30. Else-Maj
ELSE-MAJ
1955
It had been snowing all morning, and the snow settled like sparkling powder over the villages, light enough to be blown off the handrail of the dormitory steps. There was hardly an hour in which sunlight glinted off the school windows. It was lovely, but no one would notice it.
The children climbed off the bus in silence; some had been crying, homesick before they even left Sohppar. Else-Maj had sat with her head held high, hadn’t waved to Enná when they took off; now she was looking for Anna, longing to dash into her arms. They had not celebrated this Christmas, and for the first time Enná hadn’t wanted to attend the holiday services, but Else-Maj made her go. She was suffocating in the silence at home, ready to burst into tears each time she saw Sara’s shoes in the hall. But no one talked to her or her siblings, no one asked how they were feeling, and at last Else-Maj’s arms grew so heavy that her shoulders ached. There was a black lump in her chest; she thought of it as a rock of grief. Her brothers were stiff and silent, fleeing through the blackness of December to other homes. She saw cousins kick-sledding past their house, but no one rang the doorbell. Everyone was afraid to talk about Sara.
This meant there was no one else to turn to but God. She clasped her sweaty hands and prayed each night, and she needed the space of church, the high ceiling that might make it easier to breathe.
They had set off for the Christmas morning service and encountered the sympathetic gazes of the villagers, and Enná burst into tears when the priest squeezed her hands in his own. She apologized, ashamed to cry in front of such an important man. He had buried so many little ones during his years in the village, because families lost children, that was just the way of it. Some families had shrunk from ten children to six; some had lost their first baby; and then there were those like Else-Maj who would never have a sister again.
She spent most of the service with her eyes screwed shut, waiting for a sign of comfort. And then the priest said something that made her eyes fly open. Their gazes met; he spoke to her, giving her the word of God.
She couldn’t remember his exact words anymore, and that was frustrating. But at least she had walked out of the church imagining that the black rock of grief in her chest had shrunk a tiny bit. It had to—how else would she survive?
Back in the schoolyard, the rock made itself known again, pressing against her ribs and airways, pestering her heart to beat faster. She didn’t know how she could look at that old witch without flying at her. It was Housemother’s fault that Sara was dead. She hadn’t let Sara go home in time when she was sick. And she had forbidden Else-Maj from going home to help. During her silent school break, the same memories had returned again and again.
“Please, Housemother, can’t I call home? I have to know how Sara is doing.”
“There will be no telephoning for you. Your sister had the sniffles and that’s all there is to it. Anna shouldn’t have let her go home.”
Anna had helped her in the end, keeping watch while the operator connected the call to Badje Sohppar 22. Enná’s voice sounded dull as she reported that Sara was still sick. This spurred panic in Else-Maj, who tried again to beg Housemother.
“Can’t I go home? My sister is so sick, and she needs me.”
“It’s almost Christmas break, and you will go home with everyone else then.”
Else-Maj felt hatred in a way she never had before. But she also felt a terrible burden of guilt. Time and again she tried to change what had happened, rework the story, think of how it might have turned out if only she had done the right thing. If only she had demanded to go home. If only she had run away. If only Enná had more clearly explained how sick Sara was. All these “if onlys” drove her crazy with sorrow and filled her with remorse. Sara could have survived. Else-Maj would have known better than Enná that they needed to go to the hospital. She was only eleven, but she was more sensible. And she had been more than Sara’s oabbá, she’d been responsible for her. This failure ripped her apart every single day.
She walked into the dormitory building and was met by the strong smell of disinfectant. The floor looked freshly scrubbed. In the dormitory itself, the other girls began to speak softly while keeping their distance from her. The contagion of grief. They whispered in Sámi, but now they would have to get used to speaking only Swedish again.
“Did you hear that Anna had to quit?”
Else-Maj spun around and looked at Anne-Risten. “That’s not true.”
“Juoa. It’s definitely true. I heard it from Marge on the bus.”
All the girls were looking at her now; they knew she had been Anna’s favorite. They waited for a reaction, but her despair was silent, not evident on her face. She bent down and folded her nightgown neatly before tucking it under the blanket. She busied herself with her barrettes, which she fastened and unfastened, patiently waiting for the attention to shift elsewhere. When at last she was able to leave the room, she strolled down the corridor until she spotted Marge outside the bathroom. Then she darted over, grabbed the girl by the arm, and hauled her along.
“Why did Anna quit?” she whispered. No one had seen Housemother yet but she could very well be in her quarters.
“Enná said I wasn’t allowed to say.” Marge looked unhappy.
“Tell me right now!” Else-Maj pinched her arm.
“She did naughty things. And she lied.”
“What about?”
Marge bit her lip; her eyes filled with tears and she shook her head.
“Don’t start crying now,” Else-Maj hissed, pulling her down to the common room. Lisbet had started a fire in the hearth, and they stood near the crackling flames.
“It’ll make you sad. I don’t want to say.”
Four boys came in, Nilsa among them, and Else-Maj saw what was in their eyes, how much they would love to tease someone for crying. She herded Marge ahead of her and down to the cellar, where they found Jon-Ante. He didn’t know where to look once they entered and mumbled, trying to explain what he was doing in the half-dark room. Everyone knew he was hiding from Nilsa and his gang.
“Can you just go, Jon-Ante?”
He shook his head and Else-Maj couldn’t contain herself. “Mana! Go!”
He left, his head hanging, but Else-Maj could tell he stopped halfway instead of going all the way upstairs. Marge sank onto the sofa.
“It was my fault too,” she said. “But I was too scared to tell what I saw.”
Now she was crying, and Else-Maj had to clasp her own hands as if in prayer to keep from slapping Marge.
“Quit your blubbering and tell me what happened. Explain it properly. I don’t understand what you mean.”
“It was a lot of things. Enná overheard while she was working the switchboard.”
Marge’s enná operated the switchboard sometimes when old Hulda was away, and it was well known that she didn’t let a single call go uneavesdropped. Just like Hulda. You could hear them breathing, and Hulda sometimes even sniffed in disapproval if she heard something she considered improper.
“Tell me everything,” said Else-Maj, taking a seat next to Marge. She tried to make her voice sound kinder; after all, Marge was three years younger. Perhaps she should be gentler in her prying. A comforting arm probably would have helped, but she couldn’t do it. Her arms no longer let themselves be lifted.
“Enná heard them talking about you,” Marge said, snorting up snot.
“Me? Who was talking about me?”
“I don’t know, but Housemother was angry because Anna called your enná when Sara…” She trailed off, looking frightened. “You know, when Sara was sick. And then you called home even though you weren’t allowed. Anna helped you, and that was against the rules.”
Else-Maj stared at Marge’s lips, heard the words coming out but couldn’t believe them. Was it her fault that Anna had quit? How had the witch found out that she’d called home?
“Housemother said that Anna gave you money and candy.”
“That’s not true!” Sure, she’d been given a peppermint now and then, but she’d never gotten any money. She repeated herself: “That’s not true!”
It tore at her. That damned old witch! She was a liar. It was hard to sit still.
“But what did you mean when you said it was your fault, too?” Marge’s face crumpled again and Else-Maj made an effort to squeeze her arm gently and bring a finger to her lips. “Shh, don’t cry.”
“I can’t say it.”
“Just tell me.”
Marge bent forward over her knees and muttered, her face buried in her hands: “I saw Housemother stomp on Jon-Ante’s hand, but I didn’t tell anyone. And Housemother says it’s Anna’s fault Jon-Ante’s little finger got crooked.”
The bandage Anna fashioned , Else-Maj thought. She pricked her ears for sounds from the stairwell. Was Jon-Ante still there?
Marge looked up, her cheeks red and glasses foggy. “She said Jon-Ante fell and had only himself to blame. And that Anna bandaged him up badly and so his finger got crooked. But that’s a lie!”
Else-Maj smoothed her skirt with sweaty palms. This heavy stone inside would fill up her whole chest and crush her lungs. Even now, she could only take the shallow breaths of a tiny creature.
“Was it my fault, Else-Maj?”
Marge was asking for comfort, but she couldn’t look at her. “No one would have believed you anyway.”
“No, no one would believe me. And Housemother would have hit me. I was so scared.”
“Where is Anna now?”
“I think she went back home to A ? evuopmi.”
Else-Maj collapsed, all the oomph going out of her. Only the rock of grief was left. Anna was just the person she needed now. It was her warm hands and embrace she longed for when sorrow blackened their home. God and Anna would have helped her make it through. Now Anna was gone. And she hadn’t even stopped by Sohppar on her way to A ? evuopmi. Couldn’t she have knocked at their door to warn Else-Maj?
“Housemother is a cruel person,” Marge whispered. “Enná said so.”
Else-Maj nodded. “Cruel” wasn’t strong enough.
“You know, it was Anne-Risten’s fault too. Because she went with Anna to her siessá’s house. She slept over there.”
Else-Maj looked at Marge in surprise. Had Anna really taken Anne-Risten home with her? Had Anne-Risten become Anna’s favorite without Else-Maj’s even noticing? Was that why she had been able to leave without saying goodbye? “Is that true? Anne-Risten didn’t mention that.”
“Yes, it’s definitely true. Enná heard it.”
Else-Maj was enraged; she wanted to snap at Marge about her eavesdropping enná. She stood up and Marge, too, leaped to her feet to follow her. Jon-Ante was gone.
The common room was bustling; the boys tumbled around on the floor and Else-Maj had only just entered when she heard the clack of heels. They had learned to listen for that sound, and the boys tried to make it out of the room but didn’t have time. Else-Maj found herself standing in the center of the room with the fire crackling behind her. Housemother strode in, her eyes roving. She wore a badly pilled knitted black cardigan with a black sweater underneath and the same wool skirt she almost always wore. But her hair, which she had grown out again, was freshly permed and reached for her shoulders, and her glasses rested firmly on the bridge of her nose. She stared at the boys, as if trying to come up with a reason to shout at them, and they snickered softly.
“What is all this racket? You’ve hardly arrived and you’re already behaving like dogs. But I suppose that’s because you turned right back into animals while you were home.” She wrapped her cardigan tighter around her middle and fixed her eyes on Else-Maj, who refused to look away. “And what are you doing here, alone with the boys?”
As though she couldn’t see Marge, who was standing near the window.
“Nothing.” Else-Maj saw the cruelty in her eyes, but she wasn’t afraid. She breathed calmly, thinking of herself as a wolverine: the moment the witch turned her back, she would leap on her back, snap her teeth around her neck, and let her bleed out on the floor.
“I have told you girls to stick together, or else there will be trouble. But of course you never listen, isn’t that typical.”
Else-Maj knew it was best not to respond, but she wouldn’t take her eyes from the devil. Anna was gone, but God was with her and would help her endure. The priest had said something like this, she remembered now, that she would never be alone.
“Stop staring! And you boys need to go outside and get some exercise.”
They bustled off, laughing.
“You, up to your room. Don’t you stand there staring at me like that.”
“Where is Anna?” Else-Maj asked in clear, immaculate Swedish.
Marge gasped, and from the corner of Else-Maj’s eye she saw her pull the curtain in front of her.
Housemother’s eyes narrowed and she took a few steps forward. Else-Maj could smell her breath, sour and with a whiff of coffee.
“Who do you think you are, you little Lapp brat?” She grabbed Else-Maj by the hair and yanked, pulling out a few strands by the roots. Else-Maj clenched her jaw but wouldn’t make a sound. “You are as troublesome as your father.”
Isá had called the authorities after Sara died. Asked questions. Raised his voice in anger, but started to cry after he hung up. It had frightened Else-Maj so badly that she fled the house. Isá was strong, he wasn’t allowed to cry. If not even he could stand up to Housemother, there was no hope. But of course, she already knew that was true—no grown-up could overrule the important gentlemen or Housemother. Isá had been informed that Sara’s death was their own fault. They declared that Sara must have first taken ill in the mountains, and that was the reason she remained sickly and her lungs eventually gave out.
Before Sara started school, Else-Maj had begged and pleaded to Enná that they should hide her little sister away. That they should tell the important gentlemen in charge that there were no more girls in the family to send to the nomad school. And then it became true. There was no Sara anymore.
“I hope you die,” Else-Maj whispered in Sámi, planting her feet wide.
This knocked Housemother off balance, but Else-Maj held her ground although she had meant to walk away.
“What was that you just said? Take it back, whatever it was!” Housemother grabbed her arm and shook. But the devilish strength had left her.
Was God with her now? Else-Maj felt herself grow, and a smile spread across her face.
“You can’t put a curse on me!” Housemother let go of her and backed away, her fists clenched furiously.
A curse? Else-Maj laughed, wondering if she’d heard right. But yes, this was familiar. She’d heard old ladies whisper about how the important gentlemen were frightened of the powers they imagined the Sámi had.
Suddenly the witch roared: “Get out!”
Else-Maj left the common room and walked up the stairs alongside Marge at an intentionally slow pace, daring to continue speaking Sámi as she went, whispering in a fierce voice. “She doesn’t scare me. Whatever happens now, I don’t care.”