A friend had once asked Jonas why Danish and Swedish people took such good care of their homes. They were known all over the world for their taste in furniture and interior decoration. Jonas had shrugged his shoulder and laughed. “It may have to do with the weather,” he had said. “The long winters in Sweden and Denmark force people to stay inside a lot, so perhaps they try to make their homes as pleasant as possible.”
When the children were little, they spent a lot of their vacations and holidays in Denmark. Andrew and his younger sister, Gita, loved Christmas with their grandparents, who spoiled them rotten with presents and always made Christmas an especially festive occasion.
Jonas’s mother had decorated the tall Nordmann fir which stood in the corner of the living room with delicate ornaments, some of them handmade. The rest of the house was decked out with fragrant pine twigs and cones, hollies, and Christmas cookies in the shapes of angels and reindeers. Those didn’t last very long, since the children ate them before Christmas Eve and Jonas’s mother and Eva had to bake another batch for Christmas. All through the holidays, it smelled of cooking and baking in the house.
The photos in the album that Jonas looked at were taken ten years before. It was the last Christmas they spent with Eva. She died the following year. In the photos, she was carefully groomed and dressed and still looked beautiful, in spite of the ravages of her illness. The mood was mixed that Christmas. His parents and the rest of the family tried hard to be cheerful, and Eva, although tired a lot, was in good spirits.
Jonas, knowing that Eva’s prognosis was poor, tried to hide his anguish. He didn’t want to spoil the Christmas spirit. His father, sensing his despair, took him on long walks in the woods nearby, where Jonas had the opportunity to let go of his emotions. They ended their outings with a cup of coffee and a glass of aquavit, a Danish liquor, in the nearby inn. By the time they got home, Jonas had recovered enough that the only signs of his breakdown were his lightly swollen eyelids. He couldn’t fool Eva, though.
She hugged him when he came back. “Cheer up, I’m still here,” she whispered.
They were in their room, getting ready for dinner. Jonas, still a little dizzy from the aquavit, looked at his wife who was carefully arranging her now somewhat thin blond hair. It was still her own, having grown back after the last series of cancer treatments, but it had lost its shine and sparkle.
As Jonas watched Eva brush her hair, he was once again overcome by deep anguish. He swallowed a sob and stood next to the window. Outside, darkness was beginning to settle on the snow-covered fields and trees. The Christmas lights on the pines in the yard and on the ceramic reindeer twinkled. Jonas thought of the holidays he and Eva had stood at this window, arm in arm, watching the fairy-tale landscape, watching their kids play in the snow, looking forward to the excellent food Jonas’s mother prepared. Why? Why did this have to happen? Why did God punish him like this? A sob escaped him. He tried to hide it by clearing his throat.
He felt Eva’s hands on his arms. He turned around, hugged her, and buried his face on her shoulder. “How can I ever live without you?” he sobbed and hated himself for his weakness. He was supposed to be strong; he was supposed to cheer up Eva, not the other way round. But Eva had always been the stronger one.
“You will live without me and, in time, you will be happy again,” she said, stroking his heaving back.
Yes, Jonas did live without her but it would be a long time before he was able to feel something akin to happiness again.
Chapter 21
The following spring, Eva’s health deteriorated fast and she spent most of the time in the hospital. Jonas knew it was the beginning of the end. Watching the world burst into life around him, while the person he loved the most was dying, filled him with anger and despair. April is the cruelest month . . . The snippet from T. S. Eliot’s poem shot through his mind. The new buds on the trees along the Limmatquai, the yellow and blue pansies, and the smell of wet leaves and soil in the parks felt like a slap in the face by a cruel, callous God.
One morning, on the way to the hospital, Jonas stopped by a flower shop. The shop window was full of bouquets of tulips in all colors. Tulips were Eva’s favorite flowers. The day before, she had felt a little better. They had been able to sit next to each other in an easy chair by the window in her hospital room and chat. They had had tea and she was even able to eat a tiny piece of the pastry the nurse had brought without throwing up.
The flower shop was busy and Jonas had to wait for about fifteen minutes until he was served. He left again with a large bouquet of red-and-white tulips. When he arrived at the hospital, he saw that the “occupied” light was on above Eva’s room. He waited for a while, thinking the nurses were busy doing the morning toilette. Normally they were through by the time he arrived. He knocked on the door and a nurse opened. Jonas saw right away that something unusual had happened. The doctor and a few nurses were gathered around Eva’s bed. She was lying there, pale, eyes closed, without any of the tubes that were usually attached to her. Jonas’s heart clenched.
A nurse came to the door. “Mr. Bergman, we tried to call you, but you didn’t answer any of your phones.” The nurse touched his arm, as if to soften the blow. “Your wife passed away half an hour ago. We’re so sorry.”
Jonas broke out in a sweat and felt faint. He let the flowers slide to the floor. The nurse helped him to a chair. The doctor came up to him. “I’m very sorry. Perhaps it helps you to know that she died peacefully.” Jonas heard the doctor’s voice as if through a haze. His mind went into overdrive. Half an hour before, he had been at the flower shop. If he hadn’t waited that long for the flowers, he might have been early enough to still see her alive.
“I failed her; she had to die alone. I wasn’t here when she needed me the most.” Jonas didn’t even notice he had said it aloud.
The nurse put a hand on his shoulder. “You didn’t fail her, Mr. Bergman. More often than not, people die just when their relatives are not with them. It is as if they needed to be alone to be able to let go.”
The nurse meant well, but her words didn’t register with Jonas. All he knew was that Eva was dead. He covered his face with his hands and moaned.
“Would you like to have a few minutes alone with her?” the nurse asked.
“Yes, please.” His voice sounded hoarse.
After everybody left, he went over to Eva’s bed. She was wearing a new nightgown and what remained of her hair was carefully groomed. They must have cleaned and dressed her already. “Why, why couldn’t you have waited a little?” he whispered, then broke down and cried, painful sobs racking his body. After a while, he took off his coat and shoes and lay down next to what was left of his wife. He gently stroked her now-cold face, her emaciated body, her thin, silky blond hair. The nurse found him, half asleep, his arms around Eva’s body.
Chapter 22
Anna woke up to the sound of slippers tapping down the stairs. The lit face of the alarm clock showed five o’clock in the morning. She grabbed her robe and got up. Yawning and shivering in the morning air, she walked down the stairs, holding on to the railing. The house smelled of Christmas; a faint scent of pine and the sweet smell of cookies Anna had baked the evening before lingered in the air.
Karla stood next to the Christmas tree in her pajamas. “I couldn’t sleep anymore.”
“You’re going to be exhausted by tonight. At least get your bathrobe. It’s still cold,” Anna said.
“Can we light the candles on the tree just to see what they look like?” Karla asked.
“No way. Not yet. But I’ll build a fire and make us some hot chocolate.” Anna put a fire-starter stick into the woodstove, lit it, and arranged a few logs around it. She went into the kitchen, heated some milk, and prepared two cups of hot chocolate.
When she came back into the living room, Karla was sitting on the couch in front of the stove, wrapped in her morning gown, her face flushed with excitement. “When are you going to put the presents under th
e tree?”
“Tonight, before we light the candles. Otherwise, you’ll be shaking the packages all day, trying to figure out what you got.” Anna put a mug of hot chocolate in front of Karla. “Careful, it’s hot.” She sat down next to her and the two watched the fire and sipped the sweet hot liquid.
Karla no longer believed in the Christmas Angel who flew down from heaven with all the presents. Anna, however, had kept up the tradition of arranging the presents under the tree and lighting the candles while Karla was banned to her bedroom. Having lived in the United States for many years, she had also kept the American custom of hanging Christmas stockings above the fireplace and stuffing them with small gifts, which Karla got to open on Christmas Day morning.
“Look, it’s snowing again,” Anna said.
Outside, dawn was spreading, slowly bringing the trees, meadows, and the neighbor’s house into focus. Thick snowflakes were descending, covering the world with a blanket of white. All of a sudden, the quiet was interrupted by the blinking lights of the snowplow, driving around the corner and heaping a wall of snow along the sidewalk.
“This is a real white Christmas,” Karla said, sitting back down on the sofa. She yawned and leaned her head against the backrest.
“Why don’t you take a little nap on the sofa? You’re going to be so tired tonight.”
“Okay,” Karla said and stretched out. “What time is Saint Nicholas coming?”
“Around four o’clock.”
Anna had given up encouraging Karla to call Jonas by his proper name, since he seemed to enjoy his nickname. She spread a blanket over Karla, then carried the empty mugs into the kitchen. When she came back, she heard a light snoring sound coming from the sofa. Karla was deep asleep, lying on her back, one arm and a strand of her long black hair hanging over the edge of the sofa. Anna gently slid her arm under the blanket.
It had been snowing all morning. Karla was too excited to settle down, so Anna took her on a walk after lunch. When they came back, Anna grabbed a shovel and cleared the snow away from the path and the driveway. Karla, using her small shovel, helped her. “Let’s build a snowman,” she said, all excited. At that moment, Jonas drove up in his car.
“Saint Nicholas!” Karla tossed the shovel away and rushed to meet him.
Anna watched as Jonas peeled himself out of his Volvo. He was wearing a black winter coat with a hood and a red woolen scarf. He does look like Santa Claus with his white hair and beard.
“Hi, sweetheart.” Jonas hugged Karla, then turned to Anna. “I should’ve taken the train. I didn’t expect it to snow like that. In the city, there’s hardly any snow.”
“You may be stuck here if it keeps on like this.” Anna shook his hand.
“Oh, yes. Then you’ll have to stay overnight,” Karla exclaimed. “Can he stay, Anna?”
“Wait a minute. Inviting me for Christmas is one thing, but I don’t think I’m ready to move in yet.” Jonas laughed. “And I don’t have my toothbrush with me.”
“Well, that’s not a problem. I have a spare toothbrush,” Anna said. All of a sudden, the idea of him spending the night appealed to her. It would make Christmas much more enjoyable. “I think Karla is right. You should stay. That way you can have a glass of wine and don’t have to worry about the roads. I wouldn’t want you to drive at night in those conditions. We have a nice guest room, it would be no problem.”
“Yes, and tomorrow morning, Anna is going to fix pancakes. They’re really good.” Karla pulled Jonas’s arm. “Pancakes with blueberries and bananas. Please, please stay.”
“Pancakes, huh?” Jonas grinned. “How can I resist? All right, I’ll stay.” He opened the trunk of his car and pulled out a large paper bag. It was filled with presents and a bottle of wine.
“You shouldn’t have,” Anna said.
“Let me see.” Karla tried to peek into the bag. “Presents? For me?”
“Ms. Nosy, why don’t you build your snowman?” Anna lifted the bag up high, away from Karla.
“Someone has to help me.” Karla gave Jonas an inviting smile.
“All right, Karla, let Jonas relax for a while.”
“Well, actually, I could use a little exercise. Besides, I haven’t built a snowman in years. We need a carrot, though, and stones for the eyes and a hat.”
“Let’s go inside first and have a cup of tea or coffee. You can pick out the tools for your work of art.” Anna laughed. “If you entertain Karla, I can start preparing dinner.”
“Oh, goody.” Karla clapped her gloved hands.
It was close to midnight. After all the presents had been unpacked and Karla had finally unwound and succumbed to sleep, Anna and Jonas sat in front of the fireplace, sipping the rest of the wine. An aroma of roasted Christmas goose, fried onions, and burning wood permeated the room.
Jonas got up and poured them both the last drops of wine from the bottle. “We killed that one,” he said with a chuckle. “Now I’m glad I’m staying. I might have been caught in a sobriety test.”
“Yes, they’re really strict these days,” Anna said. “Besides, Karla was so excited to have you here. She’s gotten quite attached to you. You’ve become kind of a father figure for her.”
“I love her, too. She’s a great kid.” Jonas cleared his throat. “What about her father? Is he around somewhere?”
“He lives in Peru. My sister was a single mother. She met Arturo on a trip to South America and ended up pregnant. He’s a good man. He offered to take Karla with him to Peru after her mother died. But we decided it would be too much of an upheaval for her. He tries to stay in touch, but how can you develop a relationship over such a distance?”
“Yeah, I guess not.” Jonas put down his glass. “It’s hard enough when your children are adults and move away. I couldn’t imagine not having them close when they’re little.”
“You’re still really close, aren’t you?” Anna said.
“Yes, we are, thank God.” He nodded, then pointed at the window. “It’s still snowing a little.”
“Isn’t the snow pretty at night?” Anna said. “We get sick of it by the end of winter, but it makes everything so peaceful.”
Jonas nodded then looked at the fire. It was quiet aside from the hissing of the pine logs and an occasional moaning of the wind. “Eva loved to watch the snow in the dark,” he said in a low voice and glanced at Anna. The reflection of the flames from the fire created dancing lights in his eyes. He turned his head and looked toward the fire again. Anna watched his strong profile, the high forehead, covered in part by a strand of thick white hair, the slightly aquiline nose, the neatly trimmed beard.
“I used to wake up in the middle of the night,” he continued in a low, dark voice. “The bed next to me was empty. And there she was, in the living room, wrapped in a blanket, gazing outside at the snowflakes.”
“How was she? Your wife?” Anna lifted her hand in an impulse to touch his arm but pulled it back instead and let it fall into her lap. “Sorry, I don’t want to intrude if it makes you sad.”
“That’s okay. Eva was wonderful. She was intelligent, beautiful, sexy, and independent.” Jonas gave a quick laugh, then his face clouded over. “Losing her independence when she was sick was the most devastating part of her illness.”
“Where did you meet her?” Anna got up and put another log on the fire. The flames flared up and the wood was hissing and spitting. She moved the fender a little closer to prevent the sparks from shooting out.
“We met in Zurich. She was studying to become an actress,” Jonas said.
“Did you already live in Switzerland then? I thought your family was Danish.”
Jonas nodded. “My father is Danish; my mother is Swiss. Years ago, my father worked for a Danish company in Zurich, where he met my mother. I was born here and I lived most of my life here. Later, my parents moved to Denmark.
“I studied art and had found a teaching job here in Zurich. And I met Eva, so I ended up staying. We eventually got married.”
Jonas gazed out the window, then gave a chuckle. “It almost didn’t happen. Eva was a freedom-loving person and I was a jealous young punk. We had quite a few rows while dating.”
Eva’s work as an actress brought her in touch with many men who flirted with her. She was a free spirit and somewhat of a flirt herself. “It doesn’t mean anything,” she used to tell Jonas. “It’s just a game.”
Jonas tried to be open-minded. He knew that Eva’s work brought with it invitations by influential men, who promised to further her career and hoped for a few intimate moments or hours in return.
“Don’t worry, I know how to keep them at bay,” Eva said as she was getting ready to go out with a film producer.
Jonas, racked by feelings of inferiority and fears of losing Eva—after all, he was merely a painting teacher and as yet an unknown artist—began to secretly follow her around. He watched her go into a restaurant with her escort. He waited across the street, hiding in a doorway until they came back out. He followed them as long as possible. Sometimes, they took a taxi and drove away. Jonas, deeply ashamed of his distrust and insecurities, hung his head and went home. Sometimes, though, the suspicions ate at him so much that he went to Eva’s apartment a few streets away from his own and waited there as well, wanting to check if she went into her place alone. One day, Eva caught him spying and it had almost cost Jonas the relationship.
It had been one of those gray and gloomy November days. Eva was in a play, which Jonas couldn’t attend since he had a class that night. Eva told him she might go out with a few of the actors after the play.
“Come and meet us afterward, we’ll probably have a drink at the bar next to the theater,” she said.
That evening, Jonas’s class at the Kunstgewerbeschule lasted longer than planned. He took the streetcar to the station next to the Kunsthaus, the main art museum of the city. Across the street were the theater and a bar. A few of the actors Jonas recognized were still there but there was no sign of Eva.
An Uncommon Family Page 8
