Jonas Khemiri - Everything I Don’t Remember

“How long have you been walking around like this?” the doctor asked.

Grandma didn’t answer.

“We have to do something about this,” said the doctor.

*

We ran up the gravel path, Samuel first, me behind him. We took the stone steps up to the upper entrance, the door was open, smoke was rushing out, we could feel the heat even from the terrace, we heard sirens in the distance.

“We can’t,” I said. “It’s too hot.”

Samuel looked at me and smiled.

“Experience Bank?”

He tore off his jacket, held it up to his face, took a deep breath, and threw himself into the smoke. His back vanished. I counted to three, then I buried my nose in my elbow and followed him.

*

When they roll her out of the examination room her foot is wrapped in a white bandage. They used an electric saw to cut off her toenails and the nurse pushing the wheelchair says that she’s extremely lucky that the infection hadn’t spread.

“Thanks for your help,” I say.

“Let’s go eat lunch,” says Grandma.

*

The fire roared at us to turn back, it laughed at us as we tried to go up the stairs, I kept close to the wall because I saw Samuel do so. We made it to the second floor and it felt cooler there, we searched the office, the children’s room, and the bedroom. No one there. But the wardrobe in the bedroom was open and there, among the shards from the broken window, lay a boy, he looked about fifteen, he had splinters of glass in his downy mustache, and his face was gray. Samuel looked at me, I shrugged. I had never seen him before. We lifted him up. He didn’t weigh a thing. Samuel took his legs, I got his upper body. We headed for the stairs but the air was hotter now, the stairs creaked as we tried to walk down them, when I brushed against the metal railing it felt like the hair on my forearms caught fire. We fell headlong down the last few steps, we lay in a pile on the hall floor, the whole parlor was in flames, I could see the fire consuming the piano, the paintings, the parquet, the rug. It popped and crackled and I mustered my last bit of strength to crawl toward the sunlight, I dragged the boy’s body behind me, his head came over the doorstep, Samuel came behind him on all fours. He was coughing himself blue, he had black streaks of soot on his face.

“Hold on a second.”

He turned around and crawled into the heat. I reached for him, but I didn’t have the strength to hold him back.

*

We sit in the hospital cafeteria and wait for our food. We’re surrounded by exhausted patriarchs, trembling elderly people, children with the tops of their snowsuits knotted around their waists, hospital employees absorbed in evening papers, taxi drivers talking on cell phones, and then there’s Grandma, sitting at our table and observing everyone and everything. She leans forward and asks if we are in Sweden.

“Yes, we’re in Sweden.”

“You’d never believe it.”

I don’t say anything, I don’t want to go there, not now. Our food is ready, I go get it, Grandma is ready with her fork and smiles when I put down the tray, salmon quiche and a slice of lemon for her, a chicken wrap for me. The receipt tells me that it is twenty-seven minutes past one on the fifth of April, two thousand twelve.

*

Samuel couldn’t have been gone for more than thirty seconds. But it felt like a lifetime. At last I saw his crawling body. He fell forward and gasped for air, a pink porcelain bowl with gold details fell out of his jacket.

“I couldn’t find the lid,” he croaked.

*

We’re still in the cafeteria. Grandma looks at her food. She hasn’t touched it.

“Aren’t you hungry?” I ask.

She is sitting there with her fork at the ready, looking at the food like it’s a crossword puzzle. At last she reaches for the lemon slice and swallows it whole.

“I’m full now.”

“Do you want coffee?” I ask.

“Please. Half a cup. Black, said the homeowner to the painter, and regretted it. And I think we deserve something sweet after a day like this. Check and see if they have raspberry boats.”

She takes out her wallet and hands me yet another bill. The receipt tells me that it is fourteen minutes past two when I come back with the coffee and sweets.

“Look, Grandma. Chocolate macaroons. Who was it that used to bring macaroons when he came to visit you?”

Grandma sips her coffee and ignores the question.

“What was his name again? The man you bought the house from? K something?”

Grandma turns to gaze at the people walking by in the corridor. She makes a comment about each person, just loud enough so they can hear.

“My, that’s a yellow skirt. Well, I suppose it takes all kinds. Don’t you think she’s freezing? Is that how you’re supposed to look these days? Is that sort of metal jewelry really modern? Well, I suppose that’s one way to do it!” (This last was about a woman who was talking loudly on a cell phone that was secured in place by her veil.)

Then Grandma’s head falls forward and she dozes off.

*

The first fire truck had a hard time getting up the gravel drive. It stopped halfway up and the firemen put on their helmets and unspooled their hoses. They entered the house without taking any notice of us. Only later, once the fire was under control and the ambulance crew had seen to the boy did two firemen approach us.

“Where are the heroes?” they said, shaking their heads. “Or should we say, the idiots?”

But they said it in an impressed way that still made us feel like heroes. Samuel’s hair was kinkier than usual. We were leaning against one of the stone pillars down by the street and watching as the firemen put out the last pockets of fire.

“Is it done for?” he asked one of the firemen.

“That depends on your definition. But it’s safe to say it will be a while before you can celebrate Christmas here.”

The ambulance crew said that the boy up in the attic was going to make it and when they asked what his name was everyone looked at each other in confusion. No one recognized him. Neither Nihad, Maysa, nor Zainab could remember ever seeing him in the house.

“Was it Rojda’s son?” Nihad asked.

“Who was Rojda?” asked Maysa.

“He must have come on his own,” said Zainab. “Otherwise we would have noticed him.”

Maysa and Zainab had found temporary housing. Nihad would go home to her ex-husband. I looked at Samuel. The flames had been extinguished, the yard stank, the bushes were full of black soot and fluffy foam. Half the parlor area had been destroyed. Several of the nearby trees had burned down. I thought that Samuel would be absolutely crushed. In just a short time he had lost his girlfriend and his grandma’s house. But there was a peculiar look on his face. It was almost like he was smiling.

*

Suddenly she snorts and wakes up, her eyes are wide open and she’s flailing her hands.

“No no no no. There will be none of that. How many times do I have to tell you? Let me go, let me go, I don’t want to, do you hear me, I don’t want to, let me out of here.”

People are looking up from their phones, the security guards over by the information desk take a few steps in our direction. I meet their gazes, I try to calm her down, I take the photos out of the plastic bag, graduation parties, family reunions, weddings, funerals. I remind her where we are, I say my name, I say her name, I say Mom’s name, I say her sons’ names. When she finally calms down, she says:

“I want to go home now.”

*

The day after the fire, Samuel’s phone rang nonstop. After he put it on silent, the apartment kept buzzing with vibrations.

“Who is it?” I asked.

“Guess,” said Samuel.

But I didn’t have to guess, because soon the answer was standing in our stairwell. Samuel’s mom rang the doorbell and banged on the door and when I opened it she walked straight in without removing her red down coat with the logo of the preschool where she worked.