Mormor’s Will
by Sheila Kinsella
The ferry pulled out of the harbour, swung around and headed away from Göteborg — Gothenburg — towards its Southern Archipelago. The engines settled into their humdrum sound as the boat chugged along. Agneta watched a flock of seagulls following the boat, swooping up and down against the blue sky. She felt the cool sea breeze on her face while she stared up at the hundred-and-seven-metre high Älvsborg Bridge spanning the Göta River, connecting North and South Gothenburg.
Tourists gathered on deck, taking photographs. The shoreline was littered with mounds of rock topped with tiny, ruddy coloured huts, used as lookout stations in days gone by. Like iced buns decorated with a cherry.
Agneta stared into the clear waters, thinking. Why did Mormor, her maternal grandmother, want to see her, after all this time? Was she ill? It wasn’t her birthday. Agneta recalled childhood summer holidays on the island, playing outside all day, swimming and biking. The matriarch had been distant towards her then. Agneta overheard her calling her den mörka, ‘the dark one,’ and wondered why didn’t she call her cousin Pernilla den bleka, ‘the pale one.’
‘Penny for them?’
Startled, Agneta turned to see a tall man wearing a Panama hat. An expensive-looking camera dangled around his neck.
‘Pardon?’
‘Your thoughts?’
‘Oh, just admiring the scenery,’ she replied.
‘Beautiful isn’t it?’ the man said. ‘Say, you’re not from around these parts, where are you from?’
Agneta thought, Here we go again. It’s not the first time I’ve heard that. She was of a mind to walk away, but it was difficult on a boat. She decided to front it out. ‘I’m Swedish.’
‘Okay, but where are you really from?’ He insisted.
‘Gothenburg. You?’
‘Philadelphia,’ he said, moving a little closer.
Agneta took a sidestep away from him.
‘If you don’t mind me saying so, you don’t look Swedish,’ he said.
‘I do mind.’ She turned away, opened the door to the cabin and sat down on a window seat as far away from the entrance as possible. People were so rude.
A voice over the tannoy announced the boat’s arrival at Saltholmen. Many tourists boarded, having taken the tram from central Gothenburg. Crowds of chattering passengers mulled around, deciding where to sit. A couple speaking Swedish sat opposite her. Their small child reminded her of herself at that age. Black hair, dark almond eyes and a shyness as she snuggled up to her mother. Agneta smiled at the girl; a flicker of a smile flashed across her face in return.
After two more stops, in Köpstadsö and Styrsö, the ferry reached Dansö. Agneta picked up her violin and her backpack and stepped on to the island. Nothing had changed since the last time she visited, late last year for her grandfather’s funeral. Rows of wooden buildings painted dark red, each with a white upturned ‘V’ outlining their rooves, filled the shoreline. Larger, white houses on the higher ground above popped their heads up between the huts.
Agneta inhaled the fresh, salty air as she walked up the road to her grandmother’s house. Blue Nigella flowers and red poppies flecked the grass verge, interspersed with buttercups and daisies.
‘Hey!’
Agneta jumped out of the way of the golf cart careering towards her.
‘Agneta?’ the driver asked.
‘Yes. Who are you?’
‘Hi, I’m Consuela. I work for your grandmother,’ the dark-haired lady replied. ‘She sent me to pick you up.’
Consuela took Agneta’s backpack and placed it on the back of the cart. Agneta clutched her violin case to her chest as the vehicle shot off in a sudden spurt up the hill.
‘How long have you worked for my grandmother?’ Agneta asked.
‘Oh, six months now,’ Consuela concentrated hard on her driving, which was a little jerky.
‘How is it going?’ Agneta asked.
‘Good,’ she replied.
As they drove past the football pitch, Agneta saw the Midsummer Maypole, a tall wooden cross with two hoops either side, covered in drying foliage, its summer flowers decomposed by the weather. The tall copper-covered spire of the church came in to view as the golf cart turned the bend past the regimented headstones in the cemetery. Her grandmother’s house, the largest on the island, was built on the hill. The hundred-year old family shipping business had served them well.
A strong breeze took hold as they parked up and went into the house. Consuela took Agneta’s backpack into the house. Everything looked the same to her; its pale green paint recently refreshed and its south-facing sundeck clean and set with fresh flowers.
‘Mrs Nilsson, we’re here!’ Consuela shouted.
Mormor sat in an armchair by the window, the sun at her back dazzled Agneta’s eyes, blurring her view.
‘Pull the curtain across, Consuela,’ Mormor said.
‘Let me look at you,’ she stared Agneta up and down. ‘You’ve grown into a fine young woman.’
‘Hello,’ Agneta said.
‘Have you got a hug for your Mormor?’
Agneta embraced her for a few seconds, smelled her familiar lavender perfume and was brought back in time.
‘Ah, lovely to see you,’ Mormor placed her arm on the side of the chair. ‘Consuela prepared some lunch, your favourite prawn salad.’
‘Skagenröra — lovely.’ Agneta smiled and sat down. ‘How are you?’
‘Arthritis in my joints, to be expected at my age,’ she replied.
Agneta noticed her skin had a distinctive yellow tinge. ‘Does Consuela live in?’
‘Yes. I’d be lost without her.’ Her grandmother nodded in the direction of the kitchen. ‘She prepared your old room for you.’
‘Thank you,’ Agneta said.
‘Thank you for coming.’
Agneta thought her grandmother was much frailer than the last time she had seen her.
The table was laid and ready for lunch. Consuela lit the candles before bringing a tray of food.
‘Thank you,’ Mormor said.
‘You’re welcome. I have some work to do in the garden.’ Consuela left them.
‘I never tire of this view.’ Mormor stared out of the window over the rooftops to the boats in the harbour and the sea beyond.
Agneta smiled in acknowledgement.
‘How are you, Agneta?’
‘Good. I’m Second Violin in the Gothenburg Symphony Orchestra now. This season we are starting with Grieg’s Peer Gynt.’ Agneta’s face lit up when she talked about music.
‘You must have to practice so much,’ Mormor replied.
‘Yes, every day. But I love playing,’ Agneta smiled.
‘You always were so disciplined in your practice. So...’ Mormor paused for a few seconds.
Agneta touched her arm. ‘So what? Korean?’
‘Well...’
‘Mormor, I am Swedish.’ Agneta frowned.
‘Yes, of course you are dear, but your ethnicity is Korean,’ Mormor said. ‘Have you ever thought of going to Korea to find your biological mother?’
‘I don’t want to upset Mum,’ Agneta said, ‘besides, my birth mum rejected me.’
‘Your mum would understand,’ Mormor replied, ‘and your biological mother probably had no choice.’
‘There’s always a choice, and she chose to dump me.’
‘You don’t know the circumstances. If you did, it might help you to complete the circle and understand. Give you inner peace,’ Mormor pleaded. ‘At least think about it.’
Agneta changed the subject: ‘The prawns are delicious.’
‘Yes,’ Mormor said, ‘fresh aren’t they? It’s amazing how Consuela has learnt to cook so many Swedish dishes, even though—’
‘She’s from Colombia?’ Agneta completed the sentence. ‘You never change, do you?’
Mormor blushed and started tidying the plates. ‘I have some paperwork I’d like to go through with you after lunch.’
Consuela returned to clear the table. Mormor took a folder out of the desk. ‘I want to leave all my property and money to you, Agneta,’ Mormor looked directly in Agneta’s eyes. ‘You deserve to have everything. I spoke to your mum; she agrees.’
‘But Mormor, you’ll be here for a long time yet. You don’t need to be thinking about those things now,’ Agneta said. ‘And what about Pernilla?’
‘Your cousin Pernilla is still beach-bumming in God knows where at forty-two. I think you would make better use of it.’ Mormor laughed. ‘Besides, your uncle owns the shipping business with your mum.’
‘Let’s talk about nicer things,’ Agneta pointed to the garden. ‘Look, Consuela has planted beautiful geraniums in the flower borders.’
‘Agneta, listen to me.’ Mormor took a stiffer tone. ‘I know that I was hard on you. But I knew that life would be an uphill struggle with you facing discrimination. You came through, worked hard and look at you now, doing a job you love.’ Mormor’s knuckles were turning white from gripping the edge of the table. ‘I am proud of you.’
Agneta noticed her grandmother’s eyes welling up. She felt confused. Her own eyes began to fill. ‘Mormor... I thought you didn’t like me because I was different.’
‘Oh, my dear Agneta,’ tears traced a tiny stream over her powdered skin. ‘I am sorry. Age and illness focus the mind. I treated you in a different way to Pernilla, and I was wrong.’
‘I always felt it. Sometimes I wished I looked just like Pernilla,’ Agneta said.
At that moment, Consuela entered the room: ‘Tea and fika?’
‘Yes, please, I love cake.’ Mormor and Agneta spoke in unison and laughed between the tears.
‘Promise me you’ll play for me before you leave tomorrow,’ Mormor pleaded.
‘Yes, but you promise me that you’ll treat us all the same in your will,’ Agneta said. ‘I don’t want to be treated differently. That’s all finished.’
Copyright © 2021 by Sheila Kinsella
