She had been admitted to the psychiatric hospital, she was all alone there, and I had barely considered that.
I was her husband, for Christ’s sake. Her closest next of kin. I had to go there, I had to talk to the doctors, and I had to see her. Just to let her know I was there for her, for her and for the children.
What an idiot I had been.
I was utterly brain-dead.
But how could I go there? I couldn’t take the children with me. Obviously that wouldn’t work. And I didn’t know anyone in town who could take care of them. Or yes, I did, but they had their own kids to look after. And I didn’t want to ask anything of anyone.
John had lost interest in food, now he was pushing a cornflake through a pool of milk on the wax cloth.
“Are you full?” I said.
“Yes,” he said. “Thank you.”
“You’re going to do well, with such wonderful manners,” I said, lifting him out of the chair. Removed his diaper and threw it into the bin under the sink. “Do you want to be in the buff for a while?”
He nodded and trotted off into the living room. I found the children’s channel on the TV, went into the other living room and phoned Linda.
She answered at once.
“Hi, Hem,” she said.
She used to say that because hem, Swedish for home, came up on her phone whenever I rang.
“Hi,” I said. “I should’ve been up there to see you by now, to talk to the doctors and so on, but now I’m wondering whether it would be all right if I came early tomorrow morning. Right after dropping the kids off.”
“Yes, of course,” she said. “They’ll be pleased to meet you. I’ve told everyone what a wonderfully handsome husband I have.”
“I’m sorry about all of this, Linda.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry about. I’m absolutely fine. It’s like being in a mountain hotel. And I get proper sleeping tablets. I pass out like a clubbed seal.”
“That’s good. You have to sleep and rest. I’ll see you tomorrow. Call me if you feel like it. I’ll take my cell if we go anywhere.”
The chill in my guts didn’t leave me that day, it returned at regular intervals.
I was Linda’s closest relative, I was her husband, and she was alone in a psychiatric hospital and I hadn’t lifted a finger to help her. She had been there for two days now. With no help, no support, all on her own.
* * *
As soon as Vanja got up, she asked me when Mommy was coming home.
“She just called. She said she has to stay in the hospital for a while yet.”
“But you promised!”
“I know. But she’s there to sleep the right way. Do you remember when she was so tired this spring and slept all the time? Now it’s the opposite, now she can’t sleep at all. It’s not a problem, but she has to be there for a few more days. But do you know what?”
“What?”
“We’ll visit her in the hospital tomorrow. That’ll be nice.”
“Is that definite?”
“Yes, of course.”
After I had dropped off the children at school the next morning, I walked the few hundred meters to the big hospital complex. I had been there only once before, that was when John was born, almost three years ago to the day. Then I’d rushed home to get Vanja and Heidi, and they had laughed and fooled around in the hotel room for relatives, patted John’s head and placed a rubber dinosaur on top of it, which I took photos of, and they remembered for that very reason.
Linda had given me directions, which I’d written down on a Post-it. It was a long block reminiscent of the sixties, right at the end of the complex. I walked in, took the elevator up, and rang the bell outside the door, which was locked. While I was waiting a woman came down the stairs. She looked at me.
“Aren’t you a writer?” she said.
“Yes,” I said.
“You wrote Min kamp, didn’t you? Imagine seeing you here.”
“Yes,” I said. “Nice to meet you.”
The door opened, a nurse stared at me. She was wearing a white uniform.
“Hi,” I said. “My name’s Karl Ove Knausgaard. I’d like to visit Linda.”
“Hi,” she said. “Come with me. She’s over here.”
I followed her down the colorless corridor.
I had worked in a ward like this when I was eighteen, and I recognized the style. A refectory, a cage-like office with a big window, a recreation room, a long corridor with doors on both sides. Gray linoleum floor. Furniture with the unmistakable imprint of institution.
Four or five patients sat watching TV. Trembling, taciturn, pale. A couple paced to and fro, filled with a nervous, restless, aggressive energy. They were young; the ones watching TV were middle-aged and old. Linda came out of one room. She lit up when she saw me, gave me a big hug and a kiss on the lips.
“This is my husband!” she said loudly to everyone there.
“Well, you do have a handsome man, Linda!” a lively old lady called out.
“He’s the best writer in Norway,” Linda said. “It’s absolutely true.”
The patients sitting there, disabled or slumped, all with dark, vacant eyes, looked across at us.
“You should see my room,” Linda said. “It’s so cozy.”
She led me into a room. There were two beds, on one sat an overweight woman; she got up as soon as she saw us and left. Linda said her name and smiled.
“This is where I live,” she said, extending her arms. “But I need a few things from home. I’ve written a list. Or perhaps you can bring them with you next time? Look there!” she said, pointing to the wall where two drawings hung.
“Two twins drew them,” she said. “They remind me of myself when I was young. They’re twenty at most. Princesses of the night. They don’t sleep either. They’re acrobats. They’re absolutely terrific.”
She pressed against me.
“Isn’t it cozy here?” she said.
“Yes,” I said, taking a step toward the window. “But I was going to talk to the senior nurse. Don’t you think it would be best to do that right away?”
“They’ll come and get you,” she said, patting the duvet. “Sit down.”
I sat down beside her. She put her arm around me and wanted to kiss me. I leaned away.
“I’m not in the mood.”
“Never mind,” she said. “I understand. Look here.”
She got up and took me by the hand to the window. She wanted me to see all the ornaments on the windowsill. Porcelain dogs, porcelain cats. A photo of Vanja, Heidi, and John. A Robyn CD, stood upright to show the cover, some stones, some toy rings.
“And that’s my cuddly toy. A Moomin. I cover him with the duvet every night before I go to bed.”
She pointed to a little box on the floor where a cloth figure lay.
There was a knock at the door. The same nurse who had opened the door for me escorted us to the office. There were four people inside. Linda and I sat down on chairs between them. The doctor responsible for Linda, as far as I could judge, wearing a brown suit, extremely jovial, asked her some questions in broken Swedish. One of the others was also dressed in normal clothes, the remaining two wore white uniforms. Linda answered all the questions with wit, in detail, and at great length. They smiled, all of them, I could see she was a kind of favorite.
“There’s just one thing I have to say,” Linda said. “I know this won’t sound good because it’ll give the impression that I’m an elitist, or something like that, but if you ask me how I’m getting on it’s an inescapable fact that some of the nurses in the ward are so … well, I’ll have to be careful now, but they’re a bit on the slow side, they don’t always understand things right away, and that can be wearing for me. I’m a writer, I do radio, I’m a professional woman, and I’m used to a certain level, if you see what I mean. But there’s practically no one to talk to here.”
I felt a strong urge to duck, I didn’t, I retained my composure and watched her
as she spoke.
“It is as it is, Linda,” the doctor said. “But now your husband’s here. He may have a few questions to ask. Do you?”
“Two,” I said. “And they’re of a practical nature. We have three children. They have to see Linda of course. How shall we do it? I’m not so keen for them to come here.”
“You could meet in the park,” the doctor suggested. “That would be all right, wouldn’t it? Otherwise there’s nothing to stop you, Linda, going out every other day, or every day, and going home. Perhaps not today, perhaps not tomorrow, but in the foreseeable future.”
“And that’s my second question. How long is she going to be here, do you think?”
I looked at Linda as I said that, it didn’t feel good to refer to her as “she,” but I couldn’t find a way around it. She just smiled as if to say, Look what a clever husband I have.
“It’s impossible to say, my dear man,” the doctor said, getting up. “But we’d like to stabilize you a bit, Linda, before you go home.”
“The medicine isn’t working,” Linda said, looking at me. “From what I understand I’m being given big doses, but they’re not working at all.”
“Well, there’s a lot of energy in you.”
“OK,” I said. “We’re not talking days then?”
“Probably not,” the doctor said. “Now I’m going on holiday, so there’ll be another doctor coming tomorrow. But she’s even better than me, so that won’t be a problem.”
“Are you going on holiday?” Linda asked.
“Yes,” he said.
“And just as I was beginning to like you,” she said.
He laughed, shook hands, and the whole entourage followed him out.
“I wanted to talk to you,” the senior nurse said. “Could you come to my office for a moment?”
“Yes, of course,” I said, looking at Linda.
“I’ll wait in the room,” she said.
I accompanied her to the office.
“Do you need any help?” she said. “You have a right to some social help. Someone could go to your house, do the shopping, cook and clean for you.”
“No,” I said. “No, no, no. I don’t need it. Absolutely not. I’m fine.”
“OK,” she said. “If you should change your mind, let me know. How’s it going with the children?”
“Fine.”
“Do they know she’s here?”
“Sort of. We’ve told them she’s in the hospital to sleep.”
“OK. I think it’s a good idea for you to take them to the park and meet Linda there, as we mentioned.”
“Is today OK? Actually I’ve promised them they would see her today.”
“That’s fine. Come here after school. When do you pick them up?”
“At three. No, I’m wrong, half past three. So if we say a quarter to four here?”
“I’ll make sure she’s waiting at the entrance.”
“Thank you,” I said, and went to Linda’s room, knocked, and opened the door. Linda came toward me and took my hand, pulled me to the bed.
“What do you think of the doctor? Isn’t he great? Eastern European. Hungarian or Romanian or something like that. Shame he’s going on holiday. Typical.”
She looked at me. I bit my lip to stop myself from crying, got up, and stood in front of the window.
“Karl Ove, shall we go out for a cigarette?” she said.
“Sure,” I said. “OK.”
“They’ve got coffee here. Visitors have to pay five kronor, but I’ll see if I can get you a free one.”
“I don’t mind paying,” I said.
She filled two cups, poured milk in one, called for a nurse.
“We’re going out for a cigarette,” she said. “Open up, open up.”
We walked along the corridor with him, to the opposite end of the building from where I had arrived, he unlocked the door and we took the elevator down, came to a paved area with a shed where two old men were smoking.
Linda stopped and lit up. I did too.
“I’m so happy to be with you,” she said. “You make me so happy, Karl Ove.”
She stood up on her toes and we kissed. She clung to me, I took a step back, she let go, glancing down the road to where a vehicle was coming.
“I’m well looked after here,” she said. “Don’t you think?”
“Yes,” I said. “But you mustn’t stay too long.”
“No,” she said.
An ambulance drove slowly past.
“They’re in and out all night,” she said. “It’s exciting.”
“Mm,” I said.
I watched the ambulance, she held my face and straightened it as if to say I had to look at her.
Our eyes met. She stretched up and kissed me.
“I’ll have to go soon,” I said.
“Yes, I know you have a lot to do,” she said.
“But we’ll see you this afternoon,” I said. “I’ll bring the children and we can meet outside.”
“It’s nice sitting in the park,” she said.
“We can buy ice cream,” I said.
“Yes!” she said.
“Bye,” I said.
“Bye,” she said.
As I turned I welled up. I cried all the way home, almost blinded by tears, but when I was at home, sitting on the balcony and smoking, my eyes were dry. A situation had arisen and it had to be dealt with.
I was booked to do a four-day reading tour around Gothenburg, I would have to cancel that. I had lots of gigs at the Oslo Book Festival, I would have to cancel them. I had two spots at the Louisiana Literature Festival, I would have to cancel them. And then I would have to call Ingrid and Mom and ask if they could come to stay for a while, not because I needed any help, but because I wanted the children to have someone else apart from me. Anything that would divert attention from Linda’s absence was good.
I went inside and called Ingrid. I told her how the land lay, that Linda was ill and I would have to cancel everything for the next few weeks.
“It wouldn’t be possible to arrange to do all the jobs on one day and organize a babysitter for that day?”
“Yes,” I said. “That should work.”
I e-mailed Stefan at Nordstedts and asked if he could cancel the arrangements I had. No problem. I e-mailed the organizer in Gothenburg and said I would have to cancel the tour. They e-mailed back and said it was fine, but couldn’t I make one of the days, the one in Gothenburg? They had already advertised it and would prefer not to cancel. I wrote back and said that was fine. I didn’t contact Louisiana, in fact I wanted to do that one, and Copenhagen was so close I could travel back in the evening.
I called Ingrid again, she was happy to come and help, but not before the end of the week. I called Mom, she would manage to get away somehow and come down too, but probably not before the following week.
* * *
Heidi ran toward me as I entered the gates to the school.
“Are we going to see Mommy?” she shouted.
“Yes, we are,” I said.
John saw me, pulled himself off the wooden tricycle, and ran over too.
I lifted him up, put him down, and turned to the staff.
“How has it been today?” I said.
“It’s been fine. The older children have been to the theater.”
“Oh that’s right,” I said.
“John slept for an hour, more or less. But it was almost impossible to wake him today.”
“He gets up very early,” I said.
Vanja was on the swing with Katinka. I walked over to them. Heidi came along, holding my hand.
“We’re going to see Mommy!” she cried.
“I know,” Vanja said.
“Are you coming?” I said.
“I just have to get a drawing,” she said, and ran inside.
I put John in the stroller in the meantime. I wondered what she had drawn. When Linda had been depressed Vanja had drawn a little girl and a mother with a heart between them
and written, “I love you, Mama.” This time it was a house with a tree beside it and a flower bed, drawn in the way I remembered from my own childhood.
We walked up to Södervärn and into the hospital complex. Vanja had been there several times before, to see the optician, and had positive associations with the place.
“Where’s she staying?” Heidi said.
“Over there,” I said.
“Do they sleep here?” Heidi said.
“Yes, they do.”
“Are there lots of people who can’t sleep?” Vanja said.
“Not so many,” I said. “But there are some.”
Linda was leaning against the wall beside the door. When Vanja and Heidi caught sight of her they set off at a run. I lifted John from the stroller so that he could chase after them.
“My children,” Linda said, and bent down to embrace all three of them. “Vanja, Heidi, and John. How I’ve missed you!”
Linda straightened up and looked at me.
“Hi,” she said. “Shall we go and get some ice cream?”
I nodded, and we set off. There were buildings on both sides of the road, but behind the psychiatric department there was a lawn. We walked past, turned left, at the end of the road there was a kiosk.
“What have you been doing today?” Linda said.
“We’ve been to the theater,” Vanja said.
“Not me,” Heidi said. “I was at school all day.”
“You’re so lovely,” Linda said.
“Why can’t you sleep, Mommy?” Vanja said.
“I don’t know,” Linda said. “But it’s not serious. Look, there’s the kiosk.”
She opened the door and went in. As soon as her attention wandered from the children her face assumed an extremely distant expression. I could see she wanted to be somewhere else. She wanted to be with the children, but when they were there, she wanted to be somewhere else.
She bent down to them as they stood by the chest freezer.
“I want a Daim,” Vanja said.
John pointed to a cone. Heidi to a tub.
She took the three ice creams, placed them on the counter and paid.
Then we moved on. It was as though Linda was holding back almost everything she had inside her. I could see the glow in her eyes, but the children noticed nothing, I could see that too. We sat down on a bench by a little pool at the other end of the hospital complex. The children sat beside us eating their ice cream. When they’d finished they played by the water’s edge, John carried over a big branch he had found, which he threw in. Heidi crawled onto Linda’s lap, she sat caressing her and staring into the distance.
My Struggle, Book 6 Page 129
