The Drowned Boy (15 page)

“Well, take your grief with you, then,” Carmen said, exasperated, “if you need to have it close by at all times. I don’t understand you. Surely forgetting is a good thing.”

He didn’t answer. Yes, the grief would follow them. The loss of Tommy was like a constant scream in his befuddled brain. He tried to be kind and cooperative—arguing just made things worse—and there had been enough tears and suffering now, surely. They had to get on with their lives, despite all that had happened. He was painfully aware of this, but deep in his heart, he didn’t want to go on. Only when his grief was at its most intense was he close to Tommy; if he opened his life to joy again, his boy would slip from his arms and disappear. The thought of living the rest of his life without Tommy left him weak and breathless. He spent a lot of time in the cellar. He liked being down there in the semi-dark with the broken bicycles. It was cool and pleasant, and he didn’t like the heat. It only made him tired and listless. He never had enough energy, whereas it was so much easier for Carmen. Everything was easier for her. And that was exactly what he had fallen for once upon a time—that she was always upbeat and always found a solution. She could cry like a baby one minute, and then suddenly be happy and forget her woes the next. He had fallen for her ability to survive. He had seen it as a great strength, something that impressed him both in body and soul. Now it bothered him that she was taking Tommy’s death so lightly. That she wanted to move so quickly, that she wanted to forget: the crib in the cellar, the clothes out of the drawers into garbage bags and all the way to the thrift shop. Other unknown children would play in Tommy’s clothes, laugh and cry in his onesies, sleep on his pillow, under his comforter. He couldn’t bear the thought of it. One day he noticed to his horror that the beautiful photograph of their boy had been taken down from its place above the sofa. He stopped in his tracks and put his face in his hands. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing; he was dismayed.

“There’s no need to get so wound up,” Carmen said. “I’ve just moved it. It’s hanging in the bedroom now, above our bed. Isn’t that better? Now we can look up at his smiling face before we go to sleep. Get over it; I meant well.”

He tried to calm himself down. But his pulse was racing and his cheeks were flushed. He wanted so badly to be patient. He really wanted them to agree, but she was too fast. She thought and acted on impulse, while he sat and wallowed and watched her actions with alarm. She managed to hurt him all the time. She raised her voice and called him a whiner, and he couldn’t stand it. When she said that, he felt desperate and lost any hope. It was so mean, so heartless. No, he couldn’t take it anymore. He didn’t often cry, but sometimes when they argued, he made straight for the cellar to stand over an old bicycle and weep.

“Well, if you don’t want to go, I’ll go on my own,” Carmen said firmly. “And then while you sit down by the pond wallowing, I’ll be lying on the beach. What should I say to Pappa Zita? Any suggestions?”

“No,” he said hesitantly, taking his time. “It would be betraying Tommy somehow. Long days in the warm sun, when he’s lying there alone in the graveyard.”

“Mom will look after his grave,” she said. “Every day. And by the way, I forgot to tell you that she’s planted some ivy.”

TWENTY-FIRST OF SEPTEMBER
. Morning at Oslo Airport.

“So,” Nicolai said as he picked at a slice of pizza, “I called the airport to ask what kind of plane we were flying on. Because it’s interesting to know. There’s a big difference between the different types of airplanes. And we’re going to be on a huge Airbus.”

“What are you worrying about now?” Carmen sighed. “You’re not scared of flying, are you?”

“No, but I’ve been looking on the Internet. You want to know what I’ve found?”

“Not really,” she said with a smile. “Ignorance is bliss; that’s what Dad always says.”

“The plane weighs forty-eight tons,” Nicolai told her. “And it flies at a speed of five hundred and twenty-eight miles an hour. And when we get up to forty thousand feet, the temperature outside is minus sixty, and there are twenty-five tons of fuel in the tank. And if a flock of geese flies into the turbines, we’re doomed. There have been eighteen major accidents involving this type of plane in which seven hundred and ninety people have died.”

He looked at her and rolled his eyes, mostly to be funny. I’m glad he can still joke, Carmen thought, and laughed.

“Did you hear what I said? Seven hundred and ninety poor people. Imagine,” he said with a smile. “We might not survive. All that will be left of me is the filling in my bottom left jaw and a twisted skeleton. That’s how they identify people. I mean, when there’s nothing left apart from burned remains.”

Carmen let out a peal of laughter, the one he had always loved and made him happy. She liked Nicolai’s sense of humor and wanted to encourage him. “Jesus, Nicolai, you’re not for real!”

They were sitting at a pizza bar waiting for their flight. Nicolai had not touched his food. A thought had just struck him and a deep, worried furrow appeared on his brow.

“I’m going to ask you something,” he said earnestly. “And I want you to tell me the truth. Be absolutely honest, because I need to know for sure.”

She looked at him and pouted, as she did when she was exasperated and impatient. “But I always give you an honest answer whenever you ask me anything,” she said, slightly offended. She wiped her mouth with a napkin and looked at him askance.

“If they had done a test before”—he said in a very serious tone—“and told you that Tommy had Down syndrome, what would you have done? Would you have had an abortion?”

Carmen pushed the food away and thought for a few seconds. He didn’t see any doubt and her voice was firm when she finally replied.

“Yes,” she said, looking at him without shame. “Yes, I would have had an abortion. Which isn’t that surprising. I’m more surprised that you asked. It’s obvious, isn’t it? No parent wants a child like that.”

Nicolai crushed the napkin in his sweaty hand. “Yes, Carmen, they do,” he said quietly. “I wanted Tommy. Just as he was.”

“Yes, but Nicolai, now you have to be honest!” she persisted. “Would you really have wanted me to have him if we knew? With all the work and worry. For the rest of your life. A child that would never grow up. To have a young child in the house every day for the rest of your life? Would you really have wanted me to go through with it? I know they said at the hospital that people with Down syndrome had taken exams and passed their driving tests. But that’s only a few. They’re slow, Nicolai; they don’t understand much at all!”

He balled his hands under the table, feeling his nails digging into his skin. More than anything he wanted to lash out. And he realized that if this conversation had taken place in the house at Granfoss, he would actually have hit her. He would have let rip because there was no one watching there. A desperate punch to the face, no going back. But the crowds of people drifting past the pizza bar made him stop. No, he thought the next second. I’m not someone who does that. I wouldn’t sink that far; I have to get my act together.

“Now it’s your turn to be honest,” Carmen said sharply. “If we knew the truth before, should we have had Tommy?”

“Yes,” Nicolai said. His voice was equally firm and without doubt. “We couldn’t choose not to have a child just because he’s not perfect. We’re smarter than that, both of us. I mean, you’re intelligent and so am I. And he must have inherited something from us. I mean, it’s in the genes, even if he did have Down syndrome. Tommy would have managed, I’m positive. He would have passed his exams, and he would have gotten his driver’s license. Because I would have made sure that he did all that. If only he’d lived. Do you hear what I’m saying?”

“But we’ll never know,” she said in a subdued voice and then stood up. She put her handbag over her shoulder and made to leave.

“Come on, let’s go to the gate, and don’t forget the whiskey and perfume. Boarding starts in five minutes. And please stop talking like that; it’s too late anyway. We don’t have the choice anymore.”

“CONGRATULATIONS,” CARMEN QUIPPED
happily.

Nicolai put the suitcase down on the floor.

“For what?”

“We’re here,” Carmen said, “and you survived. All the bones in your body are intact; all your teeth are still there. It’s great. Your heart is beating at the normal rate, and we’re standing here and we’re alive. Do you think we’ll get back in one piece as well?”

He didn’t answer. He wasn’t scared of flying, despite his parents’ fatal accident. He was just realistic—at least, that’s how he saw it. Hotel San Rafael was an apartment hotel that was only about seven hundred feet from the long white beaches in Alcúdia. They had checked in and each been given a key card, and then taken the elevator up to the third floor. Carmen went in first and was over the moon about everything, especially the balcony that overlooked the Mediterranean and the big bedroom. And another room with a living area and a kitchen. There was a welcome basket on the counter with biscuits, grapes and wine, chocolate and nuts. Everything was clean and tidy, and the temperature was pleasant and cool. The air conditioning hummed faintly in the background. They went out onto the balcony. The Mediterranean glittered blue, and they could see a few boats far out on the horizon, some of them with full white sails.

“Nice,” Nicolai said quietly. He leaned against the railing and looked down at the hotel garden. Carmen nodded happily. She slipped her arm around his waist and gave him an affectionate hug, wanting to be good and kind and patient for the whole week.

“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.”

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.