54. Else-Maj
ELSE-MAJ
1986
Else-Maj stood in the parking lot, looking at her somewhat distorted reflection in the car window and eyeing her shawl front and back, placing her hand on the smallest brooch, the bottom one of three. That was Sara’s risku. She was wearing it for the first time.
Her shawl was dark blue with a discreet pattern and she had fringed it herself. She had also sewed the gákti and belt and woven the shoe bands. This was her most beautiful black gákti.
So many people had heeded Anna’s call. Most of them likely would have come even without it, but now the pews would be filled to the last seat and then some. They were gathered outside; the hill leading up to the Gárasavvon church was steep and Else-Maj stopped halfway up, where she had a good vantage point.
She saw a motorhome with German plates brake suddenly at the bridge to Finland. The river divided the two countries, forming a border that had never mattered much to the villagers, but the customs sign made it clear that there were rules and laws. The Germans had spotted the colorful gathering outside the church and got out to take pictures. From a distance, yes, but they had a zoom lens. More cars stopped, cameras coming out.
It was upsetting: they had no idea that the pictures they were taking home for their photo albums captured a moment of mourning. Maybe it was hard for them to understand given that the gákti were so bright. But there was the occasional black suit or dress as well. Stiff and formal, Else-Maj thought, some people pretending they had never worn a gákti. Speaking their polished Swedish.
Most people, though, were wearing gákti. She looked around, recognizing almost everyone. She caught sight of Marge. To think that she’d moved home to the village and paired up with Jon-Ante. It was kind of funny, how they’d had to go to town in order to find each other and their way back. But Marge didn’t have Stella with her. The little girl who greeted everyone she saw in the village with a resounding “Bures!” Else-Maj had come to be rather fond of the girl as a result.
What had Marge done with Jon-Ante? She looked around for him, but it was hard to tell one gákti-clad back from the next.
Nilsa wasn’t here, she had gleaned from the chit-chat. And here he was always bragging about his school days, claiming to have enjoyed them. She supposed that in a certain sense she should feel sorry for someone who had to lie about his memories of the school. But it had to be easier than admitting you’d been a victim. If you cracked that door, began to wonder what life would have been like without the nomad school, it became nearly impossible to breathe. Your airways shrank to the narrowest thread. The rock of grief suddenly so heavy you had to lie down. And if you didn’t watch out, you might never get up again.
She gazed out at the village, her hand on Sara’s risku, and had the sense that Unna Oabbá was hiding behind her, peering shyly at everyone gathered. Anna would take good care of her now. That thought, too, made her breath catch in her throat.
A dull rumble arose and the black raggare car turned many heads. Else-Maj smirked as she saw Jon-Ante, with Stella in the passenger seat, complete something of a victory lap before parking just downhill from the gathering on the slope.
Marge had heard him coming too, of course, and she went to meet them. Jon-Ante was holding Stella’s hand, gently guiding the little girl along. He would be a good isá.
She turned to look up at the church and beyond, to the sky. A wave of sorrow hit her. They had spoken just days before Anna passed away. For the first time, Else-Maj had called Anna rather than the other way around, but offering forgiveness wasn’t easy, so it remained unsaid.
It was painful to follow the hearse, and she had stopped in A ? evuopmi to watch the casket be placed upon the spruce boughs outside Anna’s house. I did have a child. It was you.
This morning she had brought out the obituary, although she didn’t need to read it to know what it said. She knew it all by heart. Anna had told her nieces and nephews that she trusted them to compose a decent death announcement, but that she wanted to write the last few lines herself. She put out a special call to the children from the nomad school, addressing them as “ráhkis mánát,” dear children. Gather and talk, she urged them. Don’t come only for my sake, do it for yourselves.
Else-Maj could hear how Anna’s wish was becoming a starting point for conversations all around her. Anna had opened the door for memories to be hesitantly put into words.
She had asked if you could joke in an obituary, and Else-Maj had given her a firm no.
“You’re the wrong person to ask,” Anna declared with a smile in her voice.
The memory made Else-Maj want to laugh and cry in equal measure.
An older, bowlegged man struggled to push a woman in a wheelchair up the hill. They were Pekka and Lisbet from the kitchen, she saw now. He needed a hand, and she took a few steps in their direction, but someone else got there first. They hugged Lisbet in a way Else-Maj would never have been able to. So it was just as well that wasn’t her. But she certainly hoped to talk to Lisbet after the service. She had so many reasons to thank her.
Anne-Risten came strutting up the hill with her gákti swishing around her legs and a fancy barrette in her curled hair. She walked like a model, swinging her hips. Well, she was one of those who left for town, got herself a Swedish husband, and seldom looked back. Her children couldn’t speak Sámi, although Else-Maj had spotted Anne-Risten’s son at the reindeer enclosure a time or two, but then he disappeared.
Anne-Risten had spotted Else-Maj and was heading her way with a big smile, almost inappropriately cheerful.
“Na hei, Else-Maj! Got manná? Lea guhkes aigi dasa go letne oaidnalan.”
Yes, it had been a long time, she agreed. She had to bite her tongue to keep from saying that she was still here, as ever. “Thanks, I’m doing fine.”
“To think that Anna wrote what she did, and that everyone came.”
“Yes, almost everyone.”
“Not Nilsa,” said Anne-Risten, and there was a strange tone in her voice.
Else-Maj greeted people walking by.
“Had you heard from Anna recently?” Anne-Risten asked.
“I did, actually, toward the end. She got in touch and let me know she was sick.”
“It’s really too bad she can’t be here to see this turnout. That she won’t get to hear all the lovely things people are saying.”
“I’m sure she’s with us.”
Anne-Risten’s eyes became shiny. “Do you think? I hope so.”
Else-Maj nodded, allowing herself to wear a warm expression. She could do it if she wanted to.
“Do you remember the time we went to Inger’s house to find out where Anna had gone?”
Else-Maj nodded, but she had no desire to talk about it. Anne-Risten clearly wanted to say more, so Else-Maj glanced around for some other familiar faces, a reason to walk away.
“Maybe you know that Rita Olsson lives in town.” Anne-Risten had taken a step closer and lowered her voice. “I was her home health aide for a while.” She misunderstood the look on Else-Maj’s face, reading it as a prompt to continue. “But not anymore. I told them I refuse to go.”
“I don’t know if we should be talking about her today.”
But Anne-Risten wasn’t about to stop. “You haven’t heard the worst part yet. Nilsa assaulted her.”
“What? What are you talking about?”
“Yes, one day Marge and I arrived at her apartment and found her sitting on the floor, saying someone had hit her. She didn’t say his name that time, but I got it out of her later. Nilsa.”
“That’s…” Else-Maj smoothed the fringes that wanted to whirl about. “I don’t know what to say.”
“She’s afraid he’ll come back. I know it’s not very Christian to say that she deserved it, but it’s true. You should have seen how frightened she was.”
What was wrong with Anne-Risten? Standing there grinning like that. “Did she report him to the police?”
“No, I think she’s too scared.”
“But that’s horrible.”
“Is it? Isn’t it only fair?”
Else-Maj set off slowly, and Anne-Risten followed. It was time for all but Anna’s nearest and dearest to take their seats inside the church. The hearse was parked by the door. Strong shoulders would carry Anna inside. Else-Maj peered through the tinted window and saw a glimpse of the flower wreaths on the white casket.
Anne-Risten’s cheeks were blotchy red and her hand slid up under the sleeve of her gákti. Else-Maj had to make an effort to reach over and stop her from scratching. Anne-Risten startled and clasped her hands behind her back. Then she smiled and waved at Marge in the distance. “I’ll wait for her. You go on in.”
Else-Maj looked around for Gustu, she needed his steady arm. After the funeral coffee she would ask him to drive by the grave again, and ask him to stay in the car as well. He wouldn’t complain, even if it was getting late. She wanted to visit the grave alone, and there she would say it out loud. Say that Anna had gotten her wish. God would probably forgive her if she happened to let go and laugh right along with Anna.
But first she would sit with the others during the memorial service. And for a long time to come, folks in the villages would talk about the funeral coffee that lasted into the wee hours. No one had ever seen the like.