In Every Moment We Are Still Alive

by Tom Malmquist

  I was already aware at that point of the tie having evolved from the cravat in the seventeenth century, which, in turn, had been inspired by Croatian soldiers who made a habit of tying the ends of their pointed shirt collars before going into battle. I searched on the Internet when I got home but I didn’t find anything about the background to the tradition of the white tie. I did discover that black became the colour of mourning in Sweden in the sixteenth century, in accordance with Spanish fashion. In the nineteenth century the white-tipped collars first appeared in black mourning clothes, but only in the following century did white collars become something for kith and kin. The ceremonial white scarf has existed for a long time in Sweden, there was nothing about it in essays on funeral ceremonies, but I found old photographs and romantic paintings from the old Swedish agricultural society. In a couple of the depicted funeral trains the odd mourner wore a white ceremonial scarf. My tie is as white as bone, it is also as white as the wedding dress Karin pointed out in the vintage boutique by Mariatorget, it is not actually a wedding garment at all, just a simple party confection from the forties.

  Livia starts whimpering and I step away from the mirror. I take off our clothes and hang them up in the wardrobe. The bottles have to be sterilised in boiling water every day, it feels as if it’s the only thing I ever do. PreNAN Discharge in cold water. I heat the mixture in a saucepan and pour it into a feeding bottle. I put a blanket over us and drip the milk over my wrist. It’s a touch too warm. I wait. Livia’s head is pink and downy. The sound of her drinking makes me drowsy. She falls asleep with her mouth open. I’m woken by the sound of the home telephone and I snatch up the receiver. Hello, I’m looking for Karin. I don’t recognise the voice. A young woman’s voice. She sounds so earnestly cheerful that I assume she’s some childhood friend or colleague who’s unaware of what’s happened. Livia is still sleeping. I sandwich the receiver between my shoulder and ear and lift Livia off my chest and put her down beside me on the sofa. I didn’t hear, who did you say you were? I ask. Is Karin home? she answers. Karin is the one whose name is on the telephone subscription so I’d like to talk to her, she says in the same cheerful voice. Where are you calling from? I ask. I’d rather talk to Karin about that. Karin is dead, I answer. Okay, well have a good day, then.

  * * *

  —

  I’ve been given the name of Silverdals Crematorium in Sollentuna by Lidingö’s Churchyard Administration. I introduce myself to one of the technicians. I explain that my wife is going to be cremated, and I wonder how it works. Oh right, he answers. Is there anyone there I can talk to if I have questions? I ask. You can talk to me, but actually we closed hours ago, I don’t know why I picked up the telephone, he says. I get the impression I’m the first person ever to call the crematorium to ask some questions. He breathes heavily like a corpulent person. Okay, I say. Why do you want to know? he asks. I just want to know. Uh-huh, so what are your questions, then? I’m just wondering what happens to my wife when she comes to you. There’s not so much to tell, he says. It sounds as if he’s sitting himself down. I don’t know anything, I point out. The corpses come here from the mortuary and then we transfer them to the refrigerated room, he explains. How many degrees is it in there? Are you a journalist? No, I just want to know. He laughs and says: It’s a normal cool-room, the same sort of thing you get at the supermarket. Ten degrees? More like five degrees. Okay, and then? Well, then we assign each of the bodies a ceramic number badge, to avoid any mix-ups. Has that ever happened? Not on my watch, but of course it has been known to happen. So it may be the case that the ashes in an urn are actually from a different body? No, he answers. I thought you said it could happen? I once heard about a doctor who removed the appendix of some bloke who’d come in to fix his knee, of course things can go wrong, we’re just people manning the controls here. Ceramic badges, okay, and then what happens? I ask. The brick oven, the body stays in there for about ninety minutes, we use oil-powered burners, what’s left is a heap of glowing embers. And that’s what you put in the urn? No, you rake out the ashes and let the ash grinder pulverise it into a fine dust, then it’s poured into the urn and sealed. How hot do the ovens get? Hot as hell, eight hundred degrees or something like that, he replies. Do you keep the smoke? That goes up through the chimney, it’s fifteen metres tall, none of the neighbours have complained as yet. Smoke is a waste product of the incineration, it becomes soot, doesn’t it? We continuously check the emissions, mercury and carbon dioxide and things like that, it’s regulated. Aren’t the waste products of the fire considered a part of the cremated body? I’ve never really thought of it like that, he answers. So a certain measurable part of the body flies up through the chimney and out over Sollentuna’s industrial areas? I honestly don’t have a clue. Don’t you need some certificate from the deceased in order to do the cremation? God no, it’s been ages since that was abolished, sometime in the sixties—changed your mind, have you, don’t you want your grandmother to be cremated? My wife, I point out, and go on: I don’t know what she wanted, my mother-in-law was convinced she wanted to be cremated, are cremations common? In Sweden, yes, there’s a long tradition of it, we burned our dead before Christendom, though for all I know you may not be Nordic? In Qafzeh they’ve found graves that are a hundred thousand years old, they put seashells by their dead, I answer. You know what, I have to knock off here, if you want you can come in and look around, or just call when we’re open…? Okay, thanks for taking the time. Or did you have something else you wanted to ask? No, I just find it odd that so many people I have never met have been taking care of Karin since she died. It wouldn’t work otherwise, just think if folks just kept their stiffs at home, no, we should be damn thankful for that.

  * * *

  —

  Sven is just about to give Livia a pat when Lillemor barks at him to disinfect his hands. He looks at me while apologising. He strides up to the pump bottle of disinfectant gel on the chest of drawers under the hat shelf, rubs some into his hands but then forgets to pat Livia and instead starts bringing in the carrier bags of children’s clothes, which they’ve been given by neighbours and friends on Lidingö. I suppose I should get going, then, says Sven. Don’t you want coffee? I ask. He looks over at Lillemor, who’s wilting on the sofa. Her woollen cardigan is chrome yellow, her hair is dark grey. No, I have a few errands to run in town, thanks all the same, says Sven. I’ve bought milk, I say. Oh really, well, no, thanks all the same, he answers, then calls out: I’m off now, darling. Lillemor answers: Drive carefully. I follow him onto the landing. Livia thought you were going to give her a pat, I say. He stops and turns around. His cheeks are sunken, his furrows longer and deeper than before, and his laugh doesn’t have the same warm resonance that I’m used to. Little sweetie, how could I forget that? he says and runs his hand over Livia’s cheek. He takes her hand between his fingers. Yes, there is no pity in the insistence of death, he says in a low voice. I don’t know how to reply to that, so I just say: Drive carefully. Yeah, thanks, bye, Tom. He turns around and waves at Livia before he disappears down the stairs. I’m almost falling asleep when Lillemor holds up another set of children’s clothes and then starts going through the programme for the memorial service in detail. Fine, I say. Yes, I do think Karin would have liked it. I stand up: I think I have to go to bed, I say, I’m so damn tired, but I’ve got the formula ready, there’s a jug in the fridge, all you have to do if she wakes up is heat it. Lillemor stands up and goes to the fridge. She opens it and looks inside. Yes, I can see, she says, and turns to the plates, glasses, and feeding bottles in the sink. I don’t mind washing up Livia’s things here, if I’m allowed to? You don’t need to do that, Lillemor, I’ll do it tomorrow. I’m quite happy to do it, I can’t sleep anyway. Okay, thanks, but I’d like to wash up our things in the morning. Lillemor picks up Livia abruptly and turns her back on me. I brush my teeth and wash my face. When I come in to say goodnight Lillemor has sat down on the guest bed with her feet on the floor. That was Sven calling,
she says. Really, has something happened? He just wanted to say that we left one of the bags of clothes in the car. He’s not coming back here now, I hope? He wanted to, but I said we should deal with it another day. He seemed tired, I say. I don’t know about that, she says. Maybe it’s not so surprising. He seems to be taking it all philosophically, he’s continuing with his practice. I expect he needs the routine, I say. I still can’t understand it, sitting there for days on end listening to people’s troubles when he just lost a daughter himself…Simpler than having to think about his own issues, maybe? Yes, possibly…did you hear about when Karin got Ivan? she asks. Yes, or actually no, please tell me. She wanted a dog so much, Sven ran his practice from home in those days in the house on Skyttevägen. Yes, I know about that, I say, leaning against the doorpost. The patients came in through the front door and we had to use the kitchen entrance. Yes, I smile, Karin told me about it, it’s really funny. Karin wanted a dog so much, but Sven argued that his patients might get scared out of their wits if some dog was barking. Me and Karin argued against him, Freud had a dog, didn’t he, a big white spitz I think it was, but no, the patients might feel so terrified, so Karin got Totte instead, the cat. Uh-huh, Totte, yeah. Which didn’t satisfy Karin’s desire for a dog, so when she found a piece of white school chalk in my room, she wrote on the steps by the front door, she did it in a fairly sophisticated way, she didn’t write on the actual step, she wrote on the edge, the patients had to be observant to notice it, she wrote: Fucking patients. Fantastic, how old was she then? Eleven, twelve, I’m not sure, but Karin was a very sweet-natured child, there were rarely any antics like that from her, but it had an effect, we understood that it was important. Wasn’t Ivan a King Charles spaniel? Yes, a Cavalier King Charles spaniel, she answers, laughing a little with her mouth shut and adding: Later on Ivan peed on the fan heater in Sven’s consultation room, Karin and I felt it was his revenge, he’d made his way through the forbidden sliding doors that were there, and then one morning Sven turned on the fan heater to warm up his blessed patients, well, you could hear them groaning in there, I’ll tell you that. That’s damned funny, incredibly funny, God, it’s lovely to laugh, I say and sit on the wooden chair alongside the guest bed. I think it’s a bit hot in here, isn’t it? asks Lillemor, pulling the blanket off Livia. You think so? I ask. I dreamed about Karin last night, she says. Right. Sven had a dream the other day, oddly enough a similar dream. What happened in it? I ask. She was scolding us, it was a perfectly normal situation, she was an adult, we had eaten at Åkervägen, and she was angry about something—I don’t know what she was angry about. Yes, I know, Lillemor, I lived with her. Isn’t it a bit hot in here? No, I don’t think so. Maybe it’s about right for Karin? she says. I almost correct her but decide to let it go. I lean towards the thermostat and say: It’s on three, but I could turn it down, that will cool it. Can’t you open the window? she asks. The problem is there’ll be so much damn noise from the street, I reply. What’s that, then? she asks, pointing at the air vent set into the window frame. It’s open, anyway the radiator is turned off now, I say, leaning against the window sill. That should be fine, she says. I haven’t dreamed about Karin yet, it’s the tablets, I sleep too deeply; I think about her before I go to sleep because I want to dream about her, I say, going over to Livia in the basket. And then you wake up anyway, answers Lillemor. That’s true, but at least you had the dream, I say. She stretches out one leg, squeezes her kneecap as if she’s in pain, then leans against the edge of the bed and looks at me. Tom, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking these last weeks, a lot about Karin, but also about the conflicts we had at Karolinska, she says. Conflicts? Wrong choice of word, I take it back, but I still want to say this, I need to unburden myself, it does feel as if you kicked us when we were already down. I kicked you? I was already on the ground myself, how could I have been kicking you? Look, it’s important to me that I bring this up. Lillemor, please, put it in plain language. I can understand that Karin wanted to be on her own with you when she wasn’t under sedation at Söder Hospital, but to separate us from Karin at Karolinska, that was hard for us, you have to understand that, it was actually horrific. You saw her, didn’t you? After many ifs and buts, and it was only a few times, we don’t have to talk about it, I can understand you, it was an unbearable situation, I just wanted to say it, I just felt I needed to say it. It was Karin’s wish, but I think it’s more complex than that, I answer. Possibly, but it felt more like it was you who didn’t want us there. Can I speak openly? Tom, I don’t mean to hurt your feelings. Can I speak? Please, she replies, pulling at the sleeves of her jumper. Thanks. The way I see it, Karin never had a proper separation from you, she was twenty-one when she had just begun building a life of her own, chief editor at the Entertainment Guide, a career, a very handsome and smart boyfriend, then everything fell apart with the AVM, that piece of shit boyfriend of hers cleared off and Karin didn’t have the strength to do the job, her friends were too young and inexperienced to understand what she was going through, only you were there for her, not that I’m saying it didn’t count, of course, but she needed some separation from you, she needed to start her own life, she needed to feel she had her own family, one that was not her birth family, it was impossible, she said herself she regressed. I know all that, if anything I’ve looked up to Karin because she’s so insightful, I have not treated her like a child, none of us ever treated Karin like a child if that’s what you mean. You worshipped Karin, Sven worshipped Karin, that’s really how it is, the only times I have seen you happy were when you were in the same room as Karin, I’ve known you now for ten years, Lillemor. What about you, Tom, do you think Karin was like a child? She was like an old woman on one level, on another level she reluctantly liked it when Sven called her his little darling, and when you constantly remarked on how wise and clever she was, to my mind that’s how you talk to a child, not a grown woman. You’re not being fair now, Tom, see for yourself when Livia gets older, I mean I agree with you in many respects, I do, but in our case, when Karin got ill I lay next to her in the hospital, I lay next to her when she was home between operations and tests, she was twenty-one years old, adult, child, it has no importance, to see Karin suffering like that, hear her pleading with me that I have to help her take her own life if she becomes an invalid, not to be able to give consolation to our own child because there was none to be had. Lillemor, Karin loved you, you know that, but for her it was important to feel she had a family that was not you, she needed me beside her, not you, not Sven, it wasn’t an easy decision for her, she wanted to be an adult, that’s what exploded for her at the hospital. Tom, I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, she says, and puts her hands on her thighs. You didn’t hurt my feelings at all, Lillemor, and I hope I haven’t hurt yours either, but I don’t think it’s a coincidence that Karin chose me, for a lot of reasons of course, I was younger, admittedly just two years younger but still, I looked up to her as a mature woman, an adult. Maybe we should keep our voices down, she says, staring over towards Livia’s basket. Well, I suppose we’ve finished talking for today, but she doesn’t seem to be bothered by us, I say, walking up to the basket. I kiss Livia goodnight. Lillemor makes a face. What is it, Lillemor? Won’t she wake up when you do that? What, this? Yes, she answers. You have a problem with me kissing my daughter goodnight? She waves with her whole arm and I ask: Am I talking too loud or what? She smiles nervously and says: No, it’s just an old habit of mine, I didn’t do it on purpose. Okay, goodnight, I say. Yes, goodnight, Tom, she answers and closes the door behind me.

  Once I am tucked into bed I feel remorseful about it, I turn on the lights, put on my jeans, and hurry back into the guest room. I knock, open the door, and keep my eyes slanted towards the floor. The beam of the bedside light throws rounded patterns over the floorboards. I’m sorry, Lillemor, I want to start having Livia at nights. I hear her moving but she isn’t answering. The floorboards creak, I have to back away when she grips the door handle. She whispers when she
answers: I didn’t want to call out, I was lying down writing up a few memories, what Karin used to do when she was a child, I thought it could be fun for Livia when she grows up. I feel ready to take Livia at nights now, I say. That’s good, but can’t this wait until tomorrow? I can’t wait, Lillemor, I want Livia with me now. Don’t you need your sleep? You need to have the energy to take care of her in the daytime. Is it okay, or…? Of course, she answers. Thanks, I say, squeezing past her and releasing the wheel lock of the basket with the tips of my toes. I can’t help but feel a little disappointed now I’ve come all the way here, she says. Sorry, I can pay for your taxi, sorry, Lillemor, I want to take Livia now. How about you take her until you’ve fallen asleep, then I’ll come and get her in a few hours? I’ll come in quietly so you don’t wake up. Please, I want to have my daughter with me now at night, thanks. Yes, you’re very good with Livia, you’re such a good daddy, she says, following me. She stops in the hall outside the living room. I can’t bring myself to look up at her.