East of the Sun, West of the Moon

by Carole Bellacera

  * * * *

  After they passed through customs, Leigh reached down to grab her luggage. She'd managed to get by with only one suitcase and an overnight bag. It had been difficult to pack when she didn't know how long she'd be here. Knut was still in fairly good health. At his last appointment with the oncologist, he'd been warned his condition would deteriorate rapidly once the decline began. Yet, death wouldn't necessarily come quickly. Theoretically, he could remain in a pain-racked bedridden state for months.

  That was the thing Knut feared the most. Living a life that no longer had any meaning. With just a few words, Leigh knew she could quell his fear. “I'll help you die.” That's what he wanted to hear. But she simply couldn't say it. As much as she loved him, she didn't think she could help him commit suicide. It went against everything she'd been taught about the sanctity of life.

  "You don't need to carry that,” Knut said. He took her overnight bag from her. “I have a porter to help us."

  "Far!” A girlish voice called out from across the gate separating the customs area from the main terminal.

  Knut's head shot up. “Kristin,” he said softly. Then his eyes found her in the crowd waiting for the arriving passengers. “Kristin!” He grabbed Leigh's hand and they started forward.

  A sandy-haired teenager waited for them at the gate. As soon as they passed through, she was in her father's arms, tears rolling down her face. “Oh, Father, I'm so glad you're home."

  After a moment, Knut pulled away from his daughter and spoke in Norwegian. The girl took off a pair of wire-rimmed glasses and cleaned them with the tail of her cotton shirt. With a tremulous smile, she murmured something in their common language. Leigh saw her smile did nothing to dispel the tragic look in her eyes.

  Knut put an arm around Leigh and spoke in English, “Krissy, this is Leigh."

  Kristin put her glasses back on and eyed her up and down. She smiled and enveloped Leigh in a warm hug. “You've been good to my father,” she said in lilting English. “And I thank you for that."

  Leigh blinked back tears as the ever present lump in her throat tightened. It was amazing. From the beginning, Knut had kept nothing from his daughter about his terminal illness. And here she was, watching her father return to his native country to die. So brave and accepting. Why couldn't she feel like that? It would be so much easier.

  The girl stepped away from Leigh and turned to her father. “Is there anything I can help you carry?” She spoke English for Leigh's benefit.

  "No.” Knut nodded to the porter at his side. “I believe this gentleman is taking care of everything."

  Leigh gazed at Kristin. She looked younger than her sixteen years. Or maybe that was because she was so used to American teenagers and their obsessive desire to look older. Kristin wore her sun-streaked brown hair long and straight, reminiscent of the Sixties and her lightly freckled face was devoid of make-up. Her green eyes sparkled with lively intelligence, and Leigh had the feeling if it weren't such a sober occasion, a cascade of laughter would bubble from her wide friendly mouth.

  "Well, are we ready?” Kristin said. “We have a house rented for you. It's just down the street from us. Rather small, but we thought you'd make do."

  She led them down a large crowded promenade and stopped a few feet away from a deserted domestic flight lounge. With an apologetic glance at Leigh, she turned to Knut. “Mor didn't wish to intrude upon our reunion, so she waited here for us. There she is, in the corner near the window."

  Knut glanced into the lounge and turned to Leigh. She saw the haggard look on his face. Her heart skipped a beat. He still loved her. It was written all over him.

  "Do you mind if I have a moment alone with her?” he asked softly.

  Leigh took a deep breath and smiled. “Of course not. Kristin, is there someplace you and I can go for a soft drink?"

  "Sure,” she said with a smile that looked uncannily like Knut's.

  Knut stared at Leigh long and hard. “Thank you,” he whispered. He turned to meet his ex-wife.

  Chapter 36

  "Hello.” Leigh extended a tentative hand to Knut's ex-wife. “It's nice to meet you."

  Sigurd Aabel gave her a sharp scrutiny and apparently approved of what she saw. She grasped Leigh's hand warmly. “Kristin tells me she feels like she knows you from Knut's letters.” She paused a moment. “I hope you don't mind I'm here. Kris asked me to come with her. And...” She glanced quickly at Knut who was watching them closely. “Well, to be perfectly honest, I do still care a lot for my ex-husband. I hope you can understand that."

  Leigh found herself squeezing Sigurd's hand reassuringly. “I do,” she said softly. Funny thing. She did understand, and she felt absolutely no threat from Sigurd's obvious affection for her ex-husband. But would it be the same if Knut were a healthy man? If he had more than a few months to live?

  "You can see we had quite a storm here last night,” Sigurd said as she drove expertly through the wet Oslo streets. “It looks as if the rain is here to stay."

  Appropriate weather for Knut's homecoming, Leigh thought. It was as if all of Norway were in mourning. From the back seat of Sigurd's gray Volvo, Leigh studied Knut's ex-wife. Sigurd wasn't exactly plain, but she didn't have the kind of beauty she'd imagined Knut's ex-wife would have. Perhaps because her chestnut hair had liberal streaks of gray running through it, she seemed older than she was, mid-forties if she was Knut's age. Her eyes, a clear shade of aquamarine, were easily her most attractive feature. The only thing that marred them was a slight shadow of sadness. Put there by the knowledge of Knut's impending death?

  As soon as this thought went through her mind, Sigurd shocked her. She turned to Knut in the passenger seat and said, “I have everything ready in the house. I.V. hook-up. Hospital bed. Everything you'll need for when you can no longer get around normally."

  Knut nodded. “Thank you."

  Leigh drew in a sharp breath. Sigurd had sounded so matter-of-fact. Almost cold. How could she do it? Then Leigh remembered she was a nurse. Perhaps her bluntness was the result of the mandatory distance her profession demanded. Yet, she was talking about a man she once loved! Maybe still loved.

  Nevertheless, Leigh felt reassured that they would be staying near Sigurd and Kristin. With her medical knowledge, Sigurd would be a great help in caring for Knut. As much as she loved him, Leigh dreaded the nursing care expected of her.

  The Volvo pulled into a tiny driveway at the side of a small white house on Kjelsasveien Gate. Sigurd glanced apologetically back at Leigh and spoke, “I know it's terribly small, but rental housing is becoming very difficult to find here in town. We were quite lucky to get this, actually. Old Fru Ostby lived here for over fifty years. She died recently and her son decided to rent until his daughter marries next spring. Then he'll give her the house as a wedding gift."

  Next spring. No danger of Knut being alive then. Suddenly Leigh was overcome with a bone-clenching anger. Why were they all just accepting it? Where was the fight in these people? Especially Knut! How could he have accepted his prognosis so quickly? Well, she wasn't ready to accept it!

  "I guess we'll just have to find another place when she's ready to get married,” Leigh said firmly. Defiantly.

  Sigurd threw her an odd look. Knut turned and reached over the front seat for her hand. His face was warm, his eyes sad. “That's my Leigh. Always the optimist."

  "She should be optimistic, Far,” Kristin spoke up. She smiled at Leigh gratefully. “I am. There's always room for hope, isn't there?"

  "As long as you realize there's a difference between hope and wishful thinking, Kris,” her mother said gently. She opened the car door. “Shall we go in?"

  Sigurd had prepared the house for them with what Leigh was to learn would be her usual efficiency. The heavy living room furniture smelled faintly of lemon oil, and fresh flowers had been placed in every room. Even the cupboards in the old-fashioned kitchen were stocked with staples. In one small bedroom, there was an antique dresser and a ma
tching double bed covered with a delicate embroidered quilt in Norwegian red, white and blue. It was a cozy room reminiscent of the Scandinavian countryside, and Leigh found it charming. But when she looked into the second bedroom down the hall, the sight that met her eyes chilled her to the bone.

  It was a stark hospital bed, crisply made and waiting. At its side, stood an I.V. pole with a plastic bag of clear fluid hanging from it. In a corner behind the I.V. set-up crouched a heavy green tank labeled ‘Oxygen’ and the paraphernalia that went with it. On the other side of the bed was a metal table holding a box of tissues and an emesis basin. The door below the drawer was open and in it, Leigh saw a bedpan resting on a box of plastic bed liners. She remembered using them when she was in the hospital after giving birth. They were to protect the sheets from leaking blood. But with Knut, they would be used for the incontinency he was sure to have in his last days.

  The horror of the situation flooded upon her. Until this moment, she hadn't really thought about the reality of what lay ahead. Dear God, how could she watch Knut be reduced to the helplessness of an infant?

  She felt a presence behind her and turned to face Sigurd. Her lovely aquamarine eyes searched Leigh's face. Sigurd reached out and clasped Leigh's hand. “You really do love him, don't you? I'm glad. Knut deserves someone who can give love unselfishly. That was something I was never able to do."

  Leigh found herself wanting to open up to this woman. “I'm so scared,” she whispered. “I don't know if I'm strong enough to go through this with him."

  "But you will,” Sigurd said. “All of us have reserves of strength stored up inside. And when we most need them, they will be there. We're going to get through this together. The four of us. That is, if you truly don't mind our being around?"

  "You and Kristin are Knut's family. How could I mind?"

  Sigurd smiled. “That's good. We'll all make sure Knut has a peaceful and dignified death."

  Leigh stared at her. “Why are you so ready to give up on him? Perhaps if all of us convince him to have chemotherapy, we can extend his life."

  The only change in her expression was a softening in her eyes. “Leigh, I've worked oncology for many years now. I know how slim the chances are for someone with an advanced case of lung cancer and metastasis, even with chemotherapy. And I can look in someone's eyes and know when they've accepted their impending death. That look is in Knut's. You don't see it and Kristin doesn't either. But it's there. And it will be much easier on both of you when you accept it. It will be easier for Knut, too."

  Leigh snatched her hand away. “I can't accept it, don't you see? Knut is a young man. He has so much to live for. Why can't he at least try?” She whirled away and faced the bed. It lay before her like a malevolent creature. Just waiting for Knut. “God, I hate him because he won't try!"

  "Your anger is good,” Sigurd said. “Don't try to hide it from him. And don't try to make him hang onto hope that is non-existent. Most importantly, don't hide your feelings from him. He needs you to be open with him. He'll want to talk about death and how it will feel. Don't discourage this. It will be difficult, of course, but if he isn't allowed to express his feelings, it will impede a peaceful death."

  Leigh stood rigidly, unable to speak. Who was this woman? Knut's ex-wife or some kind of programmed computer? Leigh found herself hating her. When she turned around a moment later, the room was empty.

  * * * *

  Erik took a bite of lamb stew and chewed it thoughtfully, staring at Margit across the table. She was unusually pretty tonight in her new bright red sweater. Her hair was different, too. Pulled back on the sides and falling to her shoulders in shimmering red-gold waves. So angelic-looking. Was it possible she'd been sleeping around on Gunvor? Bjorn had tried to convince him it couldn't be true. But how to explain Gunny's parentage?

  He didn't want to think about it. Not now. Anyway, Bjorn had a point. He'd suggested Dr. Oien might have made a mistake. Perhaps his lab had screwed up with the results of his tests. Bjorn had given him the name of a urologist, a colleague at his hospital. Why not give Margit the benefit of doubt and go for a second opinion?

  Erik didn't want to believe Gunny wasn't his. He looked over at the red-haired little boy who was shoveling the stew into his mouth with a chunky hand. Gunny saw Erik's glance and his lips parted in a huge messy grin.

  "Father, will you show me the fountain on Saturday?"

  Erik looked at him blankly. Margit sighed. “Have you forgotten already? We're spending the day with your family at Frognerparken."

  "Oh. I had forgotten. Sure, Gunny, I'll show you the fountain."

  Erik frowned and looked down at his stew. His appetite had really vanished now. Since Kayleigh's visit almost two years ago, he'd tried to avoid Frogner Park because of the bittersweet memories the place aroused in him. Especially Vigeland's Sculpture Park. As if it were yesterday, he remembered that blustery morning they'd spent in the nearly deserted park, exchanging warm kisses in the falling snow.

  He dragged his thoughts back to Gunny. It hurt like hell to think the little guy wasn't really his son. Of course, nothing could change his love for the boy. But the truth could damn well destroy what little feeling he had left for his mother. Had she known from the beginning? Had she purposely destroyed his future with Kayleigh?

  His head throbbed at the thoughts racing rapidly through his brain. Who was the man? A married lover? Or just another one-night stand? After all, it had happened with him. Why not someone else? And then, there was the other possibility. That Dr. Oien had been wrong, and Gunny really was his son.

  Tomorrow, he would make that call to the urologist. One way or another, soon, he'd know the truth.

  * * * *

  Anne-Lise reached over and touched Erik's arm. “Look at Gunny and Inger-Lise."

  Erik followed her glance to the children sitting on the grass nearby. Gunny was up on his knees, meticulously threading wildflowers into the little girl's white-blond curls. Erik chuckled. “What do you think that means? Will he be a lover or simply a hairdresser?"

  Anne-Lise grinned. “Well, if he's anything like his father, I'd say he definitely won't be a hairdresser."

  Erik frowned.

  "That wasn't meant as an insult, you know."

  He looked over at her and smiled. “I know. It wasn't that. I just have a lot on my mind."

  He stretched out on the blanket and gazed up at the clear blue sky. It was a balmy day in early June, one that was too rare this far north. The temperature, in the mid-seventies, would've been considered a heat-wave if it weren't for a light playful breeze that rippled in from the south.

  The entire Haukeland family had already picnicked on a smorgasbord spread and were now either relaxing in the shade of the fir trees or walking off their hearty appetites in nearby Vigeland's Sculpture Park. Erik had chosen to stay behind with Anne-Lise, his parents and the children. He just couldn't bring himself to face the sculpture park. There were too many memories.

  Erik felt a small hand tug at the sleeve of his cotton shirt. “Father, you promised to take me to see the fountain."

  He groaned and propped himself on an elbow to gaze into Gunny's earnest face. “Just let me rest a while, Gun. When your mother gets back, we'll go."

  Appeased, the little boy wandered back to Inger-Lise. Anne-Lise looked over at Erik. “It seems Bjorn and Margit have something important to discuss. They've been gone for almost a half-hour.” An amused light glimmered in her blue eyes.

  "Mmmm?” Erik dropped back to the blanket and closed his eyes. The picnic lunch had made him sleepy.

  "I wonder if it has anything to do with a certain birthday coming up next week?"

  Erik opened one eye and grinned. “What have you heard, Anne-Lise? I don't want some silly surprise party."

  Anne-Lise laughed. “I'm not saying a thing.” She turned over on her stomach and propped her chin on her hand.

  Erik contemplated her for a moment. He'd noticed a sparkle to her lately; she look
ed younger and more attractive than she had a year ago. Bjorn was a damn lucky man to have a wife like Anne-Lise. She was so open and unassuming. Fresh. For a long time, he'd thought Margit was that way. But now, every time he looked at his wife, he saw a slyness he'd never noticed before. Or was it his imagination? He'd know for sure in a few weeks. His appointment with the new urologist was scheduled for next Thursday. As soon as the tests results came in, he would know the truth about Margit.

  "You really look happy, Anne-Lise,” he said. “There's quite a difference in you since we were in France."

  "Yes, I guess you could say I've done some growing up since then. There were a lot of things running through my mind about Bjorn. You wouldn't believe some of the stuff I was imagining.” She laughed and then eyed him thoughtfully before going on. “I'm so ashamed of myself now. For a while, I actually believed Bjorn was having an affair with Margit."

  Erik propped his head on his hand and looked at her. “Are you serious?"

  Anne-Lise nodded. “I hate to admit it, but I really did think that."

  "What did you have to base it on?"

  "That's just it. Nothing. It was just a feeling. But now I know I was being paranoid. When we got back home, Bjorn and I had it out. I discovered he was feeling neglected because of the time I spent at work, so he retaliated by putting in more time at the hospital and neglecting me. It was one of those vicious circles. Since we cleared the air about it, he's been so much more loving and attentive. And I've been making sure I have more time for him. Erik, don't make that mistake with Margit. Be sure to plan time together, away from Gunny. It makes such a difference in a marriage."