Then there’s Sister Anna, beautiful little Anna.
One day she came walking wearily into the ward office. She slumped into a chair and propped her head on her hand. The sun was pouring through the window and made her hair glow. I could see she was suffering. That she was ruminating on something serious, and that it was making her strangely distant. But then the mood passed and she pulled herself together, she’s nothing if not an indomitable woman. She reminded us that old Waldemar Rommen was celebrating his birthday that day, he was ninety-eight, believe it or not. It was practically a provocation in itself, there was almost no life left in him. His heart gave a beat occasionally, and now and then a shallow breath would pass his lips. His hands and feet were ice cold and had blue, bunched veins; his cheeks were as pale as marble. But Anna spent the day treating him in every conceivable way. For her, birthdays are sacrosanct, let no one deny it. But ninety-eight. Hardly any respiration or circulation, hardly any intake of food or drink, almost mummified, dry and tough as driftwood. Despite all this, Anna sat in a chair at his bedside and chatted for a long time. A quiet prattle that elicited no answer. She lit candles, she brought in the flowers his family had sent by courier, asters, I’ve never liked them, they’re vulgar. Waldemar Rommen has dementia. He understood nothing of what was going on, but Anna wanted to make much of him anyway. I visited Waldemar as well several times that day. He turned away when he saw me coming, and seemed inexpressibly tired; the shrivelled face impassive.
I sat in a chair by the bed, grasped the bony hand and held it firmly.
‘This is your last birthday,’ I said. ‘Take my word for it.’
If he felt pain or sorrow about what I’d said, he hadn’t the strength to formulate it. But his eyes were full of water. I pulled my hand away and went out again, carried on with my duties. We have so many patients on our ward, and there’s a long waiting list as well. Lots of people who want our costly care and our services.
I kept my eye on Anna all that day.
She went about wrapped in her own thoughts and was obviously working through something difficult, because her eyes were sombre and her mouth had a sorrowful slant. I didn’t want to meddle and pry, I know how to behave, but I wanted to get her alone in the ward office. It took some time before an opportunity presented itself at last. Naturally, Dr Fischer came in and sat on and on, with his legs crossed, joggling his foot. He had the obligatory suede shoes on, and as usual he massaged his temple. We could never hear him coming. He’d steal along the corridors like an Indian hunter.
At last we sat there, Anna and I, one each end of the sofa, and it was just the two of us, Dr Fischer had gone. She closed her eyes and nodded off, I saw her chest rise and fall in a slow, heavy rhythm. The sun flooded in through the window and her lovely face was bathed in an almost ethereal light. Suddenly she opened her eyes.
‘I’m not quite myself,’ she mumbled. ‘Do excuse me.’
Then she shut her eyes again and rested her head against the wall. And I realised that something had happened. My imagination set to work. It’s probably her husband, I thought, he wants a divorce, he’s found another woman. I studied her hand clandestinely, but saw that her wedding ring was still there. You never can tell, though, the relationship between two people is a difficult thing.
‘What are you then, if you’re not yourself?’ I asked tentatively.
‘I’m upset,’ she said quietly. ‘It’s my brother, Oscar.’
‘What’s wrong with Oscar?’ I wanted to know. ‘Is he ill?’
‘He fell through the ice on Lake Mester,’ she replied. ‘And they can’t find him.’
Chapter 14
My brother Oscar fell through the ice.
I hadn’t misheard, she really had said it.
Then she got up and went out, drifted down the corridor, her skirt swinging gently around her slim legs. Her brother, I thought, her brother Oscar in the red ski-suit, he who’d battled against the water and lost, and I’d witnessed it. There was a bond between us after all, I saw it clearly. Destiny had a plan, this couldn’t be coincidence, there was something larger than me, a pattern that I was part of, and its discovery thrilled me and made me dizzy all at once.
I carried my secret with me for the rest of the day. Now it was even bigger, and I felt ready to burst like an over-inflated balloon. But the truth had to be withheld, I had to bear that alone. However, I felt I’d been chosen, I was the only one who knew.
When the shift was over, and evening was approaching, I went to the park. That day I took a detour and arrived at the fountain from a different direction, along a path that skirted the lake and then led on to the town, with all its bustle. This took me past the other beautiful sculpture in the park by Lake Mester.
Woman Laughing. I stood for a while regarding her. I put my hand on the smooth bronze and ran it over her thighs and back, in long, affectionate strokes. Having first checked over my shoulder to make sure no one was looking at me. Then I went to my bench and sat down, admiring the dolphins and listening to the chuckling water. I sat there alone with my big secret, this new discovery in my life: I was one of the chosen.
I sat there until evening began to descend.
The darkness crept slowly on, but with my exceptional night vision I saw the shapes and outlines start to quiver with their familiar light. A sparrow, a stray cat, insects, like fireflies all of them. And then came the calm that dusk brings with it, of everything settling down, of everything ceasing. My own breathing was all that could be heard. I was just about to get up and go. Home to the empty house and its empty rooms, home to the diesel engine that was impossible to escape, home to the whispering voices.
Just then, Arnfinn came tottering along the path.
Slow, heavy and swaying, he struggled to keep his feet, but it was obvious that he was bound for his bench, the one he usually occupied. I sat there serenely and watched his laboured progress. Either he’d drunk too much, or too little. He came on, rocking like an injured crow, limping, uncertain and helpless, impervious to the fact that I was sitting there studying him. His hands groped for support, but his main problem was his trembling, the whole of the faltering edifice was threatening to collapse at any moment. But he walked. One foot in front of the other, his bloodshot eyes fixed on the green bench. At last he lowered himself on to it. For a while he sat there blinking, not even looking in my direction. Then all at once he brightened, as if he’d thought of something pleasant, and he rummaged in his inside pocket for the hip flask, which always used to accompany him, which always used to provide peace and warmth. The lovely, silver-plated hip flask, which was now in my inside pocket, the trophy I’d taken, and carried with me ever since. Waiting for the right moment. And the moment was now.
This was the decisive instant when I would finally come to his rescue, I would come like a saviour and light up those bloodshot eyes, I would help his trembling body to relax. I’ve never been a soft-hearted soul, but here was a man I could save. Anna’s brother drowned before my eyes, but now I could make a difference. I rose and went over to him, took the hip flask from my pocket and offered it with a smile and a friendly nod. The feeling of doing a good deed spread upwards from my toes, and suffused my whole body. He took it and studied it carefully, to see if it really was the hip flask he’d missed so sorely. He managed to remove the top after a bit of a struggle, but there was only a drop left in the flask, not sufficient to satisfy his need. Nevertheless, he went on putting the flask to his lips, as if hoping for some miracle that might fill it with vodka, providing he didn’t stop hoping.