“We’ve talked to a doctor who told us about what’s going to happen next, about the tests and everything,” Kerstin goes on, her voice still sounding oddly formal. She’s speaking with exaggerated precision and a little too loudly.
“But what did they say? What’s wrong with her? Do you know?” Sandra asks.
“We’re just going to take one day at a time,” Kerstin says, carefully enunciating each syllable. “Lena and I are going home now to pack. She needs to be back here at the hospital on Monday, and she’ll have to stay a few days afterward.”
“Can I talk to Lena for a second?”
Sandra waits, hearing Kerstin murmuring something to Lena. While she waits, she tilts her head back again, feeling the heat of the sun on her face. Her cheeks flush. For a moment she senses the ease of this summer day with all its reborn fervor, quiet yet determined, as everything starts growing once again. The vegetation turning green, the insects and birds teeming, all their feverish activity restored.
Lena can’t die.
“Sandra?”
Kerstin is back on the phone. “You can come and see Lena after the surgery,” she says. “Right now she needs peace and quiet. She can’t deal with anything else at the moment. I’m sure you understand.”
They decide that Sandra will visit Lena at the hospital on the following Wednesday. Sandra asks which ward Lena will be in, and when she hears the word oncology, her concern surges.
“Then the two of you can have a nice talk . . . about everything,” Kerstin offers, persisting in her fake cheerfulness, so implacable, so superficial. “I’ll be staying with Lena over the weekend.”
Sandra ends the call and blows her nose. Lena will pull through this. She’s certain about that. Right now it’s summertime. When fall comes, everything will be different—in one way or another.
Sandra goes over to the dance studio instead of heading home. It feels like a temporary reprieve. She gets a takeout pizza and sends Per a text saying she won’t be home until later. As part of a strategy that she hasn’t yet fully conceived, she doesn’t tell him what she’ll be doing. Since he didn’t bother to ask her how the presentation went, he doesn’t need to know what she’s doing now. All she wants is to be left alone. She’s going to put on some music in the studio, then sit and think as she eats her pizza and makes new plans. There might even be some wine left in a carton in their office. That never happens at home. The wine always disappears in no time.
When Sandra opens the door to the studio, she hears music playing.
Per?
Her heart starts pounding. This stupid old heart of hers, which never gives up hope. It’s like the last outpost in her body, clinging to the belief that he’s here in the studio and still wants to take an interest in their business, that he will surprise her with his enthusiasm and determination.
But it’s Josefin. Sandra watches her niece struggling with the dance steps, trying to achieve that distinctive yet nonchalant way of shifting her weight from heel to toe and back again. Her cheeks are flushed, her forehead sweaty, indicating she’s been practicing for a while.
When she suddenly catches sight of Sandra in the mirror, she shrieks. “Yikes! You really scared me!”
“How did you get in?”
Josefin stammers that she borrowed the key from Per. When she called Sandra on their landline, Per answered and told her that no one was using the studio, so she was welcome to go over there to practice. She went to their apartment to pick up the key, since he was staying at home.
Where does he think I am right now? Sandra wonders. Does he care?
“Would you like some pizza?” she asks.
Sandra goes into the kitchenette to get plates, silverware, and glasses, which she fills with water. She doesn’t want Josefin to go home and tell Astrid that her aunt has been drinking wine.
“So let me see how you’re coming along.”
Josefin shows her a few steps. Not bad, although Sandra notices that she’s once again forgotten about posture and attitude. Posture and attitude, in time to the music. That’s all it takes. It’s Sandra’s mantra. With a sense of rhythm and a believable image, you could move mountains. She casts a few surreptitious glances at herself in the mirror as she cuts the pizza into slices. Is that a slight hunch developing at the nape of her neck? She turns to take a closer look at herself in profile.
Hmm. Maybe.
When she notices that Josefin is watching her, she hands her a piece of pizza.
“So, have things settled down at home now?” she asks. “Now that all the graduation festivities are over? It must be a relief.”
“Uh-huh.”
Judging by Josefin’s noncommittal response, Sandra has the feeling there’s something about Viktor’s graduation that her niece has been brooding over.
“Astrid must be happy, right? Everything went off perfectly. Even she has to admit that.”
“Uh-huh.”
Josefin wolfs down a few more slices of pizza. Her total focus on what she’s eating reminds Sandra of Emilia, and it warms her heart. Per’s feeling of loss after Emilia left home has been so conspicuous that Sandra almost forgot how much she misses their daughter, too.
Josefin’s glossy lips move confidently as her jaw churns. She has that special self-absorption when she eats that is so typical of young people. She shovels in the food without giving a thought to sharing. Sandra manages to snag a fourth of the pizza for herself, while her niece eats the rest and then wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. She blushes when she hears Sandra telling her there are paper napkins in the kitchenette.
“But . . .” Josefin hesitates to finish what she was going to say. She casts a fleeting glance at the kitchenette but resists the impulse to get up to find the napkins. Instead, she sits on her hands and frowns.
Sandra gives her an encouraging smile.
Josefin decides to go on. “This whole thing with Michael is so weird,” she admits. “And his wife, whatever her name is, and Leonard. I mean, are they supposed to just come here and, like, be part of our family? Viktor is going to visit them in Copenhagen this weekend, and I don’t really think that’s right. Michael has never been his father, not like Pappa has. I can tell that Pappa is having a hard time with all this. Just the fact that he’s supposed to act so sensible and adult about it all. Well, I’m not going to speak English on Christmas Eve, or go along with the whole idea that Leonard is supposed to be like a brother to Viktor.”
“I don’t think you need to worry,” Sandra assures her. “You’re such a close-knit family, and this isn’t going to change things. It’s the five of you that matter.”
Josefin gives Sandra a look of relief.
You big baby, Sandra thinks, as she offers her niece a comforting smile and then gets up to find the napkins. She watches as Josefin wipes her mouth and then goes over to the mirror to take up position. What a baby. What do you know about problems in life?
“I’ve been thinking about what you told me about attitude,” Josefin says, looking over her shoulder at Sandra. “And you’re right. When I do this dance and Mamma and Sara are watching, I want to be, like, Fuck you.”
Sandra has to smile because Josefin looks so embarrassed by what she just said.
“You know what, Josefin? I think you should go all out with the fuck-you attitude. In your case, I don’t think that’s over the top.”
Sandra glances at herself again, standing next to Josefin. She straightens her hunched neck.
Fuck you, Per. Fuck you.
And to hell with cancer. Of course Lena is going to get well.
“You know how Kerstin is,” Sandra tells Per on Wednesday morning before she leaves to visit her sister. “It’s probably not as bad as she makes it sound.”
Per is still lying in bed, watching Sandra get dressed. He opens his mouth to say something, but Sandra beats him to it.
“And I don’t want to hear anything about how even if someone is just being paranoid, bad things can still happen to
them. Do you realize you always say things like that? You think everything is always on the verge of going to hell. I really can’t take it anymore.”
Per pulls the covers higher but doesn’t reply.
Sandra glares at him. “You don’t know that for sure, do you? What do you know? I mean, in general. What about how my presentation went yesterday? Did you even bother to ask me?”
“I assume it went great,” he offers, drawling his words.
Sandra slowly turns to look out the window. She sees a few branches from the big oak outside. They’re swaying in the breeze, quietly rustling. Whispering of freedom.
How did things get like this? It’s too much, she thinks.
“Well, I can tell you it definitely did not go great. Not one person signed up for the dance package. I stood there babbling like an idiot. The only person who seemed interested was some old classmate of yours, and I can’t even remember her name.”
“That’s too bad. I was so sure you could do it,” he replies with no enthusiasm.
Sandra looks at Per’s joyless face.
“I’m leaving now,” she says, her voice stony.
Sandra bicycles through Stockholm on this warm June day, heading for the Karolinska University Hospital to visit Lena in the oncology ward. When she has to ask directions to the ward and repeats the word oncology, she suddenly realizes how nervous she is.
Right before she enters Lena’s room, she runs into a woman with yellowed skin and loose, baggy clothes hanging on her thin body. This is no joke, Sandra thinks. The realization makes her weak-kneed. She tried to convince herself she would be visiting a cancer ward that was less “serious.” Not that sort of cancer ward. Now she’s scared. So scared that her mouth goes dry.
Lena is sitting in bed, tapping on her smartphone. A blanket is pulled up over her stomach. When their eyes meet, Sandra feels the threat of tears. She sinks down onto a chair next to the bed and takes Lena’s hand. Lena puts down her phone. She looks pale and unhappy.
“You know what the doctors are saying, right? Mamma must have told you . . .” Lena pauses. She lets go of Sandra’s hand and starts fiddling with the edge of the blanket. Her fingers are trembling. “Can’t we go somewhere else? I don’t want to be here. We could go out to the park.”
Sandra helps Lena get out of bed, even though she’s not sure her help is needed. Lena is wearing sweatpants and a V-neck T-shirt with a big orange butterfly on the front. Her hair is loose, hanging down her back. Lena gathers her hair in a knot and fastens it with an elastic. Sandra puts her hand on Lena’s arm as they go out to the corridor. She wants to keep touching her, stroking her hand over her sister’s warm skin. Feeling her pulse and the life flowing inside of her. She brushes back a strand of Lena’s hair that has come loose from the elastic.
For the first time in close to ten years, Sandra has a strong craving for a cigarette. She mentions this to Lena, who says she’d like a smoke, too. Lena waits outside the kiosk while Sandra goes in to buy a pack of Marlboros and a lighter. They go out to the hospital park, and Sandra notices that Lena hunches over as she walks.
“Are you in pain?”
“No, not really. It’s just the incision. It tugs a little.”
They sit down on a park bench, and Sandra opens the pack of cigarettes. When she sees her sister is grim faced and slumping forward, she stops. “Maybe we shouldn’t be smoking. You might—”
“Oh, sure. Maybe I’ll get cancer,” Lena says with a faint smile. Then she quickly apologizes, admitting it was a cheap joke, and she was just being stupid. “I’m going to have a cigarette, at any rate. So hand me one, please.”
Sandra complies. She lights a cigarette and gives it to Lena, then she lights one for herself.
“This is just like when we were kids,” Sandra says. “Remember? I was fourteen, while you . . . My God, you were only twelve back then. I should be ashamed of myself. Sorry. What a horrible sister I was.”
Lena doesn’t reply but grimaces, which is apparently meant to be a smile. Her hand shakes as she raises the cigarette to her lips and inhales. She looks so intent, as if this were the first cigarette she has ever smoked. Sandra takes a deep drag on her own cigarette and feels dizzy from the nicotine.
“Mamma is like a crazy woman,” Sandra starts, wanting Lena to chime in—needing both of them to joke about Kerstin. “She’s always painting the darkest picture, if you know what I mean.”
“Yeah, I know,” Lena murmurs, looking down. “I don’t know what to do about her. She’s hard to take.”
Lena inhales deeply, frowns at the taste, and then stubs out her cigarette so vigorously that it breaks in half.
“She always has to blow things way out of proportion,” Sandra continues, tilting her head to one side, as if seeking confirmation.
“Yes, I know,” Lena agrees, staring straight ahead.
Sandra takes a few more puffs, feeling stressed. The cigarette feels soft and warm between her fingers. She waits for Lena to say something more, but her sister is sitting slouched forward and silent.
Then she suddenly turns to Sandra. “Did you hear about Viktor?” Lena asks.
“What do you mean?”
“Some guys beat him up in Copenhagen.”
“What!” Sandra gasps. “No, I didn’t hear about that. But . . . what happened? Is he hurt? Who told you?”
“Mamma was here earlier, and she told me. Didn’t she call you?”
Sandra remembers that Kerstin actually did try to phone several times, but she didn’t feel like taking the calls. Sandra just can’t handle talking to her mother right now, because Kerstin would be bound to ask what’s wrong, with that stern and uncompromising tone of voice of hers. And then she’d insist on hearing all about it.
And Sandra wouldn’t be able to dodge the truth.
“Viktor ended up in a Copenhagen hospital,” Lena explains. “With a big gash over his eyebrow and a split lip, plus he was in a state of shock, of course. He was over there visiting Michael. Viktor and his girlfriend were out late. That’s when he got assaulted. Astrid went over there, but everything seems to be okay. They’re all back home now.”
Lena stumbles over her words as she rattles off what she knows. She seems to want to spill out the information as fast as possible, as if she doesn’t want to dwell on what she’s saying.
“He’ll be fine,” she adds, giving Sandra a wan smile.
Sandra stares at the cigarette she’s holding. It’s burning down fast, getting close to her fingers.
“What the hell is going on?” she mumbles to herself. She glances at Lena, returning her smile as best she can. “Have you talked to Astrid?” she asks.
Lena looks away. She fiddles with the lighter as she looks around at the park. Then she turns back to face Sandra. “I guess I should, but, well . . . I can’t really explain why I don’t want to talk to her. Maybe it’s because of Michael. You know. It just feels too painful.”
Sandra nods and pats Lena’s arm. “That happened a long time ago.”
“Sure. I know that. But what about Astrid? I just can’t deal with her. I can’t. Not right now. I need to take in what’s . . . I can’t really explain. But I feel bad for her, because of what happened to Viktor.”
“Uh-huh.” Sandra catches herself dismissing what Lena is saying and barely manages to respond. It’s awful. And yet. Compared with Lena’s situation . . . Compared with the disaster that she and Per are facing . . . Yes, what happened to Viktor is awful, but Sandra pictures how Viktor and Astrid both have Henrik’s wholehearted support. No doubt this event will bring their family closer together. A shocking experience, yes, but for them it will be turned into something that enriches their family.
“Things have gone pretty well for Astrid,” Sandra says. “Don’t dwell on the past. You need to focus on yourself.”
Lena shakes her head. “It’s just that I can’t—”
“It must have been hard for her,” Sandra interrupts. “There’s no doubt about that. But h
er life is perfect now.”
Sandra falls silent when she sees Lena look away, apparently thinking about something else. She doesn’t seem interested in what her sister is saying, and Sandra is embarrassed that she has tried to create a bond between them by criticizing Astrid.
Lena and Sandra have a shared tradition to fall back on when it comes to serious matters. Astrid had her own room when they were growing up, while Lena and Sandra had to share a room. They thought this was incredibly unfair. They consoled themselves by saying that when they were older and Astrid moved away from home, they would get their own rooms. But by the time that day arrived, both Sandra and Lena had already left. Sandra was seventeen when she moved to London to attend ballet school. Lena was only sixteen when she quit school and moved in with a girlfriend in Paris so she could take a job in a clothing store.
But when they shared a bedroom, the two sisters formed a real bond. Before they fell asleep, they would have a nighttime chat, beginning with some statement about a family member or a classmate. Then they’d examine that person’s good points and bad points, describing situations and events involving the person under discussion. And Astrid was often the one they talked about. Did she look cute in those jeans she got for her birthday? Wasn’t she playing up to Pappa an awful lot lately? What was it about Astrid that annoyed her two sisters so much?
They had plenty of answers to that question.
“Love is everything,” Lena suddenly says in a toneless voice. “What bullshit.”
Sandra nods at Lena’s remark, which seems so mournful. She tries to smile, hoping they can joke about Astrid’s tendency to over-romanticize things. But Lena merely looks sad and distant.
“So, tell me,” Sandra says after a while, noticing that she’s been avoiding looking at Lena. “How are things with you? Be honest.”
Lena raises her head and meets her sister’s gaze. “Nobody survives this kind of cancer. But I’d rather you didn’t say too much about it. Okay? I’m having a hard time taking it in, myself, and I’m . . .”
Tears fill Lena’s eyes, but she quickly wipes them away.
“I’m depressed about people wanting to come and see me and act so . . . you know. The worst thing I can imagine is people feeling sorry for me, and I just can’t . . .”
[2013] The Heart Echoes Page 11
