Karin Alvtegen - Shadow

Gerda Persson.

Once again Alice felt irritated that she was expected to take an interest in the woman’s death. It was odd what a fuss was being made. Money was so tight everywhere nowadays that the council must have more important things to worry about. What she knew about Gerda was not much, despite the fact that they’d lived under the same roof for almost twenty-five years, from the years Jan-Erik was a baby until the day Gerda turned sixty-seven and needed a housekeeper of her own. And she needed one even before that; she was quite slovenly, if truth be told. But Axel had refused to replace her and let a stranger into the house. He had thought that Alice was exaggerating her criticism. She in turn hadn’t understood what difference it would make to exchange one stranger for another. It was a mystery to her how Axel could have any opinion about the household, since he was always cooped up in his office. Gerda was constantly there, padding through the house like a cat, but they hadn’t really known each other. The boundary between the gentry and servants was clear as glass, and they had both been equally inclined to maintain that distance. But Gerda always had a front-row seat. She had witnessed Alice’s transformation from Axel’s companion and artistic equal to representative wife who was expected to stand by his side and be happy for his sake, watching as he received his honours. Gerda had been along for the whole ride, and Alice begrudged the fact that Gerda knew that she knew that she knew.

Because in the end it had all turned into a perpetual power struggle. By then Annika was already growing in Alice’s womb, and with her birth the fight was over. The schism that Alice felt had stifled the last remnants of her creativity and put her permanently in Axel’s shadow. She had tried to fight her impulses but couldn’t tell whether they were coming from inside or had been sparked from the outside. While Axel felt legitimised to pursue his dreams, her duty had been to renounce hers. The children and what they demanded of her became a threat to all that had once been her destiny: their shouts that disturbed her in the middle of whatever she was doing; their tears that she was expected to soothe; their dependence that ensnared her.

Alice Ragnerfeldt swallowed hard and stared into space. Only the eternal ticking of the kitchen clock held her in the present.

Because what was threatening to suffocate her and had been so obvious again and again was actually only a glimpse. A glimpse that forty-five years later she would give anything to experience again.

To have another chance. To do better.

Jan-Erik was still sitting there with his morning paper when Louise came into the kitchen. Louise had said goodbye to Ellen then had spent a long time in the bathroom. When she reappeared, her face was made up and she had a towel wrapped round her head. He followed her with his eyes as she walked over to the freezer, took out a bag of rolls, and put two of them in the microwave. Efficient movements and small hard smacks as she set things down.

He turned a page of his newspaper without having read it.

‘Coffee’s ready, it’s in the pot.’

Stupid thing to say. Where else would it be? She didn’t reply, just took a cup out of the cupboard and poured, took the rolls out of the microwave when it pinged, and put cheese on them with no butter. Sitting at the table she pulled out the arts section of the paper and took a bite of the roll.

The mood was like day-old ice; a brittle surface over deep water that had to be traversed, with each step tested cautiously. Two people, so intimate that they ate breakfast together in their bathrobes, yet the chasm between them so great it was perilous to try and bridge it. There was nothing to say, about anything. Not even if he made an effort. He was able to make conversation with anyone if he had to, with anyone except her, this woman sitting across from him at the breakfast table dressed in her bathrobe.

The restlessness made his whole body itch. It was twenty-four hours until his next trip.

She turned a page of the newspaper. Drank a little coffee. Scraped up the crumbs from the roll and gathered them in a neat little pile.

The silence was paralysing. It made his heart pound. He had an urgent need to say something to normalise the mood, but there was nothing to say, absolutely nothing. When he could no longer stand it and was just about to get up and leave, his glance happened to fall on the crumbs, a dry heap a moment ago, now wet and flat. He sat there transfixed on the crumbs. The next moment his misgivings were confirmed when two more tears landed right next to the spot. What he had found intolerable a moment ago was suddenly nothing compared to the dilemma in which he now found himself. Louise was crying. His cool wife who never showed any emotion except varying degrees of irritation was sitting across from him and crying so that tears were falling. But what aroused greater horror was the realisation that he was expected to console her. He had no idea how to handle such a situation, how to deal with behaviour that was beyond all personal experience. All he knew was that her tears had melted the day-old ice that a minute ago had seemed so deadly, but which he now realised had been shielding what was underneath, something that was even worse. Something that would now have to come to light as soon as he admitted that he’d seen her cry.

For a moment he sat in bewilderment, going over his options. More tears were falling from her cheeks, and soon the option of pretending he hadn’t noticed and could flee would be no good. He never had a chance to choose. Without raising her eyes she reached out her hand and fumbled for her coffee cup. The next moment the contents were spilled all over the tabletop. The mishap was all that was needed to rob him of any possibility of salvaging the situation.

‘Fucking shit!’ she said. The sobs she had been trying to suppress took over completely.

His reaction was instinctive – he gave a slight laugh.

‘It’s only a little coffee.’

She hid her face in her hands and sobbed harder.

He sat stock still, waiting. He had never seen her cry before, had no idea what it meant or how he was expected to react. Minutes passed. Minutes in which she cried and he desperately tried to cope with the situation. Naturally he should get up, take the few steps round the table and embrace her. Try to soothe her pain. He couldn’t do it. Her silent appeal made something knot up inside him. He felt a rope come coiling across the table to ensnare him.

‘We simply can’t go on like this.’

He stopped breathing. Scrabbled about in his past but found nothing that could give any guidance. He so wanted to be able to get up and leave, simply pretend that he’d heard nothing and go on his way. Away from the tears and the conversation he didn’t want to have.

‘I don’t really understand what you mean.’

The next moment her eyes were on his, and he shrank from the sudden contact.

‘What do you mean, you don’t understand? What is it you don’t understand?’ She quickly wiped her cheeks and rubbed her hand under her nose, almost urgently, as if she had just tossed a hand grenade and knew that the time she had left was limited. And yet he could see that she hesitated. That she wanted to say more but something was holding her back.

‘I can’t go on like this any more.’

He swallowed. The spilled coffee was soaking into the newspaper and turning the news brown. He wanted to fetch a cloth but didn’t dare move.

‘We never do anything together, we don’t even talk to each other. It’s as if Ellen and I were living here alone. You’re never home. And when you are, then… We…’

She broke off. Looked down at the table and held her hands up to hide her face. She got up and went to get the kitchen roll. She blew her nose and ran a finger under her eyes. She had always been particular about her appearance, but right now she was dissolved, exposed, and he saw that she was suffering.