by Linda Olsson
“Well, you don’t know anything about other people, even if you live near them. I now look at Olof and he is a stranger. I have no idea what he might be thinking. What his dreams are. But during all those years, I did think I knew. I created an Olof for me who, I can see now, had very little likeness to the person he is.”
We arrived at the shop and went inside. Emma pointed out the earrings she wanted to buy for Anna. I could see how well she had chosen. They were simple, just a beaten silver plate and a few rough pieces of red coral.
“What do you think, Maria?”
“They are perfect.” I stressed the words to make sure she understood that I thought she had chosen well. “Absolutely perfect.”
“There’s not much I feel confident buying for her. Never clothes, for example. I am so unsure of what she likes. But when I saw these, I thought she might like them.”
She asked to have them gift wrapped, and we walked down to the harbor and had a cup of coffee.
“It will be harder to choose something for Jakob.”
“Tell me a little about him. I feel as if I don’t know him at all. Not like Anna. I have only met him on a few occasions over the years. And we have never really gotten to know each other.”
“No, I know. It’s not easy to get close to him. Like I said earlier, he was very shy as a small child. Afraid of strangers. Perhaps it was my fault. I think I kept him too close to me. I didn’t really let go of him. With Anna, it might have been the other way around. Perhaps I pushed her away.”
Emma sat with her elbows rested on the table and her hands covering her mouth. I was afraid she would start to cry again, so I made sure not to comment on what she had said.
“I don’t think I ever considered having children. When I became pregnant, I never thought of it as a child. It was inconceivable that Olof and I were to have a child. I just couldn’t accept it. But I do think Olof was made to be a father. It was me. There was something wrong with me. Perhaps I never knew how to be a mother. We didn’t have much of a role model, did we?”
Emma lowered her hands and looked at me.
“This is so sad, Maria. Because I really do think that you would have been a good mother. But as for me, I think perhaps I really needed to grow up first. I should have learned how to live. When I had Anna, I experienced none of what other mothers describe. The normal reactions. How they instinctually know how to relate to their baby. How they give their baby their breast and feel invincible. I looked at my little baby and felt nothing. Nothing at all. Possibly a slight unease. Insecurity. It was as if I nursed her according to a manual. Nothing felt in the least bit natural. I wasn’t able to breastfeed her. I took her to the clinic and had her weighed once a week to make sure I fed her enough. I couldn’t judge if I put too many clothes on her or not enough. I remember how this enormous task that felt so utterly unnatural drained me completely. With Jakob, it was very different.”
“When Anna came and spent time with me that summer, I thought she was an extraordinary little creature. I think it might possibly be the only time in my life when I have felt a longing for a child. And I envied you having her. It might not have been a conscious feeling, but now I realize it’s probably true. But it wasn’t a longing to give birth. I just became attached to your child. The human being she was. I don’t think you should reproach yourself for things you think you did wrong. Just love her.”
Emma didn’t answer, but she nodded slowly.
“Do you know why I asked you to take Anna that summer?”
I shook my head.
“You never asked, and I was so relieved. I think it was the first time I was able to acknowledge, even to myself, that I was depressed. I could hardly make myself get out of bed. Dress. Everything seemed very distant. Even the sounds felt deadened. The colors faded. I lost all sense of time. I could sit on a chair in the kitchen for hours. I think Olof knew what was wrong with me. But somehow he also drifted out of focus. I no longer saw him.”
Her eyes were on my face, but I wasn’t sure if she really saw me.
“But what scared me the most was that I no longer saw the children. Anna was out a lot. She had lots of friends and managed on her own. But for Jakob, who was with me all the time, it must have been so frightening when I didn’t take any notice of him. So Olof took Jakob and went to his parents’ summer place. I’m not sure what he was thinking when he left Anna with me. Perhaps he left the responsibility with her. She was always so capable.
“But this was wrong. I think I realized that, somehow. And it scared me. I was scared of what I might do. What might happen. Scared of how it would affect Anna, watching me fall ever deeper. I was ashamed too. So I didn’t want to involve anybody else. When I heard you were coming to Sweden for the summer holidays, I called you. And you said yes. Just like that. No questions. You have no idea how grateful I was. It was like a heavy burden had been lifted from my shoulders. And I survived, didn’t I? We all did. And everything returned to some kind of normal existence. For some time. I had relapses, but never as bad as that summer. Still, I have never been able to let go of the thought that my illness has affected my children.”
“I don’t know them, so I can’t give you an answer. Besides, it’s an impossible question. The eternal one. Who we would have become given other circumstances. I am sure you have given your children so much more than your illness. I know that you love them. I’m sure they know that too. And that is enough. It is only when there is no love that there is no hope.”
“I think I loved Jakob too much. And with time it was as if he was the adult and I was the child. Because it was I who needed him, not the other way around. I needed someone who needed only me. I never let him go. But now he lives with Olof, and I think it is good for Jakob. Good for both of them.”
“What is Jakob interested in?”
“Music, first. I don’t know if I already told you, but he studies at the Royal Swedish Academy of Music in Stockholm. It may not lead to a job he can live off, but it is all he has ever wanted to do. He plays several instruments, but his real interest is composing. Writing music. He has always done that, ever since he was small. I tell myself it will work out for him. Olof has always struggled to accept the children’s choices. He has accepted it now, but I think that deep down he is disappointed. I think he had in mind for them both to have an academic career. But Anna never hesitated. She knew exactly what she wanted to do. And Olof never tried to put pressure on her. It’s not possible with her. Never was. She follows her own path. And in a way it is the same with Jakob. Even though he appears shy and cautious, he doesn’t budge once he has made up his mind.”
“It would be nice to see him. My nephew.”
Emma smiled. “I’m sure that can be arranged.”
“So, shall we look for something to do with music for him?”
We found nothing that Emma felt was right. After wandering around for quite a while, she finally decided on a ceramic salad bowl. I looked at her, surprised.
“He loves to cook too,” she said. When I wondered if it wouldn’t be difficult to bring with her, she just said “It will be worth it.”
In the early afternoon, we walked to Port Lligat as we had decided. It was windy but the sun shone from a clear sky. On the way down the hill, Emma stopped several times to take in the view. It looked as if she was trying to memorize it.
The small restaurant was half-empty, and Marcello was as welcoming as always. When he heard that it was the last day of Emma’s visit, he insisted on treating us to a glass of cava before our meal.
We raised our glasses and toasted.
“Come back, Emma.”
I think we were both equally surprised.
“Oh, you will regret those words, Maria,” Emma said, laughing.
“Yes, probably,” I said.
* * *
We returned home slightly affected by the wine, the wind, an
d the sun, and Emma retired to her room. I sat on the terrace, as usual. We certainly had our routines by now. But I seemed to have lost some of my previous habits. I hadn’t written a word in my diary for a few days, for example. Normally, I wrote every day. Often extensively. But since Emma’s arrival it had only been a few short lines. Realizing this, I went inside and turned on the laptop.
I checked my mail and noticed there was one from Elna at the gallery. Without explaining why, she asked if we could make a time to meet the following week. As far as I knew we had nothing in particular to discuss. The plans for the spring were in place. I couldn’t help but think she was making contact now, toward the end of the year, in order to pull me back to the gallery in a gradual, natural way. I replied that I would be happy to meet and suggested a time.
Emma leaves tomorrow. My feelings surprise me. I never wanted her here. Now I don’t want her to leave. Not yet. My house smells of coffee in the morning and food at night. I can feel someone breathe here. Next week I’ll go to Barcelona. Life intrudes from different directions. And I’m no longer resisting. I think.
* * *
Emma stood by the balcony door in the dining room. She wore a sleeveless white dress and light silver sandals. From behind, she looked like a young girl. Suddenly I felt very old. I had been looking forward to the evening at Pau’s, but the warm anticipation dissolved and I felt tired.
Emma turned around when she heard me. She looked at me, her head a little cocked. Although she said nothing, I could tell from her expression that she thought I could have made more of an effort. I had just thrown on what I was used to wearing: jeans and a T-shirt. Both clean. But that was really all you could say about them.
I shrugged.
“You look nice,” I said. It wasn’t really a compliment but a comment filled with mixed emotions. I couldn’t tell how Emma took it.
“Why don’t you dress up a little too, Maria?”
“Why? This is fine.”
“Oh, because it’s my last evening here perhaps. Or just for your own sake. Because it makes you feel good to look good sometimes. Or just for whatever reason. Or no reason at all.”
We faced each other and neither of us said anything. Suddenly I felt ridiculous. Like an obstinate child.
“Shall we go and take a look in your wardrobe? See what you have?”
I allowed myself to be pushed downstairs, and Emma threw open the door to my wardrobe. Not a very encouraging sight, exactly. She went through the few garments and finally she took out my red dress.
“Not that one,” I said, trying to take it from her.
“Why not? This color suits you.”
“Not that one!” I said. I tore the dress from her hand.
Emma looked astonished. And again I felt ridiculous. And teary eyed.
“Stop it! I told you I don’t want to do this. Let’s leave.”
I managed to say the words and to hang the dress in the wardrobe. It took me a moment to pull myself together, and then I turned.
Emma had dropped her dress to the floor. It lay by her feet, and she stood in front of me wearing just her panties and bra. Then she unhooked the bra and took it off.
Across the left side of her chest was a wide scar. And she no longer had a breast.
“I don’t know if you understood why I refused to accept your T-shirt in the boat. Why I shouted at you. But I couldn’t make myself let you see this. To pull off my wet top was just not possible. It’s obvious that I wear a prosthesis. I just couldn’t let you see it.”
I didn’t want to see it. But I couldn’t take my eyes off the scar. The perfect breast with the pink nipple on one side. And the scar on the other. I wanted to bend down and pull up her dress. Hide what I couldn’t tear my eyes from.
“You see, Maria, I was so scared of your pity.”
Finally, I was able to lift my eyes and meet hers. There we were, standing in front of each other with no need to say anything. I had no questions. Nothing I could say. And when I finally opened my mouth to speak, Emma put her hand over it.
“Shhh. Don’t say anything, Maria. I don’t know if I could manage anything right now. I just wanted you to know.”
She bent down and picked up her bra and put it back on. Then she pulled up the dress and slipped it on.
“I really do think we should make an effort tonight,” she said, and walked to the wardrobe and took out the red dress again. “Both of us.”
* * *
Pau’s door stood open, but he was nowhere to be seen. We could smell fumes from the grill up on his terrace. Emma slowly walked inside and I followed. The large room lay in semidarkness. One of Pau’s paintings covered most of the wall in front of us. It had fascinated me ever since the very first time I saw it. It hung, then, in the gallery in Barcelona. The title was Bressol de tots els blaus, like the song, “the cradle of all blue.” I could see that Emma’s eyes were fixed on it. It was impossible to step inside that house and not be overwhelmed by it. It was an oil painting, about two meters high and as wide. And it was blue. Not one color but all imaginable blue tones. As if you could sense all the shades, layer upon layer of darker and lighter coats. And even in that dark room the painting seemed to be lit from inside. I had often thought it seemed to change shape and form in front of my eyes. As if it had a life of its own.
“It’s one of Pau’s,” I said. “But you probably guessed that.”
Emma stood in front of the painting, with her back to me. And I briefly wished I had my camera in hand. That I had been able to save the image. Even though I realized I could never have captured the atmosphere of that moment. My sister’s slight figure in the white dress against the large blue, shimmering canvas.
Eventually, she turned around, and without making any comment we continued up the stairs.
“There you are! Welcome!” Pau called out from the grill. Then he put down the tongs and gave us each a peck on the cheek. He nodded to the chairs at the table, and we sat down.
“I thought Emma had to try our national dish. So I decided to make a paella. We’ll see how it goes. I’m a little rusty. I don’t often make such elaborate dishes these days.” He smiled and poured us each a glass of cava.
“I hope you’ll come back now that you’ve seen how we live here,” he said to Emma.
She smiled. “I hope so, too,” she said. But she sent me a quick, tentative glance. I couldn’t tell if Pau noticed.
“There is so much more to discover around here. More than you would think at first. That might be true about all places, I suppose. And I’m partial, of course. My family has been here for generations. My grandfather had this house built. Had it built? No, he built it himself, most of it. Sometimes I think I can sense that he comes to visit. As if he wants to make sure I’m looking after it properly.”
He returned to check the grill and the large paella pan that he had placed on top. I watched him standing there, barefoot, in his white T-shirt and cotton trousers. He seemed to be completely focused on his task. His hands moved with the same natural confidence as always. On the strings of his guitar. With his paint brushes. Fishing. Cooking. Memories of other evenings here, on this terrace, returned. Happy, relaxed evenings with food and music. Meals that seemed to appear effortlessly. With music and song. And Maya by my side. Another time. A time when Pau and I were different people. We might have looked more or less the same. But we were forever changed.
Pau returned to the table. I felt his eyes on me, and I looked up to meet them.
“It’s been a long time since you were here, Maria.”
I nodded.
“We’ve had many good nights up here, haven’t we?”
I nodded again, not sure if I would be able to speak without my voice breaking.
“And on your terrace too. It made me so very happy when you moved in. And we began to walk back and forth between our two houses. Wit
h Raul and Agnés too. And our other friends.”
He fell silent. He turned his head and looked at Emma.
“You do know what happened, don’t you?”
Emma nodded.
Pau returned to the grill.
“Would you mind setting the table, please?”
I was grateful for something to do, and I placed the plates and cutlery on the table. But it was quickly done and we sat again in the slightly awkward silence.
“Let me turn on some music,” Pau said, and disappeared into the room. After a moment, the music streamed from the loudspeakers behind us. Tango.
“It’s tango evening down at the casino,” Pau said as he sat down.
We picked from the plates with olives and Padrón peppers, and Pau topped up our glasses.
“We could go down after dinner. Watch the old couples dance. Perhaps dance too?”
“Not me,” Emma said, with a short laugh. “Never, ever. I can’t dance the tango.”
“Everybody can dance the tango,” Pau said. “You’re born with it. Just listen to the music and let it transport you. Just follow.”
“I don’t think it’s that easy.”
Emma was beautiful. That special fairylike, fragile quality she possessed. That she had from Mother. And Anna had it too. The blonde hair shone in the light from the fittings on the wall behind her. The white dress brought out the slight tan. The only jewelry she wore was a pair of white pearl earrings.
“But you know how to, don’t you, Maria?”
I shook my head. “Not anymore.”
Pau said nothing further.
“Tell me a little about your paintings,” Emma said. I wasn’t sure if she was purposely trying to relieve the obvious awkwardness that had suddenly settled on us or if she was just genuinely interested.
