[2013] The Heart Echoes

by Helena vonZweigbergk

  “Did you want anything special, Mamma?”

  “No. Just making sure you’re okay.”

  “I’m fine.”

  Now fully dressed, Viktor walks past his mother to the door of his room. She turns around and they practically collide as he turns to say, “I forgot to tell you that I’m going to Copenhagen the day after tomorrow. I’ll be there a week or so.”

  “Really? So, are you planning to visit Michael?”

  “Uh-huh.” Viktor gives her a stubborn look.

  After a few seconds of confusion, Astrid realizes with elation that it’s okay. Michael is a stranger to her—someone she hardly knows. But she’s glad that Viktor wants to get to know him.

  Astrid goes into the kitchen. Henrik is there, stirring something in a bowl. Maybe a marinade? The whole family is going to have dinner together. Astrid smiles at the thought. But she suddenly doesn’t quite know what to do with herself—as if she has lost her secure place in her own kitchen.

  Henrik catches sight of her and reaches out to pat her arm. “How do you feel?” he asks.

  “It’s really great to be home.”

  “It’s such a nice sunny afternoon. Why don’t we put on our jackets and have a glass of wine up on the terrace? I’ll turn on the heater,” he suggests.

  A little later they’re seated outside with blankets draped over their shoulders. As they sip their wine and gaze out over the rooftops and the water of Saltsjön Bay, Astrid remembers something that Henrik said at the beginning of the summer about their life together: “All I feel is grateful.” That’s what he said. Just grateful.

  “I’m so glad to be back,” Astrid says now. “This is what I’ve been longing for. I didn’t realize that before, but I’m . . . I’m so grateful for what we have.”

  Henrik looks at her, smiling gently. And she is reminded that it was his smile that made her decide to live with him, so long ago. He has such a gentle and kind smile. That’s what made her feel safe.

  “I’m glad to hear that,” Henrik says. “But you know . . .”

  He pauses in midsentence and turns to look across the water. Astrid does the same, seeing the deep-blue sky and the opaque dark water below.

  Lena, she thinks. How empty it’s going to be without you.

  “I know this isn’t the best time to tell you this, Astrid. But I’ve lost faith in us. I don’t want to be the person who receives only gratitude. I don’t want to be the sensible choice.”

  “What?”

  Astrid is completely caught off guard. She can’t believe what Henrik is saying. His smile belongs to her. She’s home now.

  “You know, when I was standing next to Lena’s coffin, I felt even stronger about that than ever before,” Henrik goes on. “I want to be loved. When you and I got together, I thought your aloofness was the price I would have to pay to be married to someone like you. I’m a businessman. You know that. I know all about value and realities. It’s just that I never realized what it meant to me personally. I love you, Astrid. But I want to be loved in return. Truly loved.”

  “But I . . .”

  Henrik’s expression is both tender and sorrowful. She wants to tell him that she does love him, she loves him the way he wants to be loved. That’s what he deserves. It’s what everyone should be granted in life. If people aren’t able to shout across bridges and oceans and rooftops that they love each other, then what is left?

  Is that asking too much of life?

  “But I do love you,” she says.

  “No, you don’t, Astrid. We both know that.”

  Astrid searches for words that will refute what Henrik is saying. But she can’t. Instead, other words emerge in her mind. She wants to deny them. In fact, she would rather be lobotomized than have to speak those words.

  If only I could, I would gladly love Henrik the way he wants to be loved.

  Those words erase her whole life as she knows it.

  Because of a nuance. Because of a missing sense of commitment. Because of a lack of value placed on a certain feeling.

  But I can play the role! she thinks. That thought pummels the intractable words, like a bewildered insect beating its wings against a light. I just need some time to rehearse my lines, then I’ll be able to act the required part.

  But the words are merciless. They are forged from the truth and impossible to escape.

  You have to leave, Astrid, she tells herself. There’s no getting around it. You have to leave.

  SANDRA

  “Dance?”

  Sandra peers down at the determined look on Yasmine’s face. She is three years old with dark curly hair, and she’s wearing a red tulle cloak. She has her hands on her hips and is swaying from side to side as she waits for Sandra to answer her question.

  “Okay, pumpkin. I just have to clear away the saffron buns first.”

  At the preschool where Sandra works, they’ve been baking saffron buns. Most of the buns have turned out small and crooked, but they still taste delicious. Sandra stuffs one in her mouth after making sure none of the kids are watching.

  In spite of having her mouth full, Sandra gives Yasmine a quick smile and then takes her hand. In the playroom five other children are waiting for the music so the dancing can begin.

  “You dance, too,” Yasmine says, squeezing Sandra’s hand.

  “Of course I will, sweetie.”

  Sandra turns up the volume and everyone dances however they like. The kids are between the ages of one and five. A few of them have already seen how it’s done on TV and try to imitate someone from the annual song festival. But the others do their own thing. Like Yasmine, for example. As soon as the music begins, she starts spinning and stomping her feet as she sings at the top of her lungs. And Torkel runs around with his arms outspread, as if he’s flying.

  Sandra works at the school from nine to three every day, and she’s happy. She dances as much as she can with the children. She also cooks and cleans. Three nights a week she teaches a tap class for adults at a dance school.

  The Dance Palace has been sold. When Per and Sandra cleared out their things and rolled up the posters, they were both calm and in agreement.

  In fact, they were equally calm and in agreement when they gave up the home they had shared for twenty-five years and moved into separate places. As of a month ago, since the first of November, Sandra lives in a studio apartment with a bedroom alcove in the Midsommarkransen neighborhood. Per has a one-bedroom apartment in Hammarbyhöjden, and somewhat against his will, he seems pleased with his new living quarters.

  “We’ll do whatever you want,” he often says, sounding bitter only occasionally.

  Last weekend Per and Sandra took a long walk together, just after the first snowfall. It was cold. The sun glinted off the snow that covered the ground and trees in a thick, dazzling white. They were both feeling a bit awkward, as if they weren’t quite sure who the other person was, now that all traces of their old life had vanished. But there was also a certain embarrassment.

  Did we really say those things, do those things?

  Sandra has so often bitterly concluded that Per hardly ever saw her. But who did she see? What have they meant to each other?

  After walking along in silence for a while, Per suddenly admits that Lena’s death has hit him hard.

  “No one is immortal. None of us is. I guess that sounds kind of stupid, or obvious. But it’s like I never actually realized that until we were in the church. Is that something everybody else knows, Sandra?”

  He paused and turned to gaze at her, a genuinely inquisitive look on his face.

  Sandra slowly shook her head. “I’ll never understand it,” she said. “I’ll never understand why Lena had to die. But what can you do? You just have to . . . well, you know.”

  “I get what happened to Emilia,” said Per. “I know why she was scared onstage. I know exactly what she’s talking about. How you can get so scared you almost feel like you’re dying. But for me . . . It’s the only place in the world w
here I felt safe and at home. In spite of everything. I guess I just wanted her to feel that way, too.”

  Sandra doesn’t know whether Per went home and poured himself a glass of red wine after their walk. But she’s hoping that soon she can invite him and Emilia over to her new place for dinner. They’re her family, after all.

  When Kerstin sold the old family home, both Sandra and Astrid received some money, which they used to start their new lives. Sandra gave most of hers to Emilia so she could make a down payment on a studio apartment in Aspudden. And the other day, when Emilia turned twenty-three, Sandra gave her daughter a very special gift.

  Emilia looked stunned when she took the Rolex watch out of the box.

  “But . . . Doesn’t a watch like this cost a fortune?”

  “Yes, it does. But it’s from Lena. And I know she’d want you to have it.”

  Sandra has to search her own heart. Does she feel any sense of glee about Astrid’s unhappiness?

  The two sisters spent one last evening with Kerstin in their old childhood home. It has taken them weeks to sort through everything and empty it out, along with Lena’s apartment. At first Sandra and Astrid kept exchanging glances, wondering if Kerstin would make it through the whole process. Would she be able to handle it?

  But Kerstin seems determined, even though she sometimes gets lost in thought. If tears fill her eyes, she simply lets them fall as she continues with the task at hand.

  Astrid is the one who seems helplessly confused and grief-stricken. She wanders among the moving boxes and trash bags, looking as if she’s in shock. Occasionally she stumbles over her words when she talks with nervous excitement about the new place she’ll be moving into after New Year’s. Henrik will stay in their old apartment, while she has bought a smaller apartment a few blocks away. Sometimes her mother and sister have to repeat her name several times before she hears them.

  Normally Astrid is in complete control of everything, but now she seems mostly bewildered. With a quizzical look on her face, she ends up standing mutely in the middle of a room, holding a shoe tree in one hand and a cheese slicer in the other, or a box of old slides and an embroidered pillow, or a radio and a crystal vase, as if to say, What are all these things? What should we do with them?

  The last time this happens, Kerstin gently takes what Astrid is holding and tells her to sit down while she makes them tea.

  Astrid sinks onto a chair while Sandra takes a bathroom break. She secretly finds herself grinning at seeing the overconfident Astrid looking so muddled. She knows it’s wrong for her to feel so gleeful, and she’s almost frightened to see the smile on her face. It’s practically a natural reflex.

  But as soon as Sandra goes back to the living room, Astrid turns to her and says she still can’t fathom how things could have turned out this way. And with genuine warmth in her heart, Sandra goes over to hug her sister.

  “And now I’ve lost Henrik, too. How could that happen?”

  “I don’t understand any of it, either,” Sandra tells her. “Although in my case, when it comes to Per, I have to say that it really isn’t much of a surprise. The writing was on the wall the past few years.”

  Sandra laughs, but Astrid can’t muster even a smile. And then tears spill down Sandra’s face.

  “It’ll be okay, Astrid. Everything will work out okay. That’s what we have to promise each other. We need to get through this.”

  Astrid looks skeptical. “Do you think so? That everything will be okay, I mean? Can we really get through this?”

  “Welcome to reality!” Sandra says. “We have no alternative except to believe that we will.”

  At first a furrow appears between Astrid’s beautifully shaped eyebrows, as if she suspects that Sandra might be mocking her. But there is a loving somberness behind Sandra’s words. What she’s really saying is welcome to my world—to our world.

  Astrid gives Sandra a wan smile. And when Kerstin comes in carrying the teapot, she smiles even more.

  ASTRID

  There are only two things left for me to tell you, Michael.

  First of all, I’m not divorcing Henrik because of you. I’m divorcing him because of myself. I am me now. And you know what? It’s totally scary and lonely, and yet sometimes also amazing.

  Secondly, as you know, Viktor has chosen to stay with Henrik for the remaining time that he’ll be living at home. That has been hard for me to accept. But he has been very firm about wanting to do this. At first I thought it was his way of proclaiming that Henrik is his real father, and he didn’t want Henrik, even for a second, to think otherwise.

  That may well be true. But I think there’s another reason. Viktor started out with you as his father, but you were never there for him. And I really haven’t been, either. So he’s choosing to stay with the one person who has always been present for him, all his life.

  You couldn’t do that. And I really couldn’t, either. But I’m learning.

  Once yours,

  Astrid

  KERSTIN

  So you’ve taken her now, Hans. I actually knew from the beginning that this would happen. One night, right after Lena told me she was sick, I woke up because I thought I heard you whispering her name in the dark.

  I’ve been left here, in a place where I don’t belong, after Lena died. As if I’ve been condemned to an eternal waiting room. The desolation I feel is indescribable. No matter where I look, it’s as if someone is asking me, What are you doing? Why are you still here?

  In our old apartment, I hear whispering from every corner: Why are you still here?

  Why am I here?

  I have no answer to that question. But when I stood in front of the coffin, I tried to think of two things. First, now you and Lena would be reunited. If the other side does exist, you will be there to welcome her. And I needed to let go.

  Do you remember how you used to snap at me about the children? “Let go, damn it,” you’d say in that dismal way of yours. “Let me take care of her now.”

  No, I haven’t forgiven you. You were a miserable husband. But you were a much nicer father. So please, be there to welcome your daughter now.

  The other thought I had was how grateful I am that Lena was part of our family. Do you remember when we found out she was on the way?

  We already had two children, and we hadn’t really intended to have another. But we needed Lena more than anything. From the very start she had such boundless energy and was so full of joy. And sometimes you and I would say to each other that she was impossible. But that, too, was a blessing. I know it was.

  Every family needs someone impossible like Lena. She was what bound us all together, the one who made the rest of us examine our own view of life. Time after time she forced us to reassess. She was the one who always let in fresh air.

  Those alert eyes of hers, that hoarse laugh, those deep dimples.

  “My hair isn’t ash-blond, it’s actually gold-toned.” Do you remember when she said that? With such seriousness, as if expressing a fact that some people simply couldn’t see.

  I knew about what went on between Lena and Michael that summer. They had gone out to swim, and I saw them kissing behind the lilac hedge. I was forced to speak my mind to Michael because I was so frightened for Astrid. She was much too fragile. So defenseless, because of the way she adored him without reservation.

  Sometimes I think it was my fault he left, but Astrid would have been hurt no matter what happened. I had a feeling their relationship wouldn’t last, and I wanted to protect her from the truth.

  I’ve always wanted to believe that she was happy with Henrik. Now I don’t know what will become of her. But one thing I’ve learned is that it’s her life.

  And she does have a life.

  As I told you, I have no idea what I’m doing here anymore. Whatever life I have ahead of me will be a sort of consoling gesture. A mother who endures the suffering of her child, as I have, shouldn’t have to answer to anything ever again. I’m selling our home, Hans, and
I’m going to live in Spain near a nice man I know. The life I have left is a kind of refuge from everything I’ve ever wanted or dreamed.

  Please take good care of her.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Photo © 2016 Angelica Zander

  Helena von Zweigbergk is a Swedish novelist, journalist, and popular radio host. Her fiction has covered subjects ranging from contemporary family drama to a crime series about a women’s prison chaplain. Her most recent book is a biography of the lead singer of Roxette, Marie Fredriksson, cowritten with the subject. The Heart Echoes is her first novel available in English translation.

  ABOUT THE TRANSLATOR

  Photo © 2007 Steven T. Murray

  Tiina Nunnally has translated over sixty works of fiction from Danish, Norwegian, and Swedish. She has received numerous awards for her work, including the PEN/Book-of-the-Month Club Translation Prize and the Independent Foreign Fiction Prize. The Swedish Academy has honored her for her contributions to “the introduction of Swedish culture abroad,” and she was appointed Knight of the Royal Norwegian Order of Merit for her efforts on behalf of Norwegian literature in the United States. Nunnally makes her living as a full-time literary translator.