Caroline Eriksson - The Missing

A faint vibration against my thigh brings me to a halt. Even though I hear no sound, I dig the phone out of my pants pocket, but without letting go of the ax. My cell phone. My only link to reality, to the outside world. The thought makes me feel both relieved and uneasy. There’s a new text from Katinka. She writes that she’s on her way home from some after-party, and she’s wondering why I haven’t answered her last text. The disjointed phrases and messy syntax indicate she must be drunk.

The phone beeps again, and then again. Katinka sends more texts, one after another. I halfheartedly skim over her reports of cute guys and aching feet. I’m just about to stuff the phone back in my pocket when I suddenly get a text about my mother. Apparently, Mama tried to get hold of me at work again, even though she knows I’m not there.

Upset. Wanted to know where you were. Tried to get me to tell her. Thought I knew.

Is Katinka mad that I didn’t tell her where Alex and I were going for vacation? Or is she just stating the facts, that Mama asked her where I was but she couldn’t tell her because she doesn’t know? I have no idea. I lost the ability to decipher those sorts of normal but unspoken signals between friends long ago. Maybe I never had it. You should see someone. Maybe you should see a doctor at the clinic.

So much has happened since that day when Katinka noticed I was having trouble walking because of my thighs. There’s an ocean of thoughts and deeds between that day and this one. I have a strong desire to text back, tell her I’m pregnant. She doesn’t even know that. But on closer examination, there’s really very little she knows about me. I stand still for a moment with my fingers hovering over the keyboard on the display in front of me. But no sensible reply comes to mind.

With my phone back in my pocket, I start walking again. Would it be possible for us to be real friends, Katinka and I? So far I’ve chosen not to think about that. So far what has governed my relationship with Katinka—as with all my acquaintances before her—is the thought of Mama and the best friend she once had. It’ll never be like with Mama and Ruth. I can’t risk getting too close.

The trees are thinning out up ahead, opening on a small clearing. I stop near the edge, right in front of something low to the ground. My mind conjures up events from long ago, remembering how things played out during the last dramatic period of the friendship between Mama and Ruth. An incident that began with a failed trip to see my maternal grandmother and ended with Papa falling out the bedroom window. Although it actually ended several months earlier, of course, with the slap.

I’m so immersed in my thoughts that at first I don’t process the object at my feet. Then my gaze moves down, fixing on something brown and knotty. Two sticks fastened together in an ancient symbol. I stare at the object for a moment before the realization sinks in. A cross. But why…? What…? I take a step back, staring hard, first at the little wooden cross, then at the mound of earth in front of it, then back again. An icy wave washes over me, sweeping away everything else. Leaving behind only the knowledge that this wasn’t just any object hidden in this clearing. It was a grave.

Then I hear a rustling very close by, and this time I’m sure. Someone is standing behind me. I spin around, keeping a tight grip on the ax.

Before we locked the apartment and picked up our suitcases to leave for Grandma’s, the last thing Mama did was phone Ruth. She sat on the bed in the room she shared with Papa, her back to the door. She was on the phone a long time, speaking in a low voice, though she mostly just listened, as usual. Occasionally, she would murmur brief remarks, which mainly seemed to affirm Ruth’s words of wisdom.

“Yes, I really need this. I have to get away, try to rest a little. Get some distance from… well, from everything.”

I waited in the front hall, impatient and eager to get going. Summer vacation had just started, and I was dying to see Grandma. And to get away from the claustrophobic bubble of life with my parents. I was looking forward to Grandma’s vanilla rolls nearly as much as the calm in her apartment.

Mama and Papa had been fighting more than usual lately. They might start arguing because of a note that fell out of Papa’s pants pocket when Mama was doing the laundry. Or because he came home late, and she demanded to know where he’d been. Papa never answered her questions or apologized, just tossed out some sarcastic remark. That would really set Mama off, and soon accusations would be flying. She would spew the names of various women, and each time they fought, a new name would be added to the list. Papa’s response, however, never varied. Cunt.

And within minutes, Mama would surrender in defeat. I could never understand why her anger would disappear at that moment. Couldn’t figure out why she would capitulate like that. But that’s what happened. My mother devoted her days to helping others, mostly women, stand on their own two feet and confront deceitful spouses, who were sometimes also abusive. People who knew my mother described her as strong, competent, and reliable. No one knew that, in her own home, she showed a completely different side of herself. No one knew but me, that is. And Ruth.

“Mama!”

I stepped forward and knocked impatiently on the door frame.

“Mama, aren’t we going? Come on!”

We took the bus to the station in town. That was where we’d catch the regional train to Grandma’s. Mama sat silently on the seat next to me, staring out the bus window at all the greenery. I tried talking about various topics, like my latest bike ride or a program I’d seen on TV, but I could tell she just wasn’t interested, and soon I fell silent too.

At the station Mama looked up at the board listing arrival and departure times and frowned. She muttered something about delays, so we rolled our suitcases over to a bench and sat down to wait. We spent the rest of the afternoon sitting there. Our train was delayed three times, and each time, Mama stood up to voice her frustration before compliantly returning to the bench. I thought it was the same pattern as when she fought with my father, but I didn’t say that out loud.

Finally, an announcement was made: all southbound trains were canceled for the rest of the evening due to a downed electrical line. We got our money for the tickets back and were offered reservations on one of the early departures the following morning. The bus ride home was even more silent, if that was possible. By the time Mama stuck her key in the lock and opened the door to our apartment, she’d hardly said a word to me. I wondered whether she really wanted to take me with her to see Grandma anyway. Maybe she would have preferred to go alone. That’s what I was thinking as we stepped into the front hall. But I soon had other things to think about.

There were no lights on in the apartment, and at first, I thought Papa wasn’t home. But then I heard a sound. Tense whispering and excited giggles. I looked at Mama standing next to me and saw her body stiffen. She’d heard it too.

“Hello?” she called out. “Is anyone there?”

Then Mama did something so unlike her that my throat closed up. Normally, she insisted that everything be nice and neat, but now she marched straight in without taking off her shoes. I knew something was wrong, terribly wrong. Her footsteps echoed off the parquet floor. The next second, something white fluttered at the other end of the apartment. A woman’s naked body came rushing out of the living room, heading for the bathroom. I managed to glimpse a big rear end, shaped like a full moon, before it disappeared with the rest of the woman. The bathroom door slammed shut, and I heard it lock from the inside.