After Karla had dozed off again, Anna tiptoed out of the room and left the door open. It was the first nightmare in quite a while, perhaps triggered by Karla’s experience in the city, when she thought she saw her mother.
Right after the accident, Karla had been plagued by nightmares almost every night. It was always the same. Screams followed by desperate crying. When Anna woke her up, Karla was distraught. She mentioned fire, flames, red paint, which Anna assumed was blood. In the morning, Karla couldn’t remember much of the dream. She didn’t remember the actual accident either.
Anna sat in the living room, gazing out the window. By then, the last tinges of color had been swallowed by the night. Tears gathered in her eyes. On days such as these, the pain of loss and the doubts flared up again. She would never forget that fateful day half a year before. She still heard the solemn voice of the police officer telling her that her mother and sister had been killed during a head-on collision with a drunk driver. They told her that a child had been in the backseat in her booster, that the little girl had a shock but was unhurt. They needed Anna to identify the two women. For days and nights afterward, Anna saw the mangled bodies lying on the gurneys and the pale face of her little niece, whose normally vivid large dark eyes now stared at her with an empty look.
From one day to the next, Anna, single and childless, had become the guardian of her niece. She was the only close relative who lived nearby. Laura, her younger sister, had been a single mother. Karla’s biological father lived in Peru. With the death of her mother and sister, Anna had lost the last members of her immediate family. Her father as well as her grandparents had passed away years before. There was an uncle, a kind man, who had offered to help Anna financially, should she need it.
It wasn’t the money, though, that worried Anna. She was the head of the library in her hometown and owner of the only independent bookstore. The bookstore wasn’t a big moneymaking enterprise, but together with her salary and her freelance writing, she would be able to support herself and Karla. Fortunately, the home she had inherited from her mother was paid off.
No, it wasn’t the finances; it was the responsibility for her little niece that weighed heavily on her. How could she—a middle-aged woman with no experience of raising children—ever be a good enough guardian or mother for a troubled little girl? Her heart ached with the loss of her mother and sister.
“Why? Why did you leave me like this? Don’t you realize how much I still need you?” Anna whispered, tears streaming down her face.
Chapter 3
Jonas Bergman put the grocery bags on the floor of the old elevator, which slowly lumbered up to the top of the four-story building. The elevator cabin was open, walled in only by a crisscross of iron bars. He lived in one of the heavy medieval stone houses in the old part of Zurich, called the Niederdorf or Low Village, at the east side of the Limmat River.
Upstairs, the old elevator stopped with a rattling sound and Jonas stepped out.
One day, I’m going to be stuck in here,
he thought, giving the old but so far reliable cabin a suspicious glance. He only used the elevator when he had heavy things to carry. He reached into his pocket, searching for his keys. “Damn it,” he muttered as he dropped them. They made a metallic crunching sound on the hardwood floor.
“Let me help you, Mr. Bergman.”
Jonas turned around. A stout elderly lady with curly gray hair came out of the apartment next to his. She bent down and picked up the keys.
“Oh, Mrs. Schatz, don’t bother. Well, thanks anyway and excuse my language.” Jonas watched as the woman slid his apartment key into the keyhole.
“That’s okay, I’ve heard worse.” Mrs. Schatz chuckled.
She gave him a critical look, then pointed at the grocery bags. “Looks like you were at the market. Good. Seems like you’re eating properly again.”
“Yes, Mrs. Schatz, I took your advice to heart,” Jonas said. He held one of the bags and tried to pick up the second one. His neighbor grabbed the second bag and followed Jonas into the apartment.
“Thanks again,” Jonas said. “What would I do without you?” Jonas winked at her.
“Come on, Mr. Bergman. What you need is a woman of your own. I’ve told you many times.”
His neighbor had been trying to fix him up with someone for about a year without any success. Mrs. Schatz was married and believed that a single man, particularly a widower of Jonas’s age, was doomed.
After she put down the grocery bag on the kitchen counter, she turned to Jonas. “I’ll have a few friends over for tea tomorrow afternoon. Why don’t you come and join us?”
Jonas grinned. “These friends wouldn’t happen to be available women you’re trying to hook me up with?”
“What do you mean? I wouldn’t do such a thing,” the woman said in a huffed tone. “These are very respectable ladies. Many a man would be honored and pleased to be able to enjoy their company.”
“Of course, Mrs. Schatz, don’t misunderstand me.” Jonas tried to calm his neighbor. “I have only met charming women at your tea gatherings. And I’m very grateful for your concern. It’s not the women who are the problem. It’s me.” He gently tapped Mrs. Schatz’s arm. “You know, I’m just not ready yet. I know, it’s stupid, but I can’t help it.”
Mrs. Schatz seemed somewhat appeased. “Well, okay, I won’t push you. Just remember”—she shook a finger at him—“you’re not getting any younger either.” She looked him up and down and he instinctively pulled in his slight potbelly. “Well, I’ve got to go, have some baking to do.”
She shuffled across the hallway toward the door. Mentioning the baking was another attempt to lure Jonas. She was an excellent baker and well-known among her neighbors and friends for her cakes and pies. Her heavy hips and the bulges around her waist were a testimony to her love of sweets.
At the door to her apartment, she slightly raised her hand. “If you change your mind, you know where we are.”
“Thank you kindly, Mrs. Schatz,” Jonas said. “I have quite a lot of work to do, but perhaps next time.”
He closed the door and breathed a sigh of relief. In the kitchen, he unpacked the groceries. He put the lettuce, zucchini squash, tomatoes, basil, and a piece of mountain cheese into the refrigerator. Picking up a ripe apricot, he inhaled its sweet smell and bit into it, then went into the living room.
As usual, when he came back from an errand or a trip, he stood a while in front the photo of his wife, Eva. A beautiful face with wavy, shoulder-length blond hair, shiny blue eyes, and the touch of a cute snub-nose smiled at him. He smiled back and sighed. “Hi there,” he whispered.
His neighbor wasn’t the only person who tried to nudge him toward female companionship. His son in Denmark and his daughter, who spent a year in the United States, brought the topic up occasionally. “Dad, remember what Mom said before she died? You shouldn’t pine for her; you should live and have another woman in your life.”
He gently touched the frame of the photo.
There is no other woman. Only you.
At the bar, he poured himself a shot of whisky, went into the kitchen and dropped a few ice cubes from the freezer into the glass. He shook the glass and watched the golden liquid swoosh around. Coming back into the living room, he opened a couple of windows and the floor-length glass door, which led to a small patio on the rooftop.
Jonas’s penthouse apartment was light and airy and tastefully furnished. His Danish background was visible in the uncluttered elegance and the light colors of the sofa, drapes, and the simple wood furniture. A few of Jonas’s paintings were hanging on the wall.
To the south, he had a view of a small section of the river and part of the lake. Across the river stood the Fraumünster Cathedral with its five stained-glass windows designed by Marc Chagall. If the weather was good, Jonas could see the mountains in the distance.
It was still warm on this hot summer day. The sun was setting behind the buildings, surrounding them with halos of gold. The strip of the lake Jonas could see from his apartment sparkled in the last light of the evening. Jonas was thinking of the little girl and her aunt. He sighed, remembering the look on the child’s face when he lifted her up. How well he could relate to that feeling of sadness and despair.
Jonas loved children and now that his own kids were grown and his grandchildren lived in Denmark, he made do with the children he taught privately. He enjoyed teaching. It made him feel needed and the company of his students helped him push away the loneliness for a few hours.
The thought of working with Karla, however, filled him with excitement for another reason. In the two pictures he had seen of hers, he detected an unusual talent. Her drawings were still rough and unpolished, of course. But skill and craft could be taught. What was more important was the degree of passion and the level of personal expression, which was rare in a child so young.
What Karla needed now was the willingness to learn and to practice, which Jonas believed she had. He had seen it in her eyes when she asked him if he would teach her. How long her endurance would last, that was another question. Children changed as they grew up; they developed other interests, they got bored. He had seen it happen many times. He remembered his own children, the years of paying for piano and violin lessons and just when they were getting good at it, they became interested in video games and dating.
Jonas picked up his pipe, stuffed it with tobacco, and lit it. He closed his eyes, enjoying the earthy taste. He had stopped smoking cigarettes years before, but he treated himself to an occasional pipe. He stepped outside and stood on the rooftop patio, watching the last golden and orange hues of the setting sun fade into the approaching dark.
He smiled. “Well, Karla, what do you say? I think it’s worth a try.”
Chapter 4
It was past noon and the sun was high in the sky. Karla and Maja were sitting at the edge of a pond near their home underneath a weeping willow. Its hanging branches formed a bell shape and the leaves skimmed the surface of the pond. The pond was one of the children’s favorite hangouts. When they were quiet—which wasn’t often—they could hear the rustling of leaves in the summer breeze, the quacking of ducks, and an occasional splash from a leaping fish. It smelled earthy, of algae and clay.
Karla, with her elbows propped on her knees and her head cradled in her hands, was watching as a family of coots slowly emerged from behind a patch of reed. Mother, father, and a flock of chicks floated across the pond. As if on command, the adults dipped their heads into the water and the babies followed. They kept diving and coming up again until the two adult birds swam on and the little ones followed them single file.
Karla watched them disappear behind a bend in the bank where the pond veered off to the left. She felt the familiar sting of homesickness. “A family,” she murmured, “a real family.” She turned to Maja. “Last night, I dreamt about Mama again. She was standing by my bed. When I woke up, she had disappeared.”
Maja nodded and skimmed the water with her hand. “I know how we could see our mamas again,” she whispered.
“How?” Karla sat up straight and brushed her shoulder-length black hair out of her face. She starred at Maja with her large dark eyes.
Maja was seven, a year older than Karla. She was a thin girl with a skinny, boyish figure, short blond hair, and blue eyes. She scudded closer and gave Karla a conspiratorial smile. “Back home, my grandmother told me once that at night, when there’s a full moon and you’re on a mountain or high hill, a gate in the sky opens for a short time and you can see right into Heaven.” The girl nodded emphatically.
“Have you ever seen it?” Karla asked, wrinkling her forehead.
Maja shook her head. “No, but if you can see into Heaven, you can see the dead, the angels, can’t you?”
Karla nodded. “I guess you could,” she whispered.
“Perhaps we could see our mothers,” Maja said.
Karla was quiet, thinking things over. She wrapped her arms around her tanned legs and glanced at the water. Maja’s pale calves dangled in the water.
“I’ll have to ask Anna,” Karla said.
“No. We can’t tell the adults.”
“Why not?”
“Because Grandma said that adults can’t see into Heaven.”
“Why not?”
“Because their hearts aren’t pure enough. Only young children can see Heaven.”
“We can’t go alone in the middle of the night without telling the adults,” Karla said.
“Of course we can. We just get up after they’ve gone to bed and sneak out of the house.” Maja scratched at a scab on her leg.
“What if Anna or your aunt and uncle check on us?”
“Don’t be such a scaredy-cat. Don’t you want to see your mama again?”
“Sure, I want to, but . . .”
“Think how much fun that would be. If you are too chicken, I’ll go by myself.” Maja pulled a snit.
“Okay. I’ll come. Do you think they can see us in the dark?” Karla was getting excited as well.
“Of course, silly. And there will be light from the moon.” Maja picked up a small flat stone, and skipped it across the water. It bounced off the surface several times.
“We have to find out when the next full moon is,” Karla said.
“I have a calendar at home which shows the full and the new moons. I’ll bring it to school tomorrow.” Maja sat down again.
“But where shall we go? There aren’t any high mountains nearby.”
“We can climb up to the Egg. That’s a high hill. I bet we can see from there.” Maja pedaled her legs in the water and splashed a few drops on Karla.
Karla dunked her hand and sprayed Maja. The two girls giggled, then got up and raced each other across the meadow.
During recess at school the following day, Karla and Maja studied the colorful calendar Maja had brought.
“We’re lucky. There’s going to be a full moon next Monday.” Maja pointed at the round yellow dot next to the date. “That’s just when vacation starts. That means we can be out late at night and we don’t have to get up early to go to school the next day. The weather forecast is good, too. Clear sky. Great.” Maja playfully punched Karla’s arm.