Buried Angels

FJÄLLBACKA 1929

School was a torment. Each morning Laura tried to put off leaving for school until the very last second. In the playground the ugly words and names would rain down on her, and of course it was all her mother’s fault. Everyone in Fjällbacka knew who Dagmar was: a crazy woman, the town drunk. Sometimes on her way to school Laura would see her mother wandering around the marketplace, howling at people and raving about Göring. Laura just kept walking. Pretending not to see her, she would hurry past.

Her mother was seldom home. She stayed out late at night and was usually asleep when Laura left for school. Then she’d be gone when her daughter came home. The first thing Laura would do was tidy up the flat. Only after she’d removed all traces of her mother’s presence would she feel any sense of calm. She gathered up the clothes that had been tossed on the floor, she put away the butter that had been left out, and she examined the bread to see if it was still edible after her mother had neglected to put it in the bread bin. Then Laura would dust and clear up. When everything was in its proper place and all the surfaces gleamed, she finally allowed herself to play with her dollhouse. It was her dearest possession. One day when her mother wasn’t home a nice neighbour had knocked on the door and given her the dollhouse.

Sometimes people were kind and brought her things: food, clothing, toys. But most of them just stared and pointed. Ever since the time when her mother had left her alone in Stockholm, Laura had learned not to ask for help. On that occasion, the police had come to fetch her, and for two days it had felt as if she’d ended up in heaven. A family had taken her in, and both the mother and father had such kind eyes. She may have been only five at the time, but she could still remember every detail of those two days. The mother had made the biggest stack of pancakes that Laura had ever seen and urged her to eat more until her stomach was so full that she thought she’d never be hungry again. From a chest of drawers they had taken out lovely floral dresses for her to wear – dresses that were not ragged or dirty. She’d felt like a princess in her finery. For two nights she was tucked into a beautiful bed and given a kiss on the forehead. She had slept so soundly between those clean sheets. The mother with the kind eyes had smelled wonderful, not boozy and musty like her own mother. And they had the nicest house, with porcelain figurines and tapestries hanging on the wall. On the very first day Laura had begged to be allowed to stay. The mother didn’t say a word as she hugged the little girl close in her soft arms.

But all too soon Laura and her mother were back home together. It was as if nothing had happened except that her mother was angrier than ever. Laura received thrashing after thrashing, till she could hardly sit down. That was when she made a decision: She would no longer dream about the mother who had been kind to her. No one was going to rescue her, and there was no use struggling. Regardless what happened, she would only end up back with her mother in the dark, cramped flat. But when she grew up, she would have a beautiful home with little porcelain cats sitting on crocheted doilies and embroidered tapestries in every room.

She knelt down in front of the dollhouse. The flat was clean and tidy, and she had folded and put away the laundry. Then she’d eaten a sandwich, and now she could allow herself to enter a different and better world. In her hand she held the mamma doll, who was so light and beautiful. Her dress was white, with lace and a high collar, and her hair was gathered in a knot. Laura loved the mamma doll. With her finger she stroked the doll’s cheek. She was lovely, just like the mother who had smelled so good.

Gently Laura set the doll on the sofa in the parlour. That was the room she liked best. Everything was perfect. There was even a little crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Laura could spend hours staring at those tiny prisms, amazed that anyone could make something so perfect and small. She squinted her eyes to inspect the room. Was it really perfect, or was there anything she could improve? She tried moving the dining table a bit to the left. Then one by one she moved the chairs, and it took a while to get them to line up properly at the table. Finally everything met with her approval – until she noticed there was an empty spot in the middle of the parlour. She couldn’t have that. Picking up the mamma doll with one hand, she moved the sofa with the other. Satisfied, she put the sofa back down and then searched the dollhouse for the two children. They could come in too, as long as they behaved themselves. There was to be no running around or creating a mess in the parlour. They had to be polite and sit still. She was very firm about that.

She set the children on either side of the mamma doll. When Laura tilted her head at an angle, it was almost as if the mamma doll was smiling. She was so lovely and perfect. When Laura grew up, she was going to be exactly like her.