[2013] The Heart Echoes

by Helena vonZweigbergk

  They head toward the water in silence, teetering across the big slabs of gray granite.

  “It’s really slippery,” Sandra warns. “Watch your step.”

  Astrid doesn’t reply as she stops at a suitable place to spread out the blanket. There’s a good view, it’s dry, and it’s not too far from the car if the rain starts up. She begins taking out the food as Sandra continues on. Astrid lets her go without saying anything. When Sandra notices that Astrid has already stopped, she turns abruptly and comes striding back, looking angry.

  “So, what’s your problem, anyway?” Sandra hisses. “You need to pull yourself together. It’s not my fault that Lena and Michael had an affair. Maybe you think I should have told you about it, but keep in mind the state you were in after he left. Just remember what things were like back then. So don’t be dumping all this shit on my shoulders.”

  The blanket gets twisted up. Astrid gives it a shake and tries again to spread it out flat.

  “I could use a hand here,” she snaps. “Take the other side.” Her head is pounding. It’s the steady hammering of injustice inside her head, a methodical banging on the door of betrayal. So far she hasn’t dared yank open the door to clean house. She looks at Sandra and thinks to herself, It’s not all that easy. Why don’t you understand? Don’t you get it?

  Astrid sets her hands on her hips and stares at Sandra without saying a word. She wants to force her to understand.

  “There’s something about you and secrets,” Astrid says after a moment. “Seems like you can never get enough of them. Am I right? And now you’re going around whispering things to Viktor and Josefin, too. So this is what I want to say to you: keep away from my children! Keep away from me and my whole family! I can tell that you’re . . . you’re enjoying seeing me suffer and . . . like an idiot, I—”

  “Astrid! What on earth are you talking about?” Sandra cries. “My God. You poor thing! You’re way out in left field, and if you ask me, you really need professional help.”

  Astrid takes a step toward Sandra, her hand clenching into a fist as if she’s actually going to hit her sister. But then Kerstin calls out, interrupting them. So typical of their mother, who is always trying to make contact before she’s actually within earshot. Astrid and Sandra both turn in Kerstin’s direction, but their eyes are fixed on Lena as she approaches, slightly stooped forward.

  At that moment Astrid’s cell phone rings and, without thinking, she takes the call.

  “Astrid!”

  Michael is practically shouting on the phone. He’s been trying to reach her for a such a long time. He says he hasn’t been able to think of anything else. They need to talk. Things can’t go on like this. If nothing else, they have to think of Viktor.

  “I’m falling apart,” Michael tells Astrid when she doesn’t say anything. “Please, Astrid.”

  SANDRA

  Astrid. So much for that hypocritical façade of hers.

  “Shit. That was fucking unbelievable,” Sandra mutters to herself as she locks the door to Lena’s apartment. Her hand is shaking after what she discovered about Astrid and Michael.

  Astrid and Michael in Lena’s apartment? It’s beyond comprehension.

  Like screeching gulls, the thoughts are wheeling around in her head. Every shriek has to do with Astrid’s conceited attitude and her phony prudishness. Astrid has always had the perfect family life. She sees everything in black and white. She’s the one who’d say, “A good life or a bad life—which do you choose?” Sandra thinks of how Astrid has sometimes looked at her, with that discreet frown on her face, whenever Sandra has stood before her, exuding unhappiness. And Sandra has had to listen to Astrid’s sensible voice saying, “Well, you chose this life, didn’t you?” And that superior way she has of looking at Sandra and Per whenever they raise their voices or drink a little too much.

  Yet what does Astrid do?

  She cheats on her husband—nice, sweet Henrik—and with Michael, of all people. In Lena’s apartment. And then she has the nerve to say that Sandra’s loan of the Rolex watch is “tacky.”

  “Fucking unbelievable,” Sandra repeats out loud as she walks away from the apartment building. She takes swift strides, her jaw clenched, because there is something else equally disturbing that she is hoping her rapid pace will dispel.

  She shouldn’t have told Astrid about Lena and Michael.

  She tries to push aside the way Astrid looked when she told her about their affair, but it’s not easy. No matter how fast Sandra walks, she can’t get rid of the image. Astrid’s expression, usually so controlled, seemed torn away, like a scab falling from a wound, and underneath it her face was so . . . pink and painful. And totally defenseless. The pupils of her eyes trembled like compass needles, as if traveling back in time and searching for pictures that might confirm the truth of what Sandra had said.

  Sandra watched as her sister became hopelessly mired in shock. Now she wishes she could erase that memory, because it really has nothing to do with her. What could she have done differently? It’s not Sandra’s fault that Lena, drunk and filled with regret, confided in her that summer so long ago when their father died and nothing would ever be the same. Besides, Sandra had already suspected something was going on. Michael and Lena bantered flirtatiously on those evenings when Astrid left the room to put Viktor to bed or went to sit with their father. Sandra thinks even Kerstin may have suspected something was going on between those two, though she has never said anything.

  Why didn’t Astrid notice?

  Because she didn’t want to. Because she has always thought she can control the whole world and everyone else with her beliefs about what should and shouldn’t be done—what is respectable and dignified and what isn’t. Sandra has so often felt an urge to shout in Astrid’s ear that life is not based on her personal views of the world.

  But now that she has done just that, Sandra is wracked with guilt. And as she struggles with her guilty conscience, she insists that reality is the only thing anyone can depend on, no matter how unpleasant it may be. But she feels the most guilt about Lena. She should have spared Lena any confrontations with Astrid right now.

  On her way home, Sandra takes out her cell phone to call Lena. She spends a few minutes avoiding the issue by asking one question after another. She hears that Lena was in some pain last night, that she’ll be able to leave the hospital soon, that she’s planning to go up to Fårö as soon as the doctor gives his okay. After a while, Sandra can hear that Lena is tiring and getting fed up with all the questions. So she decides to tell her.

  “Astrid knows,” she says. “I told her. But do you know what she did? She cheated on Henrik—with Michael.”

  Sandra says the last part so that Lena won’t feel like she’s the only one who’s guilty. So that she’ll know that even Astrid, incredibly enough, is capable of betrayal. As she’s talking, Sandra is aware of the Rolex watch inside the box in her bag.

  “Huh.”

  That’s Lena’s only response, uttered in a toneless voice. Sandra waits for her sister to say something more, but she doesn’t.

  “It’s so awful,” Sandra continues.

  “Hm. I’ve got to go now.”

  “Lena, I’m really sorry. But because of the situation, I felt like I had to tell her, I—”

  But Lena has already hung up. Sandra looks around helplessly. Then she hurries toward a park bench standing in shadow, sinks down onto the bench, and bursts into tears.

  Why is she always the one who ends up feeling the most miserable? As if some sort of malevolent cloud is always following her around, ruining everything that is bright and hopeful.

  Yet she’s not the one who has done anything wrong. Her two sisters have brought on their own troubles at different periods in time. What does any of that have to do with her? The only thing she has ever done in life is to try to keep her husband and daughter happy and well.

  Sandra blows her nose and takes the pack of Marlboros she bought at the hospital kiosk from h
er bag. She lights a cigarette and instantly feels better.

  Lena and Astrid will just have to do whatever they can to take responsibility for their own missteps.

  Why doesn’t our family seem as stable as Astrid’s? Sandra wonders as she opens the door to her apartment. She has always viewed her own family as second-rate compared to Astrid’s. But why does she feel that way?

  She breathes in the stuffy and slightly dusty air of the apartment. She should really air out the place. She vows that from now on they will start fresh. There’s no reason why her marriage should be worse than anyone else’s. And she and Per aren’t interested in pretending they’re the perfect couple, like Astrid and Henrik.

  She needs to do some housecleaning. She needs to choose a more dignified life.

  Sandra does a quick survey of the apartment, which consists of three rooms and a kitchen, in a building close to Vitaberg Park. Per isn’t home. She throws open all the windows and lets the warm summer breeze blow away the stale air. The papers from the tax authorities are lying on the kitchen table, but now they sail off and land on the floor like origami birds. Sandra goes from one room to the next, not sure where to start. Finally she removes all the bed linens and stuffs them in the washing machine. She gathers up the old newspapers piled up around the bed.

  When she leans down to pick up some papers on Per’s side, she sees three glasses shoved under the bed. All of them have unmistakable dark-red sediment in the bottom. She bends down even more and finds another glass way in the corner among the dust bunnies.

  She gathers up all the glasses and takes them into the kitchen. There she sets them on the counter, which is covered with dirty cups and plates, along with two more glasses that have obviously held wine. Sandra can’t recall drinking any wine either yesterday or the day before.

  When did she last wash dishes?

  She leans against the counter as she ponders this question. She decides it was the day before yesterday. How much has Per been drinking lately? Has she simply stopped noticing or reacting? The glasses under the bed could have been there a long time, but still . . .

  She washes the dishes and wipes off the counter. She puts the newspapers and junk mail in bags that she places in the front hall next to the other bags of recycling. She goes back to the kitchen, pausing in the doorway as she plans her next step. The floor needs scrubbing, and the windows and cupboard doors need to be washed.

  She suddenly feels very tired and discouraged by her discovery of the wine glasses under the bed.

  Just then Per sticks his key in the front door. She can hear him fumbling to pull the key out of the lock before he steps inside and meets her gaze. Is he looking a little unsteady on his feet? She glances at the clock above the door. How did it get to be seven thirty already?

  “Where have you been?” she asks.

  She had planned to greet Per with a smile, as part of her new initiative, but the smile doesn’t materialize when she sees the apprehensive look on his face.

  “What do you mean? Why do you ask?”

  “That’s not such a strange question, is it? Why shouldn’t I want to know where you’ve been?”

  Again she tries to smile. The smell of wine on Per’s breath wafts through the hall, and even though he’s doing his best to seem alert, he mostly looks scruffy and clearly under the influence.

  “Why do you have to sound so mad? I haven’t done anything,” he counters.

  “I’m not mad,” Sandra answers him. “I was just wondering.”

  “Magnus wanted to meet for a glass of wine on his way home from work.”

  “A glass of wine?”

  “Yes, why?”

  “One glass?” Sandra has a sudden urge to give Per the finger, to illustrate what she means by “one.”

  “Do you really think I sat there counting how many glasses he drank? Do you?” Per asks, irritation thickening his voice.

  This is pointless, Sandra thinks. Per is too drunk to have a serious conversation. Astrid and Henrik would never have these kinds of discussions. Of course not. It’s only lowlifes like Per and herself who carry on this way.

  “So what is it this time?” Per asks. “Just because a guy has a drink with a friend who is also being abused by that creativity crematorium where he works, which, thank God, is—”

  Sandra steps forward to put her arms around Per. She hugs him as hard as she can. Per stumbles but hugs her back.

  “I just feel so lonely,” Sandra sobs. “Please, don’t ever leave me. I’m so lonely and I feel so rejected and everything is so strange and . . .”

  And?

  And you’re drunk all the time. That’s what she almost says, but she stops herself. Instead, she presses her head against Per’s chest, listening to his heartbeat. It’s reassuring and almost magical. Per is usually so shut down and resigned. But his heartbeat is steady and sure.

  Sandra presses even closer. She refuses to think it’s too late. She was eighteen when they first met, and she realizes now that she has no idea what her life would be like without him. All she knows is that the very thought is frightening. So who is she? She no longer knows.

  That night Sandra does something she hasn’t done in a long time. She opens up to Per, lets him know what’s going on with her. She allows him to see her vulnerable side as she talks about something painful. She speaks honestly, and it’s been ages since they’ve had this sort of conversation.

  First they watch a movie on TV, and Per seems to be aware of her eagle-eye when it comes to his wine consumption, because he agrees to have tea instead. Later that night, when they’re lying next to each other in bed, she tells him about the Rolex watch that Lena has loaned her—well, it’s actually more like a gift. She also tells him about meeting Michael and Astrid in Lena’s apartment building. As Sandra talks, she places her hand on Per’s bare stomach, running her fingers over the taut muscles under his skin. She starts by telling him that she asked Lena for money, and her sister then offered her the watch instead. It’s possible that she exaggerates Lena’s enthusiasm for the whole business, although her sister did urge her to take it.

  “A watch?” Per asks. “What kind of watch could be worth that much money?”

  “It’s a Rolex. Made of white gold with precious stones.”

  “Who would give Lena a watch like that?”

  Sandra tells Per about the filthy-rich American who apparently had the hots for Lena. Someone she wasn’t interested in at all. When Per objects that she must have had some interest in the guy if she accepted such a valuable gift, Sandra realizes that he’s right. The whole thing is kind of strange. On the other hand, when it comes to the love lives of her two sisters, neither seems to harbor even an ounce of shame.

  Sandra can hear that Per is on the verge of saying something more about the watch, so she cuts him off by dropping the bombshell about Astrid and Michael.

  “So much for Astrid’s perfect family life,” Sandra says, pressing closer to Per.

  “She was fucking Michael in Lena’s apartment?” Per asks.

  “Uh-huh. Incredible, isn’t it?”

  Per sits up in bed and looks at Sandra as if he can’t believe his ears. When Sandra nods affirmatively, he bursts out laughing. At first she laughs, too, but she soon feels uncomfortable and wants him to stop.

  “I feel sorry for Henrik,” she says. “We shouldn’t be laughing at his expense.”

  “I’m not laughing at him. That poor guy. It’s just so . . . I don’t know. The happy family on Mosebacke Square. You just never know, do you? What a hypocrite she is, that Astrid.”

  “You can say that again.”

  Sandra continues stroking Per’s stomach. In the dim light she can see the look of amusement in his eyes slowly change to desire as she keeps caressing him. As they kiss, it’s with a sense of smug satisfaction about their own relationship, however complicated and frequently poisoned it may seem.

  “Do you know what I’m craving?” Per asks a while later as they lie in each other
’s arms. “I’d like a glass of wine. What do you say? Would you like some wine, too?”

  Sandra hesitates for a moment. A voice inside her says no. It’s late, and the middle of the week—not the time to be drinking wine. And I don’t think you should be drinking any kind of alcohol at all, Per.

  Maybe she’ll broach the subject in the morning. But right now she feels so happy to be lying here in bed with him.

  “Sure, let’s have a glass of wine and talk some more before we go to sleep,” she tells him.

  They each ended up having two glasses of wine, and then a third, before they finally fell asleep. It was a fun conversation, agreeable and lively, although their words got to be a bit slurred toward the end. Astrid was the main topic of discussion. And poor, poor Henrik. And Viktor. Good Lord, what a mess Astrid is making of things.

  Per is still asleep when Sandra gets up the next morning. She gathers up the empty wine glasses from around the bed and takes them into the kitchen. She decides to wash them at once, and as she’s rinsing them in hot water, she notices that her hand isn’t quite steady. She sniffs at the glasses to make sure the smell is gone. She feels heavy-headed and slightly nauseated. In less than an hour she has to teach a jazz class. She’s got to pull herself together before then. She needs coffee.

  There’s something about the whole coffee-making process that seems off. She can’t seem to work out the simple choreography—pouring water into the espresso pot, putting a spoonful of coffee in the filter funnel, and then screwing it on tight. First she forgets the water and has to pry off the funnel, which she has already filled with coffee grounds. But after she does that, she doesn’t know what to do with the funnel anymore. She sets it down on the counter, and some of the grounds spill out.

  “Shit!”

  Finally she puts everything together properly and sets the pot on the stove. She waits for the coffee to hiss, signaling that it’s ready. Then she realizes she should have made herself a sandwich while she waited. But when she opens the fridge to get out the butter and some lunch meat, she ends up standing there in bewilderment for several seconds, staring blankly straight ahead.