On the other side of the tracks

Her eyes he would remember years after, how they could go from sunny and wide to dark and dull in an instant. He never knew when or why this happened but he was smart enough to understand that those dreams she had were connected to her eyes' chameleon qualities.

But that is in the future and this story is about the present. The brilliant, bright, burning present.

“Billy!” his mother’s voice was shrill. “Billy!” He rolled his eyes and yelled: What? “A spider!” His room was hot under the roof but at least he was alone. “Billy!” He sighed loudly and rolled out of bed. His mother stood in the middle of the kitchen floor and pointed to one of the corners. A big black spider clung to the ceiling. “Kill it,” she demanded and gave him the broom.  He swept the ceiling and hoped he would get the spider. If it didn’t die his mother would have him crawl around on the floor and look for it.

In June it had been great to come home from college. See his parents, sleep late, have dinner and hang out with his old friends. Now in August he started to long to go back. He missed the freedom of being away from everybody he knew. In that loneliness he had changed, perhaps it was called finding yourself.

The spider was a mush on the broom when he looked and his mother let out a satisfied sigh. He put the broom in the cabinet. “I’m going out.” His mother got that wrinkle between her eyes. “Will you be back for dinner?” He shrugged. “Probably not,” he said and pulled on his Converse.  “Are you seeing Tess?” His mother’s voice got that tone he didn’t really recognize every time she said Tess’s name. “Mm.” He pushed open the screen door but his mother got hold of his arm. “Is she really good for you?” His mother’s hair was frizzy from the humidity and she had a thousand freckles on her face now in the late summer. “She is older.” He shrugged. “She is…” his mother’s voice faded. He pulled his arm out of her grip and she let him go. “Be careful!” she called after him.

He walked down the street; the day was still hot even though it was after five. Some boys were playing street hockey and had to move when a car turned down the street.  His father was on the train by now coming home from the office. The office, the word made him cringe. He would never be able to put on a suit and sit in an office every day.

At the train tracks the gates were down, for a short moment he hesitated then he bent down and walked under them. The train blared the horn but he didn’t care. On the other side of the tracks the houses started to change. The Cape Cods from the forties disappeared and brick townhouses with stoops lined the wide street. His mother had grown up on this side of the town among first and second generation immigrants from Italy and Eastern Europe. The houses were still impressive but had started to look run down by now. After the riots of the sixties this part of town had never truly recuperated.

She sat on the stoop when he stopped in front of her house. She had a couple of take-out boxes from the Chinese place on the corner next to her and ate from one with a plastic fork. She looked at him as she chewed with her mouth full and when she had swallowed she smiled her crooked smile. “Are you here again?” Before he could answer she spoke. “Did you eat?” He shook his head and walked towards the stoop. “I have fried rice, fried shrimp and noodles.” She pointed to the different containers. “Fork is in the bag.” She pushed the white plastic bag with her foot. He sat down next to her. She smelled sweet, tea with milk in his grandmother’s kitchen in the winter or those pink roses that climbed his grandparent’s house in the summer.

 “How is your father?”, he asked. She made a few incoherent sounds of irritation before she swallowed . “You would think he could have the decency to die before school starts again.” The noodles had small pieces of egg stuck to them; he spun them around his fork and took a bite. Tess put down her box and reached behind her and brought out a bottle of Southern Comfort. She took a swig and gave him the bottle. First sweetness on his tongue then the burn down his throat. He grimaced. “You really have the worst taste in liquor.” She laughed, loud and clear.

The Chinese food was gone and half the bottle, she laid with her head in his lap on the porch swing. He slowly rocked them back and forth. The cicadas filled the evening with their whirring. “I wish I could just leave,” she said and made circles with her finger on his arm. Her touch was comfort and thrill in one. “I wish I wasn’t so good so I could just leave.” She walked her fingers up his arm and down again. “Billy,” she whispered. “Mm,” he whispered back. “Let’s go inside.” Her words rushed in his head, down his spine into his groin.

She slept in the small bedroom downstairs. The room that used to be her younger brother’s. The blonde haired, blue eyed angel who as a three year old had run out the door one day. Straight out in the street and instantly got hit by a car. He died two days later in the hospital. “It never was the same again, she often said with a flat voice. But now the room was hers. Her smell, her things, her persona. She stood in front of him in her blue dress and she pulled it over her head. The skin around her breast shone white in the evening light. The tan line as sharp as a marker line. “Come.” She took his hand in hers and pulled him close. Her skin was so warm, so soft against his. Her arms were around his neck. Her lips on his. She nibbled on his bottom lip. His body reacted immediately. She purred under his touch. Slithered under his tongue. Curved under his weight.  He melted into her, surrendered.

Sleep was about to bring him under when Tess whimpered in her sleep. She laid with her head on his arm and one hand across his chest. Her hand twitched and she whimpered again. Suddenly she sat up and he was wide awake. “Are you ok?” he whispered in the dark. She didn’t respond so he put his hand on her back. Her whole body jerked under his touch and she moved away from his hand. “What is wrong, Tess?” She laid down again, curled up against the wall and seemed to be deep in sleep. Then another whimper, a thin, childlike whimper filled with fear and pain. Then another, and another and she started to breathe fast and shallow. Billy sat up, didn’t know if he should try to comfort. Reached out his hand put pulled it back, afraid he would only make it worse. Make whatever was haunting her more real. The feeling of being inadequate and powerless was a soggy stone in his body as he listened to Tess’s cry filled breaths.

A woman called out a man’s name on the street and Tess stopped hyperventilating. He relaxed an inch.  The woman called out one more time and Tess moved a little, she pushed away from the wall and turned over. He heard how she patted the bed and searched for him. When her hand found his thigh where he was sitting she got up on her elbow. “Why are you sitting there?” she asked sleepy. He took hold of her hand, her palm was sweaty. “I am watching over you.” She sniggered. “What is that supposed to mean?” She moved closer and put her head on his leg. He caressed her bare back. “Don’t you remember?” She yawned widely and moved a little closer. “Remember what?” Her body was so relaxed against his. “You cried,” he said but she didn’t answer. “Maybe it was a dream.” A tension went through her body. “Did I hurt you?” The question surprised him. “No, no not all. You were hyperventilating and I worried about you. I didn’t know what to do.” She laid still on his leg, he could tell how she was thinking. “Sometimes...” she started and then the phone rang. “What the fuck?” She sat up, the phone rang again and again. “Maybe it is the hospital,” he said and she jumped out of bed, ran out and slammed the door behind her.

As he heard her muffled voice he started to get dressed, suddenly his nakedness felt awkward and out of place. As he pulled his t-shirt over his head he heard the door open. Tess stood in the doorway. She had an odd expression on her face. A mix of surprise, sadness and relief. “Was it the hospital?” She nodded and took two steps into the room. Her arms hung by her side and her hair was unruly. “I guess I am supposed to go in, right?” Her voice uncertain. “What happened…did he…” She looked up at him; her eyes were huge, glossy, and empty. “He…his…he…his heart gave up.” Her bottom lip trembled and he put his hand on her shoulder and pulled her close. She sobbed a few times then she grew quiet. “It is ok to cry,” he said into her hair. She smelled of their closeness, their tenderness, their passion. “I know,” she said quietly, then she pulled away from him. “I…I have to go. I am supposed to go.”

He watched as she opened the closet and pulled out a few dresses, she put them on the bed and then she opened her dresser and pulled out tights. “The hospital is so freaking cold,” she said and smiled at him. On top of the tights she put a dark dress with white flowers. She French braided her hair then she sat down on the bed. ” I will take a cab from Main Street.” He nodded. “I don’t know when I will be back...”her words stopped short. “I can come back tomorrow.” She shrugged. “I might need to sleep,” her voice was very soft and polite but he got the message. “Ok,” he said, “I will come back some other day.” She stood up and grabbed her bag. “Good.”

He watched as she walked up the street, she looked very determined as she walked with her back straight and head held high. He wanted to go after her, hold her hand, be with her at the hospital but he had a feeling she wouldn’t want him there. But he stood still and looked after her until he couldn’t see her anymore.

His parents were sleeping when he came home. He went to the bathroom, brushed his teeth, and drank from the tap. When he looked in the mirror he saw long red streaks down his arm from Tess’s nails and for a reason he didn’t even know he started to cry.

Thunder woke him up, the room was shady, his head heavy. He laid and listened to the rain.  It started slow but it soon  pounded the roof. It was past ten in the morning, his father was gone for hours and his mother was working today. He had the house to himself. He rolled to the side, closed his eyes and tried to will himself to fall asleep again. His mind dove down into slumber but was abruptly brought back up when fire trucks came down the street. Not one, but several. The sound stirred something inside of him. Something worrisome. A premonition.

The rain was coming down hard as he ran down the street. Lightning cut across the navy blue clouds. He slipped on the tracks but got up and kept running. The fire trucks, he counted to five, were parked outside Tess’s house. Flames were licking the windows on the top floor. Smoke was rising through the roof. People had gathered on the street, stared, whispered. He tried to run up to the house. What if she was sleeping? A broad shouldered firefighter put a hand to his chest and stopped him. “Can’t go in there, son.” He tried to move past the hand, move past the uniform but no use. “She might be sleeping,” he said and his voice was shaking. “In the small bedroom on the first floor.” The fireman looked down at him with curious eyes. “I had the smoke divers in there already. No one is in the house. Do you know the family?” Billy shook his head. “No, only Tess.” The fireman put his hand on Billy’s shoulder. “She is not in there.”

He backed away from the house, stood by the other spectators, heard the whispers.

“The father is in the hospital”

“I heard he died last night.”

 “Where are the boys?”  

“That girl…”

Billy turned and looked at the woman who said the last thing. She was probably around sixty, her hair in a typical old lady style. Her mouth a disapproving line.

“I know,” the woman next to her said. “Something wrong with that girl.”

A third lady leaned closer. She had straight grey hair in a bob.

“After little Tommy died…and the mother left…not easy for that girl.”

“The mother was crazy too,” the first woman said.

Billy felt the blood pumping. He bit down hard on his teeth. Wanted to yell at the women.  The woman in the bob looked at him. She put her head to the side, squinted a little, pondered.

“You know Tess,” she said and the other two women turned their heads and stared at him.

He nodded. It looked like they were waiting for him to say something. He took a few steps backwards, and then he turned and walked home. He waited that day, and the next, and the next…then school started and eventually he stopped waiting.

One time at Disneyland, many years later. He had his three year old son on his shoulder and he saw this woman with a little girl. They sat on a bench, their heads close together, talking to each other, it was something about the shape of the woman’s shoulders. Or the way she held her head or how the hair hung over the little girl’s forehead. He wasn’t sure but he thought it was her. She must have sensed his eyes because she lifted her head and looked at him. Then she smiled her crooked smile. He wanted to talk to her. Ask how she was. Where she had been. But at that moment his wife called for him and his son pointed in excitement at Mickey Mouse. The next time he looked they were gone. 

Troll Gold

Summer had arrived suddenly the day before, in the afternoon to be more exact. In the morning they had huddled in groups outside the grand, old church dressed in their fine clothes. The girls wore dresses and skirts in the grey, chilly morning. Jenny had stared with envy at the boys in their suit pants and had pulled on her cardigan so it would cover her hands. Of course she didn’t know that her goose bumped legs would one day be part of a treasured memory. Jenny didn’t think of things like that, she was only nine and she couldn’t wait for the long summer break to begin.

In the afternoon a little before 2:30, Jenny’s mother had stood on the porch with the traditional end of school year strawberry shortcake. She had sighed, looked at the grey skies and thought to herself; I guess we have to sit here this year and not in the arbor. The arbor was made up of gigantic lilac bushes and in the middle the family often sat in the summer. She put the cake on the table on the porch and almost like magic the clouds broke apart and the sun came out. The temperature rose quickly and the afternoon treat was swiftly moved outside. 

Now it was Saturday evening and Jenny lay on her stomach on her parent’s bed watching her mother working the curling iron in her dark blonde hair. The window was open and in with the soft summer breeze drifted the scent of lilacs.

“Do I need more in the back?” Her mother turned her head and tried to look in the mirror.

“No, it looks pretty,” Jenny said and rolled over onto her back. The evening sun shone through the lace curtains and made patterns on the white ceiling. She heard how her mother put down the curling iron and unplugged it. Then she heard her starting to look for something in her jewelry box. Her fingers made a slight raking noise.

“Where are my pearl earrings?” Some more raking noise. “I don’t understand. Where are they?”

The patterns on the ceiling looked like ships now.

“Maybe the trolls took them,” she said absentmindedly. “Farmor says trolls are little thieves.”

The raking noise stopped. She could feel how her mother sat down on the side of the bed.

“Jenny,” her mother said and put a hand on her arm. “We have talked about this. You know that farmor is sick. She says things. Things that aren’t real.”

Jenny nodded, the pattern on the ceiling looked like fish now.

“Oh, I think your cousins are here.”

Jenny already knew that, she had heard the car coming up the graveled road for a few minutes.

 

The cousins; Maria thirteen years old with braces, breasts and brown hair and Karl ten years old who everybody called Kalle. Jenny’s older sister Pernilla took Maria under her arm and the two girls disappeared upstairs.

“Pernilla,” her mother screamed upstairs. “Pernilla!” She looked over at Jenny’s aunt. “That girl…that girl is driving me insane. Where is Stig? Stig!”

Jenny knew that her father stood out by her uncle’s car and talked about hunting woodcocks but instead of saying anything she took Kalle by the arm and steered him into the kitchen. On the counter were three bags; one with potato chips, one with cheese doodles and one with candy. Last night she and Pernilla had walked down to the gas station and bought them. They had argued about the candy for a long time before they could agree on what to buy. They only had so much money, so every piece counted.

“Let’s fill two bowls and bring them out to the porch. Pappa and I made a fort out there for us to sleep in tonight.”

Jenny filled a big bowl with chips and cheese doodles and Kalle filled a smaller one with candy.

On the porch, under the table covered in a big blanket the two children sat together and munched.

“Jenny! Kalle! Where are you?” Pappa’s voice came from outside the porch.

“We are in here in the fort,” Jenny called out,  crawled to the other side of the porch and stood up by the open window. “Pappa! Here!”

He turned around by the arbor and came back to the porch.

“We are leaving now. I talked to Pernilla and she promised to be nice. We will be back around midnight.” He planted a kiss on his palm and reached up so she could pretend to grab it and put it in her pocket.  “Use it for bedtime,” he said and left.

The June light lingered, the blue dusk would be replaced by the navy blue night for a few hours and then the birds would start singing again and the sun would rise. Jenny and Kalle laid in the fort with yellow orange cheese doodle fingers and black licorice tongues. Her father’s kiss to use for bedtime was still in her pocket even though hours had passed since the clock struck eight in the living room. They heard music from Pernilla’s room but they hadn’t seen the older girls since they went upstairs before their parents left for the barn dance.

“Do you know what I think is strange?” Kalle shook his head, his mouth was filled with candy. “That farmor says trolls are real. Fröken says that giants threw those big rocks on the fields and that the mountain is called Troll Mountain because a troll used to live there.” Kalle chewed and listened. “But mamma says that farmor is sick and says things that aren’t real….is Fröken sick too?” Kalle swallowed and turned to his stomach, reaching for another piece of candy.

“Fröken can’t be sick…then they wouldn’t let her work in school…I think at least.” He put the candy in his mouth.

“Mamma’s pearl earrings are missing. I said it could be the trolls but she didn’t believe me. You know how farmor always say that trolls are little thieves.”

“My mamma says there are fairies in the fog on the meadow.”

“Why do they say different things? It is so strange!”

She stuffed some chips in her mouth, mostly little crumbles left now. Licked her fingers one by one and yawned. She put her head on the pillow. Kalle was quiet, she was quiet.  The only thing she heard was the faint music and the blackbird who always sat in the birch tree and sang at night.  She yawned again; she could easily fall asleep now but first she had to pee.

“I will go and pee,” she said and crawled out of the fort. Kalle didn’t respond, he was probably sleeping already. She stood on the porch and looked into the house through the door. To walk all the way into the house to pee felt so far. She took the three steps over to the porch door and opened it. She would squat in the grass and be back in her sleeping bag in less than a minute.

The grass under her bare feet was cold; she shivered and pulled up her shoulders. She held one hand on the stone stairs as she squatted. The stone step was still warm from the bright sun and smooth under her hand. Something was rummaging about over by the arbor. She squinted and tried to see. Probably Sixten, the cat, who was looking for a mouse or a vole.

“Sixten,” she called softly. “Come here kitty. Kitty, kitty.”

The rummaging stopped but Sixten didn’t show up. Oh, she got scared, what if it was a badger? They were dangerous; they keep biting until your bones crunch.  She stood quickly and leaped up the stairs. The badger came out from the bushes, stopped and turned towards her. Then it happened. The moment was as slow as refrigerated syrup. The badger stood up. The badger had arms and legs and a head with wild bushy hair. Jenny blinked hard, blinked again. The…the…the…she didn’t know what word to use, it stood there and looked at her. Then it turned around and bounded away. A skinny tail was the last thing she saw before it climbed up the old stone wall and disappeared. If she hadn’t just peeped she would have peed her pants.

“Kalle! Kalle!” She shook his feet in the sleeping bag. “You have to wake up.”

“What?” He pulled his feet away from her hands.  “I am tired. I want to sleep.”

“But Kalle.” She pulled on his feet. “I saw something. A…a…a  troll.” Yes, now she was sure it was a troll. A small furry little one.

Kalle grunted something and curled up.

“We have to see where it went.”

“Ufff,” Kalle said.

“If you are not going I am going by myself.”

Kalle shuffled his feet around for a moment and then he poked his head out from underneath the table.

“Out where? In the woods in the dark?”

She nodded and looked sternly at him.

“Well, maybe I will bring Lolo with me.” The thought of the dog gave her comfort. “Yes, I will bring Lolo and I am leaving now.”

She grabbed her jeans, pulled them on and then she walked into the house. In the kitchen the foxhound came up to her with ticky tocky claws against the hard floor.

“We are going to the woods,” Jenny said and petted the dog. The tail started waging and the dog licked her hand. She took a chair, pushed it against the counter and reached up to the cabinet. She found the flash light and tested it in the kitchen. Even though the night wasn’t completely dark yet she knew the woods would be darker.

She leashed the dog and made her way back to the porch. Kalle was standing by the door.

“If you are going I am coming with you.”

 

Lolo walked first. She was happy to be out with her favorite human. A slightly odd time perhaps but the day had been so warm she had spent most of it lying in the shade under the hedge. It was good to stretch her legs. She looked behind her. The girl had a flash light and the boy was only a step or two behind the girl. Lolo liked the other humans too but this one, the smallest one, was special to her. They had been puppies together a long time ago. Strange, humans stayed puppies forever. She was now a grown, close to aging dog. She had felt it this past winter; the hunting instinct was still a fever in her blood but her muscles weren’t as strong anymore. And to come home and rest by the fire had been a respite. A leisurely walk like this one she always liked.

 They had crossed the meadow and now they entered the woods. Lolo put her nose to the ground; smelled the grass, the dirt and the tall ferns. Lifted her head and breathed in. A fox had crossed here not long ago and she thought she smelled a hedgehog a little further along the path. The children talked behind her, she could hear something in their voices, a faint echo of fear from the boy but mostly excitement from the girl. Something was different in the woods tonight, Lolo wasn’t sure if it was because of the darkness but she could sense slight vibrations in the ground. She took another deep breath. The unfamiliar scent hit her, human and animal in one. No, not human. No, not animal. The hairs on her back stood up, the growl filled her body and she stopped on the trail.

“What is it Lolo?” the girl said and put a hand on her back. “Do you see something?”

“Let’s go home!” the boy said and his voice was shaky.

The girl sat down next to her, put an arm around her shoulders and shined the flashlight into the darkness under the ferns.

“What is it Lolo?”

She growled deeper, the unfamiliar scent was coming closer, she could hear the movement. Small feet were moving slowly and carefully over the ground. Then she saw it. As tall as her but on two feet. Big eyes in a round face. Spiky hair on the top of its head and smooth fur on the rest of the body. And it spoke. She was sure it spoke but it didn’t open its mouth but she heard words in her head. Soft, soft, soft words. Human voice but different words. “Ho ay ay ay ay buff. Ho ay ay ay ay buff. Ho ay ay ay ay buff buff. Ho ay ay ay ay buff.”

 

She was warm, sweaty on her face and back. She tried to push down her blanket but she couldn’t. She was trapped in something. Scared, she opened her eyes. Above her were planks and something orange. She blinked and tried to focus. When her eyes began to adjust she saw that the orange was the blanket she and pappa had put up yesterday on top of the table. She was lying in her sleeping bag on the porch. She turned to her side and saw Kalle sleeping deeply with his face pressed into the pillow. A strange feeling resided in her body. Her brain felt fuzzy and her limbs heavy. All she wanted to do was to lie down again and sleep but she was too hot so she crawled out of the fort and walked into the house.

Mamma was sitting by the kitchen table with a crossword and a cup of coffee.

“Sleeping beauty,” she said when she saw Jenny. “Do you want some breakfast?”

Jenny sat down on a chair and looked over at the kitchen clock. 10:30 in the morning. She had never slept this late in her whole life.

“Where are pappa and Pernilla?”

“Pappa is out with Lolo…did you play a lot with her last night? He had to drag her out of the house.” Her mother put some bread into the toaster. “Pernilla is still sleeping of course.”

Jenny felt confused, she thought she remembered that they had taken Lolo with them out to the woods last night but the memory was as faint as a dream. The bread jumped out of the toaster and her mother put it on a plate.

“You know what is strange?” Her mother opened the fridge; she brought out the milk, the butter and the cheese. “I found my pearl earrings here on the table when we came back last night. Did you find them?”

Jenny buttered her toast, sliced some cheese and took a bite. Had she found the earrings? She remembered that Kalle and her had eaten candy, chips and cheese doodles until it was almost dark. Then she went out to pee….after that it was murkier.

“No,” she said and took another bite. “I didn’t find the earrings. Ask Pernilla, maybe she borrowed them.”

Her mother smiled at her.

“Yes, you are probably right.” Then her mother narrowed her eyes and looked at her. “What is that you have in your hair?” She reached out and plucked something from her head. “A piece of fern. How odd.”

 

 

 

Ingrid, Astrid and Sven

A bird’s body, hair feather white.  Her grip surprisingly firm.

“I need my blue summer coat.” 

She commanded and sent me on a search.

Closets, coat rack and the dresser.

But no summer coat to be found.

“I’m sorry,” I said apologetic. “I seem not to be able to find your coat.”

She looked at me sternly.

“Silly girl, have you looked in the attic?”

Perplexed I looked at the old woman.

“Attic? But mam, you don’t have an attic.”

Her eyes got muddy with confusion and she waved me away.

I thought a misunderstanding had occurred so off I went again.

Searched the same closets, the same coat rack and the same dresser. 

No blue coat. Meticulously crocheted doilies. Pillowcases with monograms.

And under the bed rolled up rag rugs. Stripped in mellow colors.

 Years of hard work.  Something for a woman to be proud of.

I left her after another thirty minutes, got on my bike and rode to the next old lady.

 

The room was cramped, filled with ornament heavy wood furniture.

“No wet rag on the furniture! It leaves streaks.”

 The voice was not kind, only demanding.

I moved carefully through the mausoleum of past times.

On one of the dressers stood  a picture of two young ladies.

The owner of the apartment and my great aunt.

In another time my family had ruled this little country side town.

My great grandfather owned the biggest house. Sat on the board of the bank.

Decided who would be graced with a loan. He used to send my grandmother. 

A lean teenager to the liquor store. His name alone was proof enough.

Now I rode my bike from house to house. Helped old ladies clean, cook and take a bath.

I changed catheters, treated bed sores and searched for summer coats.

When I was done dusting without using a wet rag I was treated to a glass of water in the kitchen.

“During the war the trains stopped here. We all knew who the Nazis were. The big farmers. Stood by the train and waved. Gave the soldiers bread and apples. What a shame!”

I finished one glass and asked for another.

“You know how some people say that Hitler has a son.”

I nodded and drank.

“But he can’t have a son.  I know.”

Some sort of joy had joined her voice.

“My sister’s husband was in the same battalion as Hitler during the war. Not the second. The first. And he told us that Hitler got one of his balls shot off in the war.”

She giggled like a school girl.

 

The last house for the day was located all the way up the hill. Past the nine hundred year old church.

Magnificent green wood house on the end of a road lined with maple trees.

The man was dignified, gentle and almost rueful as he showed me where the cleaning supplies were.

He didn’t disturb me as I worked. He sat in an old red armchair and read. The walls covered in leather bound  books.

On one of the walls in the airy entrance hall hung a beautiful shawl. Crimson with gold thread. The shawl was covered in striking jewelry and underneath a black and white photo in a silver frame. Two young men and a woman.

“He was my best friend.”

I almost jumped. I had not heard him.

“Anton Nilsson,” he said and looked questioning at me. My mother had informed me so I nodded.

“He fought in the Red Army. That was after the bombing of the Amalthea of course. We disagreed about that...”

His eyes drifted out the window. I held my breath, waiting.

“But both of us thought Stalin was a curse.”

He smiled and his eyes came back to me.

“Beautiful shawl, don’t you think? Anton’s wife’s. When she died he gave it to me. I loved her...”

He took a deep breath in and shook his head.

“A young girl like you don’t want to listen to an old man’s ramblings.”

He smiled and looked around where I had been vacuuming.

“You look done. I have fresh cinnamon rolls. Would you like to stay for a cup of tea?”

We sat in his kitchen. Fragile cups with pink roses and gold. He talked. I listened for hours.

 And I regret I don’t remember all he told me.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

Midgård

The summer sun was beating down on her head as she sat outside the longhouse. Her back ached an d she could feel the baby pressing down on her pelvis. Soon it would be time. Soon.  The boy came running around the corner; his light, almost white hair caught the sun. With him came the grey dog, his constant companion. He stopped in front of her, panting. The dog jumped around him a few times, his pink tongue hanging out of the side of the mouth. 

“Mor.” The boy put a hand on her leg. “Will he be home today?” Gudrun caressed her son’s gleaming hair.

“Any day now.” The boy looked up at her with dark blue eyes. The same eyes as his father.

“Can I go down to the shore and look for the ships?”

She knew he missed his father as much as she missed her man. She knew he was anxious to see the sails in the horizon, grow bigger and bigger until you could hear them beat in the wind. Hear the men call out to each other. See his face again. He would wave from the ship, jump in the water and run to them as they waited by the shore.

“Yes you can but…” The word but made her son roll his eyes. “You have to bring your sister and Torbjörn with you.”

“Mor…” he started complaining. She reached out and took a handful of his hair in her hand. She didn’t pull hard enough for it to hurt but he knew that there was no point complaining anymore. She let go, smoothed the hair with her palm. “I can’t have Torbjörn around my feet all day, you know that.” He sighed deeply. “And,” she continued, “take one of the baskets and pick some blueberries on the way. Ask Marya for some bread to bring along.” The dog lifted his ears when he heard the name Marya. The dog was clever, knew where he could get food.

“Loki,” the boy said and the dog was instantly at his heels. Both of them took off running like before. Gudrun was  about to lean back against the wall once more when she remembered.

“Sune!” she called and the boy stopped. “Don’t let Torbjörn eat too many blueberries or sand.”

The boy and the dog disappeared around the corner of the house. The child inside of her kicked hard against her ribs. She had to put a hand on the foot and press. Please stay in there until Valdemar is home. Please. The only time she had giving birth without Valdemar at shore it had ended gravely. After Sune, the first one, she had given birth to a strong, angry girl less than a year later. The third one, a thorn still stung her heart when she thought about the third one.  The rain pounded the house that day. Everything was damp even though it was in the middle of the summer and the child did not want to come out. She pushed and pushed but no. Eventually the midwife had crawled in between her legs, put a hand inside of her and pulled the child out. Oh, this child. Transparent, red haired. No fierce cry. Only a whimper.

She had put this child to her breast, weakly she suckled and then she fell asleep. The midwife said to keep the child close, let the child rest. She wasn’t sure when she realized that this life would never last. She stroked her breasts, forced small of drops of her milk into the child’s mouth. Five days later the rain stopped. A rainbow grew across the sky when the sun broke through the clouds. The child lay in her arms, more transparent than before. Eyes closed and she simply stopped breathing.

When Valdemar came home Gudrun lay in bed with her face against the wall. Didn’t speak. Didn’t eat. Didn’t tend to her children. He tried to talk to her but she didn’t respond. She laid, in a state of neither sleep nor wakefulness. Until one morning, she felt someone crawl over her and Sune pressed himself in between the wall and her body. He strung his arms around her neck and placed his head under her chin.  His breath against her skin. He lay still and quiet for a long time.

“Mor,” he whispered, “I don’t like Marya’s porridge. Can you make me some?”

She opened her eyes, looked down at his golden head, put her nose on his hair and breathed in. He smelled of the woods, of the fireplace and the sea.  He smelled like life.

When she felt stronger again she had walked across the forest, across the yielding grounds of the moor to her father. He had fallen into trance for her. Searched for the little transparent girl in the spirit worlds. When he came back he told her that the little girl was trapped. Held back by Gudrun’s love and yearning. Couldn’t move into Gimle. Stuck in between. All the little girl wanted was to be allowed to leave. She was never supposed to be here. Her father taught her a croon. A few words, a few lines, rhyming, easy to remember. Every time she thought of the little girl she would repeat the croon. Soon the words would take over the place in her mind and the girl would be set free. Her mind let go faster than her body and for years no child would stay long enough to be born. Until Torbjörn. Robust, howling, suckled until her nipples bled.

 

“Tova! Tova! Where are you?” Sune had the basket in one hand, the leather satchel with bread in the other and Torbjörn behind him toddling as fast as the short legs would let him. They had been searching for their sister everywhere. First down by the pigs, sometimes she went down there and talked to the pigs. Fed them leftovers and scratched them behind their ears. In the winter when it was time for slaughter and sacrifice she hid in the house. She could not stand to see the blood steaming in the cold air. He laughed at her, teased her, happy the fearless girl was scared of something.  Then he had walked to the horse corrals and even taken an extra turn around the beehives. He had sent Torbjörn in to the henhouse and the storehouse, Tova was nowhere to be seen. Finally he spotted her sitting on top of the root cellar in the shade under the old oak tree.

“Tova!” he screamed and she stood up, “We are going to pick blueberries and go down to the shore to look for the ship. And Mor said you had to come.”

The girl ran down the side of the root cellar, her braids bounced on her back. She grabbed the basket as she ran by him.  Loki yelped out of excitement and ran after her. Sune started to run but Torbjörn let out a howl and he had to slow down to let the little boy catch up.

The tall pine trees gave enough shade to make the forest pleasant compared to the bright sunshine. The pine needles had turned the trail into a copper snake; it slithered around the blueberry bushes. The bushes were  covered in big, dark blue, almost black berries. Tova was already picking  and dropping the berries into the basket. The dog lay on the trail with tiny forest flies all around his warm body.

“Don’t eat too many blueberries,” Sune said to Torbjörn. “Not good for your stomach.” He poked the little boy in his round, soft belly.

His fingers got red from the berries and they had attracted the mosquitoes. He watched one land on his arm, pierce his skin with its trunk and drink his blood.  The back part of the body grew, turned from grey to brilliant red.  He started to get tired of picking. He wanted to go down to the shore, look at the horizon and search for the first sign of the ships. The dog could sense his restlessness, walked around him with his tail wagging. Egging him on.

“Let’s go down to the shore,” he said and started to walk down the trail. Tova didn’t stop picking, when she had started she could keep going forever. Her eyes got glazed over and she didn’t seem to hear or notice anything.

“Tova,” he raised his voice and the girl lifted her head. “I am going down to the water.”

Torbjörn with a reddish blue circle around his mouth started to walk after him but Sune started to run.

“Une! Une!” the little boy screamed, but he pretended not to hear.

 

He came down to the shore and the dog ran straight out in the calm, warm summer water. Sune sat down on the rocks and put his feet in.  Loki came up and sat next to him, the water dripping from his long fur.

“Should we scare them?”

The dog’s tail started to pound the rock when he heard the anticipation in the boy’s voice.

The boy and the dog walked back on the trail again and hid behind a big moss covered stone. He held his arms around the dog and whispered in its ear.

“Soon, soon, when they come walking we jump out and scream. Soon, soon.”

Sune heard Tova’s voice long before he saw them. She was singing loud and clear in the forest.

“Bridges and stones. Bridges and timber. No one can cross. No one can cross. Till you tell me your beloved’s name. What is his name?”

The dog shivered in his arms.

“Soon,” he murmured. Torbjörn came first, tottered, fell and got up again. Tova carried the basket with the berries in one hand and the leather satchel with the bread in the other. He slowly released the grip around the dog’s body. Both of them jumped down on the trail. The dog barking and the boy shouting. Torbjörn sat down on his behind and started to cry terrified. Tova let out a high pitched scream, dropped the basket on the ground and the berries rolled out. Her face got red.

“Sune,” she growled. “You and your stupid dog. Look at the berries!”

Even though he was older she was taller and stronger than him. Her hand turned into a fist and she waved it at him.

“I will punch you in the face if you don’t pick them up.”

He was wise enough to take her threat seriously. A punch from her wouldn’t be as bad as his mother’s anger though. He sat down and started to pick up the berries and put them into the basket again, he sang softly  as he worked.

“Tova got scared. Tova got scared. Tova got scared.”

She smacked him on the back of his head and he stopped singing.

“Torbjörn and I will go down to the water. Come when you are done.”

 

Tova pulled the dress over her head and helped Torbjörn with his tunic. She took the small boy in her arms and walked into the sea. The water was soothing against her skin. She opened her hand and dropped a piece of bread, watched it slowly sink.

“Ran, Aegir and your daughter’s nine. Bring home my father in soon time.”

Morfar had taught her the croon last summer and every time she went down to the shore she recited it four times.  Torbjörn splashed with his chubby hand in the water.

”Ran, Ran,” he said and smiled.

“Yes, Ran will bring him home.”

 

After she had played with Torbjörn in the water she handed him over to Sune and she started to swim.  Dived down into the murkiness.  Touched the dark rockweed and the glowing light green seaweed. Came up when her lungs hurt. Swam to the cliff and climbed up. Squeezed her fingers and toes into crevices, she never fell. At the top she looked down at her brothers. Torbjörn and Loki had curled up on the grass and were sleeping. Sune looked up at her; she knew he wanted her to look out over the sea. See if she could spot the ships. She craned her neck, squinted, strained but had to shake her head to him. She backed up and ran to the edge and jumped. Flew through the air and landed in the water with a splash. Felt the bubbles around her body, heard them crack as she pushed her way up again.

Sune watched the bubbles,  waiting for her to resurface. The water scared him, the unknown down there. The seaweed that grabbed his leg. Morfar had said that the spirits would leave him be if he wasn’t scared. But he didn’t trust himself so he stayed on land. The water broke and Tova’s head showed up. Her light blonde hair was darker now when it was wet. She waved to him as she swam to the cliff again.

She climbed up again, craned her neck, squinted and strained. Something was out there on the horizon, a small dark line of something. She squinted some more, it wasn’t a trick of the eye. Something was out there. Was it Far and his ships? She couldn’t tell yet but she turned around and nodded to Sune. He jumped up excitedly and ran to the cliff. When Loki tried to follow he told the dog to stay with the sleeping Torbjörn.

He climbed up and joined his sister. She pointed to the spot on the horizon. He squinted and strained. The spot grew slowly, eventually turning into four spots. The spots took form into four ships.

“It is him!” Sune exclaimed and grabbed his sister’s hand. “It is him!”

Tova nodded and pressed his hand.

“We have to tell Mor.”

Gudrun leaned against the wall when the children came running from the woods. For the last few hours she couldn’t deny anymore that this child wanted to enter this world, sooner rather than later. Tova carried Torbjörn on her back and the dog bounced around them.

“We saw them! We saw them!” Sune shouted.

Her womb contracted hard and the pain shot down her legs.

“He is coming home,” she said and caressed her stomach. “Welcome to the world.”

 

It rained the day she knocked on his door

It rained the day she knocked on his door. A slow, soft summer rain. She wore red rubber boots and a cotton dress. Her hair hung in wet strands around her face. Eight days ago they had made love. He had called a few times since but she hadn’t answered. And now she stood in the rain outside his door. The sunbeams in her green eyes shot straight into his heart.

“Do you want to take a walk?” She twisted her hair around her fingers as she spoke.

When he hesitated, she smiled, showed her crooked left canine tooth.

“Or not?” She shrugged her shoulders and took a couple of steps away from him, turned and started to walk down the sidewalk. Her dark hair was wavy and spilled down her back. Even though she walked in big boots she moved gracefully. He rushed in, grabbed his keys and put his feet in his sneakers, then he headed after her.

At the corner he caught up to her. She didn’t acknowledge him but he could see how a quick smile spread across her face. They walked quietly. The rain, now more a mist in the air made all the colors vibrant. The flowers sparkled in red, yellow and blue. The grass was crayon green. Her skin golden, he could almost recall the smell of her, the taste of her.

“I like the rain,” she said and stopped next to him. “You know how people think that sunny weather is the same thing as beautiful weather. But isn’t it much more beautiful now?”

He nodded and reached for her hand. She didn’t pull it back but she didn’t squeeze his hand either.

“I called.”

“I know,” she said but didn’t look at him.

“Did I do something? Say something?”

She shook her head.

“No.” She looked down at the ground, moved her red rubber boots back and forth a few times. Nudged his foot.  Nudged  it again.  

Her dark hair was covered in a lattice of miniature drops. Tiny, transparent pearls.

“I needed to recuperate.”

“Recuperate?” He couldn’t help but chuckle, a very serious word in his opinion. She lifted her head, anger flared up for a second in her eyes and she pulled her hand out of his.

“Yes, recuperate.” She crossed her arms over her chest.

“From what?” Clearly he was missing something here.

She looked down at the ground again, moved her rubber boots but didn’t nudge his foot this time.

“I was thinking how strange it is that we met. How strange it is that you seem to know me so well. How strange it is that I can’t remember how my life was before I met you. And when we…” She lifted her head again and met his eyes. “ When we made love…” She stopped, bit down on her lip and looked to the side. An older man came walking on the sidewalk with his black Labrador. She was quiet until the man had passed and walked around the corner.  “You know he died, right?”

He did know, everybody knew that her husband had died. Withered away from cancer a few years ago.

“I know and I am sorry.”

She started to walk again and he followed, when they came to the corner she stopped under the big oak tree. Heavy drops came down from the branches. Dropped on his head, on her face. She tilted her head backwards and opened her mouth. Caught a drop and swallowed.

“I had to be so strong,” she said with her head still tiled backwards, “I had to take care of him and when he died I broke. Into thousands of pieces. I couldn’t even get up in the morning. I was so tired. I slept. For weeks that was the only thing I did. And then I cried.”

He wanted to reach out and touch her, but he didn’t know where. She looked vulnerable, her neck exposed.  She rubbed her face and tilted her head forward again.

“But life in itself seems to have a strange power. One day you notice something small. How a bee hovers over a flower or how the water feels against your skin in the shower.  A reminder of…” She started to walk again.

“A reminder of what?”

“That everything is beautiful. And when you realize that you explode inside.”

The sun started to break through the clouds, the ground gave off steam and she grabbed her hair with both hands and twisted it to squeeze out the water.

“That realization makes you feel alive and when you feel alive you  start to heal. But some things are harder to heal. “

She turned her face towards the sun. Stood still with her eyes closed. Her eyelids shuddered and he thought she would cry. But she didn’t.

“Do you want to go and get an ice cream?”

“I didn’t bring any money,” he said and felt like a fool. “I can go and get some if you want or…,”he hesitated. “I have ice cream at home.”

“Ok,” she said and turned on the spot.

 

She left her rubber boots outside his door and made wet footprints on his floor. She moved slowly around in his apartment as he opened the freezer and scooped ice cream into two bowls. He had invited her several times but she had never accepted the invitation before.  She got up on her tippy toes and looked at the photos he had arranged all over a wall.

“Did you take all these?”

“Yes, top left is the first one I ever developed myself and the bottom right is the last one.”

She bent down and looked at the picture at the bottom right.

“That is me!” she said surprised and turned to look at him.

“Yeah, when we went to the beach that day in May.”

She nodded and smiled.

Every time he had run by her house in March and April he had seen her digging in the dirt or carrying heavy bags of manure or peat moss. One day he stopped by her fence and asked if she needed help. She had smiled brightly, showed her crooked left canine tooth and said “yes”. When April turned into May and her garden was finally done he had asked her out. First for dinner, she said no. Then to a movie, she said no. Then for coffee, she said no. His friends told him to go after someone else. A widow had too much baggage. His mother had said he should be careful.  He kept asking and eventually she had said she wanted to go to the beach and they had gone. It was a windy day and the ocean was not much more than fifty degrees. They had a great day and came home with windburns and sand everywhere.  After that day they had gone to every forest or beach within two hours of driving. She never spoke of her dead husband and he never asked. And then they had made love. A hot humid night in June. 

She sat down on his couch, pulled her legs up under her dress and balanced the ice cream bowl on top of her knees.

“After we made love I felt like I was an inch away from falling in love with you. It scared me to death.”

She blushed suddenly and looked down into her ice cream.

“Scared me to death. What a crude choice of words,” she said quietly, her cheeks flushed.

He took a spoonful of the ice cream; let it melt slowly on his tongue. Mulled over her words.

“Why did it scare you?”

She looked out the window, chopped her ice cream into small pieces.

“Because love means attachment and when you are attached…” Her voice faded and she took some ice cream and looked at him. “I guess this is the last thing that needs to heal. Me daring to feel attached again.”

He looked away from her face, looked out the window and tried hard not to think of this as a rejection.  The clouds had grown thicker and darker again, it would soon start to rain.

“So,” he said slowly, “what do you want to do?”

She sat quietly, it started to rain, light at first then heavier. They surely needed the rain; it had been a dry and hot June. He felt something nudging his thigh, he looked down. Her foot had moved close to his leg and she was gently poking him with her toes. 

“Can we go slow?” Her voice gentle and soft. “So I have time to heal as we go along?”

His heart did a summersault. She didn’t reject him. She didn’t reject him! He started to smile.

“Yes, of course! As slow as you want.”

It rained the day she knocked on his door. A slow, soft summer rain. She wore red rubber boots and a cotton dress. Her hair hung in wet strands around her face. When she left the moon hung heavy in the clear sky.