[2013] The Heart Echoes

by Helena vonZweigbergk

  “I’m sorry! You’re the ones who have kept me away. How am I supposed to know?”

  They are both crying now, confused and despairing. They’re sitting in armchairs in Astrid’s childhood home, where Kerstin insists on staying even though it’s way too big for her. It is a co-op apartment, paid off years ago. Astrid views it as a monument to the way she and her sisters were raised. The apartment has a certain grandeur, at least outwardly: big rooms, creaking parquet floors, stylish old tiled stoves, and plaster roses on the ceiling. Their father was an author who enjoyed a great deal of prestige, but wasn’t exactly prolific. Kerstin worked in a movie theater in the evenings; she was the primary breadwinner, even though her job was referred to as “extra income.” These days Kerstin uses only three of the six rooms in the big apartment. The rest is like a museum to the family’s former life, with the old sofa, the dining room table, and the tall Mora clock. Astrid has often thought that their family home seems to be holding its breath, as if saying, Don’t move, don’t inhale or exhale. Everything must remain exactly the way it was.

  But now that whole structure is collapsing. And all Astrid and Kerstin can do is vent their fear, both of them sniffling as they stare at each other, though their eyes are also pleading, Say it’s not so.

  “Why is Lena refusing to see me?” Astrid sobs. “Why are you keeping me out? I don’t understand. What have I done?”

  Kerstin blows her nose and then wipes away her tears with trembling fingers. “It’s nothing. She just wants to deal with this whole thing alone. You should go over to the hospital tomorrow and take her the things she asked me to bring. I think in her heart, she’d really like to see you.”

  Kerstin hands Astrid the key to Lena’s apartment, and Astrid promises to do as her mother asked. When she steps outside the door to Kerstin’s building, she has the feeling that she’s never been there before, even though it’s her childhood home. The view across the street, the worn sign of the tobacco shop, the Konsum supermarket on the corner—it all strikes her as absurd. Then Astrid heads for home, going slowly at first, then speeding up.

  She wants to get home. She has a home. A place where nothing is ever going to change.

  Later in the day, she makes a quick call and learns that Lena doesn’t know Astrid is bringing her things to the hospital.

  “Should I really do this?” Astrid asks her mother on the phone.

  Kerstin is adamant. Yes. It would be devastating if she gave Lena her cold. And as for whether it would be better if Sandra went instead, since she’s much closer to Lena, Kerstin merely says with exasperation that she wants Astrid to do it. She claims that this whole arrangement will be fine.

  That’s when Astrid realizes it’s all part of a plan. Her mother seems to think that if she and Lena see each other, everything will be okay. Astrid pictures Kerstin at home during the day, blowing her nose and glancing at the clock, feeling both nervous and filled with hope.

  Kerstin wants the three sisters to be close to one another and happy. She regards that as her life’s work. The fact that things haven’t gone smoothly—and the circle hasn’t closed around them as it should—is something that Kerstin is determined to fix.

  Astrid rehearses in her mind how she wants to behave when she sees Lena. She will be formal and yet warmly sympathetic. She’ll say that, unfortunately, Mamma couldn’t bring the things that Lena wanted.

  “So here I am instead, but don’t worry, I won’t disturb you. I just wanted to say that I was so sorry and worried when I heard about . . .”

  That’s where Astrid’s fantasy of her carefully controlled visit falls apart. Will she start crying? She wants to be a rock. She wants to offer her support by displaying both a steadfast calm and a heartfelt compassion. She needs to save face and, in spite of being exiled, prove that she’s capable in an emergency.

  At that point in her ruminations Astrid has to swallow hard.

  It’s Monday morning, and she’s back at work. Just as she’s about to go out to buy a salad for lunch, her cell phone rings. It’s Michael.

  “Hi, Astrid. Sorry to call you like this.”

  “Like this?” Astrid asks, confused.

  “Well, I’m here, in Stockholm. There was an event last night that I had to attend, and now I’ve managed to wrangle a few free hours before I have to catch a plane back to Copenhagen. I called Viktor to invite him to lunch, but he was on his way over to his girlfriend’s summer place. What’s her name again?”

  “Hanna.”

  “Right. That’s the one. So . . .” Michael pauses.

  Astrid runs her index finger along the wall of her office as she waits. Then she pats the palm of her hand against the wall’s surface, listening to him breathing in her ear.

  “Would you like to have lunch with me, Astrid?”

  Astrid clears her throat and says okay. Her voice sounds hoarse. “How about the Teahouse in Kungsträdgården?” she suggests. “I can be there in fifteen minutes.”

  The Teahouse? Why did she choose that place? Because Michael knows where it is.

  So what does this mean? She’s done with Michael. But they need to talk about Viktor. They do, don’t they? Or what?

  “Okay. Fifteen minutes. See you soon.”

  “Sure. Okay.”

  Astrid takes a look at her clothes. Why did she have to wear such a shabby jacket today?

  Her colleague, Sonja, comes into the hall carrying her purse and cardigan. She watches Astrid put on lipstick and brush her hair in front of the mirror.

  “Got a date?”

  Astrid spins around and gives Sonja a startled look. “What do you mean?”

  “Hey, just kidding.”

  As Sonja puts on her sandals, Astrid’s cell rings again. This time it’s Henrik. She sighs before she takes the call. “Hi, I’m kind of in a hurry.”

  She wants him to be understanding and end the call. But Henrik is saying how nice the weather is, and maybe they could meet and get takeout and find some place to sit in the sun. Without thinking, Astrid gives Sonja a pleading look, as if to say, What should I do?

  Sonja looks at her inquisitively.

  “No,” Astrid tells Henrik. “We have a meeting here at work, so I can’t. It’s really important. About that Abrahamsberg project, you know. I’ll just grab a quick lunch here in the office.”

  Astrid waves her hand, signaling that Sonja should leave, which she does, though with a surprised and rather cold look in her eyes.

  After Sonja closes the door, Astrid continues. “I’ve got a lot to do after that, so I’ll see you tonight at dinner. I also have to go to the hospital to visit Lena.”

  “I know,” Henrik says. “I thought you might need a little pep talk before you go.”

  “That’s sweet of you, but I’m okay. I just don’t have time. See you later.”

  She leaves the building, walking quickly as she rubs her clammy hands together. What a mess. Why did she do that?

  Sonja is standing a short distance from the front door, unlocking her bicycle. The architecture office where Astrid works is in Gamla Stan, at the corner of a narrow lane that leads down to Skeppsbron. Astrid peers at the traffic before she exits the building, as if to make sure nobody is spying on her. Then she turns to Sonja.

  “You know, I . . .” Astrid tugs at the strap of her shoulder bag.

  Sonja stops fiddling with her bicycle lock and waits for Astrid to go on.

  “I’ll be late getting back from lunch today. Tell the others for me, okay?”

  Sonja nods solemnly.

  Before Astrid hazards a guess at what her colleague might be thinking, she turns quickly and leaves.

  It’s the first really warm summer day of the season and Astrid feels the air caressing her skin. Light-green leaves are sprouting from the crowns of the trees. She can smell seaweed from the water and sun-warmed dust from the ground as she walks across the bridge.

  Astrid tries to look relaxed, almost nonchalant, as she approaches. But that proves impossib
le as soon as she sees Michael’s amiable, smiling face. Suddenly she hears herself laughing, almost giggling; she just can’t help it. The laughter seeps from her lips like helium from an overfilled balloon sailing across the water, unstoppable and ridiculously playful.

  What’s so funny, you idiot? Nothing about this whole situation is funny. Nothing in your life is at all funny right now.

  “Hello.”

  When they reach each other, the sound of screeching gulls and roaring buses threatens to drown out their voices. Neither of them can think of what to say. Astrid does her best to stop laughing and hold back her smile. But she can’t.

  Michael smiles even more, and they look at each other with both warmth and a trace of alarmed helplessness. What are they supposed to do with what is bubbling and simmering inside of them?

  She makes an effort, thinking to herself, I’m furious at this man. Really furious.

  But it does no good.

  Their fingers touch.

  “Hello, you.”

  All roads lead to Michael’s lips, which turn up slightly at the corners, producing the most tender of words. Astrid forces herself to look into his eyes. She’s about to drown in all the strange thoughts she’s having.

  “Would you like to have lunch over there?” Michael asks, pointing toward the Teahouse.

  Astrid shakes her head. Lunch?

  “I’m not really hungry,” she says.

  “Me, neither. I’d rather just talk.”

  All of a sudden, Astrid is acutely aware of the key in her purse. It pops into her mind like a siren song, followed by a huge Don’t do it and Absolutely not. And then she hears herself say, “I know where we can go. It’s not far from here. Come on, we’ll take a cab.”

  In the taxi they don’t touch or speak. Astrid’s heart is pounding when they get to the building. They get out of the cab, and she opens the front door with the key since she doesn’t know the code.

  Michael steps inside, smiling but puzzled. “So, what sort of secret place is this? Is this where you usually bring men—”

  “Shh! Don’t be silly.”

  They walk single-file up the stairs. Astrid leads the way, her heart hammering so hard that she can taste blood in her mouth. She looks down at her toes, visible in her sandals, red-painted against gray shoes that are worn with age. Astrid stops in the middle of the stairs and turns around to kiss Michael.

  She can’t wait any longer. She has to do it before they go inside the apartment. Somehow she has to connect with Michael, in case Lena’s place threatens to split them apart. Michael kisses her, tenderly but also urgently. He runs his hands through her hair. Astrid places her hands on his arms.

  “Astrid. I think about you all the time . . . I can’t stop thinking about you. I don’t know what it is, but I can’t help it,” Michael murmurs in her ear.

  She feels dizzy. His words and the rush of his breath confuse her. She hears herself reply in both Swedish and English, “I can’t help it, either. I can’t.”

  When they reach the apartment, Michael seems startled to read Lena’s name on the doorplate. He gives Astrid an inquiring look. She pretends not to notice as she resolutely sticks the key in the lock.

  “Where’s Lena?” he asks.

  Astrid opens the door and sees Lena’s shawls and jackets hanging on hooks. The mail and newspapers are stacked on the hall table. Kerstin must be the one who piled them up so neatly. Lena’s scent is surprisingly strong and familiar.

  Astrid hesitates. What is she doing? She can’t. But why shouldn’t she? It won’t hurt Lena.

  Astrid long ago left behind the magical thinking of her childhood. There are no spirits hovering overhead, ready to spread the news about her and Michael. She chooses to focus on what is real and tangible. And no one has to know about this. Not ever.

  The panic that Astrid feels about Lena’s plight actually urges her on. The panic says, Live your life. Nothing is certain. Everything can be yanked away. With one blow, the world can become unrecognizable.

  “She’s out of town,” Astrid says curtly.

  Michael draws Astrid close, and she’s more than willing to respond. The closer she presses against Michael’s body, the more she’s able to push aside all thoughts of her sister. Astrid closes her eyes as Michael leads her toward Lena’s bed.

  But maybe not there. No.

  Astrid opens her eyes and sees Lena’s rumpled sheets. She quickly whispers, “Let’s go in the living room instead.”

  Still holding her close, Michael heads that way, and they giggle as they keep bumping into things. They sink down onto the thick cream-colored rug on the living room floor. The sunlight coming in through the window is warm and bright. As Astrid pulls her dress over her head, the sun lights up her body. Michael unbuttons the top two buttons of his shirt, then grabs the collar and pulls the shirt over his head. They look at each other in the warm yellow glow.

  Astrid squints, and the sun says, Do it. The light burns away all doubt. It assures her that now it’s just the two of them. Nothing else exists.

  Michael reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind Astrid’s ear. “It’s you,” he says.

  “And it’s you.”

  They kiss again, slowly this time. Everything has to be slow; she doesn’t want it to end too soon. Time needs to pause. Astrid wants only to feel her skin under Michael’s hands. As he caresses her cheeks, she closes her eyes again, feeling his fingertips. His hands massage the warmth of the sun into her face. Astrid moans aloud against Michael’s shoulder, yet in the same breath she whimpers pitifully, because soon this will be over. She knows that.

  Lena’s apartment is far away. It has vanished at the very edges of their vision.

  The ringtone from Michael’s cell phone brings them back to reality. He merely casts a glance in that direction, but doesn’t get up to take the call. They’re lying on the rug, and the sun is still shining on them. Neither of them speaks. When the phone stops ringing, Astrid hardly dares breathe.

  Just a few more minutes, she silently pleads.

  But the phone has made Astrid restless. Reluctantly she sits up and looks around. Next to the sofa she sees one of Lena’s shoes sparkling in the sunlight, bright blue and with a high heel. The other shoe is under the sofa. The shoes look abandoned, as if cast off after a festive party.

  Astrid quickly turns to Michael. He’s lying on his side, his head propped on one hand as he looks at her. His eyes suddenly seem inscrutably dark—dark with old sorrow, as if to say, What are we doing here? What is it we’ve been carrying all these years?

  “I don’t know you anymore,” says Astrid.

  “I don’t know you, either.”

  “And you don’t know Viktor.”

  “Or Viktor,” he echoes.

  She feels her anger surge again. What she’s doing is so pathetic.

  Old love. What a cliché that is, she thinks. Especially when this man treated me and our child so badly. “Hmm. I feel sorry for you. I can’t think of anyone else who has behaved so stupidly.”

  Michael sighs and sits up. He runs his hand through his hair and shakes his head.

  Ha, it’s not something you can just shake off, Astrid thinks.

  “Now you hate me again,” he says with a sigh.

  Astrid nods. “I don’t know if hate is the right word. But you took something from me. Something I’ve never been able to get back. Maybe that’s okay, at least in the long run. It’s impossible to love someone the way I loved you. It was kind of a cruel way to learn that lesson, but sooner or later I would have realized it’s true.”

  “I’m so sorry . . .”

  “Stop saying that!” Astrid snaps, suddenly feeling very vulnerable. “I don’t want to hear that word from you ever again. I don’t know what we think we’re doing. But I don’t want to hear any self-pity from you.”

  “It was all too much. I didn’t think I was good at anything, and I thought I’d make your life worse.”

  “Seriously? Don’t talk
to me like that. As if you blame me for what happened. I don’t want to hear any more excuses. And I don’t want to talk about how you could be so stupid to just up and leave us like you did.”

  Michael shakes his head again. “When I think about your face that day and how shattered you looked . . . I’ve been running away from that my whole life. And I’ve never been able to settle down with anything since.”

  “Spare me, Michael,” Astrid replies coldly. “Save all that for Linda.”

  “But don’t you realize I can’t talk to her about this?”

  “You can’t talk to me about it, either,” Astrid tells him.

  Michael’s voice has taken on a pleading tone. “You need to understand that this is something I always carry with me, something I struggle with every single day. I want Viktor to be happy. And when he got into trouble in Copenhagen . . . and the fact that he graduated . . . Well, he’s my son. And that’s reality. It’s something I’ve tried to escape, but it all comes back, and—”

  “I don’t know what to say,” Astrid interrupts him. “This is just how life turned out.”

  She gets dressed, fumbling in her haste. She is more and more aware of Lena’s presence in the apartment. There’s an open box of chocolates on the coffee table, mostly untouched. A blanket and a pillow are on the sofa, as if someone had slept there.

  And the shoes.

  Lena.

  “She’s sick,” Astrid says now.

  “Who?”

  “Lena is sick. Seriously ill. She’s in the hospital. I was actually just supposed to come over here to pick up some things for her.”

  Astrid takes a deep breath, unable to hold back the tears any longer. Michael puts on his clothes as he gives Astrid a worried look. She is sitting on the sofa now, holding the blue shoe in her hand. She holds it out to Michael. He looks away and searches for his socks.

  “I’m so sorry. I had no idea—”

  “Of course not. How could you know?”

  Michael goes over to Astrid and sits down on the sofa next to her.

  “She doesn’t want me to visit her,” Astrid tells him. “I don’t understand why. What have I ever done?”