[2013] The Heart Echoes

by Helena vonZweigbergk

  Lena gives her niece a vague smile as if to apologize for her less-than-favorable thoughts.

  “Don’t you have anything to drink?” asks Sara, looking upset.

  Lena looks down at her hands. The thought didn’t even occur to her. “No, but that’s okay.”

  Lena can see that Sara is about to go off to get her a glass of wine. The thought of sparkling wine makes her stomach feel even more bloated. She makes a motion to stop Sara.

  “It doesn’t matter. I really don’t want any.”

  Seeing the determined look on Sara’s face, Lena repeats that she’d rather not.

  “But I’m supposed to make sure everybody has something to drink,” Sara tells her.

  There is something of Astrid’s stubbornness in the girl’s eyes—the desire to ensure that everything is done the way it’s supposed to be done. Lena feels a surge of annoyance at being treated in such a high-handed manner.

  “Why is it so important for everyone to be drinking?” she asks, a bit resentfully.

  But her mood seems to have no effect on Sara, who mentions the job she has been given without questioning whether it’s appropriate to explain the details.

  “Mamma’s going to give me a hundred kronor if I make sure everyone has something to drink,” Sara says with a brief shrug.

  “Well, you’re not going to earn your money on me,” Lena replies.

  But Sara isn’t listening. She heads for a nearby counter, and Lena watches as, with great focus and precision, she pours her aunt a glass of champagne. Lena feels her stomach already tensing as she catches a whiff of the wine.

  “I can’t really tolerate alcohol at the moment,” she repeats, holding up her hand as Sara tries to give her the glass.

  Sara pauses, still holding the glass, and stares at her aunt. “There’s juice and mineral water, too,” she then says firmly.

  “Okay, I’ll have some of that,” Lena replies, sinking back in the armchair.

  Apparently, the rule is that everyone has to have a glass of something. Astrid is directing this family get-together down to the smallest detail.

  At first Sara can’t decide what to do with the rejected champagne. Then she sets the glass on a table and pours juice into another glass, which she hands to Lena. Suddenly Sara pauses, and Lena notices an odd look in her niece’s eyes. Lena tries for a conciliatory smile, but Sara still looks skeptical, as if she has already decided there’s something strange about Lena today.

  “Alcohol doesn’t agree with me, either,” Sara says politely, almost sympathetically.

  Lena can’t help laughing. “I’m glad to hear it. How old are you now?”

  “Twelve,” Sara replies, adding in a low voice that she has only tried a few tastes.

  “Twelve already? How old is Josefin?”

  “She’s fifteen.”

  Sara leans forward and whispers in Lena’s ear that Josefin got drunk once. Then she peers at her aunt, as if expecting a gasp of horror.

  But Lena merely smiles.

  She recalls how she and Sandra, at about the same age, once went into the kitchen at home and secretly finished off the dregs left in the wine glasses while they listened to the buzz of grown-up voices in the next room. It made them sick, of course, but they also laughed so hard they nearly choked. Sandra couldn’t stop laughing when she heard Lena hiccupping, on the verge of throwing up.

  The memory brings tears to Lena’s eyes.

  “That’s okay,” she says, feeling a sudden tenderness for Sara. “You should try as many things as you can.”

  Wide-eyed, Sara stares at her aunt, not sure what she means.

  “Hey, I’m just joking,” Lena tells her impatiently. “Take it easy. Both of you have plenty of time to do all kinds of stupid things.”

  Sara is still staring, her mouth agape.

  What a fucking silly kid, Lena thinks.

  “My God, Sara, I’m just joking. You have plenty of time ahead of you. That’s all I meant. That’s all I wanted to say. Okay?”

  Sara takes a step back, the dubious expression frozen on her face, all her attention fixed on her aunt, as if hypnotized. Lena takes a deep breath, wishing Sara and her idiotic, skeptical, young, fresh face would turn around and leave.

  “Come on, I’m just being funny,” Lena assures the girl. “Why can’t you see that? Don’t look so scared. Life is wonderful. That’s all. And I’d think that would be enough to make anyone damn happy.”

  At that moment Henrik claps his hands and announces it’s time for the speeches. Lena stands up to head for the bathroom. She sees Sara looking even more alarmed, so she lightly pats her on the arm in passing as she whispers, “I’m sorry.”

  Lena stands in the bathroom, nearly hyperventilating as the tears run down her cheeks. She takes in the room: the heart-shaped bar of soap and the funny little sign with the joke about who invented tap dancing (a family of seven impatiently waiting to use the one toilet). Her eyes race around, panic-stricken, and everything she sees takes on the same absurd clarity as earlier in the day.

  All the details of daily life threaten to drag her under.

  No, she can’t think like that. Maybe it’s not that bad and she’ll pull through. She tries murmuring the words out loud.

  “It’s not true,” she tells herself, willing herself to stop crying. “It can’t be true. I won’t let it be true.”

  Through the door, she hears the buzz of voices in the living room subside as Henrik begins his speech. He’s talking about Viktor.

  Then there’s a cautious knock on the bathroom door.

  “Lena? Lena, are you in there?”

  It’s Kerstin.

  “Just a minute,” Lena answers. She leans over the sink and splashes cold water on her face. When she opens the door, she sees Kerstin still standing there, craning her neck to hear what’s being said in the living room. Astrid is the one speaking now.

  “Mamma, please, you can’t keep watching me like I’m a child.”

  Kerstin presses her index finger to her lips to hush Lena, and then the two of them go over to stand in the living room doorway. There they see Astrid, wearing her reading glasses and looking at Viktor, who seems embarrassed and yet happy at the same time. Astrid stumbles her way through her speech in English, sending Michael an annoyed look. Then she squares her shoulders and, in a theatrical gesture, she throws out her arm toward Viktor.

  “Sorry, but I need to finish this in Swedish. Remember to nurture and protect love. Let it guide your choices in life. And, well . . . congratulations, my dear son—I can’t believe how wonderful you are!”

  “Skål! Here’s to the best son in the whole world!” Henrik says.

  Lena watches as everyone raises their glass. She sees Astrid straighten her back after taking a sip from her glass, looking flushed and proud. Normally Astrid is not exactly eager to give a speech. But she raises her voice again, sounding a little arrogant as she asks for quiet.

  “And remember. Love is everything.”

  Love is everything.

  Love, love, love, thinks Lena.

  And here she is, on the other side of the Atlantic from the person she loves most, and soon her whole life will be over, and . . .

  Suddenly Lena can’t take it anymore. She has to get out of here and go home. She wants to wrap herself in the undemanding atmosphere of her own apartment, where she can be alone without feeling so damn lonely.

  She goes to the front hall, searching for her coat with shaking hands. She pretends not to see Kerstin even though she smells the perfume her mother always wears, L’Air du Temps by Nina Ricci. It’s the only scent Kerstin has ever used.

  “There it is,” Kerstin says suddenly, pointing at Lena’s coat. Lena puts it on, taking a few deep breaths before she goes back to wave good-bye to Astrid, Viktor, and Henrik.

  And then Michael appears. Kerstin whispers something to Lena and leaves the front hall. Lena doesn’t hear what her mother says because Michael is smiling at her, and it’s clear he wants
to speak to her.

  He comes closer, as if he’s holding something behind his back. “You’re leaving already? I haven’t really had a chance to talk to you.”

  “I know. But I’ve got things to do. Back home.”

  Michael looks at her for a moment, as if waiting for her to go on. But what can she say?

  He glances over his shoulder and then lowers his voice as he says, “Lena, I . . . sometimes I’ve thought that I should have apologized to you. I left you with . . . and, well . . .”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Are you sure? I thought about you being left behind, and—”

  “It doesn’t matter,” she says again. “That was a hundred years ago. There’s nothing to talk about.”

  Lena casts a nervous glance around. Only Sandra knows. At least she thinks so. And she’s planning to take the secret to her grave. But there’s nobody standing close enough to hear them. Kerstin has gone off somewhere else.

  “I ran away,” he says.

  “Yes.”

  “Forgive me.”

  “Yes.”

  Lena looks into Michael’s face and is filled with an infinite weariness. It was a thoughtless romance. And now, a lifetime later, he offers a worn-out phrase like forgive me. And in between are all those years of separation, sorrow, and regret. Reason and preconceived notions are all useless when it comes to the love lives of human beings.

  “So how are you doing now?” Michael again takes up his skateboard stance, attempting to carry on a more normal conversation. “Are you married? Do you have children?” he asks.

  “No,” she says simply.

  Michael gives her a searching glance, as if trying to guess whether this might be a sensitive topic.

  “Per told me you’re the most successful member of the family. That you’re a designer. That you sell your clothing in New York, too.”

  New York. Lena shuts her eyes for a moment to hold back the tears threatening to spill out at the mere mention of the city.

  “Yes. What a wonderful place. I’ve never been as happy as when I’m in New York,” she manages to say.

  Now Linda comes over to them and puts her arm around Michael’s waist. Does she know about us? Lena wonders.

  “We’ll be living in Copenhagen for a year,” Michael says. “But later, when we’re back in New York, you’ll have to come and visit us there.”

  Linda gives Michael an inquiring look, but then turns to Lena.

  “Yes, you should,” she says with a polite smile. “We’ll show you the best of what the city has to offer.”

  “I already know that,” Lena replies, trying not to smile. She can see by the looks on their faces that Michael and Linda think her response is strange. She buttons her coat and heads for the door.

  And there stands Kerstin, wearing her poplin coat and waiting for her.

  “Mamma, you don’t have to—”

  “Of course I do. I don’t want you going home alone. Don’t even think about it.”

  The next morning Lena is awakened by a ray of sunlight seeping through the blinds and playing across her face. She stretches, feeling happy. She was dreaming about Martha’s warm body, hearing her hoarse laughter in her ears.

  Slowly, reality catches up with her. But the strange thing is that right now it makes no difference. Lena looks around the room as if searching for some trace of unhappiness and finds none. Whatever shadows reality may hold, she can still feel happy.

  At this moment in her life—no matter how short her time ends up being—it’s possible for her to wake up smiling. Because she knows she is loved. The sense of security this gives her, the realization that the sweetness of her dream is true, spreads through her body like a great warmth. She also knows that the malignancy growing inside of her is running alongside, but love is holding her hand, and love is stronger. It has to be.

  She has something greater that will survive everything.

  Lena smiles to herself. In the warmth of her bed she can still feel Martha’s closeness, still feel her touch. And there is nothing, even if it’s a matter of life and death, that can prevent them from seeing each other again.

  So that’s decided. No matter what the doctors tell Lena after the surgery, she will go to see Martha and hold her in her arms again.

  That’s something worth living for.

  Martha. It’s so strange the way things turned out.

  Martha lives in New York with her husband, three children, and two dogs. Yet Lena knows that she’s the one Martha thinks about when she wakes up each morning and before she falls asleep at night. And she, too, is counting the days until they can see each other again. Only nine days left now.

  Maybe she should tell Martha about her illness. Lena takes a deep breath. Does she have to?

  Of course she does. But could she wait until later?

  Right now she’d give anything to be back in New York, going out dancing with Martha, feeling the pulse and rhythm of the music and the closeness they share. Drinking cocktails and getting dizzy, going back to the hotel and kissing in the elevator on the way up to her room.

  And visiting the exclusive boutique that carries her clothing line, eager to hear how well things are going. Because business is good.

  During the past five years Lena has established herself as a well-known and highly esteemed designer. She never learned to sew nor had any training as a tailor. But she can draw, and she’s very creative when it comes to choosing fabrics. In her mind’s eye, she always pictures some of the ex-wives of the Rolling Stones. The clothes she designs spring from her fantasies about how Anita Pallenberg, Patti Hansen, Marianne Faithfull, or Bianca Jagger used to look. She has focused on the glamorous period of the 1970s: luxurious hippie looks, with embroidery and slinky, shiny fabrics; blouses, vests, stovepipe pants with a pattern of tiny flowers; velvet dresses with buttons made from jet and coral and mother-of-pearl. Lena has made valuable contacts in India and found several good garment factories there. Her clothes are sold in exclusive boutiques on Biblioteksgatan in Stockholm and in Paris and in Manhattan.

  It was when she first started selling her clothes in the New York shop that she met Martha. A friend had invited Lena to a cocktail party where she was introduced to a pleasant American corporate lawyer. They got to talking, mostly about various business contacts who might help Lena in New York. His name was Ted, and he turned out to be a nice, cheerful man, fifty-five years old, short and bald, and yet possessed of a virile charm. They hit it off instantly, and he invited Lena to his home so she could meet his wife, Martha. He was sure they would like each other.

  And he was right about that.

  Martha is the first woman Lena has ever fallen in love with. Martha later told her that she’d been in love with two other women, but it was never like it is with Lena.

  Lena brought a blouse as a hostess gift. It was made of cream-colored silk with a grayish-blue folklore-type pattern embroidered around the neckline. Martha immediately took off the blouse she was wearing and put on Lena’s gift.

  And when Martha showed off the new blouse, with her curly black hair, her supple pink lips, and her warm brown eyes, Lena thought she was the most beautiful person she’d ever seen. Martha’s expectant smile turned to confusion when Lena simply stared at her without saying a word. At that moment, looking at Martha, Lena felt that every breath was moving her closer and closer to herself, stealing into all the recesses of her soul, with Martha’s eyes lighting the way.

  When her breathing had carried her to the innermost truth of herself, Lena gathered her courage and said, “You’re so beautiful.” She said the words with a conviction that she’d never heard before in her own voice. Martha smiled and reached out to place her hands on Lena’s arms. Her smile was so close that Lena could feel the warmth of her breath and catch the violet scent of her perfume. And as Martha lightly kissed her cheek, the tiny hairs on her arms rose up with sensual pleasure.

  It was easy for Lena to like the whole family: Ted, Mart
ha, fifteen-year-old Jonah, twelve-year-old Isobel, and eight-year-old Frank. The dinner they ate together was marked by a casual warmth.

  Both Martha and Ted came from well-to-do families, and Ted also earned a good salary from his law practice. Martha seemed to have an easygoing attitude toward work. She would sometimes help Ted with certain business contacts, but otherwise she spent her time doing whatever she liked. Lena imagined that their affluent lifestyle had some similarity with the life of dolphins. Lena once heard somewhere that it’s so easy for dolphins to find food that they spend most of their time playing and amusing each other.

  That’s what they were like. Two dolphins offering to play.

  The amazing chemistry between Martha and Lena came and went in waves. With each brief glance a new wave would wash over Lena, making her body tingle, and she found herself smiling all evening. She couldn’t help it. Before they parted that night, Martha and Lena decided to meet at the small cottage in Williamsburg that Lena had rented for a few weeks while she was working in New York. Martha said she’d come over to take a look at the clothing designs Lena was promoting.

  Lena suddenly felt nervous and weak-kneed when Martha knocked on the door the following day. But she also felt a wonderful warmth pervading her body, like a stove filled with an intense, emotional glow. Martha looked different from the day before. She was wearing jeans, a gray jacket with a cinched waist, and a black-and-chartreuse paisley blouse with a big collar. Her lips were pale and looked parched after the shiny red lipstick she’d worn before. Lena thought she looked uneasy—even more beautiful than she remembered, but tense.

  Lena invited her in and started babbling about the garments as she showed them to Martha, who praised the designs and touched the fabrics. Every time Martha tried on one of the blouses or dresses, a gust of wind seemed to sweep over Lena, making her skin burn.

  Suddenly Martha turned to face her. She said she’d hardly slept at all and that she couldn’t stop thinking about Lena. So now what?