Ever since Sandra issued her ultimatum, she and Per have been carefully avoiding each other. They are polite, but that’s all. Per has a glass of wine at the kitchen table every evening, or sometimes two, but no more than that. And he hasn’t gone out with Magnus in several days.
Sandra is spending as much time as possible at Lena’s apartment. Her sorrow about Lena’s fate has been increasing at the same pace as her desperately accelerating love for her. She looks at Lena and thinks, I need you. Why have I never understood how much I need you?
Astrid continues to be aloof and tense around Sandra, who can’t figure out how to change things.
One summer evening, when Sandra and Kerstin are on their way home from visiting Lena, Sandra suddenly can’t take it anymore. She and her mother have adopted a brusque tone with each other because of the sad situation and in an effort to conserve their energy and restrain from further tears. Both Sandra and Astrid try to be as considerate of their mother as possible. But on this occasion Sandra can’t go on. As she says good-bye to Kerstin, she starts to cry.
“I feel so alone, Mamma,” she says. “I feel so alone and so scared.”
Kerstin pats her on the back and murmurs, “Me, too, Sandra.”
“And Astrid hates me,” Sandra sobs. “I haven’t done anything, but for some reason she hates me.”
Kerstin pushes Sandra away and gives her a somber look. “Don’t say that. Astrid doesn’t hate you. The two of you are just worried and anxious, and you have different ways of dealing with the stress. Why don’t you come with us on Sunday? On the excursion.”
“What excursion?”
“Astrid is arranging a picnic out at Saltsjöbaden on Sunday. Come with us, Sandra. Everything will work out just fine. You’ll see.”
A Sunday outing with Astrid, Lena, and Kerstin? Should Sandra tell them what’s been going on with Per? Should she say that she really has no idea what to do?
For the first time in ages Sandra has a fervent desire to confide in her family, to seek their support.
Per has gone out for a run while Sandra ponders what sort of food she should bring along. Kerstin said that Astrid has already prepared lunch for all of them, and that’s probably true. But Sandra still wants to contribute something. She glances at the clock and thinks she might have time to buy some bread and cherries to take along. Suddenly she hears a beeping sound from her laptop on the kitchen table.
It’s Emilia, who wants to Skype.
Sandra gasps when she peers at the bluish light of the screen and sees how unhappy her daughter looks.
“Sweetie, what’s wrong? Do you—”
Emilia interrupts her.
“Is Pappa home?”
“No, sorry, he’s not,” Sandra tells her, feeling hurt. “He went out running, but he’ll be back soon.”
“Good.”
Sandra shifts position and leans forward to get a better view.
“Are you crying, Emilia? What’s going on?”
“Pappa’s really not there?” she asks again.
“He’ll be home soon so you can talk to him.”
“But I don’t want to! Promise me that Pappa’s not there.”
Sandra suddenly realizes that she’s the one Emilia wants to talk to. She looks at her daughter’s face. She’s thinner and there are dark smudges under her eyes.
“I can’t do this anymore,” Emilia says, shaking her head as tears run down her cheeks. “There’s so much pressure, and I hate it here. And you know what, Mamma? When I stood on stage yesterday, I panicked and forgot all my lines. I want to quit. I want to come home and get a job. It doesn’t matter what kind of job, just not in the theater. But I know Pappa will be so disappointed.”
“Well, it’s not his decision to make, you know,” Sandra reassures her daughter.
“Oh, right, Mamma! You’re the world’s biggest chicken when it comes to Pappa. You never dare to say anything when it comes to him!”
Sandra gives a start. Emilia looks ghostly in the sallow lighting, almost like a zombie with rage flashing in her eyes.
“You’re wrong about that,” Sandra says. But her protest sounds halfhearted.
Emilia’s face contorts. She’s crying again.
“I can’t do it anymore, Mamma. And I know Pappa’s going to be, like, why can’t I keep on fighting?”
“I think you should try to calm down and have a nice Sunday. And we’ll talk about this later.”
“Have a nice Sunday? London is a shithole, Mamma. Sorry, but it is. I want to get out of here. There’s one thing I need to ask you. Could you promise to support me when Pappa goes through the roof? Could you? And try not to just give in to him, like you always do?”
Sandra leans closer to the computer screen and says firmly, “I promise. Come home, Emilia.”
Then she turns off the computer and leaves for the excursion.
LENA
The misery that Lena is feeling is not, in her view, because she’s deathly ill. The misery, as she calls it, is because she can’t deal with her love for Martha in the way she ought to. It’s as if her feelings have been hijacked by rough, ugly hands that can only be seen through old, weary, and bitter eyes and described by a voice that claims to be rational, yet is actually scornful—a voice scarred and weakened by an old, painful despair.
The hijacker’s voice says she should have known she was making herself ridiculous by behaving with such conceit—by donning a paper crown and not realizing it was all a game. Why would someone like Martha care for her? A fleeting distraction, that’s all she was. A rich and bored woman was looking for a little excitement in her life. What did Martha know about real life? About fighting for position as Lena has done?
Lena thinks about the time they met in London. Martha wanted Lena to go out and buy “tons” of fashion magazines and two bottles of the best champagne so they could spend all day in bed together. They would look at the beautiful pictures, make love, and sip the bubbly. And they needed chocolate! Or maybe strawberries? “Oh, go on,” Martha told her. “Let’s cut loose. We need to pamper ourselves.”
So Lena obediently went out to buy everything, and this was during a period when money was tight for her. It was an unwritten rule that Martha always paid their restaurant and hotel bills. She was the one who could easily afford it. That was simply how it was, and there was no use discussing it. Lena’s clothing business was doing well, but she was still getting established, and she rarely had any money to spare. Occasionally her bank account would be virtually drained, as it was on that particular weekend.
The magazines cost several hundred kronor, but she could put them on her business account. The champagne, on the other hand, made a big hole in her wallet, as did her purchases at the deli shops that Martha had suggested, a short distance from the hotel.
It never occurred to Martha that those kinds of requests were expensive. In her mind, it was as if she’d asked Lena to buy her the evening paper. And Lena would never dream of complaining. It would seem so petty.
By the time Lena returned to their hotel room, laden down with everything she’d been asked to buy, plus a few more items, Martha had completely changed her mind. Instead, she wanted them to accept an invitation to a gallery opening in the city, and afterward they’d go out to eat. Martha took everything that Lena had bought and said she had a great idea. She wrote a note to the maid saying Happy weekend and stuck it on top of all the magazines and champagne and other goodies.
This is one of the episodes that Lena, at the urging of the hijacker, now recalls. The hijacker says, So, how did that make you feel? Didn’t you think she was stupid and spoiled? Didn’t you realize she wasn’t really seeing you or your situation?
And you received only crumbs in return, the voice whispers, its breath dry and feverish in Lena’s ear. You rejoiced over mere crumbs.
Slowly Lena agrees, her expression blank as she listens to the truth. And it doesn’t frighten her.
Well, actually, it does.
; She takes the sleeping pills they gave her at the hospital and falls into a deep slumber. That is the hijacker’s strong suit—the ability to offer peace. Of course it’s hard, of course it feels as if she’s dying over and over again, but Lena sleeps soundly and welcomes being able to leave the day behind.
But the morning is always a devious time. Day after day Lena is awakened to find Martha sneaking past the bitter slumber induced by the hijacker.
Martha whispers to her, You know that’s not true. Cherish us. Hold us close to your heart. When the hijacker says that life is never glorious, not really, not in that way, and that sooner or later all dreams end up in the trash, refuse to accept that view. Because you know otherwise. You have received something that will never be extinguished. At any time you choose, you can feel it beating in time with your heart.
Thump. Love. Thump. Exists. Thump. And it’s greater. Thump. Than anything else. Thump.
Lena sits up in bed, her head heavy from the sleeping pills, and she smiles to herself. She sits there in the warmth of her thoughts and closes her eyes. She presses her hand to her heart, and her smile grows bigger with every heartbeat.
Love for you, Martha, she thinks. You know. I know. We both know. My heart is beating for you.
But then she freezes. She has to open her eyes and see the emptiness of the room. She has to realize that this day, one of the few days she has left, will seem to go on forever. And then the hijacker’s voice again awakens inside her head, telling her to feel bitter. That it will help to blunt the stabs of pain and make it possible for her to think of other things. Everything is more easily discerned against the gray backdrop of bitterness—not like the alternative, which is a jumble of emotions.
As things now stand, it seems only logical that she should die. Lena realizes she’s actually okay with the prospect. Whenever Kerstin can’t help staring at her in panic, whenever Sandra clings to her and insists on touching her hand or arm, Lena tries to console them—to transfer some of her own calm to them. Fear does strike her every once in a while, like sudden pinpricks. And when that happens, she lifts the hem of the sweater or shirt she’s wearing and buries her nose in the garment. She breathes in her own scent, the way people breathe into a paper bag to quell their panic.
That’s how she’s able to hold fear at bay whenever it occurs.
She has decided not to have chemotherapy or any other invasive type of treatment. She wants to remain herself. She doesn’t want to be poisoned, since there’s no hope of a cure. That’s just how it is.
She gets upset only one time while she’s in the hospital. It happens when Madde, one of her friends, comes to visit.
Lena has a bad feeling the minute she sees the meddlesome look on Madde’s face. She comes into the room carrying grapes in one hand and a bag filled with papers in the other. Lena recognizes that Madde’s the type of person who wants to play a role. So she explains to Madde at once, as if knowing what’s to come, that she is very ill and the prognosis is poor, but she doesn’t want to talk about it.
“How’s it going at the magazine?” Lena then asks.
Madde is editor in chief of a health magazine with a title that sounds like a ringing rebuke.
But Madde insists on talking about a person she often consults who’s an expert on similar medical situations. Someone who promotes alternative treatments. In Madde’s opinion, it’s not necessary to buy into the claims of the pharmaceutical industry. Looking both nervous and elated, she starts rummaging in her bag for the papers that will explain her plan.
“That’s not what I want,” Lena says.
Madde gives her friend a puzzled look, as if she doesn’t understand. She keeps on searching for the papers, thinking that Lena means she doesn’t want to die.
“I’m sure they’re here somewhere.”
“Listen to me!” Lena shouts. She is yelling because she has been feeling overruled by all those who naively believe that as long as there is life, there is hope, and that all hope is for a good cause.
Lena sees no recourse but to attempt to yank the bag out of Madde’s hands.
Her friend looks both frightened and tearful. “I just want to help,” she says.
“You have no idea . . . How can you be so tactless?”
Lena stands in front of Madde, who has slumped onto a chair, holding the bag in her hands and looking like a scared rabbit.
“Anything but that,” Lena says, holding up her finger in warning. “I know what my situation is, and I’ve accepted it. So don’t come here and destroy everything I’m trying to do.”
And suddenly it seems like it’s all Madde’s fault. Lena knows she isn’t being fair, but in some sense she feels as if life has given her license to be as angry as she wants, and to direct her fury at anyone she chooses. Right now, meddlesome Madde is the person she hates most. Because there’s nothing worse than having someone wave hope in her face when there is no hope. Because no one understands how much strength and concentration are required to muster her forces for what’s ahead. She will need hands to hold when she makes her way through the tunnel, and eyes to help her find the light in the darkness along the way.
But she doesn’t need this.
“Get out of here! Now! Get out!” Lena shouts.
Madde runs out of the room with tears streaming down her face, scattering a string of sorrys after her. Lena slams the door and then leans against it for a moment in case Madde tries to come back in. As Lena stands there, she starts to cry.
Damn Madde. Why did she have to come here? she thinks. Doesn’t she realize how much it takes for me simply to get out of bed right now?
The finality of her situation is the only constant Lena can cling to on this journey. In a strange way, it has given her life a sense of meaning as she confronts the end. Fear sometimes creeps in, a crack appears in her defenses, and she feels dizzy at facing the abyss of eternity. But she has time to prepare herself, and she wants to be as aware and clear-headed as possible.
She considers sending an apologetic text to Madde, but decides she just doesn’t have the energy.
Lena stands there, leaning against the door, and then slowly slides down until she’s sitting on the floor, with her legs stretched out in front of her. She has stopped crying. She turns her head to look up at the ceiling light.
Why does the light always seem so cold in hospitals?
Beneath that cold glare, she feels thoroughly miserable. Not because she’s sick, but because she hasn’t managed to hold Martha close to her heart. And because she has been unable to withstand the power of the hijacker.
Astrid knows.
Sandra phones out of the blue, and it turns out that’s what she really wants to say after skirting around the topic for a while by asking questions about Lena’s health. Astrid knows. And Astrid has cheated on Henrik with Michael. Lena grimaces at the last piece of news. She doesn’t want to hear about people betraying each other. That’s the sort of painful information that pierces her soul, and she doesn’t want to know about it.
But the fact that Astrid knows . . .
Suddenly a voice is whispering inside of Lena, telling her maybe that’s why she’s in this situation right now. Maybe this is her self-inflicted punishment, because it’s never right to steal someone else’s happiness.
The more Lena thinks about it, the clearer it seems that she would be the one to end up like this. If her sisters had wondered, “If one of us had to go, who should it be?” Lena’s name would have undoubtedly come up, since she has no children.
She has to go because she has no children. And besides, she is guilty. She has done something terrible.
It wasn’t something I set out to do, Lena thinks. It just happened. I didn’t plan it. It wasn’t deliberate.
Someday, before it’s too late, she needs to say something to Astrid. She wants to tell her sister that it meant nothing. Nothing at all. But that probably wouldn’t be much consolation. Mere words expressing the blithe obituary of a love affair—an experi
ence that for Lena was cruelty of only the lightweight variety. Yet, for the person betrayed, it was a wound deeply felt. Especially for someone like Astrid, who was abandoned without even knowing why.
How could the words it meant nothing offer her comfort of any kind?
Lena goes over to the window in her hospital room. It’s summertime. She leans her forehead against the cool pane. She knows it has been said so many times before: you’re born alone and you die alone.
“But that’s not what I want. I don’t want to be alone,” Lena whispers, her words forming a vaporous veil on the glass. Astrid. Kerstin. Sandra. We started together, and that’s how we’ll end, she thinks. I need all of you to hold my hand. No matter what I did, you have to hold my hand.
It’s only when Lena goes back home to her own apartment that she fully comprehends how ill she is. Maybe it’s because in a hospital people always feel sick. That’s to be expected. But once she’s home, it becomes more and more evident. She’s very ill.
Strangely enough, it’s like having a terrible cold, but without the cold symptoms. She’s bone tired and her body feels achy and weak. Her stomach is unnaturally swollen. She finds herself sinking onto the sofa at home with her hands pressed over her eyes, and—with a certain surprise because it’s such an unrelenting and new experience—she says, “My God, I am really sick.”
She feels her eyelashes nervously brush against the palms of her hands, and she thinks, Now I feel it, I can feel my illness and the poor cells in my body that are fighting a futile battle.
And then dizziness takes over, and she’s pulled down into darkness.
No, she thinks as she abruptly opens her eyes. She sits up on the sofa and stares straight ahead.
I’m scared.
From somewhere in the darkness this voice is speaking to her.
I’m so scared.
She can’t do this. She looks around, as if to find something, some tiny little thing, that will help to defuse her fear. And then she sees it. She picks up the sparkly blue shoe lying on the sofa. In many ways it has lost its luster.
[2013] The Heart Echoes Page 24
