The Gift

I have had plenty of time to think on the long flight from Australia to Sweden but I cannot remember the last time I met Ulrika. It could have been just after my mother died and she invited me and my boyfriend to dinner at her apartment in the suburbs of Stockholm. She married a man from Argentina and had a son. I remember thinking how strange it was for her to live in a flat in the suburbs as I was used to seeing her in the grandparent’s house by the edge of the forest up the road from my family home. We grew up together. She was a couple of years older than me and so she knew things. Well, that’s what I thought. She was full of imagination and we enjoyed our Huckleberry Finn and Tom Sawyer days in the idyllic environment near the forest. Our street was special, it was like a picture from an Astrid Lindgren story and Ulrika was Pippi Longstocking. Her hair was slightly ginger and she had freckles, just like Pippi. She always smiled showing her big white teeth, even when she was sad.

Her life was not easy. Her biological mother, the one she called auntie, could not care for her so her grandparents adopted her. They adored her but her grandfather had a drinking problem and there was nothing hiding the fact he spent more time being sick than well.

Ulrika knew about the adoption from an early age and grew up not to be ashamed of it. I always called her grandparents her mother and father, that’s how they appeared to me and I knew the truth. Sometimes when we played in her room her mother poked her head in and said “please be quiet, your dad is sleeping, he is not feeling well”. Ulrika never said anything but I knew what was going on, besides I could smell the alcohol down the passage.

My home was a place of endless activities and Ulrika was part of our lives. The weekend routine usually involved a picnic in the national park where we skied on the lake in the winter and swam in the summer. A thermos with hot chocolate and sandwiches wrapped in brown paper. We built huts and sat around the campfire telling stories. Nature was a very important part of our lives and our imagination was set free.

Ulrika dreamed of owning a horse, just like Pippi and on Saturday mornings we rode our bikes to the stables. I rode a pony but she rode the big horse, a chestnut mare, along the forest trails. I still remember the day when the horse stumbled and she fell to the ground. She laid there and did not move. I thought she had died and I was so scared as I ran to her. She looked up at me with her blue eyes and said she was ok but thought she had strained her ankle. She leaned on me and I helped her on the long walk back to the stable. This did not put her off riding and when her ankle got better after a couple of weeks she was back on the horse again.

I was surprised when I saw the apartment building Ulrika had moved into. It was a square block, a piece of grey and white concrete and nothing else. I could not imagine her living in there. She had made the most of the connection with South America and draped colorful throws on the sofas and the chairs. Latin American tunes played from the speaker and there she was, the pale looking girl with the spectacles dressed in an apron from Argentina.

I remember having a nice evening, eating spicy food as we all sat together around the kitchen table telling stories and sharing memories. Her husband seemed nice and was easy to talk to but I could not help but wonder how it would work out and how he was going to fit in to the Swedish way of life.

I moved to Australia and lost contact with Ulrika. I heard from somebody she had travelled to Argentina to get her second son back after her husband had taken him from her. I never knew the end of the story and I tried to find her over the years but it was only recently I saw a photo of her on a face book page and although her surname was not the same, I knew instinctively it was her. Forty-five years later. I wrote to her and got a message back saying how happy she was I had found her.

Life is very short and I realize how important it is to keep in touch with the people that mean something to you. Meeting somebody after a very long time can bring out the most beautiful memories regardless of how much your life has changed or you have changed as a person. It can make your life richer and complete as it did when I met Ulrika after many years. It reconnected me to her and to myself.

The snow is falling around me, first like little stars from the grey sky, then bigger pieces almost hurting my face as I walk from the bus stop towards the little cottage. It is a white landscape and it has been many years since I have seen a Swedish winter. My feet sink down into the soft fluffy ground and I look for footsteps but do not find any. The only markings left are from the birds and perhaps a hare. I am very cold and the thick padded coat I have brought from Australia does not warm me at all. I begin to wonder if it is a silly idea to surprise her like this and I think I should have called first. Why am I doing this? Is it just to reconnect with my old friend or does it have something to do with trying to find myself again? I don’t know but as I look around, I begin to feel like a stranger in a strange land.

Somebody has shovelled a path up to the little cottage and I walk slowly towards the wooden building. The snow lays thick on the roof where smoke comes out from the chimney and all I can see are the big pine trees dressed in white. It is a true picture postcard.

I knock on the old door and I feel nervous as I hear sounds from inside. How will she greet me? How will I greet her? What will I feel? The door opens and there she is, an older woman now but still with her light hair, blue eyes and big glasses looking at me surprised.

-        Hello Pippi!

The words jump out of me and I feel a warm joyous feeling from within.

She stares with big eyes and starts laughing, I cannot hold back any longer so I grab her with my hands and hug her. This is how we stay for a long time and when we finally pull apart, we both have tears in our eyes. It is like a wave washing over me and her physical touch brings everything back, my parents, her parents, my dog, her dog, our times together, our joy. I become lost for words.

This is her now. This is me now. This is us now. This house in the middle of a very dense forest is her home and when I enter, I feel the picture of her becoming complete and all my questions and thoughts suddenly have an answer.

We talk by the open fire and drink hot tea while the wind blows and the snow falls outside. We are not alone; her husband sits in the big recliner chair and listens. This is not the same man I met many years ago, this is her second marriage and they are obviously very happy together. They have children, grand children and great grand children and she shows me the pictures. They all have his Chilean olive skin and her Pippi smile.

She thinks he is very brave to come from a place near the sea to live here in the middle of the forest with her and he tells me he can never really get used to the Swedish winter. I look outside the window; it gets dark early here and I know how cold it is. It is only a week since I left spring in Australia, clear blue skies, endless beach days with a promise of a long hot summer and I wonder if I could get used to this again.

She reminds me of my past and when she tells me about her past, the time that I was not part of, I get to know her as the person she is today. Her first son was killed in a car accident and she was not able to bring her second son back from Argentina. The pain is written on her face but she hides it well behind the smile. I forget the tragic stories of my life as they suddenly become irrelevant and I don’t tell her about my miscarriages or the grief after my parents’ death. I don’t tell her about how I missed my home until I realized I had nothing left to come back to and I don’t tell her that I fear the loneliness that can come with age.

I sleep well in her daughters warm and comfortable room where the walls are whitewashed pine and the floors covered in hand woven carpets and when I look out of the window in the morning, I can see the forest beyond the yard.

Ulrika says she has something to show me and takes me on a walk down to the buildings under the trees. I can smell hay and horses as she opens the big barn door and lets me into a stable. She tells me this is where the nearest neighbour keeps his horses during the summer but now the stable is empty. She digs around in a big chest in the corner until she finds something and a smile appears on her lips as she hands it to me.

-        Remember when I fell off the horse and how you helped me back to the stables all those summers ago. Well, this is why the horse stumbled, the shoe came off! I kept it all these years, as a memory of us and of you…

I hold the horseshoe in my hand and the memory is there once again. The little girl that so eagerly wanted to ride down the street just like Pippi Longstocking is now a lady, almost 70 years old, and when I look into her eyes the years disappears, two friends finding each other again, and I can see myself as I was then and as I am now.