Deep Sea (19 page)

Kurre and Olle are out on the lawn kicking a soccer ball. Their loud shouts can be heard through the open window. Erik is running up and down the stairs between the hall and the bedrooms. He’s never been in a home that has a staircase inside. Ninni is playing with Stephie’s old teddy bear, talking to herself as she puts it to bed in a sugar crate under a piece of cloth. Britten turns the knobs on the radio, until May scolds her.

“Leave that radio alone, Britten!” May tells her. “There’s enough noise in here already.”

May knows, of course, that the only thing Aunt Märta allows the radio to be used for is to listen to the news and religious music. Not to mention that it’s Sunday. Listening to secular music on a Sunday is even more sinful in Aunt Märta’s eyes.

While they’re having their coffee, Uncle Evert appears in his Sunday suit and a tie. He went to church with Aunt Märta this morning, and then stopped by the harbor to hear if there was any news.

“They’ve raised up the
Wolf
,” he tells them. “Apparently, they’re taking her right to Göteborg. I guess they’ll pass this way this afternoon.”

The efforts to tow the
Wolf
have been ongoing all summer. Although divers have been down to look, no one yet knows what caused the accident.

May’s mother has brought a picnic, sandwiches, and cold fried eggs for herself and the children. Aunt Märta wants to treat them to a meal, but May’s mother says it’s out of the question.

“There are far too many of us, Mrs. Jansson. We’d eat you out of house and home! If a woman has seven children, she has to take responsibility for them herself.”

After they’ve been for a swim and eaten, the group makes its way in procession to the harbor. Uncle Evert heads it up, with Kurre and Olle marching proudly, one on each side of him. Uncle Evert has promised to show them around the
Diana
. They’ll get to go on board and look at all the fishing equipment and the instruments used to guide the boat. Erik runs eagerly on their heels. Next come May and Stephie, arm in arm, each holding the hand of one of the younger girls. Britten follows them closely, trying to get in on their conversation.

Last are Aunt Märta and Mrs. Karlsson. One tall, slim woman with a tight bun at the nape of her neck, one short and stout in a flowered summer dress with
perspiration stains at the underarms. In spite of looking so different, they seem to be getting along well.

All over the island, flags fly at half-mast. Before they left home, Uncle Evert pulled their own flag halfway down. They are showing their respect for the crew of the
Wolf
. Sundays are always solemn days on the island, but today, people’s faces are even graver than usual, and lots of people have kept their Sunday clothes on after having been at one of the three churches on the island.

A crowd has gathered on a little point not far from the harbor. They’re waiting to see the
Wolf
as she is towed past. Uncle Evert’s group stops here, in spite of Kurre and Olle’s eagerness to go aboard the
Diana
.

“Take it easy,” says Uncle Evert. “There’s plenty of time. The boat back to town isn’t until six.”

Aunt Märta and May’s mother sit down on the rocks. May sits down, too, with Ninni on her lap and Stephie close by. Erik and Gunnel run around. Uncle Evert recites the names of the nearby islands to Kurre and Olle.

It doesn’t take long for the little convoy to appear to the northwest. There’s the ship towing the
Wolf
, along with various other ships. They move in a silent formation, proceeding slowly on the way to the mouth of the harbor in Göteborg.

“They’re taking her to the Eriksberg shipyard,” says Kurre. “Papa says they’ve been preparing the big dry dock for her all week.”

The people on the shore are silent as the naval ships
pass close enough that they can see the contours of the submarine clearly at the waterline.

Inside, thirty-three crewmen lie dead, many of them not much older than Stephie and May, in a coffin of steel.

Everyone stays until the convoy is out of sight behind the next island. Slowly, the solemn gathering disperses. But Stephie feels pensive.

She feels as if a gust of icy cold wind has blown through the hot summer day.

“
A
unt Märta?”

“Yes?”

Aunt Märta looks up from the fisherman’s overalls she is mending.

“I …,” Stephie begins. “There’s something I’d like to talk to you about, Aunt Märta.”

She has been putting this conversation off for days now. In spite of having made up her mind and being sure she’s doing the right thing, it’s still difficult to tell Aunt Märta.

“What is it?”

Aunt Märta snaps off a thread with a decisive pull.

She has to say it now.
Once you’ve started something, you’ve got to go through with it
, as Aunt Märta often says.

“Well … I …”

“My dear girl, what on earth is the matter? Has the cat got your tongue?”

Now. She’s got to say it now.

“I’m going to resign from the Pentecostal congregation.”

Stephie’s words immediately erect a mountain between them. How can eight words take up so much space? They fill the entire room with a rumbling silence.

Aunt Märta sits perfectly still. She stares at her right hand, the one holding the needle with the dangling thread, as if she isn’t sure what she had been planning to do with it.

“I’m sorry,” says Stephie. “I’m terribly sorry, Aunt Märta, but I have to do it.”

“Are you certain?” Aunt Märta asks, her voice dull and distant.

“Yes.”

“Is it because of the fuss about the collection?”

“That’s not the only reason.”

“Have you lost your faith?”

I never had any to begin with
, Stephie thinks but is unable to say. Her years of false Christianity cling to her stickily. She has been pretending for too long to be able to tell Aunt Märta the whole truth now.

“Yes.”

“Will you pray with me for its return?”

Aunt Märta rises from her chair. The overalls slip to
the floor. She falls to her knees on the hard kitchen floor and clasps her hands.

“Dear Jesus,” she prays. “See to our sister who wanders in darkness. Show her Your light …”

Aunt Märta’s scraggy hand reaches out for Stephie’s. She pulls it, not hard but in a grip that is impossible to resist. Stephie falls to her knees beside her.

“… and open her heart to Your love …”

She doesn’t want Jesus’ love. But does that mean she will have to lose Aunt Märta’s?

Aunt Märta’s love. She has never thought in those terms before. That Aunt Märta loves her.

She remembers the first time she saw Aunt Märta. It was at Auntie Alma’s. She seemed so cold, Stephie thought she must have a film of ice around her. She remembers the time Aunt Märta slapped her face on the stairs, and the time she punished her for having taken Auntie Alma’s china dog. She also recalls the joy she felt the time Aunt Märta defended her and called her “my girl.”

Mamma and Papa are so far away. Aunt Märta and Uncle Evert are all she has. Isn’t it worth accepting Jesus, too, in the bargain?

“… still her uneasy heart,” Aunt Märta prays.

Still her uneasy heart
. Summer vacation will be over soon, and Stephie hasn’t heard from Mamma and Papa once. Where are they? Are they still in Theresienstadt? Or are they
abgereist
, departed, that blurry word Judith used but refused to explain?

You have betrayed your own people
, Judith had said. In that case, she has also betrayed Mamma and Papa.

She ought to have done more. She ought not to have given up without getting them permits to come to Sweden. If only she hadn’t been so young when she’d gotten here! Now that she’s nearly grown up, it’s too late. Mamma and Papa wouldn’t be released from the camp even if Sweden agreed to have them.

“Can’t you pray?” Aunt Märta asks, her hand grazing Stephie’s shoulder. “Try!”

“God,” says Stephie, “if you exist, God, give me my mamma and papa back!” Tears run down her cheeks. “Mamma!” she cries. “I want my mamma here.”

Later, when Aunt Märta has wrapped Stephie in a blanket, led her to the kitchen settle, and given her a cup of hot honey water to drink, they sit silently as the August evening turns to night.

Aunt Märta stirs her coffee.

“I know,” she says, “that I cannot replace your mother. But I also want you to know that whatever happens, you will always have a home here, with me and Evert.”

“I’m sorry,” says Stephie. “I’m sorry to be ungrateful. But I cannot change my mind.”

“There’s no need to apologize.”

Aunt Märta takes a swallow from her cup.

“I don’t want you to imagine,” she says slowly, “that
I haven’t wondered whether we did the right thing, Alma and I. Wondered if it was wrong to have you and Nellie baptized and taken up as members of the congregation. Perhaps we should have waited. But I thought Jesus would be a comfort to you, as he was to me in my hour of greatest need.”

She sits silently again.

“When Anna-Lisa died?” Stephie asks in a whisper.

This is the first time she has ever said Anna-Lisa’s name in Aunt Märta’s presence. She has only talked to Auntie Alma about Aunt Märta and Uncle Evert’s daughter, who died of tuberculosis at the age of twelve. And Uncle Evert knows that Stephie knows that the red sled they gave her the first winter on the island had belonged to Anna-Lisa. But in all these years, Aunt Märta has never said a word about her child who died, and Stephie has yielded to her silence.

“That’s right,” says Aunt Märta. “When Anna-Lisa died, I don’t think I could have gone on living if I hadn’t had my faith. And then later, you came along.”

That night, Stephie dreams about Mamma. She’s in her Queen of the Night costume, a shiny black velvet dress, and her face is as pale as the moon. Stephie can see that she’s singing, but she cannot hear a word.

“
N
o, nothing today, either.”

Miss Holm looks regretfully at Stephie over the rims of her gold-framed glasses.

“But I’m sure you’ll hear tomorrow,” the postmistress continues quickly.

Stephie nods in agreement. Miss Holm means well. Still, her attempts at encouragement are nothing but empty phrases. She knows no more than Stephie about why the cards from Mamma and Papa have stopped arriving.

Stephie puts her letter on the counter. Miss Holm stamps it, postmarks it, and accepts Stephie’s two tenöre coins.

“Stop by again tomorrow. I’m sure there will be something for you.”

Nellie and her summer friend, Maud, are sitting on the stone wall outside the shop by the post office, eating caramels from a big bag.

“Want one?” Maud asks, holding out the bag to Stephie.

Stephie puts a caramel in her mouth. It’s sticky and sweet.

“Have another,” Maud offers.

Stephie shakes her head.

“There wasn’t a card today, either,” she tells Nellie.

“All right, then.” Nellie’s tone is brusque.

“Are you almost like orphans?” Maud asks. “That’s what Nellie says.”