[2013] The Heart Echoes

by Helena vonZweigbergk

  “You know what I wish?” Lena says. “You know what I’d like us to talk about as we sit here with this amazing dinner?”

  “Well, I think maybe we should be a little more considerate, and—” Kerstin begins before Lena interrupts her.

  “I’d like all of you to tell me more about your lives. How are things going? And what do you think about all the various things that have been happening? Why don’t you start, Mamma.”

  Gradually they all relax. They seem relieved, as if Lena has given them permission to let go. The evening passes amiably. The candles eventually burn down and are replaced with others. Kerstin tells her family that she’s thinking of selling her too-big apartment in the fall. Maybe she’ll buy a smaller place in Spain, because she can’t stand the thought of putting up with more cold winters. And she knows another Swedish retiree—his name is Kalle—who lives down there. He has given her some tips about good places to live.

  The others at the table simultaneously say, “Kalle?”

  Kerstin is quick to tell them he’s just a friend, nothing more. But her cheeks flush crimson.

  For a while no one says a word. Fantasies about this guy named Kalle render them speechless.

  Astrid finally breaks the silence when she clears her throat and tells everyone that she and Henrik aren’t sure whether they’re going to stay together. “I hope we will, but things are a little shaky at the moment.”

  “What! What on earth are you saying?” Kerstin looks upset.

  Lena knows that her mother has always considered Astrid and Henrik’s marriage the most stable and happy relationship she has ever witnessed. Kerstin immediately starts talking about other couples who have managed to rally after a marital crisis.

  “Well, we’ll have to wait and see,” Astrid says. Then she turns to look at Lena. “And maybe this is actually a good thing. It’s probably something that we needed to resolve, sooner or later.”

  Emilia looks at Sandra and says, “Mamma, maybe you should tell them about . . .”

  Sandra stares at her daughter for a moment, as if wordlessly pleading to be let off the hook. But Emilia has a determined look on her face, and when she opens her mouth to say something more, Sandra is quick to speak first.

  “Per and I are also . . . how should I say this? We’re also going through a crisis.”

  Emilia nods with tears in her eyes.

  “We’ve left Pappa,” she says.

  “Well, that’s not exactly—”

  “We’ve left him in Stockholm, I mean,” Emilia is quick to explain. “But Mamma doesn’t know whether she wants to stay married to him anymore, and I can’t stand the way he keeps pressuring me. I’ve quit the drama school in London. I knew that would make Pappa hit the roof, but I had to do it. I can’t live like that, being nervous all the time, and always having to show off my talent. I don’t want to live like Pappa. You may not have realized it, but there’s only one thing that has ever been important in our house—things have to go well for Pappa and his dancing. It’s like he’s been poisoned somehow. But I always thought it was perfectly natural. I thought that was how life was supposed to be. Now I’ve found out that there are other ways to live.”

  Emilia stops and looks at Lena, who nods almost imperceptibly. “I mean, it’s my life,” Emilia goes on, “and I want to do what I . . .” She blushes as she looks at the others seated at the table.

  “Okay, sweetie,” Kerstin tells her granddaughter. “That’s fine, but maybe we should . . .” She bites her lip and stops in midsentence. She doesn’t seem to know what else to say.

  So Astrid starts talking about Viktor. She says she should have tried to discuss things with Michael long ago. Of course, he could have made a greater effort in terms of his relationship with Viktor, but she should have helped Viktor to establish better contact with his biological father.

  “I wanted to punish Michael by removing any importance he might have in our lives. I’ve always considered myself above fighting for anything or making any demands. I waited for people to approach me, and not the other way around. I didn’t realize there was any other way to behave.”

  “And I’ve never thought I should wait for anyone else,” Sandra says. “I’ve always had to fight for everything. I thought it was only women like you, Astrid, who could find a man who values your worth.”

  “Women like me? What do you mean?”

  “Oh, you know . . .” Sandra illustrates what she means by sticking her nose in the air. Her demonstration is so effective that Emilia giggles. Even Kerstin can’t help smiling, though she quickly turns serious and casts a quick glance at Astrid.

  “What the hell is that all about?” says Astrid. “Why does everybody think I’m always trying to act like I’m something special? Sure, I was happy when I met Michael. Why was that so upsetting to all of you? And afterward I’ve tried . . . Well, you all know what happened.”

  Astrid looks at Lena, who hastily glances away as she buries her fingers in the thick pelt of the sheepskin she’s sitting on.

  “I’ve always wondered why you’ve never tried to understand the reason for how I act sometimes,” Astrid goes on, sticking her nose in the air like Sandra did.

  “I was just joking,” Sandra protests.

  “Like hell you were, Sandra! I know that all of you have such a strange view of me. You have no idea how much I’ve had to struggle!” Astrid exclaims.

  “But does anyone ever really know that about other people? I see your disapproving looks whenever you think Per and I aren’t treating each other right,” Sandra counters.

  “Sure, because it’s so nerve-racking to listen to you bickering and squabbling, especially when you’re both drunk. But apparently you think I should just put up with it, to show that . . .”

  Astrid falls silent and looks at Emilia. “Sorry.”

  Sandra takes in a breath to argue, but stops herself when she sees Emilia’s face.

  “Okay,” Kerstin says. “Now you’re starting to sound like little kids. The two of you used to talk just like that when you were small. Always pitting yourself against someone else. Why can’t you let that go, now that you’re supposed to be grown-ups?”

  Emilia nods. “That’s what I think, too. You’re always telling us kids that we shouldn’t compare ourselves with others or try to compete. And then you turn around and do the same thing yourselves.”

  “Well, you don’t really know what went on between us,” Astrid tells Emilia sternly. “We have a lot of shared history, and—”

  “I’ve fallen in love with someone,” Lean suddenly exclaims, after staying silent almost all evening. “But it’s someone who lives far away. Someone I’ll never see again.”

  “What? Oh, sweetie,” Kerstin says. “Why didn’t you tell us before?”

  “Wow. You’ve really kept this to yourself,” Astrid adds.

  “Tell us more,” Sandra urges.

  Lena looks from one person to the other. Her mother, her sisters, her niece. She sees the sorrow in all their faces, as if her love is something sad.

  And that’s when she makes up her mind. Martha will keep her company all the way to the end, but she doesn’t want to share her with anyone else.

  “I think I’m going to keep the details to myself. But I just wanted to tell you, so you’d know that I haven’t always been alone. I’ve had a good life. I’ve been in love, I’ve worked hard, I’ve had fun. I don’t want all of you to pity me.”

  “But you’re my coolest aunt!” Emilia cries. Then she casts an apologetic glance at Astrid. “I’ve always thought that about you. I told myself that when I grew up, I wanted to be like Lena. You’ve always seemed so free, and you really like yourself, and you wear such great clothes, and you’ve traveled all over, and . . .”

  “Thanks. I’ve really enjoyed my life. I don’t want any of you to think of me as a sad person,” she says. “Or go ahead and think that, if you want,” she murmurs to herself.

  Weariness overcomes Lena. Why is she so ner
vous about what they may think of her? Why does she care? Suddenly she realizes she needs to go back to bed.

  Emilia jumps to her feet to help her aunt. Kerstin gets halfway out of her chair, but Emilia says she’ll do it, and Kerstin sits back down.

  Lena isn’t really sure what to make of her niece’s obvious adoration. Emilia sits down next to her bed, looking both expectant and reverential.

  Should I ask her to leave? Lena wonders. Should I say that I don’t want any part of some sort of romantic notion about seizing the day or anything like that?

  She pictures Emilia, excited and bursting with impressions, sitting at a café table surrounded by friends who give her their full attention as she tells them, “Just before my aunt died, she said . . .”

  Yet Lena allows her niece to stay. There’s something about the way the young woman looks at her. Emilia seems to believe, openly and without reservation, that they actually have something to say to each other. And for that reason, Lena relents. She closes her eyes and feels the merciless pain of exhaustion sink its claws into her body. But the second she opens her eyes, she sees Emilia’s alert expression, as if she’s waiting to hear words of truth.

  “So,” Emilia says suddenly. “Mamma and I went to pick up your mail before we left Stockholm to come out here. There were a few letters for you, including one from the States.” She gives her aunt a searching glance. “I thought maybe you’d like to have it now.”

  Before Lena can reply, Emilia leaves the room and then comes back with several letters. Lena instantly recognizes Martha’s handwriting on one of the envelopes. “Would you like me to leave you alone so you can read your mail in private?”

  “Yes, please.” Lena feels both furious and tense. She wants Emilia out of the room. She’s angry that Martha is able to pry her way into her life as a real person who is beyond her control. Lena isn’t sure she even dares open the letter. She’s terrified that everything she has established will be destroyed. And who asked Sandra to pick up her mail, anyway?

  Lena doesn’t want to revisit her former feelings. She has internally put to rest everything that has to do with the outside world.

  She lies in bed, staring at the envelope from Martha. Even her handwriting looks American. Lena raises the envelope to her nose, and when she breathes in the scent, she is overwhelmed by the realization that Martha actually held this letter in her hand. Tears sting her eyes as she uses her finger to slit open the envelope.

  The letter is handwritten and not very long. It looks as if Martha used a fountain pen with purple ink. How typical of her. Everything has to be so stylish. That’s just how she is.

  Baby,

  I heard from Ted that you’ve closed down your business here in the city because of illness. At first I thought you didn’t want to come here anymore because I felt I had to end our relationship, even though I think of you, and will always think of you, as the great love of my life. I tried to contact you, but without success. So then I got hold of Caroline, and she started to cry and told me that you are seriously ill.

  What can I say, Lena?

  I think about you day and night. You are always with me. Part of you lives in me. Part of me will die with you. That’s just how it is.

  I love you. Deeply and warmly.

  Martha

  The light in the room has dimmed. The joy that fills Lena’s body pushes away all pain. There’s no longer any room for pain. No matter what boundary she will have to cross going forward, she won’t feel alone.

  SANDRA

  “Why don’t we go for a walk, Mamma?” Emilia says.

  Emilia, Astrid, and Sandra have finished washing up after the dinner with Lena. In the meantime, Kerstin has retreated to her room to rest. Ever since Astrid and Sandra arrived, Kerstin has kept saying—more to herself than to them—that she can’t believe how tired she feels. Astrid has disappeared to call home, while Sandra and Emilia are standing on the front porch, looking out at the blue light of dusk.

  “Sure, let’s do that,” Sandra agrees.

  They go back inside to get sweaters and then head down to the beach. In the bright moonlight, the sand gleams gray-white. They take off their shoes and continue barefoot, crossing the sand that is still damp from the rain.

  “Let’s go for a swim,” Emilia suggests.

  “I’m not sure if—”

  “Come on, Mamma,” Emilia interrupts. “Quit being so boring.”

  They take off their clothes and run naked down to the water, glancing over their shoulder to see if anyone’s around. When they dip their feet in the water, they both gasp.

  “Oh, it’s way too cold to swim,” Emilia says, looking disappointed.

  “You’re right about that,” Sandra replies.

  They dash back to their clothes and put them on, giggling the whole time.

  “God, how stupid,” Emilia snorts. “And here I was, picturing such an idyllic scene. Mother and daughter swimming together in the moonlight, which somehow solidifies their beautiful renewed relationship.”

  “And then we can’t even bear to get our feet wet,” Sandra adds with a laugh. “Instead, we just stand there like the screaming figure in Munch’s famous painting.” She can hardly stop laughing as she pictures the two of them, but soon her laughter turns to tears.

  “I’m sorry, Emilia,” Sandra sobs. “I’m really sorry, sweetie. But there’s so much going on right now, and . . .”

  “It’s okay, Mamma.” Emilia pats Sandra’s shoulder.

  Then they walk along the shore, carrying their shoes in their hands. It’s very quiet. There are no waves rolling in, only a modest line of foam at the water’s edge. Even the sea birds are silent, huddled in their nests. Sandra stops crying.

  “I think Astrid is acting really weird,” Emilia says. “Her expression is so cold whenever she looks at you. Or at Lena—as if nothing really means anything to her. Is she ever sad? Or happy?”

  “Of course she is,” Sandra assures her daughter. “Sometimes I think Astrid has too many emotions all bottled up inside of her—even ones she’s not aware of.”

  “Has she always been like that?”

  Sandra turns to look at the sea. The surface is smooth as silk. She calls up memories of Astrid. Back in the days when the three sisters, wearing their terrycloth robes—one yellow, one pink, one pistachio-green—would walk single-file down to the beach to take a dip. Astrid was the responsible sister, Sandra the defiant one, and Lena was always so free. Wasn’t that how things were?

  “Actually, Lena and I have always admired Astrid,” she says. “We wanted to be just like her. But we had no idea how to behave. I think we spent a lot of time teasing her. And she wasn’t always like this. She became the person she is now after what happened with Michael. I think she’s basically a very sad person.”

  “I’ve been thinking that you’re the one who’s sad, Mamma.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes, even though you try to be so brash and bold. But sometimes you look really sad. At first I thought it was great to be in London, because you and Pappa always seem so depressed. The only person who seems to have been happy is Lena.”

  “Lena? Hmm. Maybe. But I think all three of us sisters have been happy. At least some of the time.”

  Sandra and Emilia head back to the house. When they get close, they see light streaming from the windows. The candles are still burning in the living room.

  “Do you think Pappa’s doing okay back home?” Emilia asks, looking worried.

  Sandra pictures Per sitting at the kitchen table in their apartment with a bottle of wine close at hand. Or has he gone out to a bar? Is he staggering back home about now?

  It’s strange how unconcerned she feels. Indifference has settled in. She has stopped worrying.

  “I’m sure he’s fine,” she says. “It’ll probably do him good. He needs time to think.”

  Or maybe this whole thing will be a disaster for him. But it’s not Sandra’s problem anymore.

  ASTRID
>
  Astrid is standing out in the enchanting meadow, talking to Henrik on the phone. He sounds as if he’s trying to hurry the conversation along. He tells her what a great house his colleagues Micke and Charlotte have. And he forgot how beautiful the English countryside is. Astrid realizes that there must be other people within earshot. She thinks it’s significant that he doesn’t go somewhere else so he can talk to her in private.

  But she doesn’t ask him to do that. Which is also telling.

  When she goes back inside to the living room, she relights the candles and sits down at the table. This is where they all sat during that summer, with Pappa Hans seated at one end. By then his back was stooped, and he leaned his head forward like a turtle. Astrid looks at the place where Michael used to sit and has to smile, because the image of him holding baby Viktor on his lap is still a memory she treasures.

  She was so happy back then. She looked at Michael and her son, and the love that filled her heart gave her a great sense of calm. I’m one of the lucky ones, she often thought as joy surged inside her. I’ve been given such love. Great love does exist. I can bear witness to that for the rest of the world.

  Look at me. Look at us, Astrid thinks now. Michael and I could have testified to the power of love.

  The room is lit only by the glow of the candles. Outside the summer sky is still blue. At this time of year the night is never totally dark. The chairs around the table are pulled back at odd angles, as if whoever sat there has just gotten up and left. A napkin is lying on one of the seats. Lena’s sheepskin has slipped sideways, sagging toward the floor.

  Who did they see when they sat in those chairs during that summer so long ago? Astrid wonders. How did they see me?

  And who sees me now?

  In a way, she has been living in exile ever since—trying to move on with her life after Michael, stumbling forward, speaking a language that has never truly been hers. Participating in daily routines that are nothing like what she once found so familiar. All of this has occasionally prompted her to stare into space and ask herself how she happened to end up where she is now.