20. Else-Maj
ELSE-MAJ
1954
Something was wrong with Sara. Her face was so pale it was nearly transparent except the skin under her eyes, which was purple, and her lips, which looked faintly blue. It was as though she had never completely recovered from having the mumps last fall. Now it was winter, and although Else-Maj bundled unna oabbá up, she quivered too often, even indoors. Anna would watch Sara with concern on her face, and Lisbet snuck her the occasional extra piece of bread, telling Else-Maj that the poor little girl needed to eat more.
On good days, Sara’s eyes were clear and she had the energy to play in the snow with the others, and Else-Maj felt a fluttery sort of joy in her chest. But it never lasted long—the next day Sara’s cough would return and her appetite would vanish.
Else-Maj had told Enná that oabbá shouldn’t come to the nomad school. She had begged and pleaded, saying she should fight to get Sara into the village school at home. But Enná wasn’t the type to make a stand, especially not against those who sat behind desks and wore their fancy clothes every day.
“She’ll be fine with you there” was all she would say.
Sara had been frail since birth, but it was like Enná didn’t want to see it. Else-Maj did, though, and had always fussed over her unna oabbá, making sure she was warm, both indoors and when they were out with the reindeer, cuddling close when they slept in the goahti.
Sara often developed a rattling cough, and Enná would give her hot drinks.
“Oh, little one,” she’d say. “Why are you so puny?”
But Enná had a lot of children to look after, a whole family to keep fed and warm, and sometimes her arms weren’t big enough for all of them. So it fell to Else-Maj to look after Sara.
“You’re a big girl now, Else-Maj,” said Enná. “It’s a good thing I have you.”
Else-Maj cried the night before she took the bus to the nomad school for the first time. Mostly she was crying for herself, but also for Sara, who was too young to understand. She had talked to her about it, said she was going to a school and would be gone for a long time. But “a long time” was impossible to comprehend. Else-Maj hardly understood it herself, given that she was only seven. Sara was just three.
“Enná, do you promise to take really good care of her?” Else-Maj asked that night, and Enná nodded and turned away.
Else-Maj lay awake all night, holding Sara, kissing her soft cheeks and whispering into her sleeping sister’s ear.
“I’ll be home soon.”
The next morning, Sara waved goodbye from the stairs next to Enná, flapping both hands. She probably thought Else-Maj would only be gone for a little while. But surely that evening she would start to wonder, searching the house for stuora oabbá, tugging at Enná’s skirt and becoming cranky. Enná would pick her up, but only for a moment, and then she would say Sara was too heavy to carry around and that she had a lot to do. Sara would surely cry each night when Else-Maj wasn’t there to lie beside her and tell her whatever stories came into her head.
“Enná, do you promise to sleep beside her?”
“Yes, and I’ll sit with her until she falls asleep.”
“Will you really?”
“I promise.”
Else-Maj had sat on the bus that carried her away from Sara and cried into her shawl, her head bowed. Panic was close at hand, and each time the bus slowed down to turn onto a different road, she nearly stood up and shouted that she needed to get off. Didn’t they understand? But the journey continued. She had abandoned her sister. What if Sara could never forgive her?
When she came home for her first Christmas break, unna oabbá had acted shy, hiding behind Enná’s legs and sticking her fingers in her mouth. But that night, Sara laughed at Else-Maj’s silly bedtime story. They held hands until they fell asleep.
The next morning, Else-Maj cried to Enná because it felt like she was tricking her sister. Now Sara trusted her again, but soon she would have to leave again.
“You can go while she’s taking a nap, and she won’t notice,” Enná said.
Else-Maj stared at her, but Enná’s eyes wouldn’t meet her own. “But then I’d be tricking her even more!”
“But you wouldn’t have to deal with the tears.”
S OMEHOW THEY GOT USED to it, the painful goodbyes and the moments together that were only theirs on loan.
“Soon you’ll be together at the school,” Enná consoled her.
“She can’t go there,” Else-Maj insisted.
She was eleven the summer she prepared Sara to start at the nomad school that autumn. They were up in the mountains with the reindeer, and Else-Maj took her for a ramble over rocky ground, and they sat way up high, looking down at the goahtis. She tried to explain what the school was like, describing the buildings, the classrooms, the lessons, and saying that Lisbet’s food was almost as good as Enná’s. She smiled a lot, hoping not to scare Sara, and told her that she and Biret would take care of her and play with her all the time. If she stuck out her tongue, she would surely find it had turned black from her lies. But how could she tell Sara what school was really like?
They also snuck away from everyone else so Else-Maj could teach Swedish to Sara in secret.
“It will be better if you know Swedish, that will make it easier for you,” she said. “Always say ‘forl?t’ if Housemother is angry.”
Sara’s eyes widened. “Why would she get angry?”
“I’m sure she won’t be angry with you, but if she does, then you say ‘forl?t.’ If you do that, it will be okay.” Her tongue would soon fall out, it was so black. She had better say something true. “Housemother can be very strict, but mostly toward the boys, and then…” she trailed off. “Well, sometimes she hits them.”
Sara was near tears.
“But I’ll be there, I’ll take care of you.”
Else-Maj asked her to turn around, couldn’t handle Sara’s eyes on her; she took off Sara’s beccegahpir and slowly stroked her thin dark hair before putting it in a quick braid.
Sara grabbed her braid and sucked on the end. Her gaze was empty, as though her thoughts were far away.
“It will be okay, you’ll see. Let’s practice a little more Swedish.”
Not only was her unna oabbá frail and prone to catching every bug that went around, she never seemed to put on enough weight either. Else-Maj was small as well, but there was a difference between being small and being fragile.
Else-Maj had been frightened when Sara caught the mumps and her forehead was burning up. But at the same time, it had been a relief when her oabbá got to go home. She hoped Enná would keep Sara home forever. But after a while, she was healthy enough to return. Enná was always eager to do the right thing, and school was important.
Sara stuck close to Else-Maj. Tears sprang to her eyes when they had to go to different classrooms. Sara was with the youngest children in grades one and two, while Else-Maj was with the grades five and six group. They also weren’t allowed to sleep in the same dormitory. Housemother wouldn’t give an inch. Each night, Else-Maj padded over to the next room and often found her sister lying awake, her eyes full of worry. Then she would whisper a story into her ear and wait until her breathing grew calm.
T ODAY, ANYONE WHO LOOKED closely would see that something was wrong with Sara, maybe even worse than usual. Else-Maj and Biret sat across from her in the dining hall, slurping up their meat stew. Lisbet had made the most delicious stew ever, they agreed, and they wanted more, but Sara just stirred her bowl.
“Aren’t you feeling well?”
Sara shook her head. Else-Maj leaned across the table to kiss her oabbá’s forehead and was horrified at the heat her lips felt there. This was how Enná had taught her to take a temperature.
“We have to talk to Anna.” She stood up and took Sara by the hand. They walked past Lisbet in the kitchen. “We’re going to see Anna. Sara isn’t feeling well.”
“So I can see,” Lisbet said, clearly concerned.
As Sara climbed the stairs to the second floor, she began coughing, and her hand was cold as ice in Else-Maj’s. Anna wasn’t there.
“Maybe she’s doing the washing.” Else-Maj tried to keep the panic out of her voice. They went down two floors into the cellar, and Sara was panting as though they had run.
They found Anna there, and Else-Maj’s voice grew shrill as she said that Sara wasn’t feeling well. Anna crouched down and placed a hand on Sara’s forehead. Else-Maj caught the look in her eyes before Anna tried to smile reassuringly.
“We’ll see that you get tucked into bed, Sara, and give you some medicine for that fever.”
H ER CHEST HEAVED IN quick fits and starts under the blanket.
“We need to call Enná,” Else-Maj told Anna. “She has to come pick her up.”
Anna went to get Housemother, and a few minutes later the two of them were staring down at Sara, whose eyes were closed. Else-Maj knew she wasn’t asleep; she simply didn’t dare look at the witch.
“She doesn’t seem to be in any danger. We can wait until tomorrow,” Housemother said, without even feeling Sara’s forehead. “She can’t keep going back and forth all the time like this.”
“But…” Anna said. “She was already sickly, and that cough doesn’t sound so good. And I felt her forehead, she has a high fever.”
“Did you take her temperature?”
Anna blushed. “No, I was in such a rush to give her some aspirin that I forgot.”
“Well, she seems to be sleeping now, and I’m sure she’ll improve during the night.”
Else-Maj’s whole body felt strange, as though it were trembling all over. “May I sit with her?” she asked, her voice unsteady.
Housemother shook her head and her curled hair bobbed. She had cut her hair short. “She might be contagious, and we can’t risk more children getting sick again.”
“Maybe that’s the very reason we should make sure her parents come to get her?” Anna said tentatively. “I mean, to keep from spreading the disease.”
Housemother tossed her head and clucked her tongue. “I’ve made up my mind, and that’s that.”
“But wouldn’t it be better for Sara to sleep down in the common room? I can stay over tonight and sit with her.”
Housemother looked irate, and for a moment Else-Maj was afraid she would send Sara to the isolation room. “For heaven’s sake, do it, then! But if you get sick, Anna, don’t expect to take any time off work!”
Once Housemother was gone, Else-Maj rested her head on Anna’s shoulder and whimpered. “I think she needs to go home.”
“I think so too. But she’s had some medicine now, and tomorrow morning I’ll call your mother right away if her fever has gone up again.”
Anna carried Sara downstairs, and Else-Maj enlisted Biret’s help to haul the mattress down.
“The floor is too cold, we’ll put the mattress on the sofa,” said Anna. “And I suppose I had better light the fire.”
E VENING CAME, AND E LSE -M AJ snuck down to the common room, where the fire still crackled in the hearth. She and Anna knelt beside the sofa where Sara was gasping and coughing.
“This isn’t right,” Anna murmured.
Else-Maj was close to tears. “You have to tell Housemother.”
“She’s not here.” Anna pursed her lips; she clearly wanted to say more. “Some urgent matter.”
“Then it’s up to you, Anna! You can call Enná. Or the doctor.”
“She expressly said that Sara is to stay here.”
“But she’s so sick.”
“I’ll give her some more aspirin.” Anna dissolved another white pill in water on a teaspoon and her hand shook as she brought it to Sara’s mouth.
Else-Maj kissed Sara’s forehead, and the heat there was just as alarming as before. “The medicine isn’t helping.”
“It will, it just takes a little time,” Anna said, but she didn’t sound convinced.
They sat by Sara’s side for an hour, taking turns feeling her hot forehead with their hands and lips. Anna fetched cold, wet towels for her head, tried to get her to drink more water, but nothing helped. At last she made up her mind.
“No, I can’t wait until tomorrow. Hulda will close the switchboard soon and this might get worse overnight. I’m going to call.”
Else-Maj was too exhausted to cry.
Enná was shaken by the news, but she would find someone to give her a ride so she could bring Sara home.
“It’s going to be okay now, Else-Maj,” Anna said, stroking her back.
And Else-Maj leaned over the sofa and whispered close to the little ear. “It’s going to be okay, Sara, you get to go home now.”