and hangs over the bannister, waving exhaustedly, gasping for breath. Her curly hair stands up like a halo around her head. She’s sweaty and wriggles out of her over-filled rucksack and grey knitted sweater with great effort. Underneath she’s wearing a neon green top with big black lettering spelling out the word power. Her jeans have rips in both knees, and her white sneakers are covered in stains. Elin sighs deeply and motions at her to hurry. Alice reaches for her hand.

  ‘Sorry, Mom! I had to run straight from my class, I lost track of time and there wasn’t time to go home and change.’

  Elin doesn’t reply. She points to the ticket that’s lying on one of the steps. Then she turns and carries on walking without a word. Alice snatches up the ticket and runs to catch her up.

  ‘It doesn’t matter, does it? It’s just a regular performance, not even the opening night. And anyway, we match,’ she sniggers, pulling her t-shirt to touch Elin’s dress.

  Ignoring her, Elin carefully opens the door to the stalls. The lights are already down in the auditorium. The velvet curtains part, silencing the hubbub immediately, and the orchestra’s strings guide the audience into a little attic apartment in 1830s Paris.

  Elin and Alice stand stock-still, side
by side. The stress of Alice’s late arrival has made Elin’s heart beat extra hard and sweat has broken out on her forehead and under her nose. She wipes it away awkwardly with her hand. Alice reaches for her arm, strokes it and whispers an apology.

  A man with a flashlight emerges from the darkness and shines it on their tickets. He looks displeased as he points towards row eight and mouths: In the middle. Elin and Alice creep forward and pick their way apologetically past all the people already seated. Alice puts her heavy rucksack on her lap, hugging it as though it were a cushion, and fixes her eyes, enchanted, on the scene being performed in front of them. After a little while, she plunges her hand into her bag and rummages around. It rustles and Elin slaps her wrist. Undeterred, Alice fishes out a chocolate bar and offers it to Elin. Elin slaps her wrist again, harder this time.

  ‘Ow,’ Alice hisses.

  ‘Be quiet,’ Elin hisses back.

  The man in the next seat shushes them, and they sit in silence for the rest of the performance, including the interval. Alice eats her chocolate, Elin walks to the toilet alone and comes back to the auditorium just as the lights are lowered again.

  The music finishes at last and is replaced by rousing applause. That too falls silent. The auditorium lights come up and the seats empty. Elin and Alice stay seated. Finally, Alice breaks the silence.

  ‘Are you not going to speak to me all night? Just because I ate a bit of chocolate?’

  Alice gets up. Elin sighs and leans her head back, studies the golden circles on the ceiling. She senses her daughter’s gaze, but doesn’t acknowledge her.

  ‘Oh well, I guess I’d better go then. If I’m not good enough.’

  Elin turns her head to face her. The diamonds around her neck glitter, as do her eyes.

  ‘What do you mean? If you’re not good enough?’

  ‘Well, that’s what you think, isn’t it.’

  Elin puts her hand to her forehead and closes her eyes.

  ‘Stop it! You mustn’t think that,’ she says.

  ‘What should I think then?’

  Alice grabs her rucksack and leaves the row of seats. Elin stands and follows her.

  ‘Of course you’re good enough! It would have been nice if you’d dressed up a bit and been on time, but you’re lovely as you are. You know that’s what I think. I’ve been looking forward to this, longing for it.’

  Alice stops short, and Elin bumps into her back. Alice doesn’t turn around.

  ‘I told you I didn’t have time. I’m studying. This is what students look like, maybe you don’t remember that, Mrs Perfect. I came here and really enjoyed the show. Isn’t that enough? It’s not some fucking fashion show. It’s culture. And I doubt Puccini would have minded.’

  Elin smooths her hands over her dress, closes her eyes and slowly counts to ten.

  ‘Sorry.’ She looks Alice right in the eye.

  ‘Have you considered that it might be you who’s overdoing it? Clothes don’t matter, you know that. Look around you. People don’t go to the opera in ballgowns any more. And it’s OK to eat a bit of chocolate. No one cares. No one apart from you.’

  ‘It’s a special evening.’

  ‘How so? It’s a regular Thursday, a regular performance. It was really good, and I’m glad I came, but can we go and eat now so I can go home?’ Alice rolls her eyes.

  ‘It’s a special evening because I’m spending it with you. I miss you every day,’ Elin whispers.

  Alice says nothing. Then she laughs.

  ‘But then why are you so cross when we do see each other? OK, I look the way I do, but I’m still me.’

  Elin nods.

  ‘I gave you money to buy some new shoes last week. You look like a poor person,’ she whispers, pointing at Alice’s scruffy shoes.

  ‘Yes, but I don’t need any new shoes. These are fine for me. I gave the money away instead. To children in Tanzania. They need new shoes,’ Alice articulates exaggeratedly as she slowly rises up onto her toes.

  Elin holds her breath again, counts silently in her head again. She looks at Alice’s dishevelled hair, curls going in every direction; the bushy eyebrows that have never been plucked. She’s so wild, and yet so beautiful.

  ‘Can we start over? Please? I’ve got a pair of jeans in the studio, it’s not that far. Let’s swing by and I can change. And then we’ll go and eat at … some simple place. You’re right, I overdo it sometimes.’

  Alice nods.

  ‘Did you wear that for my sake or for Dad’s?’ She nodded at the necklace. Elin lays a hand over it.

  ‘I just wanted to wear it today,’ she murmurs.

  ‘Does it really mean that much to you? Ugh, how sad. I don’t understand why you live apart when you clearly still love each other so much.’

  ‘I don’t understand either.’

  ‘Are you blaming Dad?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then I think you need to reconsider. You haven’t been at home with him for years. All you do is work. And if you’re not working, you’re thinking about work. Or talking about it. Talk about something else instead, something interesting. You should try it next week, when we go for my birthday dinner. Tell him something he doesn’t know.’

  Elin turns away from Alice and goes down the red staircase, through the empty lobby and out into the dark night. Tears well up in her eyes. Her high heels echo against the paving. Alice runs after her, walks close, stubbornly pushing her arm in under Elin’s. When they get to Columbus Avenue, Elin steps out into the street and hails a taxi.

  ‘Jeans, then. Blue. You promise?’ Alice puts on a smile with her chin thrust forward in an exaggerated underbite. She wiggles her head from side to side.

  ‘I promise. I have a pair. Stop making that face, it’s scary.’ Elin laughs and the movement forces a tear to leave her eye and roll down her cheek.

  ‘I’ll believe it when I see it.’ Alice catches the tear tenderly with her index finger.

  Alice dances her way across the white-painted floor of the studio, doing pirouette after pirouette, from one wall to the other. Elin captures her movements with the camera, still dressed in the emerald green dress and heels. She follows her daughter’s rhythmic, supple body in fascination. Alice stops and bends her neck and spine backwards in an arc. As her curls graze the floor, she steadies herself with her hands and lifts one leg towards the ceiling. Her jeans creak and she falls, laughing, to one side. The spell is broken, and Elin lowers her camera.

  ‘It’s the jeans, I swear,’ she laughs, still lying in a heap on the floor.

  ‘Sure, blame it on the jeans.’ Elin puts her camera aside and leans over the computer. She flicks through the images she’s just taken, selects one, crops it and shifts the colour scale a little.

  ‘Here, would this do for a profile picture?’

  Alice leans over her and studies her own image. She’s caught in motion, blurred, her hair wild. The text on her t-shirt stands out.

  ‘Wow, it’s perfect. You’re magic, I don’t understand how you do it.’

  ‘You’re the one who’s magic, it’s you moving your body. I just capture reality as it is.’

  Elin adjusts the colour scale a little further to sharpen the text on the t-shirt.

  ‘Ah. Your reality is not reality. You mean all your fancy portraits in Vanity Fair and Vogue are real? No wonder people get complexes.’

  Elin shuts the computer and turns towards Alice.

  ‘Come on. Even in reality there are different types of light. Even you look better in some, worse in others.’

  ‘No, stop, don’t start defending retouching. Every retouched image should come with a warning,’ Alice protests and holds her hands up in the air.

  ‘Please, let’s not have this conversation now. We’ve already talked about it a thousand times. Most of the people I photograph are more attractive than average from the start. And with good light and make-up it’s even better. But you can get magical light in reality too, on a beach at sunset or a meadow in the mist.
In certain lights everyone’s more beautiful. Everything’s more beautiful, not just people.’

  Alice says nothing. She opens the screen again and studies the picture, comparing it with the original.

  ‘Yeah, yeah, you’re right, it is better. Thanks for the picture. But don’t retouch it any more now, it’s fine as it is. Lovely, magical. Though not particularly realistic,’ she says, wrinkling her nose so her whole face scrunches up into a grimace. Elin grabs the camera and quickly presses the shutter.

  ‘Here, a perfect profile image. Totally real,’ she says.

  Alice smirks.

  ‘No thanks, I’ll skip it. Surely I’m allowed some kind of advantage, having a star mom.’

  ‘You could be a star yourself. It’s clear you’ve been training a lot, you’re really one with the dance. It’s lovely.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, don’t even try it, we both know which of us is the star,’ Alice sighs. ‘Go and get changed now. Jeans, you promised me jeans. I’m starving and I want pizza. And Coke.’

  Elin vanishes up the spiral staircase that leads to the studio’s office as Alice reclines on the sofa. Elin stops and looks at her against the backdrop of buildings and bridges over the East River, through the gigantic windows. The music that had just filled the room has stopped, leaving space for the high, steady hum of engines and sirens from the street. Alice stands up again and walks around the studio. White floors, white walls, white cupboards, white tables. Only the light stands, covered with black and white fabric slipovers, interrupt the brightness.

  ‘Where’s the stereo, Mom, have you thrown it out?’

  ‘Stereo? I was playing music from my phone, from Spotify.’