By the time we parked at home, Alva was asleep and Ebba and Jenny were arguing. I had no idea what about. These spats usually started as statements and accusations but quickly descended into a kind of barking. Variations of sounds that grated on the bone structures in my cranium, continually weakening it and rendering it less impervious to diseases and madness.
The instant I released the child safety lock, they each immediately opened their doors and darted out because they both wanted to be the one to get the mail. I stayed in my seat and listened to Alva’s heavy breathing, staring at the wall of the carport until I eventually took a deep breath and turned to face the violins, sheet music, lunch boxes, wet swimsuits, gym bags, and the sleeping three-year-old.
I picked Alva up and pulled the pacifier out of her mouth. It was probably time for her to give it up, but I wasn’t up to starting that project.
“We’re home now, honey. You have to wake up.”
No reaction. Her head rested heavily against my shoulder and her breathing was deep and regular. Once we were inside I put her down on the floor and gently shook her.
“We’re home now, honey. You have to wake up.”
She opened her eyes a crack, but they immediately slid shut again. Her head lolled forward and her legs buckled under her. I shook her harder.
“Alva, you have to wake up. Otherwise you won’t be able to fall asleep at bedtime tonight. Alva!”
With a howl she twisted out of my arms and took a few wobbly steps. I followed her and tried to give her a hug, but then she kicked and howled even louder.
“Honey,” I said and kissed her on the cheek.
She whined quietly, “I want crackers and milk! And Diego!”
“Sure.”
I carried her to the sofa, smelling her soft hair and feeling a tug at my heart, as if a thin thread were being pulled through it.
“Lovely, lovely Alva,” I murmured and laid her down.
“Crackers.”
“Yup. Do you want a blanket?”
Alva nodded, and I covered her with a blanket and turned on the TV. I should have tried to get her started on something more active, get her to play with her sisters, get out the art supplies or beads. Or maybe something more gender neutral, like blocks. Instead I turned up the volume on the TV and headed for the kitchen.
A vague sense of frustration quivered in my chest.
I should go for a jog. That would put my humors back into balance. Reduce the level of black bile. It had been a while now, over a week.
But I didn’t have it in me. My body felt weak, soft like jelly.
Which is why I chose instead to unload it all on Bj?rnar as he stood over the cutting board later, his sleeves rolled up and with that wrinkle in his forehead that didn’t usually go away until late in the evening.
“I got so irritated,” I concluded, “both at the au pair, who clearly doesn’t care, and at Titus’s parents, who just renounced all responsibility for the whole preschool. Quantity time? What does that even mean? That’s what it’s like for everyone. That’s life! I know that it’s mostly their fault, but she could have shown a little interest, couldn’t she? I was just trying to help! I was being a mensch! And it’s her job to take care of the kid!”
“Don’t you think maybe she had other things to think about?” he asked calmly, walking over to the sink to rinse the brussels sprouts. He usually parboiled them, then sautéed them in sunflower oil and sprinkled them with sea salt. My mouth was watering at the thought.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, where did you say she was from again?”
It wasn’t because I didn’t follow the news. I considered myself a relatively well-informed person and I had seen countless TV images of cities, pulverized and destroyed by the inconceivable and gruesome forces of nature.
So it wasn’t that. I just hadn’t made the connection. The distance between the preschool and the natural disaster was so vast. They were like two satellites orbiting their own end of the galaxy.
Until now.
I thumped my fist against my head and pursed my lips.
“Doesn’t it embarrass you to be so self-absorbed?” Bj?rnar asked.
“It didn’t occur to me that she was from the Philippines,” I mumbled.
“It might make sense to think a little before you speak.”
“But I live locally,” I protested. “If you start looking at life from a global perspective, I don’t know how you can bear it: natural disasters, war, poverty, human trafficking, pornography, and prostitution. The Western world’s exploitation of development-challenged countries. I can’t think about all that on a daily basis. I don’t have the bandwidth!”
“Development-challenged? Is that even a term?”
“Well, I think third world is kind of outdated, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“You get that you’re going to have to apologize, right?”
“To the au pair?”
“Yeah.”
“Do I have to?”
“Yes.”
I stared out the window. At our cherry-tree-less yard.
“Fine,” I sighed. “I’ll apologize.”
I probably had to.
Yeah, I had to.
But only if I ran into her. Because if I didn’t run into her, it would be physically impossible for me to apologize. Even Bj?rnar had to concede that.
5
The next day I left work directly from the reading center to avoid the meeting room. Just in case. Earlier in the day I had run into Peter, who was all up in arms.
“Do you know the University of Bergen just lowered the number of credits their courses are worth?” he announced and then made a hiccuping sound, which seemed to have become chronic. “Which is the opposite of what we’re doing. What we’re doing is just a way to cut back on staffing. Mark my words!”
“What do you mean? Are they going to lay people off?”
“Lay people off, reorganize, offer incentives . . . Who knows what form it will take? This administration isn’t really calling its own shots, if you know what I mean. They’re going to get a taste of their own medicine, though.”
“Uh, what do you mean?”