by Rikke Barfod
“No, Claire saw her ghost in school today. This afternoon we went back there together and talked to her. Isaac, you must come immediately. She is so sad. She’s just discovered she’s dead. She is very confused. Isaac, it is such an utterly distressing and horrible situation.”
Sarah’s voice has a catch in it. I promise her that I will come first thing in the morning.
Now, I wait. I look around my room. The chairs and carpet are grey, so are the walls. Grey like I feel. And I don’t have a blue painting inside to cheer me up. If I could run away I would. Even if I can’t see her – I don’t think I have their psychic ability – I will sense her, I’m sure. But how can I say: “I’m so sorry. I should have gone back for you. I am really sorry that you did not experience these last forty years.”
Whichever way I look at it, there are no words that can express my sorrow, my guilt. I have tormented myself with these thoughts for almost forty years. How much guilt can a person carry around?
I, a grown man of fifty-five years, am now so shaken and scared of facing up to a ghost.
The night doesn’t bring much sleep. I think about how different my and Ursula’s lives have become. But did they? Of course, I have experienced and done things in my life that she never did. I have travelled. I have good friends. No wife nor children, many girlfriends. Those relationships always petered out. Guilt was always an invisible third companion. In one way, I believe these forty years have been a waiting period to obtain certainty. And now I am going to meet her.
But can I ever be free?
Next day
I’m trembling when I enter the room; I look around. The room is empty. Sarah likes white. The only colour comes from a dark red woollen rug and the green plants on the window sills. Sarah comes in. She kneels by the white sofa, says, while pointing at me:
“This is Isaac, Ursula.”
I feel a tiny flutter of air near my hand.
“Come and sit,” Sarah says.
I sit down beside the space where Ursula presumably is. It seems distinctly odd to see Sarah holding someone I cannot see.
Somehow, I drag out all my courage from deep inside my gut, take a deep breath and whisper: “I’m truly sorry, Ursula. I should have checked that you were out of that cupboard. I have never really been happy since That Night. Will you ever be able to forgive me?”
I look at Sarah who bows her head listening.
“She says, she doesn’t know if it will be possible to forgive you. She is not angry, just very sad and confused.”
The bottom falls out of my world. I did have a suspicion that forty wasted years could not be squared with a simple apology. Despondently, I bury my head in my hands.
“I’d better leave.”
“Wait. She says no.”
It feels extremely bizarre talking to someone I can’t see.
“But what can I do?”
I want to leave. There does not seem to be any reason to remain.
“She wishes you to stay. She has something to ask of you. But first of all, she wants to know if you really are Isaac. You were fifteen when you were last together. She doesn’t understand that so much time has elapsed. Tell her something that will convince her that you are you.”
“Erm.” I clear my throat as a picture of a tail-less toy monkey comes into my head. Ursula really liked it. Jacov sometimes used it to make all sorts of silly tricks, making Ursula and her friends scream with laughter when he pretended the monkey was talking and tickling them.
“Who is Peter Monkey?”
I see Sarah smiling as she listens.
“She is convinced now,” she says.
Half of me desperately wants to pretend this isn’t happening. It is just a game Sarah has made up; but the unseen presence is too strong. I feel a teeny pull on my shirtsleeve.
“She says, do you remember I always pulled your sleeves?”
I almost smile remembering the countless times Ursula pulled at my sleeves to get attention or help getting from one place to the other.
Sarah listens again.
“She wants to know if she can hold your hand.”
Before I can find the words, I feel a sensation like a butterfly’s soft wings landing on my hand. My eyes widen in wonder. I strain my ears and hear a faint tinkle of laughter.
“Can you hear me?”
“Yes, Ursula, now I can.” A sob escapes me.
“Don’t be sad,” I hear the faint sound of her voice.
“It has haunted me all these years, Ursula. I can never be happy.”
“We were so scared. I understand. I will forgive you one day. Even though I’m dead. I don’t want to be dead.” The invisible presence sitting beside me begins to shake.
“Ursula, what can I do? How can I give you back your years?” I raise my arms in despair and try to suppress my tears. What am I thinking of? I am not the one who should cry. “This has eaten me up for decades. I understand now that I have been blocking everything else out. You did try to talk to me, didn’t you?”
Sarah says, “She nods.”
“I want so much to go back in time and undo … and it is not possible.”
“So many years! I didn’t know. Mutti has been calling me many times to come, but I want to see Pappi first. Isaac will you go and find him?” Ursula asks.
The thought of having to tell Jacov how I left Ursula in the cupboard makes the bile rise in my throat. It would be so much easier to crawl backwards up Mount Everest. How do you tell a father you did not try to save his daughter?
“Don’t be scared,” Ursula whispers.
“I will go,” I hear my own strangled voice saying. “Maybe Sarah will come with me.”
Sarah nods.
“Ursula, what do you want to do?” I lift my head and look at the spot where I presume Ursula is.
“I want to see Pappi and then I’ll go to where Mutti is calling me. I must go now. I have to think.”
I feel the tiny weight lifting from my hand. A wisp of air on my cheek, and Ursula’s presence disappears.
I look at Sarah. “She’s gone?”
“Yes. So, will you go to Germany?” Sarah looks quizzically at me.
“Put me on a stake, tear off my limbs piece by piece – that’s what I’d rather do,” I answer.
Sarah puts up her hands in mock supplication.”I know. But I think it will be good for Jacov to hear Ursula’s story.”
I shake my head, “That I cannot imagine.”
Sarah continues without heeding my interruption, “And who knows, maybe he’ll be happy to see a daughter he did not know existed? As well as a granddaughter.” She slaps a pillow for added emphasis.
“Are you both going … do you think it is a good idea to bring Claire? Won’t it complicate things with her looking so much like Ursula?” I ask looking up.
She sits up straight, “Mogens won’t like it; but yes, I think she should come.”
The room is quiet. In the distance a train whistles.
I feel devoid of substance or weight. I have difficulty in getting up from the sofa. I bury my head in my hands: “Oh, my god. What was I thinking of? I can’t do it, Sarah. I can not face Jacov.”
Sarah takes my hands away from my face, looks me in the eyes and says: “Isaac, this is not for you. It’s to give Ursula peace.”
My head nods desperately. “I know. I’ll manage somehow. I don’t know how, but I will.”
I get up from the sofa: “Sorry, I won’t stay for lunch. I need to clear my head.”
“Take a walk on the beach. It always helps.”
My face muscles don’t seem to be working when they try to put on a faint grin.
I leave and taking Sarah’s advice head for the beach.
Chapter 23
Claire
6th April 1983
Isaac is here. He was looking stooped and very sad when he came. He gave me some sumptuous chocolate from the boat. He, Mum and Ursula are in the living-room. It was obvious that I w
as not wanted. Apart from that, I have my own plans. Mum still doesn’t know how much I have read in her diary – but I have to see what happened. My inner voice is working overtime. I pretend not to listen and creep up to the attic – even if I shake a bit – the way you do when you know you’re going to do something wrong and have that ice cold feeling in your stomach, and you have to toss your head in order to convince yourself that what you’re doing is Okay.
So, where did I get to? Oh yeah, Mum meeting Isaac. I find the date again, 13th May 1957. This stuff is boring, it’s all about her thoughts and a guy she’s in love with. That is not my business. It’s too weird anyway to think that one’s mother has ever been like oneself. It’s too embarrassing. Oh, here’s something.
Tuesday, 23. July 1963
Dear friend diary, do you know how it feels to be Jewish? I am Jewish, but I don’t feel it at all. All I know is that you are not supposed to eat pork. I wish I knew some Jews I could talk to. Maybe the library has some books I can read.
Wednesday 15. August 1963
A letter has arrived from Israel. Mother has cried. Father walks around, saying nothing.
Dear diary I am going to Gerda’s place.
There was a letter for me from Isaac. Gerda’s mother thinks that Gerda has a pen-friend! MY FATHER HAS BEEN FOUND. Why don’t Father and Mother say anything?
My father. My father. I feel like a sack of fleas. I want to visit him. I have started listening at doors. How else can I get to know anything? I heard Mother ask Father whether they should tell me. Tell me what? Isaac has already told me that my real father has been found.
I overhear Father say that he thinks they should wait telling me until I have finished school.
Who do they think they are fooling, by not saying anything? And how can they? It is my father. I do understand that Mother is afraid. Maybe she thinks that I don’t want to live here anymore. How insane. This is my home. But I want so, so much to meet my real father.
I phoned Isaac and he agreed to meet me in Elsinore next Saturday.
Saturday 17th August 1963
Dear friend diary, It was strange seeing him after such a long time. We met at a cafe. But when I told him that I wanted to go to Germany and meet my father, he said that maybe it wasn’t such a good idea, because when his father and mother went to see Jacov, he had thrown them out.
I protested and said that it was my father and that I still have dreams about the woman who calls me and says, “Find Ursula.” Isaac began to shake when I said that.
I apologized. Isaac sighed like he always does when he thinks about Ursula and said how strange it was that he still reacted like this after all these years, and that it wasn’t my fault.
I said I understood. And that it must be so awful carrying those thoughts around. But I want so much to see my father; and Isaac always tells me that I look like Ursula. I asked him: “Don’t you think he will see me, if I come?”
Isaac said that he would write and ask his parents what they thought. It is very difficult having to wait, but I guess he’s right.
Why on earth didn’t she go? I’m sure I would have. This is very exciting. I wonder what happens. I skim the pages. Nothing, only that she’s waiting for an answer.
Wednesday 23. October 1963
Dear friend diary. Why doesn’t Isaac answer? I can’t bear all this waiting. I wonder if my father will recognize me. What if he does not want to see me? I do not know what to do. Should I just take my passport and leave? But I don’t have his address. I guess Isaac has it. It seems I just have to wait for his answer. I feel sick with all these thoughts. Mother is worried. She asks if I am ill.
I feel like saying, “Yes I am worried sick about my father. Have you heard anything?” Why don’t I say it?
I am really livid with rage. How can they conceal this from me. As soon as I finish school, I’ll move away.
Bloody hell. My thoughts are exploding. Imagine carrying this knowledge around. I think I would have said something to them. But, of course, it is Granny and Granddad. Maybe I can understand that Mum didn’t say anything. Granny is rather fragile. Something with her heart, I think. I continue reading.
Thursday 7 November 1963
Dear friend diary, finally, a reply from Isaac. He apologizes for not having written before, but there has been a major conflict in Israel. I knew about that. What has that got to do with anything? There’s always conflicts and wars going on in Israel. My father lives in Germany, doesn’t he? Oh, I see, he has been unable to contact his parents because of the conflict; the postal service doesn’t operate too well when there’s a conflict going on. But now his mother has returned to Sweden, and she does not think it would be a good idea for me to go to Germany. But it’s my life.
Poor Mum. I don’t know, but I think I still would have gone.
Friday 13. December 1963
“Dear friend” I wrote to Isaac and asked why I shouldn’t go. “I need to see my father,” I wrote.
Isaac wrote back, “But maybe he does not need to see you right now. Remember what he has been through.” I felt completely devastated. I cannot understand what my father has been through. Tomorrow I will go to the library and find books about the Holocaust.
Friday 10 January 1964
Today Mother asked me why I read all those horrible books. “I need to know,” I said. So, why did she not take the chance and tell me about my father being found. I really can’t bear it. After grandmother Ingeborg has died, I have nobody to talk to, except you, dear friend. And the atmosphere in the house is not very pleasant, so I hide myself in the books. My final exam is not too far away.
I stop reading. I also haven’t thought about what happened during the war. Maybe I too, should go to the library and find some books about it. I hear Ellen whistle loudly outside, while throwing her bike against the wall. I rush down, push Ellen out of the door on her way in and yell to Mum that I’m going to the forest with Ellen. Mum shouts something I pretend not to hear.
Chapter 24
Claire
6th April 1983
“Why weren’t you in school?” Ellen asks. “Are you ill? And what’s the hurry?”
I grab my bike. “Let’s ride to the forest and I’ll tell you all about it.”
I love riding bicycles in the forest. The wind is inside me when we rush down the hills; and when we sit on the grass the stillness sings. The ground is covered in white anemones, but the beech trees haven’t quite decided to show their leaves yet. The birds chirp and twitter.
“So, tell me!” Ellen is bursting for news.
“Well, I went and asked my grandparents if they knew anything about that skeleton.”
“Wow, tell. My grandparents didn’t know anything.” Ellen takes her hands off the handlebars. I wished I dared to do that.
“No, that’s not the most interesting thing. Mum came while my grandparents were telling a story about Mum being born during the war. She’s Jewish. Did you know that? Her mother was Jewish, trying to escape to Sweden. She died in our house just after having given birth to my mum. So my grandparents adopted my mum.”
Ellen turns towards me, her bike starts to skid. She puts her hands back on the handlebars and looks at me, “Awesome, what...”
“Stop interrupting. My mum came while they were telling the story.” I bite my lip. “Somehow she wormed everything out of me about Ursula.”
“Ursula?”
“Yeah, that’s the dead girl’s name.”
Ellen’s face looks like one big question mark. “You know her name?”
“I said stop interrupting me all the time. Anyway, Mum made me tell her everything. She got all weird and said we’d better go and talk to that girl and …”
“Your mum wanted to TALK to a dead girl? Oh sorry.”
“Yeah, turns out my mum’s as crazy as me. She’s just forgotten to tell me. Can you believe it?” My hands leave the handlebars as I gesticulate. Not for long, though.
Ellen shakes her head. Her mo
uth is wide open, showing her dental plate. She shakes her head: “What a family.”
“Anyway, the girl was back in the cupboard, and she came out and we all went and sat on the chairs, and she told her story. It’s so awful you can’t believe it. She got locked into that cupboard by accident, when her family were escaping from the Germans and ...”
Ellen almost bumps into me. “It must be that skeleton.”
“Look where you’re going, you oaf and stop interrupting. It is bad enough trying to remember everything without you stopping me all the time.”
“Sorry.”
“You know the most weirdest thing? She is my mum’s big sister.”
That totally shuts Ellen up. She gawks at me, stops her bike, stands completely still, staring at me. I stop too.
“I know. And the reason she has no eyes is because they got hurt in something called ‘Kristallnacht’ in Germany.”
Ellen jumps up and down. “That’s the thing we’re reading about in school.”
“Whatever. And my dad is so mad he’s left for a couple of days.” I sigh despondently.
“Does he know?”
“Yeah, Mum told him. And now my mum’s cousin from Sweden is here, and…”
“Your mum has a cousin in Sweden?”
“Ellen, stop it!” I shout.
Ellen looks abashed. But I can’t get annoyed with her for very long.
“So you can see, I can’t go to school before all this is finished, and I don’t know, I honestly don’t know what to think or feel. Man, do I wish I was normal.” I kick at a stone. It doesn’t help.
We start cycling again and ride a bit further in silence then stop and go and sit on my favourite grassy slope. It’s warm and the bees are really at it.
“You know something else?” I ask biting on a straw.
“What, surely no more ghosts? And you really shouldn’t chew the grass, you know.”
Ellen is funny that way, suddenly she will burst out with something she’s picked up from her father. I can’t help grinning and throw the straw away.
“No, but I’ve just realized, I must also be Jewish.”
“Jesus Christiansen.”
“I don’t think they believe in him. But Mum must be completely Jewish, so I must be half.”
