A Nearly Normal Family(5)

“You’re not looking particularly energetic yourself.”

What did she mean by that? She knew I couldn’t sleep when Stella wasn’t home.

We were invited to a late lunch at the home of our friends Dino and Alexandra on Trollebergsv?gen. A late lunch meant alcoholic beverages, so we biked into town. As we reached the Ball House sports center I spotted a police car; fifty meters on, at the roundabout next to Polhem School, were two more. One had its flashing lights on. Three officers were walking briskly up R?dmansgatan.

“Wonder what’s going on,” I said to Ulrika.

We parked our bikes in the courtyard and took the stairs up to the apartment. Alexandra and Dino met us in the hall, where we got past the pleasantries. It had been a long time. How were things?

“Isn’t Amina home?” Ulrika asked.

Alexandra hesitated.

“She was supposed to have a match, but she’s not feeling very well.”

“I don’t understand what it could be,” Dino said. “I can’t recall her ever missing a handball match.”

“It’s probably just a regular old cold,” Alexandra said.

Dino made a face. I was probably the only one who noticed.

“As long as she’s healthy again by the time school starts,” Ulrika said.

“Right, she wouldn’t miss that even if she has a fever of a hundred and four,” Alexandra said.

Ulrika laughed.

“She’s going to make a fantastic doctor. I don’t know anyone as diligent and thorough as Amina.”

Dino puffed up like a peacock.

He had every right to be proud.

“So how’s Stella?” he asked.

It was a perfectly reasonable question, of course. But I think we hesitated to respond for a moment too long.

“Just fine,” I said at last.

Ulrika smiled in agreement. Perhaps that answer wasn’t far from the truth after all. Our daughter had been in a good mood that summer.



* * *



We sat on the glassed-in balcony and enjoyed Dino’s pitas and mini pierogis.

“Did you hear about the murder?” Alexandra asked.

“The murder?”

“Right here, by the Polhem school. They found a body there this morning.”

“The police,” Ulrika said. “That’s why—”

She was interrupted by the squeak of the balcony door. Behind us, Amina peered through the crack, her eyes glassy, washed out and colorless, a shadow.

“Oh sweetie, you look awful,” Ulrika said, with no tact whatsoever.

“I know,” Amina croaked; she seemed to be clinging to the balcony door to keep from falling over.

“Go back to bed.”

“I suppose it’s only a matter of time before Stella comes down with the same bug,” I said. “Because you two were hanging out last night, weren’t you?”

Amina’s expression froze. It only took half a second, maybe tenths of a second, but Amina’s expression froze and I knew immediately what that meant.

“Right.” Amina coughed. “Hope she’s okay.”

“Now get back to bed,” said Ulrika.

Amina pulled the door closed and dragged herself back to the living room.

Lying is an art that few people fully master.





4


If it weren’t for our daughters, Ulrika and I probably never would have become friends with Alexandra and Dino.

Amina and Stella were six when they ended up on the same handball team. Most of their teammates were a year older, but it wasn’t very noticeable. Both Amina and Stella showed a winner’s instinct early on. They were strong, stubborn, and unstoppable. Amina, in contrast with Stella, also had an unusually gifted sense for executing planned strategies and plays.

During those first practices, Ulrika and I sat on the bleachers in the sweaty gym and watched our little girl run herself absolutely ragged. We had seldom seen her so free and happy as she was on the handball court. Dino was single-handedly coaching the girls’ team; he was extremely engaged, passionate, and generous, and gave the little handball players lots of love. But there was one problem: his body language. He displayed explosive joy through gestures and expressions when one of the girls succeeded on the court, but he was equally free when expressing his distress if something went wrong. Naturally, this was a matter of concern to Ulrika and me, and we discussed it after every practice. I suggested we talk to the other parents or perhaps go to the club council. We really liked Dino as a coach. Maybe he was simply unaware of how his body language could be interpreted.

“It’s better to talk to him personally,” Ulrika said, and after the next practice she walked up to Dino, who, rumor had it, had once played handball on a pretty high level himself.

I hovered in the background as Dino listened to Ulrika. Then he said, “You seem to have a knack for this. Would you like to be my colleague?”

Ulrika was so taken aback that she couldn’t respond. When she finally managed to speak, she pointed in my direction and said that I was the one who actually knew anything about handball and would make an excellent assistant coach for him.

“Okay,” Dino said, looking at me. “The job is yours.”

The rest, as they say, is history. We led that team to win after win, traveled around half of Europe, and brought home so many trophies and medals that there wasn’t room for them all in Stella’s bookcase.