toward the television to catch a game of soccer, any game of soccer. Lars's way of dealing with his wife and her problems with his father was to watch soccer. It was easier when his mother was alive because she had been the perfect buffer between Maria and his father; but now, as bad as he felt for Gunnar, he couldn't help him. His far would just have to learn to tune Maria out.
That night after the kids were asleep, Maria started the discussion again while the three of them sat in the living room drinking coffee. The television was turned on but Maria had muted the sound when it became obvious that Gunnar was not going to listen to her unless she made him.
“You know if you really need help, I can take some vacation for maybe one or two weeks and stay here with you,” Maria suggested. “Brian and Johanna love being here.”
“Not that you're not welcome, but I'd rather just have the kids here and …” Gunnar fell silent midsentence. He didn't know if he could take care of the kids all by himself. He and Anna always had the kids over for a week in the summer, for long weekends in May, during the potato break in the fall, and any other time that Maria and Lars needed babysitters.
Brian and Johanna came with them and the bees to the west coast where Gunnar and Anna left colonies every year to make heather honey. Anna would pack a picnic basket and after lunch Gunnar would drive the children to the vast sandy beaches.
Gunnar loved playing with the kids and reading them stories but he didn't bathe them or brush their teeth or change their diapers or take them to the bathroom or put them to sleep. Anna did that. Now with Anna gone … could he manage the kids on his own? He knew he couldn't. He was barely taking care of himself. And that realization filled him with self-revulsion. He couldn't take care of his grandchildren without her; could anything be more pathetic?
“Yes, leave Brian and Johanna with me,” he said. He would take care of his grandchildren; he would take care of his grandchildren without Anna.
Maria ignored Gunnar and looked at Lars sternly, nudging him. “Far , Maria is worried and …,” Lars began, but his heart wasn't in it. He really was not interested in discussing some Afghan woman and what she was doing in his father's house. His father was a grown man and Lars, unlike Maria, didn't believe in interfering in his life.
“Your friend … what's his name, Jonas, he's married to a foreigner, you don't have a problem with that,” Gunnar said.
“She's Norwegian, Gunnar,” Maria cried out.
“Still a foreigner,” Gunnar said. “And I'm not married to this girl. She just comes for a few hours, cleans the garage, helps with the bees. She wired frames for me. And last week she helped while I checked on the bees.”
“How old is she?” Maria asked, her arms folded across her chest, her tone that of schoolteacher to belligerent student.
“I don't know,” Gunnar said and then added, “about twenty-two or twenty-three, I really don't know and I don't care.”
“You know what people think, don't you?” Maria said.
Gunnar looked at her blankly.
“The rumor is that something is going on between you two,” Maria said with satisfaction.
“Maria,” Lars protested. “Nothing is going on between Far and that Afghan girl and no one in their right mind would think that. It's pure nonsense.”
Gunnar agreed; the notion that he and Raihana were having a relationship was pure nonsense. But Skive was a small city where everyone knew everyone and everyone's business. It had been endearing to Anna, though Gunnar could have done without people finding out the exact day on which they ran out of beer, bought new furniture, installed their satellite, mowed their lawn …
“Look, Maria, this is not such a big deal, so don't make it one. It is nothing. She barely speaks Danish and can't understand what I say half the time. There is no chance of a relationship,” Gunnar said.
“Gunnar…,”
That night after the kids were asleep, Maria started the discussion again while the three of them sat in the living room drinking coffee. The television was turned on but Maria had muted the sound when it became obvious that Gunnar was not going to listen to her unless she made him.
“You know if you really need help, I can take some vacation for maybe one or two weeks and stay here with you,” Maria suggested. “Brian and Johanna love being here.”
“Not that you're not welcome, but I'd rather just have the kids here and …” Gunnar fell silent midsentence. He didn't know if he could take care of the kids all by himself. He and Anna always had the kids over for a week in the summer, for long weekends in May, during the potato break in the fall, and any other time that Maria and Lars needed babysitters.
Brian and Johanna came with them and the bees to the west coast where Gunnar and Anna left colonies every year to make heather honey. Anna would pack a picnic basket and after lunch Gunnar would drive the children to the vast sandy beaches.
Gunnar loved playing with the kids and reading them stories but he didn't bathe them or brush their teeth or change their diapers or take them to the bathroom or put them to sleep. Anna did that. Now with Anna gone … could he manage the kids on his own? He knew he couldn't. He was barely taking care of himself. And that realization filled him with self-revulsion. He couldn't take care of his grandchildren without her; could anything be more pathetic?
“Yes, leave Brian and Johanna with me,” he said. He would take care of his grandchildren; he would take care of his grandchildren without Anna.
Maria ignored Gunnar and looked at Lars sternly, nudging him. “Far , Maria is worried and …,” Lars began, but his heart wasn't in it. He really was not interested in discussing some Afghan woman and what she was doing in his father's house. His father was a grown man and Lars, unlike Maria, didn't believe in interfering in his life.
“Your friend … what's his name, Jonas, he's married to a foreigner, you don't have a problem with that,” Gunnar said.
“She's Norwegian, Gunnar,” Maria cried out.
“Still a foreigner,” Gunnar said. “And I'm not married to this girl. She just comes for a few hours, cleans the garage, helps with the bees. She wired frames for me. And last week she helped while I checked on the bees.”
“How old is she?” Maria asked, her arms folded across her chest, her tone that of schoolteacher to belligerent student.
“I don't know,” Gunnar said and then added, “about twenty-two or twenty-three, I really don't know and I don't care.”
“You know what people think, don't you?” Maria said.
Gunnar looked at her blankly.
“The rumor is that something is going on between you two,” Maria said with satisfaction.
“Maria,” Lars protested. “Nothing is going on between Far and that Afghan girl and no one in their right mind would think that. It's pure nonsense.”
Gunnar agreed; the notion that he and Raihana were having a relationship was pure nonsense. But Skive was a small city where everyone knew everyone and everyone's business. It had been endearing to Anna, though Gunnar could have done without people finding out the exact day on which they ran out of beer, bought new furniture, installed their satellite, mowed their lawn …
“Look, Maria, this is not such a big deal, so don't make it one. It is nothing. She barely speaks Danish and can't understand what I say half the time. There is no chance of a relationship,” Gunnar said.
“Gunnar…,”
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