I take a step back as something dark whistles through the air. It strikes my shoulder and the side of my head. I fall against the wall and throw out my hand, but in vain. I feel my body tumble to the floor. Then everything goes black.
35
It begins and ends with Mother. To understand me and my story, you first have to understand that. In the beginning, Mother was my everything, and I was hers. I was the light of her life, that’s what she always said. Her voice was as soft as a caress on my face. She used to hold me in her arms, pressing me close to her warm flesh, making me understand that with her I would always be safe. A faint lavender scent rose from her skin when she stroked my hair. She got up with me in the morning and made breakfast, she was there when I came home from school, she tucked me in at night. Every day, every night. She never let work, or her women friends, or any other distractions take her away from my side. I can’t remember a single instance when she wasn’t there when I needed her. Everything she did was for me. Never in my life has anyone loved me like she did.
When the hospital called to say she’d been in a car accident, I was home alone with Smilla. Alex had gone to Marhem on his own to finish a big project. At least, that’s what he told me.
“It’s serious,” said the nurse who called.
At that moment, a chasm opened up under my feet, another inside my chest. Those first years after I’d moved away from home and left Mother’s safe nest, I was a lost wanderer. I discovered that the world was an unpleasant and frightening place. I trained to be a psychologist, thinking that would help me to figure out why I felt like a cat adored in the summertime and then abandoned in the fall. But it was only after Smilla was born that the pieces fell back into place. I had a mission. Motherhood became my calling. And Mother became more than my safe haven. She became my role model, my guiding light.
I gripped the phone, afraid to ask.
“How serious?”
“Come as soon as you can.”
Smilla didn’t want to go anywhere without Tirith and her toys, so I got out the cat carrier and our biggest suitcase and let her pack whatever she liked. The August evening slipped into night, closing its darkening walls around us as we headed for Marhem. I drove much too fast the whole way. I could hardly see because of the tears streaming down my face. Mother’s footprints were about to be washed from the surface of the earth. Her example, which I had unsuccessfully tried to emulate, was about to fade. Who would I be without her? How would I be able to go on or bear what had become of my life?
The car parked in front of the cabin belonged to another woman. I realized that at once. Though I’d previously looked the other way, I couldn’t do it anymore. I hadn’t warned Alex of our arrival. I didn’t call his cell phone until we were already standing in the road outside. Maybe I subconsciously wanted to take him by surprise. When he came out, I screamed at the top of my lungs. Screamed as if I was on the verge of losing my mind. Or as if that had already happened. That’s what Alex would say, of course. It wasn’t like me to behave that way. Not at all like the wife he had molded. The one who knows to yield, accept, look the other way. I don’t remember what I screamed; maybe there were no real words or phrases. Maybe it was just one long primal scream, emanating from my fear that Mother was about to be taken from me. The other woman—you? You really weren’t important. Not then.
The hatred crept in later, at the hospital. For two days and two nights, I kept watch at Mother’s bedside, holding her hand, bargaining with the higher powers. If only she was allowed to live, I would… what? I had nothing to offer in return. I wondered what Mother would want me to do, what sacrifice she would have found appropriate. But the only thing I could think of was Smilla. The only thing that meant anything, that Mother would have considered meaningful, was that I look after my daughter. It was for Smilla’s sake that I had to be willing to sacrifice everything. I thought back to that moment when we arrived in Marhem, when Smilla dashed out of the car and threw herself into Alex’s arms. How she buried her face in his chest as he lifted her up. As if she was seeking shelter, as if he was the one who could offer her that. Alex and the woman waiting inside the cabin. Our cabin.
Hatred took over my body, filling me completely, seething and surging under my skin. I didn’t know what to do with all the darkness and violence, didn’t know where or toward whom to direct all those feelings. Then Mother died. There are moments—moments of terrible torment—when I think it wasn’t from her injuries. It was the hatred that killed her. The hatred spreading through my body like a poison. It must have radiated out of me, must have seeped out of my skin as I held her hand in mine.
When I got home from the hospital, Smilla and Alex were there. We spoke very little to each other. I have no real memory of anything we said. Everything was blurry and clamorous, both inside me and all around, as if all boundaries were about to dissolve. I stayed in the bedroom, with the blinds down. Mother had left me. She had never taught me how to cope with a life where she no longer existed. Day and night, light and darkness, everything flowed together. I simply lay there, as if anesthetized.
Alex left me alone. At some point, I dozed off and dreamed that he came in, bringing me a tray of sandwiches and tea, that he sat down on the edge of the bed and put his arms around me. Consoling me. But when I woke up, the room was empty.
When my vision cleared, I noticed an object on Alex’s nightstand. His cell phone. For a long time, I lay there, motionless, staring at it. Then I sat up and reached out my hand. I searched through the list of recent calls, found what I assumed had to be your name and number. And I called you. When you picked up, I ended the call. I did that several times. Secretly, whenever Alex wouldn’t notice, I called. I didn’t say a word, just listened to your voice on the other end. I closed my eyes and pictured you in my mind, tried to figure out who you could be and what your intentions were. But then something unexpected happened. You started screaming, swearing at me. I put the phone back and fell asleep. When I woke up, I was alone in the bedroom, and Alex’s phone was gone. That’s when I decided I’d had enough. I got up, took off my bathrobe, and put on my clothes. Then I went into my daughter’s room.
We were sitting on the floor of her bedroom when I felt his eyes on my back. My hand tensed slightly, but I kept stroking Smilla’s hair. I didn’t have to turn around to know he was there or what his expression would be.
He was leaning against the doorjamb with his arms crossed.
“So, have you pulled yourself together?” he said. “Can we go on now?”
I knew he wasn’t talking about Mother. He’d never been particularly fond of her. So I slowly nodded.
“I’ve been through this before,” I told him.
Because I had. I spoke quietly, compliantly. The way he wanted me to. But I didn’t look him in the eye, and I kept my back turned. It might have seemed like a silent protest—if I’d been that kind of woman. I clenched my jaw. He came back. That’s what I tried to tell myself. This time too. He left Marhem, and here he is. That must mean something. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was about to come undone, fall apart.