The Lily Pond (2 page)

The boat docks at the pier, which is very long, wide near the shore and narrower farther out in the river. Men in blue overalls are loading barrels and boxes from nearby trucks. Stephie feels a bit dizzy; she hasn’t seen so many people in one place for a very long time. Cautiously, suitcase in hand, she makes her way down the gangplank. She and Aunt Märta press through the crowd toward land. Stephie sees a steady stream of traffic; the cars smell nasty to her unaccustomed nose. She takes a big stride from the pier to the cobblestones. It has been a whole year since she set foot on a city street.

reach the center of town, Aunt Märta leads Stephie to what she refers to as the white tram. Stephie thinks it looks blue like all the noisy trams making their way down the main road. But she says nothing, just contents herself with gazing out the window at the tall stone-and-brick buildings, the shop windows, and the shiny cars rolling past.

City memories flood through her. She knows the feeling of running down cobbled streets wet with rain, rushing so as not to be late for school, doing her best not to knock into any of the other people, also in an early-morning hurry. She knows how it feels to stroll lazily along a shopping street, studying the elegant dresses on display. When they were younger, Stephie and her best friend, Evi, would stand in
front of the shops, making up endless stories about the beautiful mannequins in the windows.

Göteborg doesn’t resemble Vienna, but it’s still a city, with all its sounds and rhythms. The sadness and uncertainty Stephie felt a short time ago disperse, replaced by eager anticipation. Here, in this city, anything might happen.

In contrast, and to Stephie’s surprise, Aunt Märta seems nervous. Back home on the island, she always knows, beyond the shadow of a doubt, what needs to be done and what is right. Here she looks around uncomfortably, twisting her white summer gloves in her hands. Time after time she consults the directions the doctor’s wife gave her. Suddenly she pulls the rope, and the bell up by the driver rings. The tram pulls to a stop, but Aunt Märta finds that she was too early. Embarrassed, she has to explain to the conductor, with all the other passengers staring, that they really wanted the next stop.

When they finally disembark on a platform in the middle of the wide street, Aunt Märta looks carefully right, left, and then right again before they cross. They turn off the wide avenue, with its rows of planted trees, onto a side street. A couple of blocks later, they turn another corner.

“Here we are,” says Aunt Märta.

In front of them stands a four-story yellow brick building. The bricks around the windows are laid out in intricate patterns; the balconies have wrought-iron guardrails. Across the street is a park, a little slope that was spared when the
whole area was flattened for housing. Narrow paths lead up among the trees, and the grass is bright green.

Ages ago, in Vienna, before the Germans invaded, Stephie lived across the street from a park—a park with a Ferris wheel.

Aunt Märta nods. “Yes, this is it.”

Instead of walking up to the door, Aunt Märta seems to be going back to the corner they came from. Stephie sets her suitcase down, waiting.

“Come along,” says Aunt Märta.

“But …”

Aunt Märta’s not listening. She continues around the corner, through an open gateway and into a courtyard. There is a harsh smell coming from rubbish bins standing off to the side, by a shed.

In the courtyard there are several narrow doors opening onto stairways.

Looking around, Aunt Märta decides which door they will go through. Stephie follows.

Stephie drags her suitcase up four cramped flights of stairs. She has no idea what they’re doing, but can sense that no good would come of asking. Finally they stand in front of a tall, narrow door with an enamel plate on it. It reads
SÖDERBERG, KITCHEN ENTRANCE
.

Aunt Märta rings the bell. A moment later a woman in an apron opens the door. It’s Elna, the Söderbergs’ maid. She was with them last summer when the family rented Aunt
Märta and Uncle Evert’s house on the island. Elna slept on the wooden settle in Aunt Märta’s kitchen.

“Good day to you,” she says. “Come in. I’ll let the mistress know you’ve arrived.” They wait in the large high-ceilinged kitchen. On the wall near the upper part of the door are a bell and a panel with nine little windows. One is open, displaying the number five. As Elna passes, she presses a button and the window with the five shuts.

Stephie’s curiosity makes her want to go right over and press the button to see what will happen, but she feels too timid. Besides, it would be childish. Only kids touch everything in sight.

Mrs. Söderberg appears at the kitchen door, smiling.

“Oh, Mrs. Jansson,” she exclaims, “there was no need to use the kitchen entrance! My word, walking up all those flights for no reason when we have an elevator!”

Aunt Märta doesn’t reply to these apologies; she just extends a hand in formal greeting.

“And little Stephie,” the doctor’s wife continues in the same effusive tone. “I’m so pleased to see you here.”

Stephie curtsies and shakes Mrs. Söderberg’s hand.

“Let me show you the room,” the doctor’s wife says. “This way!”

The kitchen door opens onto a passage so narrow that they have to walk single file. At the end of the hall is another door, this one with a pane of glass, which opens onto the main entrance and foyer, with elegant rugs on the floor.

To the right there is an open double door, and through it Stephie sees a large room full of antique furniture. On the other side is an ordinary door, and a little way along is another. Mrs. Söderberg opens the first of the two doors.

“Here we go!” she says.

The room is beautiful, spacious and bright, with a large window extending from the level of Stephie’s waist all the way up to the ceiling. There’s a white desk under the window. In fact all the furniture is white: the dresser, the chairs, the bookshelf, the little mirrored dressing table, the bed, with its frilly pink bedspread. The wallpaper is patterned, pink rosebuds against a pale gray background. The tied-back curtains are ruffled and white. There is a little pink-shaded lamp on the dressing table.

“Isn’t it the perfect room for a girl?” Mrs. Söderberg asks. “It’s just as it was when Karin lived here.”

Karin is the daughter in the family, Sven’s older sister.

“Karin and Olle are honeymooning in Båstad,” Mrs. Söderberg adds. “Sadly, what with the war, they couldn’t possibly go abroad. This war is a hardship for us all. You cannot imagine, Mrs. Jansson, what trouble I had arranging the food for their wedding dinner. Rationing! Such a test of our housewifely skills, don’t you agree?”

Aunt Märta mumbles some kind of assent. She seems to feel awkward.

“Perhaps you see things differently,” the doctor’s wife goes on. “I’ve heard fishermen have never had it so good.”

At that, Aunt Märta looks her straight in the eye. “Oh,
yes, at peril to their lives,” she replies. “The seabed is full of mines.”

Now it’s Mrs. Söderberg’s turn to mutter, this time an apology. A moment later she’s back in form, showing Stephie the closet in one corner of the room and the little cubbyhole with a sink on the other side.

“So you can take all the time you need getting yourself ready in the mornings,” she says. “There’s a bathroom and toilet at the far end of the hall, too, down toward the kitchen.”

In addition to the door to the hallway, there’s another door in the room.

“Where does that one go?” Stephie can’t help asking.

“To Sven’s room,” Mrs. Söderberg answers. “And now,” she goes on, turning to Aunt Märta, “I think we ought to let little Stephie unpack her things while we have a chat in the library.”

Stephie finds herself alone in the room—a room that adjoins Sven’s. So close she’ll be able to hear him get up in the morning, wash, and take a clean shirt from his closet, maybe whistling to himself.

Right now, though, it’s silent on the other side of the wall. He must not be home or he would have come in and said hello. Stephie opens her suitcase and begins to organize her belongings. Her dresses come nowhere near to filling the spacious closet. She thinks about Karin, how she must have had lots of clothes. Not even the dresser is more than half full when Stephie has unpacked. Although there are some
books in the bookcase, there is still more than enough room for hers.

She sets her jewelry box with the little twirling ballerina on the dressing table, in front of the mirror. When she opens the drawer to put her comb, brush, and barrettes away, she finds a note.

Stephie reads this short message over and over, then folds it carefully and inserts it between the pages of her diary.

When Aunt Märta’s ready to leave, Stephie walks her to the door.

“Take care,” Aunt Märta says to Stephie. “Keep your clothes neat and clean, and remember your laundry when you come home. Do your best at school and try not to be any trouble to the doctor and his wife.”

“Say hello to Uncle Evert from me,” Stephie says.

As she’s walking out the door, Aunt Märta turns to Stephie and gives her a long look.

For just an instant her voice softens. “Goodbye, dear child,” she says. Then she opens the gate to the elevator. The last thing Stephie sees is Aunt Märta’s straw hat, going down.

had Stephie imagined, really? That she would be like a new daughter in the Söderberg family? That Dr. Söderberg would invite her into his study after dinner and read aloud to her or challenge her to a game of chess, like Papa used to? That the doctor’s wife would tuck her in at night, like Mamma?

If she had any such expectations, she was very wrong. In the Söderberg home, she is a boarder, not a member of the family.