The Weight of Water (23 page)

My brother’s wife had as well, I must add here, a remarkable head of hair, and I can attest to the fact that when she took
out her combs and unbraided her plaits, this hair reached all the way to the back of her calves.

With Evan close to her side, Anethe, smiling all the while, recounted for us (with myself translating into English for our
boarder, so that, in essence, for me, these tales were somewhat tediously twice-told) the particulars of their marriage vows,
of their wedding trip to Kristiania, and of the crossing itself, which the newly weds seemed to have weathered in fine fashion.
In fact, so great was their enthusiasm for this adventure to America, though I trust they would have retained a desire for
any sojourn so long as it allowed them to be together, that they often interrupted each other or spoke simultaneously or finished
the other’s sentences, a practice that began to wear upon me as the afternoon progressed, in the same way that one might come
to be irritated by the overworked and frequent repetition of a once-charming trait in a young child. Also, I think it is not
necessary to say that I was extremely vexed at my sister, Karen, who was not present that afternoon, but who had deliberately
withheld important information from me, for what reasons I cannot think, except to cause me the most acute humiliation. At
times, sitting there in my lounge, next to the stove, serving Evan and Anethe and Louis Wagner and John and Matthew the sweets
I had made expressly for this occasion, thinking to please with delicacies from our Norway my brother, who, I am sorry to
report, ate almost nothing that day, and observing Louis Wagner, who was, from a distance I suspect he would have breached
in an instant if he thought he had so much as a chance, practically as entranced by Anethe’s melodious voice and lustrous
skin as was her husband, I was nearly overtaken by a rage so powerful at my sister I felt myself quiver in my very soul and
had immediately to ask the Lord for forgiveness for the terrible thoughts against her person I was entertaining. I knew that
shortly she would come to my house, as she did on most Sundays and certainly would this coming Sunday since it would be her
first visit in America with Evan and his new wife, and I thought that I would speak to her most severely about the malign
game she had played with me, and of its consequences. If I had been able to, without revealing my innermost feelings and casting
some shame upon myself, I would have banished Karen altogether from Smutty Nose, or at least until such a time as she might
confess her wicked machinations. Altogether, it was an afternoon of mixed emotions, and more mixed still when Evan and Anethe
repaired to their sleeping quarters above the lounge. They went up to their bedroom to lay down their trunks and to change
their clothes, and, ostensibly, to rest, but it was quite shamefully apparent, from the sounds emanating from that room just
above my head, that resting was the furthest thing from their minds, and so difficult was it to sit there below them listening
to the noise of their relations in the presence of my husband, his brother and our boarder, all of whom pretended to hear
nothing and to take great interest in the cake which I had cut and served to them, that though it was an evil day outside,
I put on my cloak and left that house, and had I had anywhere else on earth to go, I can assure you that I would have done
so.

On Sunday, when Karen came, I said no word about my surprise at Evan’s marriage, as I did not want to give my sister the satisfaction
of seeing in me the very emotion she had apparently taken such pains to elicit. Indeed, I was most gracious during that particular
Sunday dinner, and I like to think I confounded our Karen by openly rejoicing in Anethe’s arrival to our islands, and in pointing
out to Karen the comely attributes and domestic skills of the young wife, and if Karen studied me oddly and tried several
times to ensnare me in my own trickery by coaxing Anethe or Evan to tell of moments the two had shared in Norway during their
courtship, I trust that a certain smugness, with which Karen had entered our house that day, began to fade and dissipate as
the afternoon wore on. Of course, I had had to tell some untruths, as Anethe was a most appalling seamstress and cook and
was almost entirely lacking in any knowledge of housewifery whatsoever. And I think it is probably not incorrect to say that
young women with beauty are seldom possessed of great domestic ability, primarily because this quality is often unnecessary
in order to attract eligible men into marriage. I often wonder how many of these men, in the second or third month of their
wedded life, confronted with disorder in the household and weeks of ill-prepared meals, begin to speculate about the brilliance
of their choice. Our Evan, of course, was spared this disillusionment, as I remained in charge of the housekeeping and of
the meals, and suffered Anethe as but a poor assistant, more in need of instruction than of praise.

For five months on that island, I lived with Evan and Anethe, and with my husband and his brother and, for part of that time,
our boarder as well. In October and early November, when the men would leave for the day, Anethe would come down to the stove
in her nightdress, and after she had had her bowl of coffee, she would dress and share the chores with me, but oddly I felt
lonelier with her there than I had without her, and there were many days that I wished her gone or never come, and I felt
badly about this, as there was nothing offensive in Anethe’s disposition or in her person, certainly nothing that warranted
such a desire. She was given to storytelling and even sometimes to teasing, and for hours at a stretch, while we spun or sewed
or cooked, she would talk of Evan, all the while laughing, joking, and sharing the little intimate secrets that women sometimes
tell each other, although I have never felt compelled to do so. I heard many times and could relate to you now the smallest
details of their courtship and of their wedding, and of the long walks they took along the coast road and in the forest. Occasionally
Anethe would attempt to glean from me anecdotes from my own time with Evan, but I was not so generous and could spare no stories,
as they were still close to my bosom, and moreover, my poor narratives would have lacked lustre in the telling, as it was
understood that in Evan’s life Anethe had taken precedence, and so how could anything I relate be but a poor second cousin
to the more legitimate? When the men came in the late afternoon, Anethe would run down to the cove to find Evan, and the two
would play with each other as they stumbled up the path to the house. Even in the snow she did this.

It wasn’t until the fourth week after Evan and Anethe had come to us that I found myself in a room alone with my brother.
John and Matthew and Louis had gone into Portsmouth for provisions, but Evan had stayed behind to mend some nets. He could
speak no English, and I think he was reluctant to make himself uncomfortable in that way in that city. Anethe, I recall, was
still upstairs in her room. She was not an early riser and had no need to be except to bid her husband farewell in the mornings,
for it was usually myself who rose before daybreak and fired up the stove and made the meal for the men, and gave them whatever
clothes they might need. On this particular morning, however, Evan, too, had risen late, and had not yet had his breakfast.
I was pleased to prepare it for him, although he protested and said he did not deserve it as he had been unforgivably lazy.
He said this in a good-natured manner, and it was understood that he was joking. This was, as you may imagine, an altogether
new side of my brother I was seeing, for before this time, he had nearly always been a pensive and thoughtful man. I began
to think that his marriage had altered his very chemistry, or had, in some way, brought forth joy and hope from where they
had lain buried inside him all those years.

Evan took off his jacket, as he had been down to the cove to see the men off, and he sat at the table. He was wearing a blue
cotton shirt without a collar, and had exchanged that day his overalls for a pair of woolen trousers with suspenders. Over
the last several years, his body had filled out some, so that I was most impressed with the length and breadth of his back,
which seemed strong. Also his face, which before had shown the beginnings of the sunken cheeks which was certainly a family
trait if not a national one, had filled out as well. These changes combined to give an impression of contentment and of a
man who now daydreamed when once he had brooded. His hair, I noticed, had grown long in the back, and I wondered if I should
offer to cut it, or if this task belonged now to Anethe. Indeed, it was difficult to know just exactly what the nature of
the attachment between Evan and myself was, apart from our history, and though I wished to discuss in some oblique manner
this question, I was content, for the moment, simply to be serving my brother at table.

I set before him a plate of bread and geitost, and sat down with him.

“Do you think John will be long in Portsmouth?” I asked.

“The tide is favorable, and the wind as well. They must have bait and set the trawls, and fill out the list you have given
them, but I think they will be home before dark. And anyway, there is a moon tonight, so there is no danger either way.”

“Why didn’t you go with them? Isn’t Portsmouth vastly more interesting than this poor island?”

He laughed. “This poor island has everything I need and ever wanted,” he said. “My wife is here.” He took a mouthful of biscuit.
“And my sister,” he added with a nod. “And I do not need the distraction of the city at the moment. I am content to sit here
and mend the nets and think about my good fortune instead.”

“You and Anethe are settling in well then?”

“Yes, Maren, you have seen this.”

“She is very agreeable,” I said. “And she is pleasant to look upon. But she has a lot to learn about keeping a house. I suppose
she will learn that here.”

“She can’t fail with such a good teacher,” Evan said, stabbing his spoon in my direction. I winced, for I thought sometimes
that his new jocularity was overbearing and not really suited to him, however happy he had become.

“Maren, you have turned yourself into a first-rate cook,” he said. “If I do not watch myself, I will grow fat from your cook-ing.”

“You are already fat from your happiness,” I said to him.

He laughed a kind of self-congratulatory laugh. “That is overweight I would not mind carrying,” he said, “but you are growing
fat as well, and with luck you may grow fatter still.” I think my brother may actually have winked at me.

I got up at once and went to the stove.

“I mean that you will one day give us all some good news,” he said amiably.

Still I said nothing.

“Maren, what is it?” he asked. “Have I said something wrong?”

I struggled for a moment over the wisdom of answering my brother, but I had waited for so long to speak with him, and I did
not see when I would easily have another opportunity.

“I cannot have a child,” I said, turning, and looking at him steadily.

He looked away toward the south window, through which one could see across the harbor and over to Star. I did not know if
he was simply taken aback, or if he was chastising himself for so carelessly bringing up a painful subject. I saw, when he
turned his head, that the silver-blond hair was thinning at the crown. He looked up. “Are you sure of this, Maren? Have you
been to a doctor?”

“I have no need of doctors. Four years have been proof enough. And, truth to tell, I am not so surprised. It is something
I have suspected all my life, or at least since…”

I hesitated.

“Since our mother died,” I said quietly.

Evan put down his spoon, and brought his hand up to the lower half of his face.

“You remember,” I said.

He did not answer me.

“You remember,” I said, in a slightly more distinct voice.

“I remember,” he replied.

“And I have thought,” I said quickly, “that my illness after that time and the simultaneous onset of my womanhood…”

He began to rub the underside of his chin with his forefinger.

“That is to say, the beginning of my monthly curse…”

He suddenly took his napkin from his lap and put it on the table. “These are not matters of which we should speak, Maren,”
he said, interrupting me. “I am sorry to have brought up such a private subject. It is entirely my fault. But I do want to
say to you that there can be no possible cause and effect between the events of that time and the state of your” — he hesitated
at the word — “womb. This is a subject for doctors and for your husband at the very least. Also, I think that sometimes such
difficulties may result from a state of mind as well as a state of bodily health.”

“Are you saying I am barren because I have wished it so?” I asked sharply, for I was more than a little piqued at this glib
remark on a matter he can have known so very little about.

“No, no, Maren,” he said hastily. “No, no, I have no authority to say such things. It’s just that I…” He paused. “Your marriage
to John is a happy one?”

“We have managed,” I said.

“I mean,” he said, with a small, awkward flutter of his hand, “in the matter of a child…”

“Do you mean, does my husband put his seed into me with regularity?” I asked, shocking him, for he colored instantly and darkly.

He stood up in a state of confusion, and I was immediately remorseful and angry with myself for causing him this discomfort.
I went to him and put my arms about his neck. He separated my hands from behind his neck and held my arms by their wrists,
and I leaned against his chest.

My eyes filled with tears. Perhaps it was the proximity of his familiar body and the smell of him that allowed me to weep.
“You have gone on,” I cried. “You have gone on, but I… I cannot go on, and sometimes I think I will go mad.”

His smell was in the fabric of his shirt. I pressed my face into the cloth and inhaled deeply. It was a wonderful smell, the
smell of ironed cotton and a man’s sweat.