by Philip Teir
‘I haven’t talked to them,’ he said then. His brother was always reminding him that there were people who lived carefully planned and humdrum lives, who kept in regular contact with relatives, and who were able to carry on casual conversations. In a way, he admired all that, although Erik’s evasive looks told him that all was not as it should be. His brother seemed nervous. He was drumming his fingers on the steering wheel as he drove.
‘How long are you staying?’ asked Erik.
‘Not sure yet,’ said Anders. He knew that he needed a lot of sleep, and he’d thought he might be able to do that here in Mjölkviken. Anders had always liked Julia. They got along well together, and Erik’s kids were nice. He needed peace and quiet, and maybe a few weeks in which to ponder what he was going to do with the rest of his life.
‘How have you been?’ asked Erik.
‘It was great,’ he lied.
‘Because you look a little … tired.’
‘It’s just because I haven’t eaten anything. And I haven’t slept well. Jet lag, you know. How about you?’
Erik didn’t reply.
Anders didn’t have much contact with his family. That was also why, strangely enough, it had taken him so long to make the decision to go to Hanoi. He’d wanted to travel as long as he could remember, but something had been holding him back. It was only lately that he’d begun to understand what that was: he was too dependent. If he’d gone to see a shrink – which would have been unthinkable in Ekenäs – he presumably would have uncovered long ago the root of many of his idiosyncrasies. But it had taken him ages to come to that insight on his own.
When Anders was seven, he developed gastrointestinal problems. As an adult, he’d read his own medical records from that time. The doctor had noted that a ‘pale young lad came in’ or something like that. When he’d started in first grade he’d suddenly begun to lose weight. He suffered from stomach aches, but didn’t tell his parents until it became impossible for him to digest his food. He no longer recalled all the details, but he’d ended up having to see the doctor frequently, with two or three years of constant tests, sometimes under sedation, sometimes not. And occasionally he had to travel somewhere, for instance to the hospital in Tammerfors. The whole time his mother kept a watchful eye on him. He was forced to drink great quantities of fluids in order to empty his intestines each time an endoscopy was performed, and he found the prep procedure both difficult and torturous. He could still recall the taste of the saline solution mixed with raspberry juice. After a couple of years of frequent visits to the hospital, he was finally given a diagnosis: Crohn’s disease.
‘It’s beautiful here,’ Anders said now as they drove along a wooded track, heading for the summer house where Julia and Erik were staying.
‘It is, isn’t it? Some of these houses sell for close to half a million euros,’ said Erik. ‘But it also seems a little run-down. As if the area had its heyday thirty years ago. These days it’s practically deserted. There’s just a bunch of hippies living in one of the houses near the beach. You might like them.’
As they drove into the yard and parked in front of the summer house, Anders saw his niece and nephew. He realised then that he hadn’t brought them any presents. Anton and Alice greeted him and seemed to be watching his every move as he set his suitcases on the terrace. Anders thought maybe it was good for them to see someone different, to see a grown-up who didn’t fit the norm of perfection, someone who wasn’t doing all that well. He scratched his beard and patted Anton on the head.
The house was nice, if a bit strange. Anders took note of the odd assortment of furniture and the overriding use of pine everywhere: on all the floors and walls.
‘We might have to do some remodelling one day if we take over the place,’ said Julia. ‘But now let’s eat.’
The potato salad was a creamy yellow colour, with capers and onion. Anders helped himself to three servings. He realised how much he’d missed Nordic food, and how much better it made him feel to eat a home-cooked meal instead of all the processed fat he’d consumed during his trip.
‘That was great,’ he said now, looking at Julia. It felt easier to look at her instead of Erik.
‘Sometimes I think I’d have a much healthier view of life if only I ate good food like this every day,’ he said.
‘So why don’t you?’ asked Erik.
‘I always make things too complicated. My plans get to be too big. Then I spend four hours in the kitchen,’ said Anders, setting his knife and fork on his plate.
‘I don’t think cooking is easy,’ said Julia. ‘But when you have a family, you’re forced to learn. The hardest part is coming up with new things to cook every day.’
‘Hard for me, you mean,’ said Erik. ‘Since I’m the one who does all the cooking.’
Anders had noticed it the minute he came inside. There was an oddly persistent tension between Julia and Erik.
‘So tell us what you’ve been doing,’ said Julia.
‘Nothing special. I rode around on a motorbike, went to pubs, and met a few people,’ replied Anders. He had propped his elbows on the table, resting his chin on his hands. When he looked around, it seemed absurd to be sitting here in the midst of the serene Finnish nature.
‘Did you have any plans? Anything special you wanted to do?’ asked Julia.
‘Not really. Well, actually, I wanted to do some reading and eat Vietnamese street food. But otherwise, nothing specific.’
‘What are you going to do now?’ asked Erik.
In reality, that was the question that everyone, friends and family, had been asking Anders for the past ten years. He felt annoyed because he knew that soon he’d be forced to decide. He could picture himself through their eyes now, but he pushed the image away.
‘Maybe I should become a chef. That’s what I’ve always wanted to do.’
After dinner, Anders excused himself and walked down to the beach alone. He strolled along the water’s edge, past several summer houses, to a spot where big waves slammed against the rock walls.
The sea looked unbelievably massive compared with the brightly coloured crowds in Hanoi. He took out the packet he was carrying in his pocket. Maybe he should fling the pills into the sea, but that seemed stupid after sending them by post all the way to Finland.
9
A COUPLE OF DAYS LATER Erik and Alice stood by the road waiting for Julia’s parents to arrive.
It was easy to miss the narrow drive up to the summer house, so they had positioned themselves at the road to form a welcome committee. Heavy clouds still lingered in the sky after a light rain in the morning. But it was warmer, and Erik had decided they would eat outside.
Now he saw his father-in-law’s car come driving through the wooded glade, a brand-new white Volvo with all the latest gadgets. Göran had bought it in the spring and taken Erik for a drive to show him all the bells and whistles. (‘Although I haven’t shown all of them to Susanne because then she’d forget that you also have to steer the car.’)
Alice walked alongside her father as the car turned onto the drive.
‘Hi, darling. And happy birthday!’ said Susanne as she opened the passenger-side door and got out to give Alice a hug.
‘It looks like we’re in for some nice weather,’ Erik said to his father-in-law.
‘That’s what I heard on the news. I wasn’t expecting that, considering the kind of summer we’ve had so far.’
‘Well, you’ve managed to make the place look presentable,’ said Susanne as she walked up to the house and greeted Julia. ‘But the grass needs mowing. And why have you brought that old chair out here?’
She pointed at a rickety chair that Erik had found next to the woodpile.
‘Mamma, we haven’t really had time to do much. I’m working on my book, and Erik has been looking after the kids.’
‘I’ve always hated that chair. Your father loved it,’ said Susanne.
Erik could see how Julia was steeling herself as she put on her best
smile and kissed her mother on both cheeks.
‘Have you met my brother?’ asked Erik.
Anders, who had been sitting on the terrace, came down to say hello.
‘Yes, we’ve met. At the wedding, and I think one other time. Erik told us you’ve been in Vietnam,’ said Göran.
‘That’s right.’
‘I’ve heard that a lot of partying and drinking goes on there,’ said Göran.
‘I suppose. To a certain extent,’ replied Anders.
‘Mamma and Pappa, do you need help with anything?’ Julia asked.
Anton had been waiting all day for his grandmother to arrive, but now that she was here, he didn’t want to go down to see her because he didn’t want to seem too eager. She always brought him a present. Once she gave him an entire Lego police station. He felt a little too old for such things now, and would prefer a new pair of shoes or a computer game, but that was probably expecting too much.
He was sitting on the terrace when she came up the steps to give him a hug.
‘So, here’s my honey bunch. How are you doing, Anton?’ Anton breathed in his grandmother’s sweet and slightly tangy scent and felt her soft bosom as she pulled him close. As she hugged him, he cast a surreptitious glance at the bags she was holding.
His cheeks felt warm as she released him.
‘I’ve brought presents, but first I have to unpack so I can find them,’ she said, setting everything down on the stone floor of the terrace. Anton could have told her exactly where to find the presents because he could see the big plastic bag she was holding in her left hand, but he knew it would be impolite to mention it. Instead, he stood up to greet his grandfather. Anton loved getting hugs.
‘So what sort of people are staying at the neighbouring summer house? They looked interesting,’ said Göran.
‘Where was that?’ asked Erik.
‘On our way here we saw a skinny guy walking along the road, heading for the Segerkvists’ old villa. He had dreadlocks. When we got closer, we saw there seemed to be a bunch of people at the house, and there was a sign too, as if it were some sort of campsite. Just think what the Segerkvists would say if they knew.’
Julia’s mother gave her husband a look.
‘I mean, they were always so meticulous about their property,’ said Göran.
‘We’ve met them,’ said Julia. ‘Erik and I. The man you mentioned is named Ville. They’re getting ready for the apocalypse.’
‘The apocalypse?’ said Susanne.
‘Yes, but it’s not that simple. It has to do with the environment. They want to go back to some pre-industrial time,’ Julia went on.
‘They have a blog,’ said Erik.
‘I may be wrong, but I don’t think blogs existed in the pre-industrial era,’ said Anders.
‘I think I’ll go in and start fixing dinner. Pappa, now that you’re here, could you and Erik have a look at the pipes under the house? There’s been a strange smell in the kitchen all summer.’
Göran gave her the evasive look she’d seen so many times lately. Her father was sixty-five years old, and he seemed to have decided that he wanted to be left in peace for the rest of his life.
‘Believe me, I’ve tried to fix that sort of thing thousands of times before. It has to do with the land the house is sitting on. Something to do with the way the ground water flows. You’re just going to have to live with it,’ he said now. Julia thought it sounded as if he were talking about his marriage.
‘I’ll come and help with the food,’ said Susanne, following Julia to the kitchen.
Anton and Alice went to the terrace to play cards before dinner. Erik looked at his father-in-law. ‘Would you like a beer?’ he asked.
‘Why not,’ said Göran.
Erik came back with cold beers for Göran and Anders. The mood at the summer house had improved after Anders arrived. Julia seemed to have relaxed a bit, as if it helped to throw other people into the mix.
Göran took a big swig of beer and looked at the tarn.
‘We always used to call it the Pond when Julia was little. It’s probably too big to be called a marsh, and it’s not really swamp-like. I haven’t been out here in a long time.’
‘Why not?’ asked Erik. ‘It’s such a great place.’
Göran looked suddenly anxious.
‘We’ve just never taken the time,’ he said at last.
‘Did you go swimming there? In the tarn?’ asked Erik.
‘Maybe when it was newly dredged. I wouldn’t recommend it. So, how’s work going?’
‘I’m not too sure. These are tough times.’
‘Yes, I read about that in the paper. But everything’s okay with you, right?’
‘Absolutely. I’m not in any danger.’
‘Good. It was a smart decision to study IT. There will always be jobs in that field. By the way, I read something about your former colleague in the paper. Did you hear that he sold part of his company to Japanese investors?’
‘I heard something like that.’
‘A billion euros. He’s going to make a billion on the deal. Well, not him personally, but the company. And a lot of it will go to taxes, of course. Still. What a deal.’
‘That’s a lot of money,’ Erik agreed.
‘You could have been part of that,’ said Göran.
‘It’s not that simple,’ said Erik.
‘No, I suppose not,’ said Göran.
Julia was in the kitchen with her mother, making dinner. Susanne was a good cook, and she had a vegetable garden at home. She also had a pedagogical streak, which meant that she enjoyed giving instructions, although Julia noticed that today she was being a little careless and having to improvise.
Susanne was already immersed in her daily monologue. This time she was talking about her latest project which she had reluctantly accepted – or so she claimed – because she could tell that no one else would be able to do the job as well as she could. Julia had long ago stopped taking any interest in her mother’s work. She would merely nod occasionally while trying to think about something else, pretending she was listening to the radio with some overly talkative middle-aged woman on the air.
‘So initially I thought about turning it down, but then they asked me to stay on for another year, with a higher salary and a bigger office, so now I’ve decided to take the offer, and we have a lot of fun projects planned for the autumn. But good Lord, I can’t bear the thought of going to China again. It makes me tired just thinking about it.’
Julia didn’t say a word as she focused on the cooking.
‘This is the dish I usually offer my guests from China,’ said Susanne as she picked up slices of air-dried ham and arranged them around an avocado salad.
Her fingers were shiny with olive oil. Susanne’s Chinese guests were a perennial joke in the family. She had friends in Shanghai whom she’d met through her job. When Julia was a child, she’d always celebrated Christmas with her parents and her brother and a handful of excessively polite Chinese university teachers.
‘He seems rather lackadaisical,’ said Susanne.
‘Who do you mean?’
‘Erik’s brother. We’ve never actually been properly introduced.’
Julia had always been bothered by the way her mother would inspect someone from top to toe, as if she were doing a scan of their socio-economic position and lifestyle. At first Julia had thought it was merely a superficial habit, but later she began to wonder whether it was actually a sophisticated computation which Susanne silently carried out. If Susanne were set down in the bush somewhere in the Kalahari, thought Julia, she would no doubt quickly learn the methods needed to recognise hostile tribes.
‘So, are we ready?’ Susanne asked.
‘I think so. I’m just going to let the meat rest for a bit,’ replied Julia.
‘Oh no, look, I spilled something.’
Susanne tried to wipe off a spot of salad dressing from her dress, but she only spread the oil even more.
‘W
ait a minute and I’ll get a damp paper towel,’ said Julia. ‘Is that a new dress?’
‘Yes, I bought it in Paris. It’s always so hard to find anything in my size. But there’s a boutique in the gay quarter – what’s it called? – and I always go there. At any rate, I saw this dress in the window, and of course it cost a fortune, but it’s such good quality. You can throw it in the washing machine at forty degrees and it comes out like new. With my job, I need dresses like this.’
Julia rubbed a paper towel on the spot. Susanne took the paper from her and rubbed some more.
‘I saw so many beautiful dresses there. Do you think Alice would like to have something from Paris, by the way? It’s a shame she always wears black. But maybe that’s the current fashion. Do her friends look the same way? With black hair hanging in their eyes?’
‘Not really. It’s something Alice came up with. She’s a very independent sort of girl.’
‘But she’s so quiet. I’d like to see her smile once in a while,’ said Susanne.
‘She smiles when she feels like it,’ said Julia.
‘Sure. Maybe. Well, Anton is just the same, at least. Though he’s put on weight.’
Julia noticed herself tuning out. She couldn’t stand to hear any more.
‘I don’t think I’m going to be able to get this out,’ said Susanne now, tossing the paper in the rubbish bin under the sink. ‘By the way, how are things with you and Erik?’
The question came out of nowhere, and Julia was annoyed. No matter how much she disliked her mother’s interference, Susanne often seemed to have a sixth sense for what was worrying her.
‘I’m not really sure. I suppose things are okay. I don’t know. Maybe we’re going through some sort of crisis.’
She actually didn’t want to talk to her mother about it. Susanne would always make use of whatever she said. Her words would turn up in some later conversation, when she was least expecting it, to be used against her.
‘Oh well, it’s probably not serious. People go through crises and come out the other side. God only knows that your father and I have certainly had our share of problems.’
