Love Begins in Winter (15 page)

When George approached the aviary, he noticed an empty stroller. A few yards away, a small woman was holding a girl up to the bars so she could see. George looked at his watch. He wasn't supposed to meet them for another hour. As he approached, the little girl turned around as if she sensed him.

George stood still.

He looked at the girl and she looked back at him. She was the first to smile. It was the face from the photograph.

Then her mother turned and looked at George. She slipped a handkerchief from her sleeve and wiped her eyes.

“Hello,” George said. But though his mouth moved, the word came out so quietly that only he heard it.

“Hello, George Frack,” Marie said.

She looked much older than George remembered. Her body sagged in the middle, and her hair was flat and thin. But her eyes were still beautiful.

“
Vem är han
?” Charlotte said to her mother.

“
Han är George
,” her mother said. “
Talar engelska, Lotta
.”

“Hello,” Charlotte said, turning to George. “My name is Lotta.”

“My name is George.”

“Would you like to come with us, George?” Lotta said.

George fought to control the trembling in his throat.

“I'd like that,” he said.

And so, as Marie watched from a little way off, Lotta took George's cold, shaky hand into her little hot hand and led him through the aviary.

“The houses here are from all over Sweden,” Lotta said. “There are many wild animals too and an owl—two owls.”

“Really,” George said.

“What's your favorite animal, Mr. George?”

“Cats.”

“Me also!” Lotta exclaimed.

Before they reached the owl enclosure, George felt dizzy. Then his legs crumpled beneath him, and he lay motionless in the mud looking up at clouds.

Lotta stood and watched, unsure of what to do. Marie rushed over. The sound of footsteps on wet earth, then George sobbing so loud that some of the animals turned to see from their cages.

After that, Lotta kept her distance from George, though every so often she would hand him a piece of candy covered in pocket-dust.

Later on, as a family of bored elk chewed straw, Lotta took George's hand again.

“Are you okay, Mr. George?” she said.

“No,” George said. “I'm actually pretty freaked out.”

Then Marie knelt down and held Lotta by her shoulders. The elk continued chewing behind them.

“
Lotta, George är dina pappa
.”

Lotta looked up at George.

Then her face broke apart.

“
George är dina pappa, Lotta
,” Marie shouted, shaking Lotta as if she were a lifeless doll.

George looked down at his fingers.

Lotta screamed and ran away.

Her mother shouted for her to come back.

Then George, without consciously deciding to, began to chase her. He could feel the mud splashing up his legs. He felt dizzy again, but his legs moved faster than he'd ever imagined. In the distance, a small figure rounded a corner. George followed it. He caught sight of her again, her brown hair tossed with each desperate stride. When he caught up to her, he reached out for her shoulders and they both fell into the snowy mud.

George grabbed her and held her close. He rocked her back and forth and their bodies dug a small space in the earth to cradle their weight.

An employee feeding the animals watched and then turned away with a sigh.

When Lotta reached her arms around George's neck, he could feel the heat of her mouth against his cheek. It was the weight of the entire world pressed against him in two small lips.

Even when Marie appeared, breathless—they wouldn't let go of one another.

Lotta's hair smelled like apples.

And her hands were so very small.

They left the park in darkness. The moon hung above the city like a bare knuckle. Water clapped against heavy boats and then, encircling Stockholm, re-created a city of no consequences.

Lotta was singing loudly in her stroller. She held the flag George had bought her at the museum shop. It had a cat on it.

Lotta kept turning to look at George; but her small face was hidden by shadows. George imagined her blinking eyes, her small hands under the blanket, hot breaths, the feeling of being pushed along the muddy path home.

A
FEW DAYS LATER, ICE-SKATING
at the Kungsträdgården. Lotta is doing pirouettes on the ice. It is late. They ate dinner at Max—Lotta's favorite hamburger restaurant. After eating a third of her burger, Lotta had a Blizzer. She said it was very sweet, and she made George try a few mouthfuls with a flimsy spoon. Marie's boyfriend, Philip, joined them when he finished work. He sells home appliances. Philip's wife left him in 1985 for another man with whom she now lives in Gothenburg. Philip's daughter is grown up and goes to university. Lotta likes to tease Philip by running away with his hat.

The man who served them at Max Hamburger was cross-eyed, so no one in the line knew whom he was talking to. Lotta thought this was funny, even when the man glared at her (if he was glaring at her). The restaurant had orange doors. Tired fathers drank coffee; shopping bags balanced on the end bars of strollers. On the wall were photographs charting the pictorial history of Max Hamburger.

The outdoor ice-skating rink was not far from the restaurant. Clouds rubbed faintly against an early evening sky. In the distance burned the bright neon letters of the Svenska Handelsbanken.

The streetlights were a cluster of white balls, with a single dome of light held aloft. Many of the buildings were painted yellow.

George had never ice-skated before. Lotta pulled him around the statue that stood in the middle of the small rink watching over everything but seeing nothing.

“We're on the top of the world,” Lotta shouted. “This is the North Pole!”

Marie and Philip watched from the side, their arms locked.

Then George broke away and began to skate clumsily but without falling over.

“Look at Pappa,” Lotta shouted. And George knew that he had to keep going, despite the feeling that at any moment he might slip or the ground under his feet might suddenly be taken away—he had to stay up, he had to keep moving, and in time he would learn how to do it.

W
HEN THE COLD AT
the ice rink became too much, George and Lotta changed back into their shoes, and they all found a café in which to warm up.

The city was cold and quiet but with lights everywhere.

There will be many things to sort out. George, Philip, and Marie will spend many nights drinking schnapps talking about arrangements. The four of them are convinced things can work out.

Lotta has stopped wetting her bed. She wonders what New York looks like. She wonders if she will ever look down from a skyscraper at all the people. She has put a photo of Goddard next to her bedside lamp. Her favorite David Bowie song is “Life on Mars?”

On the subway back to Lotta's house in Södermalm, Lotta tells George about the old boat that was found in Stockholm harbor.

She tells him how in 1628, the most beautiful ship ever made sank before it could get out to sea. And then over three hundred years later, somebody decided to find it and bring it back to life.

Lotta wants to know if they have museums in New York. George tells her there are many. She asks if there is a cat museum. George tells her that he wishes there were one.

Then he thinks about the idea of a museum: the physical record of things; the history of miracles; the miracle of nature and the miracle of hope and perseverance, arranged in such a way as to never be forgotten, or lost, or simply mistaken for everyday things with no particular significance.