[2013] The Heart Echoes

by Helena vonZweigbergk

  “You’ve made such a perfect breakfast,” Astrid tells him appreciatively.

  Henrik gives her a surprised look. “Thanks. But it’s not any different than usual, is it?”

  “No. I just wanted to tell you that. You always make everything so lovely. You’re wonderful.”

  Henrik laughs and leans over to kiss Astrid on the lips.

  “Thanks. That’s all. Just thanks,” she says.

  Astrid opens the newspaper, feeling a sudden urge to cry. But the moment passes and she reads an article about a play she might like to see.

  She’ll go to the theater. With Henrik. Everything will be just the same as always.

  Astrid has a hard time sleeping that night. Earlier in the day she talked to her mother on the phone. Kerstin had sobbed, claiming that Lena might be very ill, though she didn’t offer any further information. On Monday Kerstin is supposed to accompany Lena to the hospital for what’s called laparoscopic surgery, and then they’ll know more.

  Astrid did her best to comfort Kerstin, saying there was probably nothing to worry about. Stomach problems? Bloating? But surely lots of people suffered from the same thing? That didn’t mean it was serious.

  Astrid considered phoning Lena to hear the details for herself, but then she hesitated. Lena had been so out of it at Viktor’s graduation party. Astrid didn’t think she’d even remembered to bring him a present.

  But if she’s not feeling well, surely that will pass.

  And besides, Astrid doesn’t want to talk to either of her sisters right now. She wants to stay inside her own private bubble, where she feels empty and fragile and at loose ends. Even so, Astrid seems to have picked up some of her mother’s uneasiness—mainly because she fears Kerstin is so upset that she might have a heart attack. Why does Lena have to upset their mother like that? Is there any real basis for it? Lena must know who will have to take care of Kerstin later on, after she goes back to India or New York or wherever it is she’s going next.

  It’s not until well after midnight that Astrid finally falls asleep. And only a few hours later the phone rings and wakes her up, buzzing on the nightstand like an injured bumble bee. When she takes the call, she hears an odd rushing sound. Then Michael is shouting her name. “Astrid? Astrid, is that you?”

  Astrid sits up in bed and gasps, “Viktor?”

  Michael sounds nervous as he explains everything is going to be fine. “But.” He pauses.

  But.

  “Last night, someone beat up Viktor.”

  Astrid whispers, “No.”

  Henrik is awake now. He asks her what’s wrong, but she climbs out of bed and leaves the room. She presses her finger against her other ear so she can concentrate on what Michael is saying.

  Some of his words sink in. “Not in any danger.” “He was punched hard.” “Stitches in one eyebrow.” “At the hospital now.” “Hanna is fine, but still in shock. Some bikers started flirting with her and Viktor ended up getting caught in the middle.”

  “I’m coming. Tell him that. I’ll be there as soon as I can!”

  Michael assures Astrid it’s not necessary. Viktor will be able to leave the hospital tomorrow.

  “I’m coming!” she shouts again.

  Henrik is now standing nearby, silently watching and listening. Since Astrid has repeated everything Michael said, he seems to have a clear idea of the situation. As soon as she ends the call, he tells her to get dressed while he looks up the flight schedule and books her a ticket.

  Tears are streaming down Astrid’s face, and she feels like throwing up. Her Viktor! She feels like her whole body is in turmoil. She’d give anything not to have heard what Michael just told her.

  No, she thinks. Take my intestines, my liver, my kidneys, take everything. This cannot be happening to my Viktor.

  “I’ll stay home with the girls,” Henrik says. “But if you need me, I’ll try to come over later. You should go now. There’s a plane at seven o’clock. Are they sure he’s going to be okay? Who said that? Michael or one of the doctors?”

  “Michael. But I’m not sure,” Astrid sobs. “How could anyone hurt Viktor? I can’t understand it. How could anyone harm my child?”

  She can’t stop crying as she sits in the taxi to the airport. She pretends not to see the cab driver glancing at her in the rearview mirror, eyeing her with concern.

  On the plane to Copenhagen, she doesn’t even try to return the friendly flight attendant’s smile.

  At Kastrup Airport, Astrid quickly finds her way out to the taxi stand. As she gives the driver the name of the hospital, she falls apart again. When the cab stops for a red light, she wants to scream, “Stop dawdling, you damn Danes!” She sends a text to Michael, saying she’s almost there. And when the cab approaches the looming hospital building, she sees Michael standing outside, waiting for her. The collar of his jacket is turned up, and he looks like he’s freezing. Astrid jumps out of the cab and throws herself into his arms.

  Michael strokes her back, trying to calm her. She hears him murmur, “Darling,” and he promises her that everything is going to be fine. “He’s all right,” he tells her.

  It seems wrong to use the word fine when her child is injured, but Astrid savors the word as if it were a piece of candy she ate to comfort herself.

  Yet she can’t help uttering a shocked cry when she enters Viktor’s hospital room. One eye is swollen shut, and three adhesive strips are holding closed a gash over his eyebrow. His eyes are shut, but when Viktor hears his mother’s voice he tries to open his lips, which look parched.

  “What have they done to you?” Astrid cries.

  She casts a desperate glance at Michael, who is standing on the other side of the bed. She repeats in English, “What have they done to him?”

  Hanna is curled up like a cat, asleep in an armchair next to Viktor’s bed. She wakes up when Astrid speaks and immediately starts to cry.

  “He was trying to defend me,” she says, hiccupping and sniffling. “These two horrible guys were harassing me. Viktor saw they wouldn’t leave me alone, so he told them to leave. They called him a Swedish shithead and then started hitting him.”

  Hanna climbs onto the hospital bed and lies down close to Viktor, who groans. Astrid makes an awkward attempt to move her, but Viktor hoarsely tells Hanna to stay. She rests her head on Viktor’s shoulder. Astrid sits down a short distance away, but close enough to pat Viktor’s leg. She watches with relief as he opens his uninjured eye and looks at her.

  “Hi, Mamma. Those guys were really sick, ugly bastards . . .”

  Astrid notices that Michael is trying to get her attention. He wants to know what Viktor is saying, since he doesn’t understand Swedish. Astrid ignores him. She keeps on talking to Viktor in Swedish, telling him how worried Henrik was when he heard what happened. “He might come over, too, and maybe he’ll bring Sara and Josefin with him.”

  “They’re letting me go home tomorrow,” Viktor says. “At least I think so. Then I just need to rest for a while. That’s what the doctor said.”

  “Okay. But you should come back home. Pappa is really worried. I’m going to call him, and then you can tell him yourself that you’re all right. Otherwise he won’t believe me.”

  Astrid taps in Henrik’s number and holds out her phone to Viktor. While she listens to Viktor slowly explaining everything, she casts a sidelong glance at Michael. He looks very tired and sad. Before ending the call, Astrid hears Viktor telling Henrik that he doesn’t want to be in Copenhagen anymore. Not now.

  Soon afterward, Viktor and Hanna both fall asleep. A doctor comes into the room. He assumes that Astrid and Michael are there as a couple, in their role as the patient’s parents.

  He confirms that Viktor can be discharged the following day. “His physical injuries are not serious, but it may be harder for him to handle the psychological effects,” the doctor explains. “He needs peace and quiet and people who can offer him reassurance. But I suppose it’s possible to find those sorts of peopl
e in Sweden, too,” he quips, giving them a wink.

  Even though Astrid thinks he’s behaving inappropriately, she does feel somewhat calmer. Viktor must not be in any danger if the doctor is able to joke.

  Astrid and Michael go to the hospital cafeteria. They’re both feeling worn out and at a loss. What should they do now? Astrid can barely stay on her feet. She’s suffering from lack of sleep, hunger, and shock. But in the cafeteria she can’t find anything she wants to eat. Or maybe she simply can’t make up her mind.

  Your son was beaten up? Would you like a ham or a cheese sandwich?

  Too many stupid choices.

  “Would you like a hot dog?” Michael asks, trying to sound funny by asking the question in Danish. It’s a reminder of the years he spent living in Sweden, when his attempts to speak Swedish were a constant subject of amusement for both of them.

  She smiles but shakes her head.

  “What I really need is to rest. I wish I could lie down for a while.”

  “I know,” he replies, running his fingers through his hair. “You could take a nap in my office, if you like. My car is parked outside. No one would bother you, since it’s Sunday. Why don’t you sleep for a few hours, and then we’ll come back here to visit Viktor. Okay?”

  Astrid nods and says, “Thanks. That would be great.” Then she texts Henrik, Going to borrow a cot here at the hospital and sleep for a few hours. Will call later. Hugs.

  She doesn’t know why she lied to him. She can’t explain it.

  Neither of them speaks on the way over to Michael’s office. They don’t say a word until he opens the door to the deserted offices. The silence makes Michael’s voice echo when, just to make sure no one is there, he calls out, “Hello?” No answer.

  And then it happens.

  The silence in the office acts like a blast wave, forcing them toward each other. Initially they are two uneasy and shocked parents, seeking to catch their breath, hugging each other in relief because it seems as if everything will be okay even though the situation could have been a lot worse.

  But Michael is so close. She’s aware of his hands and his scent. Astrid gasps aloud; she can’t help herself. It’s overwhelmingly wonderful, and yet so strange.

  Michael groans as he runs his hands over her body, his fingertips both demanding and tender, reminding her of how it used to be. He’s the only one who could ever make her feel this way. She responds without hesitation, so insistently that they almost fall over their own feet. They stare at each other for a moment, hardly daring to meet each other’s eyes, both desire and alarm evident in their staccato breathing.

  And then he kisses her.

  She’s awakened by Michael’s kisses. Astrid from the past is brought to life, a sleeping beauty in her tower of daily routines and practical concerns. She utters a sob. So this is where she was, this is who she was.

  Together, as one body, they stumble over to a big lavish sofa. Her hands slip under Michael’s shirt. Her fingers dance. Michael’s body feels so familiar, as if the memory has been stored in a tightly sealed jar.

  “Astrid,” Michael murmurs, over and over. “Astrid. Astrid.”

  “I actually hate you,” Astrid says a while later as they lie on the sofa, their bodies entwined. “I mean, I really do. I think you’re . . . evil. That’s the best word I can think of. You’re an evil person.”

  Michael doesn’t reply. He merely strokes her arm and then kisses her on the forehead.

  “To think we’d end up like this. When we were both in shock,” Astrid goes on as she looks for her clothes, thinking she should reach for them, and yet she puts off doing so. She wants to stay in Michael’s arms a little while longer—just a few more minutes of not talking and ignoring reality. She sinks back, resting her head on his chest. She runs her hand over his stomach, rubs her cheek against his shoulder.

  “I do hate you,” she murmurs, but this time in Swedish. Michael puts his hands on her shoulders and pushes her into a sitting position in front of him.

  “Let me look at you,” he says.

  At first she feels embarrassed, and foolish. But Michael looks at her with such tenderness and longing that she is filled with a sense of pride that borders on brazenness. She likes having him look at her; she knows that in his eyes she can’t be anything but beautiful and real.

  That’s just how it is.

  When Astrid’s with Michael, she has no inhibitions—at least, not in terms of her body, which demands to be seen. Under his eyes, she emerges in all her glory. It’s as simple as that.

  She exists. There. Then. Here. Now.

  “There’s something about you that feels like home,” says Michael, his voice rough. “I can’t describe it any other way. And I just can’t stop looking at you.”

  “Oh, right.” Astrid abruptly gets up and resolutely begins looking for her clothes.

  Michael sits up, watching her with a serious and alert expression.

  “What kind of crap is that, anyway?” Astrid snaps. “I’ve never heard anything so stupid. Sentimental bullshit!”

  Tears spill down her cheeks, and she angrily wipes them away. It’s because of Viktor, she thinks to herself. It’s because of what happened to him that I’ve been knocked off balance like this. I don’t approve of this sort of thing. So maudlin, so sappy. Something about me that feels like home? Is he insane? A sentimental idiot who can only love from a distance, who loves the impossible.

  But wasn’t she always there for him back then? Why had it gone so wrong? More tears stream down her face. That must have been why he had to leave her. For home, for . . .

  She takes a deep breath as she pulls on her panties and fastens the hooks on her bra.

  “That was a nice way to put it,” she says in English. “But if I was the love of your life . . .” She looks at him and pauses. All that is over now. She doesn’t want to go back, or reopen old wounds.

  “We’re both very upset,” she goes on. “That’s why this happened. We both realize that. What happened to Viktor . . . We just . . . So let’s not have any more of that kind of talk.”

  Michael is still looking at her, but she turns away to find her shoes. Over her shoulder she says, “I’m going back to the hospital. I’ll see you there later.”

  When she gets no response, she turns around. Michael hasn’t moved. He’s slumped on the sofa, naked.

  “Astrid. Just one more thing. It’s something I happened to think about. Have you ever heard of a sleeper cell?”

  Astrid shakes her head, then lifts her chin, defiantly attentive.

  “Well, I don’t really know much about it, either. But it’s something I saw in a movie. Spies are sent to different countries where they completely integrate into a family without anyone knowing what they’re up to. But they can be activated at any moment, and when they are, they have to carry out their mission—which is why they were sent there in the first place. Everything else was just pretend.”

  “And?”

  “Well. I just happened to think about that right now.”

  “Huh. I’m going back. I’ll see you later.”

  The next day, Astrid, Viktor, and Hanna fly home to Stockholm. Henrik is waiting for them at Arlanda Airport. He gives Viktor a big hug. Then Astrid hugs Henrik for a long time, too, her face pressed against his chest so she doesn’t have to look him in the eye.

  In Copenhagen, on Sunday evening and Monday morning, she was civil but curt with Michael. Linda and Leonard came over to the hospital to see Viktor briefly. For a second, while they were watching Viktor open a present they brought, Astrid’s and Michael’s eyes met.

  Linda was warm and friendly toward Astrid, who thought to herself, It’s only because you’re relieved at how politely aloof Michael and I are toward each other. But you don’t understand a thing. You poor, deceived woman.

  On the drive home, Viktor and Hanna sit in the backseat, and Astrid notices how often Henrik glances at them in the rearview mirror. She looks out the car window at the fields
and pastures, which are slowly turning green, at the warehouses and shopping centers that grow more and more numerous the closer they get to the city. At one point Henrik places his hand on her thigh. She gives him a quick smile, but then gratefully loses herself again in the passing scenery. Her whole body is still jittery and preoccupied, but also excited from Michael’s touch. Her overwrought state feels even more palpable now that she finds herself once again within her family’s embrace.

  That was the epilogue for Michael and me, she tells herself. Like some sort of final chapter to our story. Viktor gets hurt, and we pick up our story again—examining how we’ve been, how things have turned out.

  “Astrid, your mother asked that you call her as soon as you can,” Henrik says. “She wants to hear about Viktor, of course, but there’s also news about Lena. She sounded really upset.”

  “She did?”

  Astrid forces herself to pay attention to what Henrik is saying. “Did she find out what’s wrong with Lena?”

  “I think so, but she wants to tell you herself,” Henrik replies. “You should call her. Or call Lena. But that might not be possible. I think she’s had some kind of surgery.”

  “Surgery? I forgot all about that. What do the doctors say?”

  “I don’t really know. Maybe you should go over to see her later,” he suggests.

  “Hmm. I think I’ll talk to Mamma first and find out what’s going on.”

  Astrid can’t be sure, but she imagines Henrik is giving her a quizzical look, the way he always does when he’s waiting for her to say something more. She knows there’s something about her relationship with Lena that he’s never fully grasped. And why should he? Only someone who had grown up as they did would understand. It’s not something either of the two sisters can rationally explain. It can’t be described by means of logic or concrete events or even ideas. It’s in their bloodstream. A certain resistance.