by Sjón
It was like a video sequence, not a Hollywood movie, not even a cheap TV documentary, just a black-and-white clip from a surveillance camera, a recording that would certainly be forgotten, consigned to the endless fractal depths of the internet, seen by no one unless someone, me perhaps, by chance happened to notice, like when you’re standing in the checkout line in Netto and your eyes absently pass over the shelves of cheap German chocolate, and all of a sudden you see yourself in monochrome on the little monitor to the right of the checkout guy. It lasted less than a minute and concerned nothing, there was no story in it, no Conception, only what remained of one: a man, a human being, twirling around a corner and down a street, then gone.
TRANSLATED BY MARTIN AITKEN
* The English-language version of Høeg’s novel would later be published under the title The History of Danish Dreams.
A WORLD APART
ROSA LIKSOM
I
He’s over there in the living room. Let’s keep the noise down. The computer’s still on, and the reading lamp too. I’ll quietly switch them both off, the computer at least. I can watch Emmerdale on the small telly in the kitchen. Wait here. OK, I switched off the computer but left the lamp on so he doesn’t wake up. I’ve put a blanket over him too. He’s lying on his left side. That’s good. He’s always a bit crabby when he wakes up on his right side. Let’s go into the kitchen so he doesn’t wake up. Poor thing hasn’t slept properly in hours. It’s the depression, you see. It started on Monday when he was supposed to be out guiding. Didn’t eat his breakfast, though I put it by his bed. I had to leave for the hospital because my shift was starting, so I left him in the bedroom sleeping with his eyes wide open … How long will it go on for this time? Last month the depression lasted three days. It might pass quicker this time, seeing as he keeps dozing off like that and sometimes even licks his paws.
II
I decided to have a beautiful summer wedding, the same kind of wedding Jemina had two years ago. She set aside eighteen months for all the wedding preparations. It wasn’t enough. Towards the end she was so short of time that she had a nervous breakdown and ended up being admitted to a psychiatric unit. I said there’s no way I’m going to fall into the same trap, so I started getting everything ready three years before the big day. A midsummer wedding is a must, otherwise what’s the point? And it’s got to be at the cathedral, obviously, because that’s by far the fanciest scenery going.
When I told my girlfriends they’d better start getting ready for a summer wedding, I got six volunteers straight away: Kelly, Ann, Jenna, Melina, Sara and Tiia. I chose Kelly, Sara and Melina to be my bridesmaids because they’re all uglier than me. The show got off to a great start, and I called Daddy in Brussels and he promised to give me ten grand towards the wedding budget, but that’s next to nothing. I called Grandad in Madeira, and he was so excited he agreed to give me twelve thousand, because he always wants to go one better than my dad. The rest of the cash came from my mum (though she moaned that she always has to foot the bill for everything), my godmother who is a make-up artist and loves weddings, and my aunt who gave me another five thousand because she thinks my mum—her sister—is stingy and boring as hell. That’s already forty grand in my wedding budget—woohoo!
I looked around online for a few weeks, checking out thousands of wedding planners, and eventually employed an American company to design and make all the little stuff, the napkins, the origami, the rosettes … Ten thousand went on trinkets for two hundred guests. Then there was the wedding dress. I checked out all of the bridal stores in the city, but everything looked just awful. So me and the girls did three trips to Stockholm before I finally found the right dress in a store in Paris. It was just as cheap as most of the dresses I’d found here, only five thousand. Of course, the shoes, the handbag, gloves, underwear and tights all came separately. We found everything in a store on the Champs Élysées for a total price of six hundred and ninety-nine a head.
Now I had a wedding dress, a ton of knick-knacks and a church. Daddy pulled some strings and helped me book the Halikko manor house for the reception. All this had taken two years. I still had to put together the menu, plan the evening programme and draw up the guest list—then, of course, there were the presents. I sat down with the head chef from the Halikko manor and together we designed the menu. The chef was super-cool right from the word go. We spent five wonderful weekends together getting everything ready.
Two days before Midsummer’s, Daddy flew in from Brussels and I showed him everything me and the girls had got together. Daddy was so proud of me he positively sighed. Later that evening, when he was tasting the wines we’d chosen and complimenting me on my choice of vintage, he asked me who the groom was. I was like, what groom? Well, he said, didn’t Jemina have some hairy brute standing at the altar saying I do? That’s right, I gasped, and looked at the girls and asked them what we should do now. Sara suggested I could ask Jasu to be the groom—he’s bound to agree, he’s an engineer and they’ve got a weird sense of humour. But I was like, I can’t ask Jasu because he’s a foot shorter than me. Then I had an idea. I called the chef at Halikko and asked him if he’d join me at the altar and do everything you’d expect a groom to do at a wedding. Why not, he said straight off, but the problem was he was already married. I was like, don’t worry, that’s just a minor hitch, and so he turned up and from start to finish played the role of the groom with utter professionalism.
III
I’m so fucking ashamed. Last night I passed out on the settee in front of the nine o’clock news and only woke up this morning. Jere had put a blanket over me, like he always does. It feels so shameful to get up after the boys have already left for school. Maija was keeping herself occupied on the PlayStation in a corner of the living room. She didn’t even look at me as I dragged myself into the bathroom. I had a loose shit in the loo, went into the kitchen and cracked open a can of lager. Only after I’d stood in front of the fridge and downed the can did I pluck up the courage to call out to Maija. She walked into the kitchen, a sulky scowl on her face, and cast an angry glance at the empty can in my hand. I told her I’d take her to nursery in just a minute. She nodded and went off to get dressed.
I left Maija at the doors of the nursery school around midday. I watched her quickly run inside, went into the corner shop and bought a twelve-pack of lager, a sandwich and a packet of ham reduced to half-price. I walked home and got to work on the twelve-pack, one can at a time. Shame sure fucking stings—a grown woman, a single mother of three, drinking her life away. It’s the kids that suffer most, I know that, and that makes me even more ashamed. When I should be putting food on the table for them, I buy lager instead and drink myself stupid.
Even thinking about how I turned out like this makes me feel ashamed. Was it circumstances, society, my parents, was it bad luck, fate, destiny, other people, or was the problem with me? I can’t remember my mother or father ever doing anything so terribly wrong that I had to start drinking. I just started. I can’t remember how or why. One bottle at a time, I suppose.
I know I’ll fall asleep on the living-room settee again before long. Jere will pick up Maija from nursery, I know that. I can rely on him. Then, when I wake up at about seven, I’ll go to the corner shop, fetch another twelve-pack and pass out again in front of the nine o’clock news. The boys understand me, they never seem angry with me, and that makes me ashamed too, ashamed that they still love me.
IV
I met Jani in the car park when I reversed into the back of him. As we stood there arguing about his no-claims bonus, our auras collided and he invited me to McDonald’s for a bite to eat. We drove off, and that’s when everything started. Back then I was still married to Lari and he was with Susse. I’ve got three boys and a Labrador called Saku, and Jani’s got three girls and Lilli the golden retriever. Jani is six foot three, he was into diving and spoke fluent English.
Our relationship got off to a flying start. Jani filed for a divorce and ex
pected me to do the same. Hold on, I said. We’ll see about that. As a realist, I wanted to be sure of a few things first. I asked Jani for Susse’s phone number. He looked a bit confused and asked why I needed it. I said, I’m not buying a pig in a poke.
I rang Susse and we agreed to meet at the work canteen. As soon as I saw her, I felt like we’d known each other since we were kids. I asked her straight out if she had anything against me. She said she might have had once, but not any more because she can tell I’m a kindred spirit. We agreed to work together. I asked her to list all Jani’s good and bad points. There were thirteen good points and only one bad one. He’s a total junkie—an endorphin junkie. He can’t survive a day without a twenty-mile run. If he can’t get out for a run, he turns into a right pain in the backside, Susse explained. Fine, I said, I can deal with that.
After that we talked about the practical side of things. We started with the kids, because divorces have a habit of affecting them the most. We agreed to look after the children together because we had virtually identical ideas about child-rearing. Three boys and three girls make for a perfect match. We shared all Christmas, Easter and half-term holidays. Then it was time to talk about the dogs. Diet, training regimes and agility competitions. We had things wrapped up soon enough. Susse asked if she could keep the house she’d shared with Jani. Sure, I said, Jani can move in with me and Lari can rent himself something cheap out in the suburbs.
As soon as the divorces came through, Jani and I got married. Lari didn’t want to move out because he’d become best mates with Jani and they’d started going running together. They were always off somewhere, training for marathons in New York, Berlin, you name it. I began to feel quite lonely because the guys were always away together, so eventually Susse and the kids moved into our place. First, she and I started dating each other, then a few months later Lari and Jani came out of the closet. Now we all live together in one big, wonderful blended family of four adults, six children and two dogs, and everything’s going just brilliantly. And we’ll soon have a new addition to the family too: Saku and Lilli are expecting sextuplets!
V
First I got the sack, because they were streamlining at work, downsizing, consolidating, cutting back or whatever they called it. I looked for a new job for a couple of years; I even went to three interviews, but it didn’t work out. That was my first strike. I was on unemployment benefit, so I wasn’t in any trouble at first. The missus worked on a construction site; I sat in the pub all day. I liked the booze, and that was my second strike. Before long the unemployment benefit ran out too and I had to sign on. The missus told me to take a hike, said she wasn’t going to work all day just to keep me in drink. I didn’t want a fight, so I left. That was my third strike. Once I was homeless, I started drinking even more, living on people’s couches. Thank God, I had a car. I parked at the petrol station near Sörnäinen harbour and slept there all summer. Things were fine for a few months, but when autumn came round, it started to rain, and one day when I came back from the pub, the car was gone. I went over to the gypsy camp near the petrol station and asked if they knew anything about it. One of them said a pickup truck had turned up and towed me motor to buggery. I didn’t have the cash to reclaim it, and things quickly went from bad to worse. With the help of some hard Russian liquor, I hospitalized myself in the space of eight months. The quack said me pancreas had given up the ghost and I had two options: it’s either a coffin or an AA group. Three strikes and you’re out, mate. I chose the latter because I figured the AA might buy me some time. I’ve been clean for two years, three months, nine days and fifty-four minutes now, but right now I’m going to open a bottle of cut brandy and empty it down me gullet.
VI
Sometimes you wake up in the morning, you feel like shit, and you just know it’s going to be a bad day, so normally I don’t bother getting out of bed at all, I just sleep all day. On days like that, Lauri takes care of Otto. He knows how to open the fridge so that Otto can reach his feeding bottle. When Otto starts whining, Lauri opens the balcony door so that he can crawl outside. I’ve put a box out there with all the plastic toys that won’t go mouldy. He plays with them by himself or with Lauri. Otto already knows to throw the ball where I’ve hidden pieces of cheese, and Lauri fetches it for him. On bad days I feel like I can’t do anything because I’ve got Otto. I can’t concentrate on making the tea, cleaning, listening to music, can’t be bothered going on the PlayStation or fiddling with my phone or even watching reality TV. On bad days I just think the flat’s a tip, the neighbourhood’s a dump, and I’ll probably die soon of all the rush and the stress of keeping our little family together, I’m just another fucking loser who can’t even be bothered to queue up for my benefits. On bad days I feel like my quality of life is so rough in this shitty world that I might as well stick two fingers up to the lot of it.
When I feel good from the word go, I know it’s going to be a good day. I get up, have a shower, wipe Otto’s bum and change his nappy, put some food in Lauri’s bowl and head out for the queues. First, I walk past the wellness centre, get the bus to Kallio and head for the job centre. While I’m waiting in the queue there, I chat to the other mums about the kids’ ear infections and the rotavirus. From there I move on to the social. I tend to keep my head down there, mostly because there are so many junkies around. I don’t want anyone to attack me or Otto. The final stop of the day is the food bank. Otto enjoys it there because he gets to see his friends. On good days the volunteers might give me an extra packet of coffee or some washing powder so I can do the laundry. On bad days there’s a busload of Russian tourists there too, turning their noses up at the packets of oat flakes because they don’t realize how healthy porridge is. Days like that are pretty rare though, thank God. On good days I make a healthy meal, use vegetable oil instead of butter, take Otto to the playground and stand there watching him instead of sitting on the bench. On good days I think I’ve got nothing to worry about. Everything’s going to be fine.
VII
I feel in love with Jore the minute he said he’d give me a lift to the Metro station after work. I’d never met a guy as down-to-earth as that. It wasn’t long before I was expecting Jani, and once he was born I was over the moon. Jore wasn’t much interested in family life, he preferred to spend all his spare time down the pub, so we split up. I met Fiude when I was on the Metro, coming home shit-faced after a night on the town. When he heard I had a kid with another bloke, he said straight up, it’s me or the boy. I thought about it for a couple of minutes and said I could always hand Jani over to the social services. And so Jani was sent off to a foster family in Lempäälä, and me and Fiude had a bundle of fun. We travelled a lot, went to Hamina, Tampere, and once we even got as far as the Canaries. I was as free as a bird and Fiude was really sweet, and before long I was expecting Tina. By the time Tina was born, Fiude had already found himself another bit of skirt on the beach at Hietaniemi and taken a hike. I was pissed off, but thank God, I met Tike. He comforted me, helped me with the transition into my new life, but he got bored before long. We never get a chance to do anything, he said, because everywhere we go the kid’s always hanging round. I’d had enough of him moaning all the time, so I handed Tina over to the social services. After that, me and Tike were happy for about two years. After a while, though, I started to feel like I’d had enough of freedom, and I wanted the kids to come back home. I told Tike to sling his hook, and he didn’t put up a fight. I went back to the social services and screamed that I wanted my kids back, said I’d top myself if I couldn’t have them back home with me. That was the beginning of a crazy legal battle. I fought with the authorities for a full nine months before they agreed to return the kids. When I picked them up, Jani and Tina didn’t recognize me. They’d forgotten me, but I hadn’t forgotten them. They cried all day long, saying they wanted to go home. Enough of that whingeing, I said, I’m your real mum and this is your home! Eventually the kids got used to me, and sometimes we even had quite a nice t
ime. Then one day, down at the corner shop, Veke looked my way and that was it. Veke liked kids, but he didn’t get on with Jani and Tina. I spent a whole week thinking about what to do: do I choose him or the kids? I chose Veke and took the kids back to social services. These two are so damaged I doubt anyone could put up with them, I said, those foster families have turned my lovely, sweet children into right little monsters. I left the children at the social, and me and Veke moved into a flat in the suburbs. We’ve got loads in common—we’ve got the same sense of humour and we both like blancmange and double cheeseburgers. Sometimes he threatens to leave me because I’m so fat. I don’t believe him. I’ve got a feeling our love is going to last forever. There’s nothing can get in the way of my happiness now.
VIII
For eighteen years, four months and eleven days, I was on a temporary disability living allowance, and it was a really stressful time for me. All you can do is sit at the kitchen table one year at a time, waiting nervously, petrified they’ll take your allowance away and you’ll have to go back to work. A woman as poorly as me can’t go out to work. If I can’t even take a tinkle without Jappe helping me into the loo, how the blazes can I go to work? I’m constantly having panic attacks and I’ve been on mandatory medication for twenty years. And still they only give me disability allowance for a year at a time. Nothing seemed to do the trick—not even when I jumped off the third-floor balcony and landed in a snowdrift. An ambulance picked me up and took me to the hospital, but they wouldn’t admit me, though they normally take in all the lunatics. They sent me home and said next time I should try the sixth floor instead.
