Buried Angels

ST JÖRGEN HOSPITAL 1936

‘We consider it unlikely that your mother will be released anytime soon,’ said Dr Jansson. He was a white-haired man in late middle-age with a beard that made him resemble Santa Claus.

Laura sighed with relief. She had achieved a sense of order in her life now, with a good job and a new place to live. As one of Mrs Bergström’s lodgers on Galärbacken, she had only a small room, but it was all hers, and it was as nice as the dollhouse that had pride of place on the tall chest of drawers next to her bed. Life was much better without Dagmar. For three years her mother had been a patient at St Jörgen Hospital in Göteborg, and it was a relief not to have to worry about what trouble she might be getting into.

‘What exactly is wrong with my mother?’ she asked, trying to sound as if she cared.

She was nicely dressed, as always. She sat with her legs turned primly to one side, her handbag resting on her lap. Although she was only sixteen, she felt much older.

‘We haven’t been able to arrive at a specific diagnosis, but most likely she suffers from what we call delicate nerves. Unfortunately, the treatment has been unsuccessful. She still clings to her delusions about Hermann Göring. It’s not unusual for people with delicate nerves to develop fantasies about famous people.’

‘My mother has talked about him for as long as I can remember,’ said Laura.

The doctor gave her a sympathetic look.

‘From what I understand, you haven’t had an easy childhood. But you seem to be doing well. Not only do you have a pretty face, but you appear to be a very sensible young girl.’

‘I do what I can,’ she said shyly, but the bile rose up in her throat as images from her childhood came flooding in.

She hated not being able to control those thoughts. Normally she could suppress the memories of her mother and that dark, cramped flat with its stench of alcohol, which she’d never been able to erase, no matter how hard she scrubbed and cleaned. She had also buried the jeers of her classmates. No ugly words were hurled at her now. No one brought up the subject of her mother. Laura was respected for what she was: conscientious, proper, and meticulous in everything she undertook.

But still the fear remained. Fear that her mother would get out and ruin everything.

‘Would you like to see your mother? I can’t advise you to do so, but…’ Dr Jansson threw out his hands.

‘Oh, no, I think it’s best that I don’t. My mother always gets so… upset.’ Laura remembered every word that Dagmar had flung at her during that first visit. She had called her daughter such vile names that Laura couldn’t bear to repeat them. Dr Jansson obviously hadn’t forgotten either.

‘I think that’s a wise decision. We try to keep Dagmar calm.’

‘I hope you’re not letting my mother read the newspapers.’

‘No, after what happened, she does not have access to any papers.’ He shook his head emphatically.

Laura nodded. Two years ago the hospital had phoned her to say that Dagmar had read a newspaper report that Göring had moved the earthly remains of his wife Carin to Karinhall, his estate in Germany. He had also erected a memorial in her honour. Dagmar had flown into a rage, completely destroying her room and injuring one of the nurses so badly that he required stitches.

‘You’ll keep me informed if anything changes, won’t you?’ Laura said, standing up. She held her gloves in her left hand as she held out her right to bid the doctor goodbye.

As she turned and left the doctor’s office, a smile played over her lips. For now, at least, she was free.