The Lily Pond (11 page)

“Sure,” Stephie says. “It’ll be fun to see where you live.”

After school they take the green tram. It rattles slowly along, crossing the whole city center and then running beside a tree-lined canal. Stephie has never been in this part of town.

“There’s the fish market,” May says, pointing it out. “And the square with the workers’ community center. See
those buildings up on the hillside? That’s Masthugget. We’re getting close now.”

The tram makes its way heavily up a long, steep hill, then down a gentler slope. May pulls the cord, and the tram comes to a stop.

Stephie looks around. There are no tall stone apartment buildings here, like in the neighborhood where she lives. All the buildings are three stories—the bottom one of stone, the next two of wood. The paint is flaking on the facades. The entryways open onto courtyards paved with cobblestones.

They turn into a cross street. The sign says
CAPTAINS’ ROAD, KAPTENSGATAN
. After half a block, May turns in at an entryway, crossing the courtyard, where at least thirty children of different ages are playing. May points out her younger brothers and sisters.

“There’s Britten. She’s closest to me in age,” she tells Stephie. “Kurre and Olle, the twins.”

Kurre and Olle are two runny-nosed kids of about nine, as alike as two peas in a pod.

May lifts a chubby toddler and gives her a hug. “This is Ninni, our youngest. Got a kiss for May? Mmmm, what a nice kiss!”

May holds her little sister up proudly for Stephie to inspect. Stephie isn’t eager to kiss Ninni. She’s cute, but she also has a runny nose, and her face is dirty. Luckily Ninni decides to be shy, turning her head away.

“Britten,” May calls. “She’s soaked through! Aren’t you supposed to be looking after her? And where are the others?”

Britten, a long-legged eleven-year-old in an outgrown dress, comes up to them.

“Gosh,” she says. “I hadn’t noticed. Can’t you deal with her, since you’re going upstairs anyway? It’s almost my turn.” She points to a group of girls jumping rope. “Erik and Gunnel went along with Mamma to work. Ninni’s the only one at home. Please, can’t you take her up with you?”

“I’ll change her,” May says. “But when that’s done, I’ll call you to come up and get her. Stephanie and I are going to do our math homework.”

Britten looks at Stephie in admiration.

“Do you go to grammar school, too?”

“Yes.”

“I hope I can go,” Britten tells her.

“Britten,” the girls with the jump rope shout. “Your turn!”

“She’ll never get into grammar school,” May tells Stephie once Britten is out of earshot. “She doesn’t have good enough grades. She won’t get a scholarship.”

May carts Ninni up the stairs to the top floor. The door isn’t locked, and it opens right into the kitchen, where there are a large table, four rib-backed chairs, a kitchen settle, a sink, and a shiny gas stove.

“Nice, isn’t it?” May asks, striking the pale yellow enamel. “It’s brand new. Until recently, all we had was a wood-burning stove.”

With a deft movement she lays Ninni on the kitchen table. Holding her kicking little sister with one hand,
she dampens a rag with the other. When she pulls Ninni’s underpants down, the strong odor of urine fills the kitchen, and Stephie scrunches her nose.

“Why don’t you go into the other room till I’m done?” May tells her.

Stephie goes into the only other room there is. It contains a sofa bed and two trundle beds, a little table, and a couple of chairs. She wonders how there is room for all of them to sleep there.

“Britten,” May shouts through the open window. “Come and get her!”

Britten’s rapid footsteps clatter on the stairs. When she has taken Ninni back outside, May comes into the other room, where Stephie’s waiting.

“Which bed is yours?” Stephie asks.

“That one,” May says, pointing to one of the trundle beds. “I share with Gunnel. Britten shares with Erik. Kurre and Olle sleep in the kitchen, and Ninni sleeps with Mamma and Papa on the sofa bed.”

They sit down at the table and get out their math books and workbooks. In the beginning Stephie finds all the noise a distraction: loud voices from the courtyard, people running up and down the stairs, a radio blaring from somewhere, and a muffled ringing May says is noise from the workshop in the next yard. Soon, though, she’s so absorbed by the algebra problems she doesn’t hear a thing.

They have been at it for a couple of hours when the kitchen door opens. First two little kids rush in; then comes
a heavyset woman wearing an overcoat with a housedress under it.

“This is Stephanie,” May says.

“Tyra Karlsson.” May’s mother introduces herself as she extends a hand. “May has told us so much about you. It’s a terrible thing to separate children from their parents. I wish I could flatten that Hitler between the rollers of the big mangle. We’d see how much harm he could do after a mangling!”

Stephie can’t help laughing at the thought of Hitler rolled out as flat as a paper doll.

“And it’s shameful how the government refuses to take in adult refugees,” May’s mother goes on. “As if there weren’t room for a few more people in Sweden. If nine people can live in this apartment, I imagine there are others who could shove over.”

May’s mother asks whether Stephie will be staying for dinner, but Stephie has promised Elna she will let her know in advance if she won’t be home to eat.

“Well, you’ll stay next time, then,” May’s mother concludes. “I want you to know you’ll always be welcome here.”

May walks her to the tram stop. Walking down Kaptensgatan, Stephie notices a young man coming out of a tavern. He looks like … Oh, it really is Sven! He’s walking rapidly
toward the tram stop, about twenty yards ahead of her and May. What is he doing here?

As they pass the tavern, Stephie peers in through the window. It’s an old-fashioned workingmen’s tavern, dimly lit, with scruffy brown furniture and beer glasses on the tables. A few of the tables are occupied by men, all sitting alone and dressed in worn-looking clothes. A young girl is wiping one of the messy tables with a dishcloth. She’s bent forward over the table, her hair falling in front of her face, but just as Stephie passes, she looks up to answer a question from one of the men.

Stephie sees Sven at the stop from a distance. Before Stephie and May can get there, a tram pulls up. Sven gets into the front car.

“Run. You can make it,” May says.

Stephie picks up speed and manages to get through the back doors of the car just as they’re shutting. She pays the conductor for her ticket.

At Valand, the stop closest to the Söderbergs’ apartment, she sees Sven get off. He turns onto the street that leads home. She continues to another stop and walks from there, not wanting Sven to know she saw him.

Not until she has figured out what he was doing at a tavern in Mayhill.

second time Stephie goes home to the island for the weekend, the autumn storms have started. The evening before she leaves, the wind howls outside her window and the rain hammers against the glass. In the morning she can see that huge branches have blown off the trees in the park. The almost leafless treetops along the street are flapping, and the clouds are racing across the sky. The sidewalk is slippery with wet leaves.

Stephie has a book to read, and as long as the boat is on the river, she sits in the passenger area, engrossed. That changes the instant the boat hits the open sea, and the waves bang wildly at the sides of the boat. Stephie drops her book. Nothing seems to be staying in place; everything is rocking and reeling. Suitcases and baskets slide along the
floor, from one side to the other, and back again. A baby begins to wail.

The stagnant air is overpowering. The scents of coal smoke, damp woolen garments, and perspiration make Stephie nauseous.

The little baby throws up in its mother’s lap. For Stephie that smell is the last straw. Dizzy and sick to her stomach, she rushes out on deck.

Over a year ago, when Stephie first went to the island on the boat, she was seasick, even though the wind wasn’t blowing nearly as hard then as it is today. She’s never dared to tell anyone, but last summer when Uncle Evert wanted to take her along on a fishing expedition on the
Diana
, she said no.

The boat trip out to the island takes only a couple of hours.
We’re almost there
, she tells herself, but soon she has to lean over the rail and vomit. When her stomach is empty, she leans her head back, letting the rain rinse the cold sweat from her brow.

When the boat finally pulls up along the pier on the island, Stephie is exhausted and soaked through. Her knees feel like jelly and her head is spinning. She has to hold tight to the railing as she walks down the gangway.

“Stephie?”

It’s Uncle Evert’s voice. Looking around the pier and boathouses, Stephie doesn’t see him.

“Stephie, over here!”

His voice is coming from one of the little jetties. Uncle
Evert is standing by the dinghy. Weak-legged, she makes her way over to him.

“I came by boat,” he says. “It’s such terrible weather for you and Märta to have to bike in.”

Stephie’s forgotten the rain that was whipping at her face. All she knows is that she’s still feeling seasick. The very thought of getting into another boat, even to travel the short way around to the other side of the island, makes her feel ready to throw up again.

“Goodness, you look terrible,” Uncle Evert goes on. “Like a drowned cat. Did you spend the whole trip on deck?”

Stephie nods faintly. “I was seasick,” she whispers.

“Good gracious!” Uncle Evert replies. “How shall we get you home? Can you manage a second boat ride?”

“I’m not sure.”

“We’ll give it a try. You need to get indoors and change to dry clothes if you don’t want to end up in bed with pneumonia.”

Uncle Evert takes her hand, supporting her as she gets into the boat. He helps her off with her wet coat and pulls a big woolen sweater over her head. It’s an extra he had stowed away under the front bench. Then he helps her into a slicker that hangs way below her knees. After that, Uncle Evert spreads another slicker along the wooden plank bottom and rolls a scarf up for a pillow.

“You lie there,” he says. “And focus on the horizon the whole time. That helps.”

He starts the motor and pulls out from the jetty.

The rain rinses her face again. Even though the little rowboat rides the waves heavily, her seasickness does not get worse. She’s not even cold. Instead, she feels as if her body is going numb. Fatigue engulfs her. She closes her eyes.

When she wakes up, she’s in her bed in the little room under the eaves. Someone has removed her shoes and the slicker, but she’s still wearing the heavy sweater. It smells of fish, oil, and Uncle Evert. It’s nearly dark outside. She must have been asleep for some time.

Cautiously, she tries to sit up. She’s no longer dizzy. Actually, she’s ravenous.

In the kitchen, Aunt Märta is preparing dinner.

“I surely didn’t expect you to come home like that!” Aunt Märta says by way of a greeting. “When Evert came in with you in his arms, I was sure there had been an accident. You’d better change your clothes now. I imagine you’re damp through and through.”