“We’ll have some good days here, just you and me. Like it was before. I mean, before Tommy.”
“But I don’t miss the time before Tommy,” he said. “Nothing happened in the time before Tommy. The time before Tommy just wasn’t exciting.”
“So I didn’t make you happy,” Carmen said, wounded. “Maybe you should have brought one of your old bikes with you instead,” she teased. “Then you could have fiddled around with it out here on the balcony. Would you have been happier then, with an oilcan and overalls?”
“Yes,” he said with a sad smile. “There’s nothing like an old bike. Making everything work and turn.”
She went back in and put the suitcase on the bed. She opened it and took out her clothes and hung them in the wardrobe. They had not packed much. If the suitcase was heavy, it was thanks to Carmen’s toiletries. He never got used to the arsenal of bottles and pots. And she had of course brought her diary with her. She wanted to write in it every single day, so she could remember later what the vacation had been like. Nicolai was still sitting out on the balcony. He was curious about what she was writing, but he would never look, even though he had the chance — there was something about reading another person’s diary. He suddenly felt nervous. His heartbeat was uneven and his palms were sweaty. It was like something was going to happen, only he didn’t know what, like a premonition. Like a darkness growing in him that made him feel bleak. It wasn’t just his grief for Tommy; there was something else there now. Something fateful and frightening. Like he was out of orbit and heading straight into the dark. These heavy thoughts made him feel like he was tossing and turning, even though he was sitting in a chair. He got up and went to the living room to find the duty-free bag and the bottle of whiskey. Then he got a glass from the kitchen cupboard. He poured himself a generous dram and went back out onto the balcony.
“You go easy now!” Carmen warned him.
“It’s just one,” Nicolai said testily. “I need it to calm my nerves; I’ve got so much to think about.”
“No more than me,” Carmen retorted. “We’re in the same boat, aren’t we? I just think whiskey’s a bad solution, in the long run, at least.”
“That’s not true,” Nicolai said. “Whiskey is in fact the best solution. Works every time.”
Carmen took a bottle of water from the fridge and went out to keep him company.
“We’ll manage this,” she said with determination. “Listen to me. When the tragedy happened — when you came down to the pond and saw that Tommy was dead — you couldn’t even speak then, couldn’t think. And now we’re having a conversation and soon we’ll go out for some food. Everything passes, you’ll see. And if you want to be in this world, you have to act like the living. It’s an old Native American saying.”
Nicolai drank some whiskey.
“Yes,” he said, after some time. “But I’m not a Native American.”
“No,” Carmen laughed. “But let me pretend that you’re my little Apache. And now you’re fighting for Tommy. I understand that you want to hold on to the grief, but it doesn’t help to wallow in all that suffering. So no more whiskey. Let’s go out and enjoy the warm streets.”
29
Dear diary, I’ve got a lot on my mind.
We’re far away now. Nicolai and I have left Granfoss behind, and we’re in the sun and it’s really warm. Nicolai keeps complaining. And the Majorcans? They whistle at me on the street wherever we go. It must be the blond hair. Because everyone is so dark here, I really stand out. There are still lots of tourists, even though it’s the end of the season — loads of lobster-pink Englishmen and fat Danes. I keep trying to cheer up Nicolai, because he seems so down. He can’t seem to settle, just sulks and wallows. I think it’s a shame, because we could be having such a good time. But he just doesn’t want to. I think about Tommy a lot, too, but I don’t dwell on it. We have to move on. I insist on having another baby, a clever, bright little thing. I insist on living.
Every now and then I’m thrown by the fact that Tommy is gone forever. I can’t understand it, no matter how hard I try. I mean, never to return. He’s gone for the rest of human existence and won’t come back in any shape or form. At least, I don’t believe he will, but you never know. And one day I’ll die too and be gone forever, and Nicolai will die. Everyone will disappear. It exhausts me to think about things like that too much. Sometimes I wonder about Nicolai, if he’s maybe a bit too obsessed with death, because he’s so sad. And sometimes I ask myself if I really love him. I have asked myself quite a lot in the past few days. And I don’t think I do. This is not a good thing, because we’re married. But then I’m not so sure he loves me. It’s more like mutual sympathy. Even though we argue quite a lot, there is sympathy there. Or we’re just together out of habit. But now that Tommy’s gone, anything can happen. Maybe we’ll fall apart. Maybe in the end we’ll go our separate ways. It’s not like I’m scared of the idea of divorce. If it happens, I’ll get over it pretty quickly, because that’s just the way I am. And in any case, there aren’t many married couples who carry on loving each other year after year. I’ve seen that here on the streets of Alcúdia. Seen all the couples that are not together. They’re in different worlds, and what their hearts are hiding must never come to light. The bitter secrets of some are revealed in their drawn mouths. With others it’s the longing in their eyes, the dream of something else, something better. Everyone has that dream. No matter what we’ve got, everything could always be better. There are some who walk close together and look happy, like we were once happy. But lots of people sit together in silence and say nothing as they eat. It’s quite depressing to admit that nothing is forever.
But I don’t want to think about sad things. We’ve come here to forget, even though Nicolai sees it as letting Tommy down. He thinks our tragedy should fill our hearts every waking moment, but then we would be swallowed up and I won’t let that happen. I’ve got a life to live and enjoy to the fullest. He’s calling from the balcony now, so I have to stop. Goodbye for now, dear diary, it’s so good to have you. I can think clearly on paper, which is such a relief. Nicolai’s life is in chaos, I can tell. He wouldn’t manage without me. I’m holding him up. He criticizes me for being happy, but he doesn’t understand that one of us has to carry the load. Of course I think a lot about Tommy, but not all the time. He’s out of my mind for long chunks, and then I feel peaceful and can see that life is worth living after all. Then I see Nicolai’s bitter face and the grief hits me again like a punch in the stomach. But I’m strong and I can keep things together, keep Nicolai together.
30
Twenty-fourth of September. Morning at Ågårds Plass.
“Yes,” Dr. Morris said, “that’s right. Carmen Cesilie Zita comes to me when she needs to. I’ve been her physician for more than four years now. Nicolai is also registered here, by the way, but he’s never really been in. He’s never ill. That’s to say, he’s thin and anemic, but there’s nothing wrong with him. He’s got a robust constitution. So yes, I know about Carmen’s epilepsy; that’s our main concern. It’s almost fully under control now, but she does still have seizures every now and then. There’s no denying it’s a problem, but not on a day-to-day basis. And yes, I heard about her little boy. What a tragedy. I comfort myself with the thought that they’re young and can start again, though I wouldn’t dream of saying that to Miss Zita. It’s a cold comfort. Things are no less painful when you’re young. The opposite perhaps. But they can have more children, and I believe they will, given time, once they have mourned enough. I would give them a couple of years. In my experience, that’s how long it takes.”