Time to Let Go

by Christoph Fischer

  “Would you say it is still a good life?” Fariba asked.

  “Yes, I think it is,” Hanna said hesitantly. “If I were to be at home working nine to five I would probably have gone mad by now.”

  “Yes, I should imagine so. You must have had wonderful times and seen some great sights. I am glad to see that the airlines still recruit glamorous and good looking young women to do the job.”

  Hanna laughed at the flattery.

  “My Karim also tells me that you are caring for your mother?”

  “That is not quite true. While I am here I help my father with what needs to be done,” Hanna said shyly. “I would not call that caring for her and I am certainly not doing enough of it.”

  “I like your attitude but let’s be realistic, it is no one’s first choice to take care of the elderly,” Fariba insisted.

  “I disagree,” Hanna asserted. “I am not taking care of the elderly but of my mother. I want to be with her and make sure she is looked after properly.”

  “That is very sweet of you and I am lucky that my children seem to think the same, but young people are usually too busy to fit their parents into their already hectic lives. I do not blame them. Everyone needs to live their own life,” Fariba said, trying to sound worldly.

  “I envy people who can combine the two.”

  “I am sure your family appreciates all of your efforts. Karim has told me a lot about you and your father. It seems you are having a lot of arguments. Remember, it must be difficult for him, too. It is not easy to accept help, especially for someone who is set in their ways. Don’t think he doesn’t have feelings, just because he doesn’t show them.”

  “I guess you’re right,” Hanna admitted. “But at the moment, I am thinking primarily about my mother.”

  “Caring for someone is a complicated business. Your mother doesn’t appear to notice that she is being cared for, but your father might see your help as an undermining of his capabilities. I am sure he wishes he could just do everything by himself. In that regard he is just like me only that my independence disappeared overnight, whereas his is slowly fading. It requires a lot of self-discipline not to let your frustration get the better of you. I should know, I bite my tongue many times.”

  “I find it hard to imagine that you should ever say a cross word, Fariba!” Hanna said.

  “I am not a saint, my child. I have my moments. It is just that my children pamper me so much with their love - it is virtually impossible to raise my voice.”

  “You never get angry!” Karim contradicted his mother.

  “Karim, don’t be a fool, of course I do. We all do! Hanna, your father has been a family patriarch for such a long time; it must be hard to admit his limitations. You must bear that in mind whenever things get difficult between you and your family.”

  “They have always been a little difficult,” Hanna blurted out. “He is just so dreadfully cold sometimes. He is distantly jovial at best, but never very warm.”

  “Just try to understand him but don’t let him get you down, either. You are both doing your best. That is almost all that matters. But enough about your father, I hear you have a convertible vintage car? Karim said it is very classy,” Fariba added with more admiration and flattery.

  “I don’t know about classy, it is very old. Just the other day I made the crucial mistake of leaving the top open in the rain. I am not sure if the seats will ever recover,” Hanna admitted.

  “Never the less, I love those cars. You just need to buy some throws or covers for the seats. We have some leopard spotted blankets in the attic. They would look great in your car, I should imagine.”

  “If you like convertibles so much I would love to take you for a spin some time,” Hanna suggested.

  “Would you?” Fariba asked excitedly. “That would be so wonderful!”

  “It can be easily arranged,” Karim said.

  “How about tomorrow afternoon when my mother is napping?” Hanna suggested.

  “I fear mother will be having her own afternoon nap then,” Karim intervened.

  “Nonsense. I can nap plenty when I am dead,” Fariba claimed.

  “Well I am not working tomorrow during the day,” Karim announced. “I could come with you if you like.”

  “Thank you my darling, but we won’t need you,” Fariba said. “But look at the time, Hanna. I imagine you need to go back to your own mother now,” she insisted. “I will see you tomorrow afternoon and I shall look forward to it.”

  Hanna took her leave and on her way out she said goodbye to Shahnaz as well. Karim’s sister was in the hallway in her apron wearing blue rubber gloves that looked less like cleaning equipment and more as if her brother had brought them from the hospital’s operating theatre.

  “You made a great impression on my mother, I could tell,” Karim said outside the entrance.

  “She seems a very lovely person. I am sure she likes everyone. You probably influenced her by talking me up,” Hanna contradicted.

  “I only told her things that were true. Anyway, mother makes up her own mind and none of my praise could make her like you. Thank you for your offer to take her out tomorrow,” Karim said. “Maybe afterwards you and I could go for dinner again?” Karim suggested.

  “Of course,” she replied, “why not?”

  When they got back to the Korhonen family’s new hideout everything was quiet. Biddy was still fast asleep and Walter was watching over her in the bedroom - there was complete silence. Karim showed Hanna quickly round the flat to explain where everything was and then he collected his bicycle and left her on her own.

  Hanna switched Karim’s laptop on and navigated the web browser from news web site to news web site, finding that her story had the status of a ridiculously minor item with little substance. Two newspaper pages mentioned her name and that she had not been available for comment, the rest didn’t even speak of her and focused only on the airline’s dispute with Mr White.

  The airline’s website held a very brief press release that reiterated what she had heard earlier from the lawyer. No one handled the incident as something serious and she wondered if the family had over reacted.

  She was relieved about the lack of media interest but with no further distraction her thoughts began returning to the dead woman and her last moments in Hanna’s hands. The dormant pangs of guilt were once again playing on her mind.

  Finally there were signs of life from the bedroom and a rather lively Biddy came out of her hibernation with Walter following closely behind.

  “Hanna, are you sure we can accept this hospitality?” Walter asked her.

  Biddy looked like she had just been struck by lightning and looked at her daughter: “Do you know Hanna?”

  “Yes. I think I do,” she replied.

  “I had no idea. You know Hanna?” Biddy said again with even more surprise in her voice.

  “Yes. How do you know her?” Hanna humoured her.

  “Hanna and I are good friends. Don’t tell anyone, please. We don’t want anyone getting jealous.”

  “Your secret is safe with me.”

  “Staying here is too much to ask of anyone,” Walter pointed out. “Let alone a complete stranger. What exactly is your relationship with this man, Pumpkin?” he asked forcefully.

  “Dad, there is no relationship. He is just a friend. Will you please relax? I don’t think we’ll be here for long. I checked it on the Internet and the whole media coverage of my case is pathetic. I doubt that even one journalist made the journey to our house.”

  “What are we going to do with ourselves in your friend’s house then?” Walter asked restlessly.

  “The same as we do in your own house,” Hanna replied coolly. “Have dinner, watch television or a DVD, read your book, write your chronicle. I don’t know Dad; do what you normally do on a Sunday.”

  “I wouldn’t mind checking the sports results,” Walter admitted quietly.

  “Karim has a Sky box. You can knock yourself out. There are pr
obably about 20 channels dedicated to sport.”

  “Do you know how to switch the system on, Pumpkin? I don’t want to mess it up for our Good Samaritan,” Walter asked awkwardly.

  “I will give it a go.”

  She was lucky. It was easy to work out.

  I am going to take Mum for a walk around the block,” she told her father after she had found the sports channel section for him. “I think we won’t be doing any cooking here today. The fridge is empty. It will have to be another take out.”

  “Oh well. A lucky break for both of us,” Walter said, his eyes already glued to the huge plasma TV screen that was showing the Arsenal league game.

  Karim’s building was part of a new development that combined a converted church and its annex buildings with completely new houses, whose style was just about in harmony with the historic look of the existing ones. The developers had clearly intended the finished product for the higher end of the property market. The settlement had a lot of green and recreational areas which at the moment were so quiet and empty that it felt like their own private park. Hanna was grateful for the solitude and calm. Biddy’s appreciation of nature once again proved itself not to have disappeared forever and the more the old woman lost herself in a euphoric admiration of flowers and birdsong the more her daughter relaxed. A man walked past with a Labrador off the leash and both women greeted the little rascal with joy and excitement: happy dogs were so therapeutic. The path led them away from the development towards a small lake. Hanna could not remember ever having been to this part of town before and she had no recollection of a lake this size. Biddy sat down on a bench that had been set up near the water and stared entranced at a group of swans on the other shore.

  “You look worried my dear,” she said to her daughter.

  “I am all right, Biddy. Don’t worry about me.”

  “Look around you,” Biddy said and pointed at the lake. “This is so beautiful, how can you be upset? There is always hope.”

  Hanna was rather surprised at this philosophical comment from her mother. Where had it come from? It was the kind of thing her mother always used to say, but it was a very abstract thought for Biddy to come up with; especially now, with the damage the disease had done to her personality.

  “You’re right,” Hanna said. “There is always something wonderful waiting for you. Thank you.”

  “Ha, look at the dog chasing the swans!” Biddy interrupted.

  “Oh dear Lord,” Hanna exclaimed as she spotted the comic scene herself. “Do you think they are going to be OK?”

  “They can fly. The dog should be more careful. They have vicious beaks,” Biddy observed.

  “It looks like he is not in the least worried about that. He is really going after them.”

  “Yes,” laughed Biddy. “One dog and so many of them. What a brave dog.”

  “I am not sure the swans will find it that funny,” Hanna objected.

  Once the dog owner had taken the Labrador away, the two women stood up and walked back home.

  Walter was in a vibrant mood. Chelsea had lost an important game. Not even a great victory for his team Arsenal could make him as cheerful as the shameful defeat of their London rivals. He had also browsed through the book shelves and the DVD and video collection of Hanna’s new ‘friend’. He thought it was an interesting collection. He had expected there would be a section of Arab or Persian films, but there were none. He wondered if those countries were still making films, or if since the arrival of the Ayatollahs and their likes as heads of state, photography was forbidden completely.

  The choice of books and films suggested a serious mind, a sense of responsibility and a good heart. He did have his doubts about Middle Eastern men and their macho attitude towards women, but maybe that was exactly what would bring his daughter to her senses and back into reality? He couldn’t say he really knew about any of this anymore. Karim did not seem the type. Had times not moved on? Some films and newspaper articles suggested that they had, but he had no first-hand experience and no evidence for either theory.

  To his delight, Biddy and Hanna came back on an ecstatic high. His wife told him animatedly about a dog chasing swans by the lake and his daughter described to him how beautiful it had been outside in the development.

  “The place is fantastic. You’ll need to go and see for yourself tomorrow; especially if you have such an appreciative walking partner. Anything that is even just remotely nice, mother notices and raves about. It is the best medicine you can get,” Hanna assured him.

  “I know. That is why I married her.”

  “Why are you in such a magnificent mood?” Hanna asked her father. “Did Arsenal manage a big win?”

  “No. They drew, but it was an away game so that was hardly surprising; actually, quite a respectable result. Two of their major players are injured at the moment and they are competing in the Champions’ League as well as their regular games,” Walter explained, full of excitement. “But their rivals Chelsea lost today: on their own turf. Now that is the best sports news I have had in months. Abramovich must be fuming. He only just got a new coach in the middle of the season and again it is not working out. That will show him that you just can’t buy team spirit. You should have seen the fans. Tails between their legs and heads hanging down. And Chelsea wants to win it so desperately.”

  “I see,” Hanna said mechanically. “Best of luck to Arsenal.”

  “Arsenal,” Biddy said out of the blue and tapped Walter on the shoulder.

  After dinner the two women settled down in front of the huge plasma screen and watched ‘Little Voice’. Admittedly the story had a few dramatic and unhappy moments but there were many songs in it that Biddy would know. Walter was sitting in the kitchen with his book and decided to take the opportunity to call Henrik.

  “It seems no one is taking Mr White seriously,” Henrik said almost bored. “The journalists will want to get a comment from Hanna but with this low level of interest it looks unlikely they are going to lay siege to the house,” Henrik said.

  “Do you think we can go back home then?” Walter wondered.

  “I don’t know. I am sure you are aware that this has been a massive weekend for sport. There is not enough space for the story on the news programmes: it is just a mildly amusing anecdote for the public,” Henrik said. “But someone might well want to score a scoop and run Hanna’s story for its newsworthiness.”

  Walter thought that Henrik seemed not really interested in the affair anymore; he was possibly even drunk. He kept his distance from the rest of the family, usually with sarcasm, which made a serious conversation with him often impossible.

  Despite his better judgement, Walter decided to ask Henrik about Karim, and the current thinking regarding Muslim men.

  “How do you see the situation? Should we be worried?”

  His son laughed heartily at this.

  “Dad, you are such an old racist.”

  “No. I am not!” Walter said outraged. “I am just a little out of touch with current affairs. I am asking you for your opinion. If I was a racist I would not bother asking, would I?”

  “Dad, I will give you that, but most of all you are blind,” Henrik said smugly.

  “What do you mean?” Walter asked confused.

  “You should have a good look at Karim’s flat,” Henrik said suggestively.

  “I don’t understand what you are getting at.”

  “The answers are all right in front of you. He is not a Muslim, Dad. I am pretty sure Karim and his family are Jewish.”

  Walter was flabbergasted. How could a Muslim be a Jew?

  “A Jew from Iran? You are just messing with me. Who would ever have heard of such a thing,” he said dismissively.

  “First of all, he is probably British and born in this country. The way he dresses is completely modern. No beard or anything else that suggests a Muslim, or a Jewish Orthodox way of life for that matter. Did you not notice that candle holder on the bookshelf? And then he h
as that little wooden box outside his front door where Jews keep a piece of their holy scripture or something like it. I noticed it on the way out. That is definitely Jewish. Guess you are asking the wrong questions.”

  “What questions should I be asking instead then?” Walter wondered.

  “Would his family accept a non-Jewish woman? They are a much more difficult community to break into than you think. Even if she wanted to convert for him they may not take her,” Henrik told his father.

  “Really?”

  “I am afraid so. I don’t think there is anything going on between them though. They both denied that they were dating and the way she looks at him, there is no passion or even flirtation. He is far too steady for her to be interested, I guess. She needs more excitement and adventure than this. At least if you look at the ex-boyfriends that she is still talking about,” Henrik said.

  “She has dated some nice and steady men. I can’t see why she would not go out with Karim. Think of Daniel, he was very steady, and Dominic was very quiet.”

  “I don’t know. It is just a hunch I have. They don’t seem suited.”

  “I wouldn’t know. She never talks to me about any of her boyfriends,” Walter said matter of factly.

  “Yes, I guess she wouldn’t. She doesn’t really talk to me much either about personal things. You would have to ask Patrick about it.”

  “I still don’t get it. Karim is not a Jewish name. There can’t be any Jews in Iran; I thought it was a completely radical Muslim state?” Walter said.

  “I don’t know either, Dad. Maybe it is now and that is why his family is over here in the first place. Maybe you should also learn not to see any country as one homogenous entity. Everywhere is contradiction and opposition. I am not an expert on names but I know that some people do assimilate. Woody Allen is not a very Jewish name either, is it?” Henrik pointed out.

  “Are you saying I have nothing to worry about?” Walter was hopeful.

  “You will always have something to worry about Dad but I think Karim is a kosher guy: if Hanna will have him, and vice versa.”