The Dinosaur Feather (40 page)

Anna could see his Adam’s apple bob up and down.

“It was fine,” he said, and his eyes grew dark. “No, it wasn’t, not at all. But I couldn’t bear it, Anna. I couldn’t bear watching it. I don’t know how else to explain it. When you were five weeks old, the health visitor returned. She had been there, twice, the first few weeks, while everything was still new. She had told me not to pressure Cecilie into breastfeeding. Bottles were okay. Most mothers got the baby blues. You were a healthy little girl. To call her with any worries.

“On her next visit, she raised the alarm. You hadn’t gained enough weight, and she couldn’t get you to respond properly. Our lives changed that afternoon. Cecilie didn’t like feeding you. She told the health visitor to her face. She thought it was disgusting when your diaper needed changing, when you puked up milk. Our house was a total mess. I was at my wits’ end. The health visitor asked so many questions. A doctor arrived soon afterward. Cecilie said that yes, she often wished she had never had you. Sometimes, she would leave you by yourself, she said, bluntly. That was when I realized how thin Cecilie had become. Scrawny, like a twig. The health visitor gave me a look I’ll never forget. It said: Don’t you realize that children can die through lack of love? They can die!

The doctor examined Cecilie and spoke to her. They left shortly afterward. I held you while the health visitor packed up your things.

“We need to look into this,” she said. “We need to decide the best place for your daughter to be. It might be a while before you get her back.” Her eyes were a mix of condemnation and compassion. Then she took you away. It wasn’t until then I snapped out of my trance. I ran around the house, howling like an animal.”

Anna wiped away a tear, and Jens looked at the floor.

“The system took over. Your mother was hospitalized. She didn’t want to see you. She would barely see me. She was far away, didn’t care. For a long time it looked like I wouldn’t be allowed to keep you. Three, four weeks. I took time off work. Endless meetings, hearings, and examinations followed. It was 1978. There weren’t many single dads in Denmark.” He smiled quickly. “They had nothing to compare with. Finally, the case was decided. It set a precedent, in fact.”

For a moment he looked proud. “You were allowed to stay with me at home. I felt terrible. I had let down Cecilie, and I had let you down, too. Physically, you recovered quickly. I fed you to the gills.” He smiled. “We slept in the same bed at night, and when you woke up . . . I looked into your eyes the whole time.” He blinked away a tear. “To begin with, you wouldn’t look at me, but I won your trust. We would lie on the bed, gazing at each other for hours.”

Anna was crying openly now.

“I met with Cecilie’s doctor. Cecilie was suffering from severe postpartum depression, he told me. It wasn’t her fault. A woman’s hormones alter dramatically following childbirth, and it can trigger varying degrees of depression. Cecilie was badly affected. She had been prescribed medication and had started intensive therapy. For months she didn’t want contact with me or you.” Jens sent Anna a look of infinite love.

“I named you Sara. It means ‘princess’ in Hebrew.” He was silent for a moment, then he continued.

“I was exhausted and miserable, but I coped. I bought a baby sling and carried you on my back when I started working again. I raised my desk, so I could write standing up. Of course, I couldn’t work as much as I used to, but we muddled through. You hung on my back babbling, waving your arms and kicking your legs. At times, it was quite distracting for my political analysis of the effect of the Cold War on European policy.” He laughed briefly. “We had a new health visitor by then, the previous one having gone to Greenland. I remember the day she came to say good-bye. She was proud of me, she said. We stood in the doorway and she hugged me.

“‘You can do this, Jens,’ she said. I knew she was right.

“In the late summer Cecilie improved and began visiting us. She thought you were cute. She wanted to come home. Slowly, I began to hope. The medication made Cecilie tired and irritable, but the apathetic look in her eyes had gone, and it was wonderful to see her take an interest in you. You were happy, chubby, and bore no grudge; on the contrary—you kept reaching out for Cecilie.

“There were only two flies in the ointment. Cecilie was adamant that no one must know about her depression. She felt ashamed and demanded that I help cover up her shame. To explain her hospital stay, she wanted us to tell everyone that she had developed serious back problems after the birth. When the new health visitor came, I realized I had accepted Cecilie’s lie. I told her I didn’t have your records, even though the last health visitor had given them to me and asked me to pass them on. It was an easy lie. I burned your old records and started spreading the story about Cecilie’s bad back. Nine months had passed and, of course, people had noticed that something was amiss. We had friends, especially in Copenhagen, people we knew from college, but no one knew the truth. The first year with a new baby is tough, everybody knows that. When we were finally ready to visit friends and relatives again, we told them the story about Cecilie’s bad back and they understood. Everyone was sympathetic.

“It was easy to lie at home in Brænderup, too. We had moved into the house shortly before you were born and it wasn’t until later, when things had improved, that we became a part of the local community—the main reason we had moved out there in the first place. Another year and we would never have been able to keep such an illness a secret. It was as if it had never happened. Cecilie blossomed. Decorated the house and made new curtains. Enjoyed being a stay-at-home mom. That autumn you got a new name. That was the second fly in the ointment. Sara’s such a beautiful name. So is Anna, of course,” he hastened to add. “But I was used to calling you Sara. For years I would call you Sara when no one was listening. Do you remember me suggesting it for Lily?” Anna nodded. Jens seemed to have run out of words. Anna’s tears had dried, and she didn’t know what to say. Jens gave her an anxious look as if he was aware the jury was out.

Anna said: “You’re a hard-nosed political analyst, feared and admired, and you’re so weak when it comes to Cecilie.” Even she could hear her voice was more loving than she had intended it to be. “How on earth could you agree to something so outrageous?” she continued. “I simply don’t understand. Mom was seriously ill, and for two months I was home alone with her, every day. That’s bad, Jens. And it shouldn’t have happened. But it did. I would have understood. Cecilie was ill, it wasn’t her fault. But you chose to keep it a secret. I really don’t get that.”

She looked pensively into space before she continued.

“If only you knew how the pieces are finally starting to fall into place.”

Jens briefly raised an eyebrow.

“I was eighteen years old when I met Cecilie,” he said. “She was twenty-five. I was still living with my parents.” He smiled. “Cecilie bowled me over. Seven years older than me, mature and . . . a real woman. I admired her. She was beautiful, and she had her life figured out. She had just finished teacher-training and bought her own apartment when we started seeing each other. Cecilie was always the stronger.”

“Certainly the more dominant,” Anna interjected.

“Call it what you will. I’ve always been more reticent and invisible. The guy in the corner who never said much. Cecilie had courage. She set the agenda. Allocated roles and it suited both of us very well. At political meetings, Cecilie would speak out with a clear vision. I wrote whatever needed writing, but I never said anything. I’m sure people wondered what she saw in me. But we complemented each other. Cecilie was extrovert, vociferous, radical. I was loyal, flexible, and I worshipped her. That’s why we split up. Because it just wouldn’t work. Cecilie wanted a challenge. I tried, but I couldn’t give her what she wanted. And yet, we’ve never separated properly. We still loved each other, Anna. We still do. And, back then . . . back then she asked me to keep silent about what had happened. She wanted to forget it. She wanted to start over, wipe the slate clean. She couldn’t see why we should stir up something it would be in everyone’s best interests to forget. Not least you. Deep down I always knew there would be consequences. But she convinced me it was for the best. As a teenager you were unbelievably angry with us. We discussed at length whether you might have some lingering notion of what had happened. An imprint on your earliest memory, perhaps? Cecilie consulted several experts and received a lot of contradictory information, which only served to confuse us even more. In the middle of it all, Troels entered our lives. By the way, Troels . . . he dropped by . . .” Jens hesitated. He had interrupted himself and shook his head.

“We knew we loved you. We knew we had patched up the past as well as we could, and though you were one angry teenager, you were also utterly gorgeous. Extroverted and full of life. We met Troels and saw in him a child who so obviously needed us. Cecilie, especially, saw him as a project. At times, it was almost too much. I was terrified that you might get jealous. Luckily, you were also very fond of him. ‘Here’s a boy who’s never had anything,’ Cecilie said one evening. I don’t quite know how this related to you, but somehow it did. The reasoning was . . .” He looked away. “There was always someone worse off.” Anna flexed her foot in irritation.

“Dad,” Anna said quietly. “Have you ever asked Cecilie about those two months? When I lost weight, when I grew nonresponsive?” She twisted the knife deliberately. Jens looked at her for a long time. He shifted in his armchair.

“No,” he gulped, eventually. “I’ve never asked her.” He slumped back in his chair like a fallen king. Anna could see he was bracing himself for the worst, but she felt calm inside.

“That’s all right,” she said. “I will.”

Jens gave his daughter a wretched look, but he said nothing.

“You and I have looked after Mom my whole life,” Anna continued. “Because Mom had been ill. Mom was frail. Please, don’t shout, no, don’t tell Mom, it’ll only upset her. You’ve protected her because you thought it was for the best. I understand.” Anna leaned forward across the coffee table and looked straight into Jens’s eyes.

“But it was a shitty thing to do, Jens Nor,” she said. “It really was. And now it’s over.”

Anna glanced at her watch. Professor Freeman’s lecture was starting in half an hour. She had to go. They got up and walked to the door. Anna had put her hand on the handle when she turned around and pulled her father toward her.

“Silly old fool,” she said. “That’s what you are.” Jens rested his head on her shoulder and let himself be held. He still hadn’t spoken. It wasn’t until she was some way down the walkway that he called out to her.

“Anna, hold on.” He came up to her, shivering in the cold. “What I was about to tell you just now . . . about Troels. I nearly forgot. But he was here the other day. Wednesday night.” Anna stopped on the stairs and walked back up two steps. Something inside her turned to ice.

“Here?”

“Yes, I was dozing in front of the TV when I was woken up by a knock on the door. It was Troels. I could barely recognize him! We tried to figure out how long it had been. Ten years, we concluded. I made him some tea, he was shivering with cold. He had been to the Student Union, he said, and decided to drop by on his way home. It appears he has been trying to contact you. I was excited he wanted to apply to the arts school. I never really had much faith in the modeling business. And Karen. Troels told me she is already studying there. That’s brilliant, eh? Did you know? I’m so pleased you’ve started seeing each other again.” Jens suddenly looked happy. Then he noticed the expression on Anna’s face.

“What’s wrong?”

“That’s weird.” Anna hesitated. “Because I saw Troels yesterday. In the street. And he never mentioned he had tried to get hold of me.”

“He seemed a little out of it, to be honest.” Jens was really freezing now. “At first I thought he might be on drugs. He was shaking and seemed a bit manic. But it stopped once he came inside and warmed up. And he was ridiculously underdressed. I lent him a sweater. Both his parents have died, did you know? First his mom, breast cancer, and then his dad, the year before last. Troels told me he hadn’t seen much of his dad since his mom died, and his sister is a lawyer working here in Copenhagen. I don’t think he sees much of her, either . . .” Jens tailed off.

“Karen and I have agreed to meet with him. I just need to get a few things out of the way. My dissertation defense and . . . Cecilie.”

“Do the right thing, sweetheart,” Jens said. Anna was on the verge of asking if that meant she should keep her mouth shut, but she suppressed her antagonism.

“I will, Dad,” she said quietly. Then she walked quickly down to Nørreport station and took the metro to the Bella Centre.

Anna stuck her key in the lock just before eight o’clock. Karen and Lily were playing with Play-Doh in the living room. Lily was in her PJs and wore a plastic apron. She could hear music in the background and on the table lay four colorful drawings, a combination of Lily’s shapes and Karen’s eye for color matching.

“They’re lovely,” Anna said, and meant it. “Did you make them?” Lily was clinging to her.

“Yes, I did them all on my own with Auntie Karen.”

Anna ate the leftovers from Karen and Lily’s dinner. The kaleidoscope pieces were still whirling around inside her head. Outside, the autumn weather raged; Dr. Tybjerg was hiding in the Vertebrate Collection, and somewhere the World’s Most Irritating Detective was probably putting his feet up after one of his yummy wife’s gourmet dinners. Screw him. Anna’s tomato soup tasted delicious, and when she put her daughter to bed, she snuggled up to her in the darkness and told her a story about a bird that was hatched with skis on its feet. Anna lay next to Lily until she was asleep.

Karen was reading on the sofa when Anna came out and sat down beside her. Karen looked up.
What happened?
her eyes asked.

“Cecilie suffered from severe postpartum depression when I was born. She was at home with me for the first months until it was discovered how much weight I had lost. She didn’t like feeding me. She was admitted to the hospital, and Jens became a single dad. He called me Sara. When I was nine months old, Cecilie came home. She was well again, or well enough. She didn’t like the name Sara, so I was renamed. Like a computer file.” Anna fell silent. Karen’s jaw dropped.