Tekstuddrag - Kaiser

KAISER af Henriette E. Møller

Fredag den 7. april

Han dør snart. Det er det, hun siger, da hun kommer ind med duften af forårsaften, Agnete, hun kommer ind i det mørke værelse, hvor gardinerne har været trukket for i to døgn. Hun ser på ham, han ligger i sengen, hun siger det igen, han dør snart, og det er ham, hun taler om. Hun er hans datter, Agnete, det er hende, der siger det, det er Albert, der ligger i sengen, den gamle mand. Det er Ida, der sidder ved hans side, der har hun siddet længe, hun sidder ved sin morfar, det er hendes mor, der kommer ind, det er hans datter, der siger det, hun afsiger ligesom dødsdommen over ham. Hun kommer ikke som hans datter, men som Idas mor, som Ebbas datter, den gamle dame sidder ved den anden side af sengen, hun ser op på sin datter, Ebba ser på sin datter, da hun siger det. Han dør snart. Det er det, hun siger, hendes stemme er rusten, hun bevæger sig hurtigt, Agnete, den høje kvinde, sørger hun, vil hun sørge, når han er død? Nej. Det er bare træthed. Hun har arbejdet hele dagen med andre mennesker, der dør eller som bliver raske, hun er sygeplejerske, hun har set mange dø, hun kan genkende det, tilstanden, han er i, døden er i nærheden, det er den måde kroppen ser ud på, når den bliver overtaget af døden, lugten i rummet, hun siger det igen, og det drejer sig om ham, om hendes far, om hendes morfar, om hendes mand. Albert Kaiser. Han dør snart. De svarer hende ikke. Hvad siger man til sin mor eller til sin datter, når hun kommer med sådan en entré?

Hun havde nøglerne til lejligheden, Agnete, hun lukkede sig selv ind, og hun blev et kort øjeblik overrasket over mørket, lugten af sygdom, noget sødeligt, æbler og te, stilheden. Uret tikkede inde i stuen som altid, tiden går, selvom ens far ligger og er ved at dø, hun gik ned ad gangen og ind i hans soveværelse. Det er hendes barndomshjem, denne lejlighed på 1. sal, det er hendes far, der er ved at dø, det er naturligt, at han dør nu, han er næsten 89 år. Det er hendes mor, der sidder ved hans side, og hendes datter, Agnetes datter og Ebbas barnebarn, der sidder på den anden side, den gamle dame og den unge pige, Ebba og Ida, de to, der snart vil blive alene. Hun vil også blive alene, Agnete, hun vil miste sin far, men det er ikke noget, der vil gøre hende ondt, det ved hun, hun har taget sin afsked med ham for mange år siden. Hun sætter sig på stolen, der står ved fodenden, og sådan sidder de tre kvinder og ser på manden, der snart skal dø.

Hendes stemme skar igennem dem, da hun sagde det, Ida fik et chok, som om hun blev vækket, det var ikke, fordi hun var faldet i søvn, men stilheden havde ligesom lagt sig over de tre, Albert og Ebba og Ida, de havde bare været dem i deres ro. Efter postyret, blodpropperne, der havde ramt ham som hagl, pludselige skud i hans blodårer, han faldt om og har ikke rejst sig siden, sygeplejerskerne, der kom og lagde ham til rette, mormorens forvirring, de første timer løb hun rundt om sig selv som en hund, der har fået kappet halen af, i cirkler og uden mål, hun blev ved til hun blev udmattet, og så satte hun sig i stolen ved hans side. Ida, der blev ringet op af en sygeplejerske, hun var forvirret, sygeplejersken, hun synes, det var mærkeligt, at hun skulle ringe til barnebarnet og ikke til hans datter, og Ebba talte i vildelse om Agnete, om at hun nok ikke ville se sin far, om at hun måske var i Berlin, om at hun skulle ringe til Ida. Og Ida kom, hun havde nøglen til lejligheden, og hun græd, da hun så sin morfar ligge og være næsten usynlig i den store seng. Og der har han nu ligget i to døgn, og de to kvinder har sovet på skift, de er blevet vækket af hjemmehjælperens besøg, regelmæssighed er en dyd, hver tredje time, de ved alle, hvad det handler om, det er et menneske, der er ved at dø. De sover i stolen eller på mormorens seng i værelset ved siden af, de vågner og tror, han er død, og at de har sovet fra det.

Det er april, lyset bliver udenfor, gardinerne er trukket ned, de vil skåne hans øjne, og de ved ikke, hvad klokken er, de spiser, når de husker, at de skal spise. De har ventet. De venter. Den gamle dame vil snart miste sin mand, Ebba vil snart blive alene, enke, det er naturligt, hun er snart 87 år, hun har været heldig at have sin mand ved sig så længe, men disse døgn har tæret på hende, hun er selv udmattet. Det er hårdt at vente på døden. Og så kommer Agnete ind med sin rustne stemme, med duften af livet udenfor, med sine hurtige bevægelser. Men hun falder også ind i ventetiden, også hun falder til ro, også hun sætter sig og venter.

Hun har ikke set ham længe, Agnete, hun sidder og tænker efter, hvor lang tid er det siden, det er vel en to-tre måneder siden, hun forsøger at forbinde sit sidste besøg med en oplevelse, en begivenhed, en årstid, det er sådan, hun husker, der var koldt, der var sne på gaden, der var mange mennesker på cafeen overfor, det var en søndag, den sidste søndag i januar. Det er længe siden, men det havde han efterhånden vænnet sig til. Ebba fortalte ham, hvordan hun havde det, det var hende, der gav ham nyt fra datteren. Det var Ebba, der fortalte ham, at nu var hun kommet tilbage fra Berlin, at hun var begyndt på Bispebjerg igen, at hun var flyttet hen i lejligheden længere nede ad Ryesgade. På Østerbro-delen af Ryesgade. De bor alle på Ryesgade, Agnete på Østerbro-siden og Ebba og Albert på Nørrebro-siden. Men selvom de bor så tæt på hinanden, går der alligevel for lang tid mellem hendes besøg. Det ved hun godt. Han ligger ikke godt i sengen, det kan hun se. Hun bør rette på ham. Eller på hovedpuden, det tænker hun, men hun tænker, at det er længe siden, hun har rørt ved ham. I deres familie giver de ikke knus, det tænker hun på, og hun ved godt, at det er en lille løgn. Hun giver ikke knus. De andre gør. Hun bliver altid så overrasket, når hun ser de knus, Ida giver sin mormor, den lille dame, der næsten forsvinder i Idas arme. De er faldende, Idas knus, overvældende, hun læner sig så hårdt ind mod sin mormor, når hun giver et knus, hun mister næsten balancen, Ebba, men Ida holder hende oppe med sine voldsomme bevægelser. Agnete har aldrig givet sin far et knus, den gamle mand, hun kan slet ikke forestille sig det nu. Sidst de rørte ved hinanden, var dengang hun tog hans hånd, de var ude og gå, Ebba og Albert med deres lille datter, hun var nok syv år, Agnete var syv år, og de var ude at gå, det gjorde de så tit, rundt om søerne. Det var Ebba og Albert, der gik forrest, Agnete gik bag dem, hun fortabte sig i ting, hun så på vejen, det gjorde hun altid, hun stoppede op og måtte løbe for at følge med dem, og så stoppede hun op igen, der lå nok en sten, et spillekort, én havde tabt, og så løb hun igen op til dem, hendes mor og far. Hendes far gik med hænderne bag på ryggen, sådan gik han altid, hans store hænder, hans ene hånd holdt den anden hånd ved håndleddet, sådan gik han. Hun løb op, hun ville lægge sin hånd i hans frie hånd. Hun forsøgte at fange den, hans hånd, at vende den, så de kunne holde hinanden i hånden, og han fulgte hendes bevægelser, han gengældte hendes hånds tryk. Det var akavet at gå sådan for Agnete, men nu holdt de i hånd, hendes hånd lå i hans som et æg i en fuglerede. Hun gik trippende bag ham, hans store skridt, hendes små. Men så slap han. Hun forsøgte at klemme hans hånd fast om sin igen, men han lod sin hånd være død, usamarbejdsvillig, der var ikke mere at gøre. Han ville ikke holde hende i hånden, hendes hånd blev tabt af hans. Det var sidste gang, de rørte hinanden, det er over 50 år siden. Sådan kan man vænne sig til meget. Og nu dør han snart, den gamle Kaiser, det tænker hun. Hun rejser sig, hun står lidt, hun tager ligesom tilløb. Puden skal rettes. Hans hoved skal holdes imens, det er lettest, hvis hun selv gør det, hun er sygeplejerske, hun har prøvet det så mange gange før. Men ikke på sin far. Ebba ser forskrækket til, hun fik et lille chok, da Agnete rejste sig, nu sad de lige så roligt, tingene var ligesom faldet på plads efter hendes ankomst, og nu hvirvler det op igen. Ebba tror, hun vil gå, hun tror, Agnete vil gå igen, hun rejser sig selv halvt op, Ebba. Men så sætter hun sig træt ned igen, da hun ser, at Agnete bare vil rette på puden. Ida ser udmattet ud, som om hun sover med åbne øjne. Agnete holder sin fars hoved, hans hår, han vågner ikke, han opdager ikke, at hun hjælper ham.

Og det var lige det, der skulle til, den store forening af far og datter her på dødslejet, det tænker Ida, hun er tung i hovedet, hendes tanker klumper sig sammen som cement, der mangler væske, det kunne være så smukt, han skulle åbne sine øjne, den gamle mand, han skulle finde hendes hånd, han skulle sige undskyld, og hun skulle sige undskyld. Hans sidste ord skulle være andet end et hjælpeløst suk, hans sidste handling skulle ikke være denne rallen, men et klart øjeblik, hvor alt kunne blive forklaret. Og Ida ved, at det ikke kommer til at ske. Hun føler sig mat, træt, det er hårdt, det er absurd at vente på, at han skal dø, når hun ikke ønsker, det skal ske. Hun føler, hun står og holder døren lukket med alle sine kræfter, men den, der vil ind, har flere kræfter end hende, hun har oplevet det før, døden skal nok komme, uanset om det er til sygesengen eller til motorvejen, til huset, der brænder, til slagsmålet i fuldskab, til trappen, der var for stejl, den kommer, når den vil, døden, den dukker op og stjæler mænd og børn og kvinder. Hun er træt. Hun trænger til at få børstet tænder, hun trænger til et bad, noget andet tøj, noget varm mad. Hun retter sig op, hun ser på sin mor, hendes bevægelser, de er professionelle, hun har prøvet det før, at rette puden, det gør hende ikke til en god datter. Det er hendes tanker, Idas hoved er fuld af dem, tankerne, de kravler rundt som insekter om de store og små ting, mens hun sidder og venter ved sygesengen. Det er hendes liv, der er sat i stå, og det tænker hun ikke bare, fordi hun sidder her i det mørke værelse med mormoren og morfaren, det er det, at hun snart bliver 30 år, det er det speciale, det er Jakob, hun tænker på, den uro hun får i maven, når hun tænker på ham.

Fra side 2-6

KAISER by Henriette E. Møller
Translated by Thomas E. Kennedy

Friday, April 7

He will die soon. That is what she says when she comes in with the smell of the spring evening, Agnete, she comes into the dark room, where the curtains have been drawn for two days. She looks at him, he is lying in bed, she says it again, he’ll die soon, and it is he she is talking about. She is his daughter, Agnete, it is she who says it, it is Albert who is lying in the bed, the old man. It is Ida who sits at his side, where she has been sitting for a long time, she sits by her mother’s father, it is her mother who comes in, it is his daughter who says that, she in a sense pronounced the sentence of death upon him. She is not coming as his daughter, but as Ida’s mother, as Ebba’s daughter, the old lady sits at the other side of the bed, she looks up at her daughter, Ebba looks at her daughter when she says that. He’ll die soon. That is what she says, her voice is hoarse, she moves quickly, Agnete, the tall woman, is she grieving, will she grieve when he is dead? No. It is only weariness. She has worked all day with other people who die or get well, she is a nurse, she has seen many die, she can recognize it, the condition he is in, death is close, it is the way the body looks when it is taken over by death, the smell in the room, she says it again, and it concerns him, concerns her father, concerns her grandfather, concerns her husband. Albert Kaiser. He will die soon. They don’t answer her. What can one say to one’s mother or one’s daughter when she makes such an entry?

She had the keys to the apartment, Agnete, she let herself in, and for a brief moment, she was surprised by the darkness, the smell of disease, something sweet, apples and tea, silence. The clock ticked in the living room as always, time passes, even if one’s father lies there and is about to die, she went down the hall and into his bedroom. It is her childhood home, the apartment on the first floor, it is her father who is about to die, it is natural, that he will die now, he is almost 89 years old. It is her mother who sits by his side, and her daughter, Agnete’s daughter and Ebba’s grandchild who sits on the other side, the old lady and the young girl, Ebba and Ida, the two who will soon be alone. She will also be alone, Agnete, she will lose her father, but that is not something that will hurt her, she knows that, she has said her goodbyes to him many years ago. She sits on the chair which is at the foot of the bed, and so the three women sit and look at the man who will soon die.

Her voice sliced through them when she said that, Ida was startled as if she had been awakened, not that she had fallen asleep but the silence had seemed to have settled over the three of them, Albert and Ebba and Ida, they had just been there in the quiet. After the commotion, the blood clots that had struck him like buckshot suddenly fired into his blood vessels, he fell down and hadn’t stood up since, the nurses who came and placed him properly in bed, grandmother’s confusion, the first hours she ran around like a dog whose tail has been clipped off, in circles and aimlessly, she kept on until she was exhausted, and then she sat in the chair at his side. Ida, who had been phoned by a nurse, she was confused, the nurse, she thought it strange that she should phone the grandchild and not the daughter, and Ebba spoke deliriously about Agnete, about how she probably wouldn’t see her father, and that she might be in Berlin, about that she should phone Ida. And Ida came, she had the key to the apartment, and she cried when she saw her grandfather lying there almost invisible in the big bed. And there he has lain now for two days, and the two women have slept in shifts, they’ve been awakened by the domestic helper’s visit, regularity is a virtue, every third hour, they all know what this is about, it is a person who is about to die. They sleep in the chair or on the grandmother’s bed in the next room, they wake and think he is dead and that they were asleep when it happened.

It is April, the light is kept out, the curtains are closed, they want to spare his eyes, and they don’t know what time it is, they eat when they remember that they have to eat. They have waited. They wait. The old lady will soon lose her husband, Ebba will soon be alone, widowed, that is natural, she will be 87 soon, she was lucky to have her husband this long, but these days have been wearing on her, she is exhausted. It is hard to wait for death. And then Agnete comes in with her hoarse voice, with her aroma of life from outside, with her quick movements. But she falls into the waiting, she quiets down too, she sits and waits too.

It is long since she’s seen him, Agnete, she sits trying to remember how long it has been, it is at least two-three months ago, she tries to connect her last visit with some experience, an event, a season, that’s how she remembers, it was cold, there was snow on the street, there were a lot of people in the café across the way, it was a Sunday, the last Sunday in January. It is long ago, but he had gotten used to that finally. Ebba told him about how she was, she was the one who gave him news about his daughter. It was Ebba who told him that now she had returned from Berlin, that she had begun at Bispebjerg Hospital again, that she had moved into an apartment further down Ryes Street. On the East Copenhagen part of Ryes Street. They all live on Ryes Street, Agnete on the East side and Ebba and Albert on the North side. But even though they live so close to each other, anyway a lot of time passes between her visits. She is aware of that. He isn’t lying comfortably in bed, she can see that. She ought to straighten him. Or the pillow, she thinks, but she thinks that it has been a long time since she touched him. In her family they don’t hug, she thinks about that, and she knows very well it is a bit of a lie. She doesn’t hug. The others do. She is always so surprised when she sees the hugs Ida gives her grandmother, the little lady who almost disappears in Ida’s arms. They descend upon her, Ida’s hugs, overwhelming, she leans in so hard against her grandmother when she hugs her, she nearly loses balance, Ebba, but Ida holds her up with her energetic movements. Agnete has never given her father a hug, the old man, she can not even imagine doing so now. The last time they touched each other was that time she took his hand when they were out walking, Ebba and Albert with their little daughter, she was about seven, Agnete was seven years old, and they were out for a walk, they did that so often, around the lakes. It was Ebba and Albert who walked in the lead, Agnete went behind them, she got absorbed in things she saw along the way, she always did that, she stopped and had to run to catch up with them, and then she stopped again, there was a stone, a playing card someone had lost and then she ran to catch up with them again, her mother and father. Her father walked with his hands behind his back, that’s how he always walked, his big hands, his one hand holding the other by the wrist, that’s how he walked. She ran up, she wanted to place her hand in his free hand. She tried to catch it, his hand, to turn it, so they could hold each other’s hand, and he followed her movements, he reciprocated the pressure of her hand. It was awkward for Agnete to walk that way, but now they were holding hands, her hand lay in his like an egg in a bird’s nest. She walked trippingly behind him, his long stride, her short one. But then he let go. She tried to hold his hand tight in hers again, but he let his hand go dead, not cooperating, there was nothing more to do. He didn’t want to hold her hand, her hand slipped from his. That was the last time they touched one another, more than fifty years before. One can accustom oneself to many things. And now he would soon die, the old Kaiser, she thinks. She stands up, she stands a little, she leans forward. The pillow needs to be straightened. His head has to be held while she does it, it’s easiest if she does it herself, she is a nurse, she has done it so many times before. But not for her father. Ebba looks frightened, she was startled when Agnete stood up, they had been sitting so quietly, things had seemed to fall into place after her arrival, and now they were stirred up again. Ebba thinks she wants to go, Agnete will go again, she half stands, Ebba. But then she sits down wearily again when she sees that Agnete only wants to straighten the pillow. Ida looks exhausted, as though she is sleeping with open eyes. Agnete holds her father’s head, his hair, he doesn’t wake, he is not aware that she is helping him.

And that’s just what was needed, the big reunion of father and daughter here on the deathbed, Ida thinks, her head is heavy, her thoughts lump together like cement without enough water, it could be so beautiful, he should open his eyes, the old man, he should find her hand, he should say he’s sorry, and she should say she’s sorry. His last word should be more than a helpless sigh, his last act should not be that rattle, but a clear moment in which everything could be explained. And Ida knows that that will not happen. She feels weak, tired, it is hard, it is absurd to wait for him to die when she doesn’t want it to happen. She feels as though she is holding the door shut with all her strength but the one who wants to come in has more force then she, she has experienced it before, death will come, regardless whether it is in the sick bed or on the highway, in a house that’s on fire, in a drunken fight, on a stairway that was too steep, it comes when it will, death, it appears and steals men and children and women. She is tired. She needs to brush her teeth, she needs a bath, some clean clothes, some hot food. She sits up straight, she looks at her mother, her movements, they are professional, she has done this before, straightening a pillow, that doesn’t make her a good daughter. Those are her thoughts, Ida’s head is full of them, thoughts, they crawl around like insects, about big and little things, while she sits and waits at the sick bed. It is her life that has been interrupted, and she doesn’t think that just because she sits here in this dark room with her grandfather and grandmother, it is that she will soon be thirty, it is especially that, it is Jacob she is thinking about, the discomfort in her stomach when she thinks about him.

From pages 2-6