A Sister in My House

by Linda Olsson

  I regarded Emma for a moment and then took a deep breath.

  “Then I got pregnant. And my whole world fell apart. Olof was my only confidant. But this I could never share with him. Not with anybody. I knew I would never be able to make Olof understand. I had reached the point where I had to leave. So I had an abortion. And then I went to London. But you know that.”

  I felt as if I was in free-fall. As if I had taken a leap, not knowing when I would gain a foothold again.

  “I don’t know why I am telling you this. It’s not what I had in mind to say. But I suppose there is a kind of connection somehow. What I wanted to try to explain was what happened between my invitation and your e-mail. Two years.”

  “You don’t owe me any explanations,” Emma said. “Shall we move over there? Go and sit in the sun? It’s getting a little chilly here.”

  We paid and left our table. The view was spectacular now that the sun sat lower in the sky. Where the enormous, rugged rocks met the sea, the water was intensely turquoise, shifting into deep blue farther out.

  “But I really do want to tell. I need to.”

  Did I really want to? And if so, why? Did I feel like Emma, that I wanted to put something into words to see it more clearly? No, certainly not. I did see it absolutely clearly. So why did I suddenly have this urge to put my most precious memories into words? Take the risk that words would damage what I cherished most? It made no sense. But I continued.

  “I came here by chance the first time. I wasn’t headed here but had planned to stay in Roses. But then I fell asleep on the bus and ended up at the last station. In Cadaqués. When I stepped off, I knew immediately that this was mine. That is so very unlike me. I see myself as a realistic, logical person, not prone to anything esoteric. But this place and me, we were meant for each other. I knew it. Behind every corner I found exactly what I had expected. It was autumn then too. But not as late as now. There were still some tourists around, but it was already strangely tranquil. I had been to Barcelona for an interview with the school that I ended up working at. My life seemed to have come to a standstill, allowing me to look around and consider my options. And make a new start, I guess. I had lived in London all those years. But now I was single again. I didn’t find the house then. That happened later. After I had met Maya. I moved to Barcelona a few months later and started at the school at the beginning of the year.”

  I hesitated, not sure how to continue.

  “At first I rented an apartment for a few weeks. While I searched for a place of my own. The school had arranged the rental, and I had never met the owners. But it was clear that they were into art. The place was filled with interesting paintings. When the agreed weeks ended, I had found an apartment of my own. My landlords, Raul and Agnés, returned, and when we met, they invited me to Raul’s upcoming vernissage. The art in their place was all Raul’s, and the exhibition was a show of his latest works. I knew nothing about art then. Not that I know much now, either. But I liked his work. Large canvases, strong colors, stark and a little challenging, but with lots of details to discover if you looked closer. We arrived early, and I was introduced to the owner of the gallery, Maya.”

  I threw Emma a quick glance. Perhaps to check if she was listening. She sat with her face turned to the sun and her eyes hidden behind her sunglasses.

  “My life hasn’t contained that much love. Or what you might call intimate relationships. Sex. Romance. My longest relationship lasted six years. And as you know, I have no children.

  “I can honestly say that I have never allowed myself to be swept away in some kind of uncontrollable attraction. Apart from Elliot, there were a couple of relationships I might have wished had lasted. But not until I met Maya did I understand what it feels like to really love.”

  I stopped and waited until she turned her face to me.

  “So I didn’t have a husband in my house, Emma. I had Maya.”

  Again it looked as if Emma started to speak, and then changed her mind.

  “And when I met you at Mother’s funeral, we had just found our house here. We were waiting to see if we would be able to buy it, but at first we rented it for nine months. The duration of a pregnancy, and perhaps that is how we saw it. Time for us to plan our future. Something like that. We drove here for holidays and often just for weekends. Maya had known Pau for many years. He was also one of her artists and regularly exhibited at her gallery. And it was Pau who told us about the house. During that early period, we spent a lot of time together, the three of us. Pau has his studio in his family home and spends more time here than in Barcelona. When I think about that time now, I understand that it was too good to last. Too much happiness. Too much love. Now I can hear Mother’s voice loud and clear. But then I felt invincible. I paraded my love everywhere. And I think Maya felt the same. We were totally absorbed by our unexpected love, and we neither saw nor heard anything else. I’m not sure if Maya ever understood how extraordinary it was for me. How little I had experienced before. But I believe she realized how infinitely happy I was.”

  The sun had disappeared behind the restaurant, and with it the warmth.

  “Shall we begin our walk back?”

  Emma nodded and we stood up.

  After a little while she slowed in her tracks and turned toward me.

  “It is so utterly sad that neither of us seems to feel we deserved the love that we were given.”

  “Oh, I think I did then. I did think I deserved it. Then. It’s only in hindsight that I look at myself and think I was so ridiculously cocky. So absolutely confident that I deserved it all. I saw an endless future exactly the same as the present. An absurd thought that you only believe when you are deliriously in love. Come to think of it, deep grief might affect one in the same way. You can see no end to it ever. Something that completely overpowers you, good or bad, does that. Distorts your perspective. Makes you unable to see beyond the present. Time stops and you believe everything is permanent. But neither joy nor grief lasts forever. Sometimes you come across people who have lived a long life together and still seem to love each other sincerely. But it doesn’t happen often. And I don’t believe that even those people live in an eternal, hot passion. So even if we had been granted what we were hoping for, Maya and I, a long life together, we wouldn’t have lived forever in that initial, overwhelming love. It would have evolved into something else. But as things turned out, all I can envision is what we had when it ended. And that’s why the pain is still unbearable.”

  We started to walk again, and when Emma made no comment, I continued.

  “I can’t remember that I have ever before experienced what you described when you told me about your feelings for Olof. A sudden, intense love, impossible to suppress or control. And lasting. All my previous relationships now seem so . . . well, trivial. I suppose I have to call Olof my first adult love, even though we were very young. But it seemed more as if he stepped into my life without an invitation, as such, and just made himself comfortable. And he always seemed to be waiting for something I couldn’t possibly give him. Considerate and clever. Funny sometimes. I suppose I thought that was all I needed. Or all I deserved. And I liked to have him around, mostly. At least initially. But all the time there was that awkward irritation lurking just below the surface. Because I was also waiting for something I now understand Olof was unable to give.”

  Suddenly I no longer felt sure how much more I wanted to tell. I looked at Emma, but she seemed absorbed by her own thoughts. “You said it was as if Olof opened the door to the world for you. I might describe my entering Maya’s world in the same way. I am a teacher. I love my job. I believe I am good at it. But I have almost always worked in international schools. With motivated students and engaged parents. A protected world in many ways. I suppose there is an element of creativity in teaching, but for me much of it has become routine. Apart from the fact that the students are new each year. But in Maya’s
world nothing at all seemed routine. She was a very good businesswoman in a competitive line of work. What drove her wasn’t the business itself but the creative aspect of it. It took a while before I realized that she was a talented artist herself. But she regarded her own art as a source of inspiration only. Something very private. I think what she enjoyed the most was the search for talent. Especially young, new talent. And she was very good at it. Proud, too, of the artists she had discovered over the years. Now, when I tell you this I realize that perhaps there wasn’t that great a difference between our jobs. I am also immensely proud of my students who have continued to study languages and literature. And perhaps that is the aspect of my job I love most. The discovery of ability, or perhaps, rather, being able to inspire interest and nurture proficiency in a young person. Especially so when it happens unexpectedly. But Maya’s world still felt so much more exciting than mine. I really don’t know what she thought about mine. Somehow her world took over. Partly because I wanted to be there, partly because we were able to share hers, while mine largely remained my own. I wasn’t really able to bring Maya along to my school, but I came to spend a lot of time at the gallery. And then . . . well, now the gallery is mine, even though I’m not really involved in the daily running of it. The day when I have to decide is rapidly approaching. I will have to make up my mind what to do. About everything.”

  Suddenly Emma placed her hand lightly on my arm and pointed to the sky. A large flock of small black birds moved with grace across the blue expanse, separating into smaller flocks, only to unite again. Spreading out and contracting in a pattern that looked almost choreographed.

  “Here they are called estornells, those little black birds. I think they are starlings. I have never seen them behave like this anywhere else. Only here. But that might be because I was never really interested in birds before I came here. I have never really felt a part of nature in the sense that I do here. Even here the feeling is fleeting and unpredictable. But watching these birds I am overcome with a sense of belonging.”

  I cringed at my own words. It sounded ridiculous. But it was true. We stood side by side, watching the birds for quite a while.

  “You can’t even tell that they are individual birds. It’s like one homogenous body. Like ballet in the sky. Or a mobile work of art. Strange and alluring.” Emma raised her hand as if tracing the flight of the birds.

  “We used to walk here, Maya and I. It was neutral ground for us. Something to discover together. As with the house. It was our only shared home. In Barcelona we kept our respective homes. At least for the time being that was the idea, until we made a decision about the house. But it was only here that we were truly together. So it really is rather odd that I linger here alone. When nothing is as before and I no longer feel connected to anything. I might be clinging to this in order not to lose my memories. Perhaps I have built myself a shrine here.”

  We reached the place where we had rested earlier, and we climbed up the rock again. Emma sat down, but I remained standing, looking out over the sea. Without really taking in any of what lay before me.

  “We were planning to have our first Christmas here. My holidays had already started, so we agreed that I would drive here and prepare things. We had invited a few friends, people we knew well and liked, including Raul and Agnés. And Pau, even though he wasn’t going to stay with us, of course. It was always Maya who did the cooking; I was just an assistant. You know how hopelessly bad I am at cooking. But she had given me lists of things to buy and things to do and prepare. And she had packed several boxes of glassware and crockery. ‘At Christmas you can’t use other people’s plates,’ she said, laughing. We got everything into the car and then she held me tightly. ‘Drive carefully, Mariona,’ she said, and kissed me three times, once on each cheek and lastly on my mouth. Then she tucked my hair behind my ears and looked me in the eyes. In a way, this gesture meant more to me than the kisses. Nobody had ever done that with my hair. But Maya often did.”

  I still stood with my back to Emma, and I wasn’t sure whether she could hear me. But it no longer mattered.

  “You know what the road is like. How steep it is. And how very winding. And Maya left so late. There was a lot to do before she could leave for the holiday. She was to go with Raul and Agnés in their car. ‘Don’t stay up and wait for me,’ she said. As if I would be able to sleep before she had arrived.”

  There was no turning back now. So I continued.

  “She called me when they were getting ready to leave Barcelona. Sometimes the reception is poor on the road down to Cadaqués, and I didn’t expect her to call again. So it was quite some time before I began to worry. I told myself they must have left later than they had planned. That something had delayed them at the last minute. Or that they had stayed somewhere on the way. I sat upstairs, on the terrace, and waited. First, in the warm anticipation you experience when you wait for someone you love. Then with the concern you have only for someone you love. The hours went by. I told myself there were lots of perfectly natural explanations for the delay. I tried calling Maya’s phone again and again, but I only got the voice mail. I called both Raul’s mobile and Agnés’s but got no reply. So I was immensely relieved when there was finally a loud knock on the door, and I dashed downstairs. But it wasn’t Maya. It was Pau.”

  Now I wept. But I ignored my tears. And I remained where I was, with my back to Emma.

  “They died, all three of them. Agnés lived for two days, but we knew she wasn’t going to make it. Maya and Raul had died instantly. The police suspected that an animal had crossed the road. And Raul had swerved and lost control. They were so close, just another ten minutes and they would have been here.”

  When I fell silent, I heard the sea far below. And seabirds high above.

  “Come and sit here,” Emma said after a while, and I turned. I wept and wept. It felt as if I had never really wept like this before.

  “Come.”

  We sat like that for a long time. Side by side, with no need to say anything at all.

  “Pau stayed all night. He sat with me and held me as long as I needed it. And when I finally fell asleep, I knew he was still there beside me. In the morning he took care of everything. Took me where I had to go. Made all the phone calls. And made innumerable cups of coffee and placed food in front of me. That is why it’s so very difficult for me to have him in my house now.”

  They poured out, things I hadn’t even been aware of carrying.

  “When I see him, I only see his pity. Yet I know that he has his own grief. Raul was one of his best friends. They had known each other since they were teenagers and they went to art school together. Pau was best man when Raul and Agnés married. And I know he loved Maya almost as much as I did. He might feel the same as I do. I don’t know. For a long time I never even considered his grief. When you are in deep mourning, you become so very selfish. Perhaps we remind each other too much of our grief, Pau and I. Or else he keeps the distance only out of respect for me. Nowadays we only exchange a few words when we meet.”

  Emma made no comment. It was as if she gave me time to collect myself. And I was immensely grateful.

  Eventually, we stood up and carried on home.

  * * *

  It was late afternoon, and I was sitting on the terrace. Emma had withdrawn to her room when we returned. I had no regrets. Unlike earlier instances in my life when I had told things in confidence, I didn’t dwell on what I had said. I wasn’t worried about how my words had fallen, or what impression I might have made. It struck me that I felt relieved. Perhaps it was just as Emma had said. Not a sharing of secrets at all. Perhaps I was finally expressing in words what I had dreaded confronting. I had in no way diminished it. Or distorted it. Or destroyed it. Everything I carried was still there. Clearer than ever. And I was relieved. It had been hard. But not as hard as I had thought.

  We had made no plans for the evening. I wasn’t par
ticularly hungry. But I went downstairs to check the fridge. The house was still silent, and I tried to move carefully, so as not to disturb Emma. But I hardly made it down the stairs, and she opened her door.

  “I didn’t wake you, did I?”

  She shook her head. “I haven’t slept. Just rested a little. I have discovered that I can let my body rest without sleeping. It has made a difference. I used to worry about my difficulties with sleep. For long periods I took sleeping pills. But they didn’t really help. I used to be tired all day. Now I am more rested, even if I haven’t slept that much.”

  She smiled, and again I thought I saw a glimpse of the young Emma.

  “There isn’t much to make a meal of here,” I said, peering into the fridge. “Shall we go out? It doesn’t need to be late or fancy. There are lots of small places nearby.”

  And it was decided.

  It was still rather early and not many people were out. We chose a small restaurant in town. It felt like we were both occupied by our own thoughts, and we didn’t talk much. But the silence was not at all awkward.

  When we finished the main course, Emma suddenly set down her glass.

  “Why are you so sure you know what other people think, Maria?”

  She cocked her head and looked at me as if she was genuinely interested in my response.

  I shrugged. “Am I?”

  “You keep saying you do. You said you knew what Mother was thinking. During all those years when you hardly saw her at all. And you knew precious little about her life. And today you said that Pau just pities you. How do you know that?”