“Where is Tone?” I asked when she put the bread on the table.
“We’re not going to think about that,” said Anna.
“She crawled out after all,” I said. “I told her to crawl out, and she did.”
Anna looked at me. Her silence was gentle and loving and without mercy.
“She heard me,” I said.
Anna did not reply.
3.
I stood by a body of water. Perhaps it was Lake Djupesland, perhaps it was the sea. Perhaps it was summer. Josef wasn’t there, Tone wasn’t there, nor were Ingrid or Erling. I stood alone. Ahead of me, the sandbar was barely visible above the water’s surface. No bird was perched out there, perhaps it was hidden in the tall pine trees. I felt an incredible urge to wade out and start swimming. But something prevented me. What it was, I couldn’t say.
Then I woke up alone in bed.
Mama sat on the piano bench in the living room. The room was light and white and quiet. No one shouted, no one screamed; the crunch of sand was no longer heard in the front hall. Tone’s shoe was gone, and Mama sat calmly staring into the air with her hands in her lap. Josef stood by the piano in his uniform jacket, as if he was about to strike a key and start singing, but he didn’t sing. The sexton, Reinert Sløgedal, had arrived, Hans and Anna stood by the door, the sheriff, Kristen Lauvsland, sat at the table writing on a piece of paper. The only sound came from the sheriff’s pen; sunlight streamed through the window, and I saw the shadow of the sheriff’s hand as he wrote.
It was a warm, brilliant day.
All the patients, except for Josef, were locked in upstairs. Matiassen’s stool stood under the ash tree, but there was no sign of Matiassen. Cain and Abel were chasing each other around the legs of the stool, and I wanted to go and sit in his place. I thought about the faint glow from the trapped souls in the railroad tunnel that had collapsed somewhere in America. The stool stood there empty; I wanted to see the same things Matiassen had seen, but I didn’t go outside and sit down. I just stared out the living room windows while the swallows flew so high they almost disappeared against the sky. Sløgedal cautiously cleared his throat; the sheriff got to his feet, his chair scraped the floor, and he held out a piece of paper to Papa.
“Here,” said the sheriff. “This is for you.”
The paper drooped in the air before Papa took it.
A black car was parked in the yard. Sunlight shone harshly on the hood. The wind sent a pale green sigh through the pine forest, velvet grass billowed in the fields, yarrow quivered in the ditch. My stomach ached. The sheriff went out to the front steps, and Josef followed at his heels. They crossed the yard slowly and walked with Sløgedal, Hans, and Papa down to the horse cart, which nobody had touched yet. They stood there for a long time, and I saw how Josef always took care to stand next to the sheriff. I didn’t hear what they said; the wind took away their words.
I found the spot where Ingrid and I had lain in the grass, and I lay there a long time waiting for someone to come and find me. Eventually I must have fallen asleep, because when I woke up I heard voices nearby. Josef and Papa stood next to the sheriff’s car, while Sløgedal took off his hat and seated himself on the passenger side. Josef raised his hand smartly to his forehead as the sheriff got behind the wheel. The engine started, and they drove away.
I kept lying in the grass while Papa and Hans went back to the cart. They managed to get the box of sand out, but it required all their strength. First they spent a long time digging out the sand, and then they tipped the cart back up on its wheels with a crash. I lay very still and caught a glimpse of Papa through a mass of waving grasses and flowers. The two men didn’t say a word. All I heard was the rasp of spades in the sand. Finally, Hans harnessed the horse and left with the cart. I closed my eyes and pressed my face into the grass. The sound of the cart wheels was like four millstones that ground everything beneath them to dust. When I glanced up I saw Papa standing alone. He just stood there, the way he had stood on the front steps with Anna. Again he rubbed his hand up and down his face. Then he rammed the spade into the ground. It didn’t stay upright, but he didn’t bother to pick it up. He started to walk toward the house. I was afraid of what would happen if he suddenly discovered me. He wouldn’t recognize me, I thought. He would chase me away. Or scream. Papa walked past without seeing me and continued almost to the front steps. Suddenly he stopped. He paused under the ash tree for a moment, next to Matiassen’s stool. Then he called me. Once. Twice. His voice was strange and distant, and he seemed to hear that himself, because he didn’t call anymore. I pressed my face into the flattened grass. Everything grew quiet. Just the sound of the wind, the lilacs scraping against the house, and the cheerful shrieks of the swallows as they swooped down from the sky. When I looked up, Papa was no longer there, but Matiassen’s stool was gone. I got to my knees, and then I saw Ingrid in the upstairs window. She stood motionless, peering down at me. Her face was white and indistinct, but it was Ingrid. She had been watching me the whole time. I waved slightly. And instantly, she disappeared into the darkness.
4.
I couldn’t get rid of the sight of Mama. I couldn’t get rid of the sight of Papa holding her tightly. It was like the devils and the dirty angels. Images of Mama and Papa danced around me in the dark. The night smelled of wet, new-mown grass; mowers were out in the fields before the birds began singing. I slept lightly. I glided like strange, deformed air bubbles under the ice, and awoke before sunrise. I lay very still under my duvet, as if a blanket of snow lay on my chest, and I heard bees buzzing peacefully outside the window. Everything blossomed, and the bees flew through the evenings as if they carried the weight of their dreams on their backs.
Mama was suddenly calm.
Even so, I didn’t dare to look at her. She was completely calm, but seemed blind and deaf to everything that happened around her. I saw the bird that flew low over the lake before it suddenly rose above the forest. I heard the echo of laughter from the pine trees on the other side of Lake Djupesland.
Later, Knud Tjomsland arrived.
We heard the car approach, and I watched through the window with Lilly, Nils, Sverre, Erling, and Ingrid as the pastor got out of the car, closed the door behind him, and walked across the yard. When he knocked on the door downstairs, we all looked at one another. We listened, quiet as mice, and heard Tjomsland enter the front hall. We heard Papa’s voice and the pastor’s voice, which was deep and deliberate, the same as it had been in the meetinghouse. After that, heavy footsteps moved across the floor and into the living room, the door shut, the voices grew softer and faded away.
“Yeah, yeah, by George,” said Nils, and lay down on his bed.
The pastor remained for perhaps an hour and I stayed upstairs with the siblings; the whole time Nils kept running his fingers slowly through his hair. When we realized Tjomsland was leaving, Ingrid and I ran to the window. Josef stood in the yard ready to accompany the pastor to his car. He held the car door open for him, and I saw their shadows almost merge. Tjomsland said a few words to Josef and gave him a friendly clap on the shoulder, Josef raised his hand in a salute, the car disappeared down the road, and Josef was left standing alone.
The next day I was awakened by cautious footsteps on the stairs and lay blinking in the gray morning light. It wasn’t Mama or Papa, not Jensen, not Matiassen, and not Josef either. I was wide awake at once, and sat up in bed.
“Tone,” I whispered.
Later, when I opened my door, Josef stood by the mirror in the front hall wearing his uniform jacket and smoothing his mustache with a shoe brush.
“Today you and I are going out in the world,” he said, taking my hand.
The door to the living room was closed. There wasn’t a sound, but I knew Mama and Papa were in there, and I understood that they wanted to be alone.
Josef and I wandered aimlessly in the yard while Cain and Abel scampered around our feet. Matiassen’s place was empty, the stool wasn’t there, but I saw the four de
ep cavities from the legs, and the grass was completely flat in a circle around them. As we stood there, Papa came out on the front steps and called to us. Cain and Abel were fighting with my shoelaces. Josef took my hand, and though he didn’t say anything, I knew what was coming.
The door to the living room was open, but when we were about to cross the threshold, Josef hesitated. It was like the time Tone came to this earth; Josef and I were at St. Josef’s hospital in Kristiansand, and neither of us wanted to be the one who took the first step into the room. Now too, we were coming to see Tone. The coffin rested on two kitchen chairs in the middle of the room, and I smelled the heavy, sweet scent of flowers. Mama was sitting on the piano bench, but she stood up when we arrived and almost disappeared in the sharp light from the windows.
“Just come in,” said Papa.
Josef did not budge. I tugged his hand, but his whole body had become stiff as a board.
“Come on, Josef,” I said.
Josef shook his head. I tugged and pulled, but he didn’t move. Finally, I let go of his hand and walked across the room alone.
Tone lay there as if she were asleep, but her face had changed. She looked older. Her lips were almost the same color as her skin and sort of melted into her cheeks. Her hair was darker and longer, her nose more pointed, her mouth half-open, like when she skipped across the grass. I heard the clock ticking on the wall. I looked at the folded hands and the bouquet of carnations, and in a way it was Tone lying there, but at the same time it wasn’t. Papa came and put his hand on my shoulder. The light, almost unnoticeable touch made something well up in me. I twisted myself loose and took a few steps back; I saw Mama look at me, she moved toward me slowly, but I didn’t meet her eyes. I turned to Josef, who was still standing in the doorway, and at that moment he seemed to take courage. He hurried across the room, took my hand firmly, and led me out of the living room, through the front hall, out onto the front steps. He led me into the yard and didn’t let go of my hand until we reached the shade of the ash tree. After that I began running, and only then did I start to cry.
5.
My stomach ached, high up, about where my rib cage ended. It was worst in the evening. Out of habit, I lay toward the edge of the bed so Tone would have space next to the wall. I lay there for a long time listening for her breathing. Finally I fell asleep, but awoke in the middle of the night because she wasn’t there. I smelled the scent of carnations.
The funeral was on a Friday.
Mama had laid out my best clothes on the bed. I took a long time; I stood by the window and watched the swallows while I buttoned my shirt, and when I finished dressing Papa squatted in front of me and combed my hair with a comb dipped in sugar water. I gazed at the knot in his tie, and he didn’t say a word. My hair became stiff, and it felt as if I were wearing a helmet. My shoes creaked when we stood in the front hall.
“Where are Ingrid and Erling?” I asked.
“Upstairs,” said Papa.
“I want Ingrid and Erling to come with us.”
“Ingrid and Erling are going to stay here,” said Papa.
“I want Jensen and Matiassen to come with us,” I said.
“They’re going to stay here,” Papa said brusquely.
“Why?”
“They can’t come along.”
“Why not?”
He didn’t answer.
“Who’s going to take care of them?”
“Today they have to take care of themselves,” said Papa.
As he stood in front of the mirror combing his hair back smoothly, he was very calm. He looked almost like the wedding picture where he had his hands behind his back. He put the comb in his pocket and straightened his tie, then he took my hand and we went out to the yard where Mama, Josef, and Anna were waiting in the shade.
Josef was the only one from upstairs at the funeral.
I sat next to him in the front row, close to the baptismal font. Josef sang loudly and impressively, while I looked up at the painting of the Ascension, the gilded acanthus vines, and the eye of God staring at us from a shining triangle at the very top. God gazed down at us coldly, and Josef sang “Joyful, Joyful Each Soul That Has Peace.” The swallows were flying back and forth from the church tower when we came out into the sunshine, the bell swung in the dark tower, and I saw the weather vane that always pointed north. Papa and Hans carried the coffin with Sløgedal and the sheriff. Mama followed them, and was very calm. I walked beside her, staring at the ground; our shadows stretched ahead of us in the grass, and I didn’t want them to merge. I walked silently beside her and guarded my shadow. I waited for her to suddenly let out a terrible scream, so Papa would have to hold her tight. But that didn’t happen. Mama walked calmly, and I kept our shadows apart. We walked to the open grave, and Mama stood as if turned to stone while Tjomsland sang, his voice almost swept away by the summer breeze. Tjomsland sang, and the swallows flew to and from their nests. Then we all sang, and the one who sang loudest was Josef, standing shoulder to shoulder with the sheriff. I heard Josef sing and looked over at Mama, but I didn’t see her face. I didn’t remember her face. It had disappeared. But I knew it was Mama standing there. Her dark, quiet form. And her shadow that stretched almost to my feet.
6.
The night smelled of earth and white carnations. Everything was quiet. A paralyzing stillness fell on us like snow. The siblings’ tin plates no longer clattered upstairs, Josef lay on his bed in his room reading silently, Matiassen no longer sat outside on his stool. Jensen had even stopped his nightly conversations with Our Lord.
Everyone had become quiet. But Mama laughed in my head.
I knocked on the siblings’ door. I heard footsteps approaching, the door opened, and Lilly stood there looking at me.
“What do you want?” she said.
“Can I come in?”
Lilly hesitated, but then stepped aside and let me in. The table was set, the four others sat on their chairs looking at me.
“What does he want?” said Nils.
“He didn’t say,” Lilly replied.
“I just wanted to say hi,” I said.
“Hi,” muttered Erling, his head wobbling.
“We’re going to eat now,” said Lilly.
“Okay, I’ll leave,” I said.
Ingrid regarded me silently with gentle eyes. Then I hurried downstairs before Papa brought up the food.
School began in the fall, and I walked the two kilometers alone. I sat alone at the desk farthest back in the classroom while Nils Apesland stood at the front and directed the singing. I saw the maps rolled down behind him, the Atlas Mountains and the Mediterranean Sea, which got deeper and deeper the farther you went from the shore. Each morning I walked down the road alone. I knew that Ingrid and Erling were standing by the window upstairs and saw me leave. I knew if I turned around they would immediately hide behind the curtains. But I didn’t turn around. I just walked to the Hønemyr schoolhouse and sat at my desk looking out at the forest and the sky while everyone sang.
I went upstairs alone and knocked on the siblings’ door. Each time it was Lilly who opened it, each time she gave me a suspicious look, but each time she let me in. I stayed with them for a few hours in the afternoon. Nils lay on his back in his bed pensively running his fingers through his hair, Sverre played on the floor, Ingrid and I sat at the table while she watched me draw. I stayed until they were ready to eat. The same bickering when the food was put on the table, the same howling and hullabaloo that I’d heard only through the floor before, and then “Blessed Lord,” which they always sang. I sang too. Nils sang with a childlike voice. Ingrid howled softly, while Lilly kept her eyes intently on me. I heard my own voice clearly.
In the evenings Papa sat by himself in the living room smoking the last of the Virginia tobacco that remained after the war—tobacco that he had said was only for special occasions. I didn’t know where Mama was, but I knew Papa sat there alone. I lay in bed without moving, and in my mind I pictured the sm
oke curling from his mouth. I imagined him surrounded by a spirit that came if you rubbed a lamp for a long time, but the spirit could not help him, it could not fulfill any of his wishes. Nor could it help me or Mama, or fulfill any of our wishes. Only then did I realize that time had stopped.
Time stopped the day the cart tipped over, but still the weeks slipped by. The days were short and mild, with quiet sunlight from morning till evening. Rose hips ripened along the stone fences, blackbirds pecked the soil under the hawthorn hedge, swallows gathered in long, disorderly rows on the electric wires, strangely silent. They sat close together, as if watching each other, as if none wanted to be the first to fly.
One day they were all gone.
One morning the grass was white with frost, one morning the puddles were covered with a thin film of ice that cracked under my feet, and the next day the yellow leaves of the aspen trees loosened as they rustled in the wind.
I had a dream. I dreamed about the orange crate, which was on its way across the China Sea, floating perhaps ten meters above the water. It kept floating, and the sea was endless and beautiful and glittering, until I saw that Tone lay in the orange crate holding white carnations. I awoke with a start, and the dream didn’t leave me until I’d eaten and washed my face and was on my way to school in the dusky morning light.
Across the China Sea Page 7
