Steinunn Sigurdardottir - Place of the Heart

But she’s the one who lost her child, even though you were always going on about it, acting as if it were you.

Unnar was one of a kind. That’s for sure.

You haven’t changed, Mom.

Why should I have done that?

Couldn’t you try a bit of watching over me as I sleep?

I’m hardly in any position to do that, my dear. I fall asleep so early in the evenings.

Okay, Mom. I’m certainly no better myself.

Have you completely lost it? Edda asks. Talking to yourself like who knows what.

I was waiting for you to come eat. Come on, I’ve sliced you some lamb.

You forgot to call me.

I called you. You just didn’t hear.

You were talking to yourself. You said Mom .

You were hearing things. Now sit down and eat before it gets cold.

Can I have the wine in this glass?

Go ahead. How’s your foot?

It hurts a bit, but I fell asleep.

That’s good.

They’re not coming back?

I don’t know. If they do, they’d better come soon. It’s getting dark.

Would you be scared to be out here tonight, just the two of us, Mom?

No, I’m not scared now. I’m preoccupied.

Should I maybe apologize to her if she comes back?

That’s the least you could do.

You were ugly to her, too.

I know, Edda. We both have a problem on our hands.

I can’t stand that snob, Mom. She thinks she’s so great because she can blow that fucking flute of hers. Let me tell you, I was this close not to making this trip with you when you told me she was going to drive. She’s a pest. But I guess I can still apologize.

We really owe her that, I say. You know, she’s actually a really nice person. Maybe a bit sharp sometimes, which I’ll admit can be a bit much.

She’s always gotten on my nerves.

That’s not entirely true. Remember when you were little and she never failed to bring you back something beautiful every time she went overseas? Heiður was always good to you, and patient if you were naughty. Remember how she babysat you sometimes when I had to go somewhere?

I don’t want to think about how I was as a kid.

Maybe you should do it more often. Good memories can be very constructive. You had lots of good times, and we had lots of them together. Out east, for example.

I know that, Mom, but sometimes I feel like it never happened. When I think of something fun from my childhood, I have doubts about it. Like it never really happened. Why is that?

Maybe because the bad things that have happened in the meantime are overshadowing the good things. Think of it this way — every person is made up of memories, good and bad. It’s better for us, and wiser, to put emphasis on remembering what was good. Of course, we shouldn’t be unrealistic and ignore the bad that’s happened. We should deal with it, but then we should pack it away and leave it there. Bad memories can do serious damage if we use them against ourselves, if we let them tear us down. We’ve got to avoid that, above all.

God, you’re so pompous.

I think you understand me completely.

Edda stands up and roots in a drawer, finds two violet block candles, places them on a glass plate, and lights them.

This food is good.

Thanks.

Do you think they’ll come back?

If they’re not back before it’s completely dark, they probably won’t come. Here, have some more.

Edda helps herself to more meat and gratin. I pour more wine into my glass, see that Edda’s watching, pretend not to notice, take a sip — a laid-back gal in her thirties, chilling out.

I’m never going to panic again. I’m going to stand firm as a rock and never stir, ready for the worst. The worst that can happen is for Edda to perish, but I’m prepared for it. If it happens, I’m going to be able to say I did everything in my power to prevent it. I’m also going to live my own life. I still don’t know how I’m going to do it, but I’ll do it. I will .

I won’t let myself be weighed down by a load of dreams, like Mom. Yet I mustn’t be DREAMLESS.

I’ll keep things separate. Distance them sufficiently. DIFFERENTIATE. Intelligence lies in differentiation.

No one lives his own life, Eisa dear. Desire exists independently, and it blocks everything called life.

How do you know what I desire, Mom?

I have my connections.

Have you started talking to yourself again, Mom? Edda asks.

Oh, do you think? I didn’t notice.

Edda laughs the innocent laughter of a little girl.

The silence of the wilderness replaces Edda’s laughter, the silence that’s not silence but an intrusive thrum. Right now I’d prefer the babbling streams and gurgling springs of the east.

TO THE EAST OF THE SUN. My dream valley, at the end of a long fjord. It’s scarcely imaginable.

Mom, what was up with that man who drove you home from the supermarket that time?

Nothing.

Oh, yes there was. You’ve seen him since.

Hardly.

Is it that you can’t forget him?

I don’t need to forget him.

Is he married with children?

Yes.

You shouldn’t have anything to do with a married man.

Hmm. There’s so much that one should have nothing to do with.

And I glare at the girl, who’s still grinning.

Wasn’t he also married, that doctor who was sneaking around Bollagata?

Let’s not get into that.

I don’t think that man was good for you, Mom.

He didn’t finish me off.

Oh, listen.

Yes, it must be them.

Man, I just wish we could have been left alone.

We will be, Edda dear. The night’s almost over. You can retire whenever you want.

Retire. You talk to me like I’m a senile princess. But I might very well go to my room, just so I don’t have to apologize to that pushy snob until tomorrow.

Have it your way, dear.

The girl gets up, thanks me politely for dinner, and disappears into her room, locking the door behind her.

Locks her door. What’s that supposed to mean?

I’m not going to speculate.

I want to disappear too — into my tower, up into the twilight that slowly comes down over the earth, the tightly woven net with invisible mesh that captures waking souls and glides with them back and forth until they lose consciousness. The Sleep Dance of the Soul. The dance of all souls.

I wish I were invited to that dance now. It irks me to have to stay up to chat with someone I’ll never see again. I need peace and quiet to think about one thing and another, peace and quiet to digest Edda’s latest about-face. She transformed into a real person for five minutes, a reverse changeling who gives her mother advice about private matters. When the world united against us, she was able to ask about my affairs. For or against , that is the question. When the world is against Edda and me, Edda stands with me. When Edda stands with me, Heiður turns against me.

I drag myself out onto the deck for the sake of appearances and wave cheerfully, damned hypocrite that I am. Heiður and Yves come running like a new couple in the twilight, he with his recovered backpack, and she with a bouquet of willow branches, buttercups, and long blades of grass. She hops long-shanked up the steps to the deck, hands me the bouquet, and asks if we can be friends again.

I should apologize, and Edda too.

I’m worried about the child’s foul language, says Heiður.

Leave the worrying to me.

Yves putters about with his backpack in a corner of the living room pretending not to hear. How much does he know by now? A thing or two, to be sure. Discretion has never been one of Heiður’s gifts. How nice to have your entire life broadcast by your best friend. It’s fortunate that she spends so much time abroad. I wouldn’t be surprised if during their brief outing Yves gained a huge amount of knowledge about me and my zany little life.