It turned out to be a complicated delivery for Astrid. After only one hour of bour, the baby's heartbeat significantly started declining. They were running out of time, and it was clear both Astrid and the babys’ lives could be in danger. About half an hour ter an emergency c-section was performed. During the surgery Astrid was awake. Non-scheduled c-sections usually meant the mother wasn't conscious for it, but Astrid had begun showing signs of serious fatigue and her heart was so strained it was considered too much of a risk sedating her. Instead, she got a second epidural and two nurses on her side of the cover, keeping close watch on her vitals. She felt groggy from the anaesthesia and the pain, but she didn't miss the tray of scalpels and other instruments being brought to the surgeons on the other side of the cover.
In all probability everyone working in that room that day had vast experience in procedures like this one. It was likely the surgeons had performed such surgeries dozens of times. It was reasonable to assume the nurses had seen hundreds of babies being born, many of them through c-section. They were experienced professionals, all of course highly aware what needed to be done and the risks that came with it. They weren't likely to make mistakes.
Sometimes, however, human factor pys tricks on all of us.
It was an accident, obviously. Nothing more than an unlucky coincident; at the exact time of the head surgeon performing the, at the time standard, vertical incision, in that exact moment - that's when a nurse fumbled with a forceps. It slipped from her grip and fell, right into a bowl made of surgical steel. The loud cng that echoed in the room felt ear deafening in contrast to the silence it sliced through. There wasn't a person in the room that didn't flinch. Had it not been for the epidural, Astrid would likely have felt her baby flinch as well. The next moment the atmosphere in room changed drastically. Astrid felt fear rise in her chest as people around her started screaming at each other, the nurses were running back and forth, tissues falling like bloodstained leaves to the floor... and then, finally — finally — a baby’s sharp cry that pierced the room. Astrid exhaled in one shaky breath.
"Can I see her, please, I want to see her." Her voice sounded thin even to her own ears. Like the child she actually was. For a long moment no one seemed to pay her or her request any attention, but then a nurse finally showed up from behind the curtain separating Astrid from whatever was going on with the lower part of her body. The nurse was holding what Astrid in an instant knew would forever be the love of her life. A reddish little face, the little mouth open, screaming for all she had, so hard it made her chin tremble. Eyes shut tight, little fists in the air. She was a miracle. The nurse carefully pced the little girl on Astrid's chest, so close to her face she could lift her head and put her tearstained cheek, her nose to the crown of her daughter's head. The moment she did the baby stopped crying. A little sound escaped her before going still, comforted by the familiar sound of Astrid’s steadily beating heart. A heart now fully belonging to this little person. Astrid gently ran the tips of her fingers over the soft, dark red fuzz of hair on her little head. It had been cleaned up from bodily fluids, so it was clear this little girl shared her mother’s hair colouring. Astrid was just about to check fingers and toes when the nurse gently but firmly took the baby from her again. When she saw Astrid’s face expression, she smiled at the new young mother.
"We'll bring her back shortly. Don't worry, Astrid. She's fine." The nurse left the room with the newborn baby.
Another nurse took Astrid's hand and squeezed it gently in a comforting gesture while the surgeon continued stitching her up on that other side of the covers.
"Where are they taking her?" Astrid didn't feel comforted at all. The opposite: a cold chill travelled down her neck, making her shiver. But the nurse just kept squeezing her hand and smiling, making Astrid wanting to knock the teeth out of her mouth. She gred at the nurse, who seemed to sense ignoring the young girl would not work, because she finally answered.
"There's nothing to worry about, dear. But! You have to tell me; how did you know you were having a girl? So you did find out beforehand after all?" Astrid’s face scrunched up in confusion, making the nurse ugh. She expined:
"You said you wanted to see her. I thought you said earlier that you were never examined during your pregnancy?"
"I wasn't. I don't know. I just sort of knew. Maybe when she cried. That's when I heard it."
The young nurse ughed again, a warm, motherly ugh that softened Astrid’s feelings towards her just a bit. She seemed friendly. Astrid decided her teeth may stay in her mouth. For now.
"Oh no, I won't fall for that one. I've heard hundreds if not thousands of babies cry, and they all sound the same. There's no way you can tell sex by just hearing them cry. Well, maybe you just had like a feeling, Astrid? Doesn't that sound rather nice? You just knew, in that way a mother knows." She padded her hand one st time and then let Astrid go. "And now, young dy, it's time for you to rest. We're all done here, and you'll be moved out of the operating room to your own room shortly. We'll transfer you to another bed and then I'll wheel you out. When she's ready for you we'll bring your daughter to you." Astrid complied, letting them shuffle her limp body around and then wheeling her bed out of the surgery room.
It wasn't until ter, when Astrid was settled and alone in a small room currently only hers, that she noticed a rge blood stain on her chest. Right where her daughter’s head had rested. Astrid looked at her fingers, the hand she had used to caress the baby's hair. They were dry and clean. The baby's head had been wiped clean of Astrid's blood. The blood on Astrid’s chest wasn't her own — it was her daughter’s.
Astrid’s parents had of course been contacted as soon as Astrid arrived at the hospital. Astrid’s father now paced the hallway outside the surgery room and had been doing so since arriving twenty-five minutes after Astrid. One would have to call it lucky the traffic police hadn't been in Walter Seth’s way during the drive from his office in ?stermalm to Karolinska Hospital. In the state he'd been in, Walter probably wouldn't have handled being stopped very well. Now, he couldn't stop pacing. The worry for his daughter was, of course, the worst part, but other demons haunted Walter in that hospital corridor as well.
What kind of father was he, really? How was it possible to fail noticing your fourteen-year-old daughter was pregnant? Walter had no answers to that question, but that's exactly what had happened. He hadn't been there; he hadn't supported her in this difficult decision. Furthermore, what kind of idiot had gotten his daughter pregnant just to let her go through this alone? Walter was determined to get an answer to that question. Another gnawing notion was staring to root in Walter’s mind, a thought he didn't want to acknowledge or admit. The thought of how he might have been able to influence things if he had known. At least he could have pnted a seed, suggested an idea. Other options. Ways out. Walter felt ashamed of his feelings. But one thing was certain: his daughter must never, under any circumstances, know what lurked in the darkest corners of his mind. No, instead he was going to make up for the months she had had to fend for herself, the months when he had failed her. He would cut back on his hours at the office, maybe take an extended leave of absence, and transfer his ongoing projects to his employees. He would be at home with Astrid and the baby. He would be there for her every second, if she wanted it.
When they brought out the little baby in a wheeled incubator, Walter instantly knew there had been complications. He felt his legs fold beneath him.
"What's happening? How is Astrid?"
He tried to block the path of a nurse, but she pushed him aside with an irritated gesture. The surgeon who followed slowed his pace at the sight of Walter, but then turned to another nurse.
"Maria."
The nurse named Maria took Walter by the arm and led him to two upholstered chairs by a wall.
"Well, I'll start by congratuting you. You're the grandfather of a very sweet, very red-haired little girl."
Walter let out a long, unsteady breath. The nurse smiled at him and patted his arm.
"Astrid is fine. As you know, this was an emergency c-section, but she handled it well. You'll be able to see her shortly, after we've transferred her to her room. But only for a short while. We'd prefer if Astrid rests now; she needs it. We can arrange a bed if you or your wife want to stay overnight. Since Astrid is so young, we recommend it. She'll need your support a lot for a long time to come."
"We're here for Astrid. Of course."
The nurse was silent for a moment. Then she continued, somewhat hesitantly.
"I can understand if you feel shocked by all of this. Maybe a little disappointed, too, by...what's happened to Astrid. All of this." She gestured vaguely with her arm. Walter understood what the nurse was getting at. He sighed.
"Yes, we didn't know. I feel shock, frustration, dismay. I want to know what happened and with whom it happened, to put it that way. All at once. But more than anything, I'm angry at myself for not noticing what was going on. But none of this matters. I understand that's what you're asking me. The only thing that matters is that my little girl has a daughter, and that both of them are doing well. We have a new family member. It's wonderful." A tear escaped the corner of his eye and travelled down Walter's cheek, but he didn't bother wiping it away. He'd become a grandfather today. Surely, one must be allowed to shed tears of joy when needed. The nurse named Maria nodded, seemingly satisfied. Maybe she could see in Walter that he was telling the truth. Still, her expression shifted to a more troubled face.
"There's something else." She looked him in the eyes for a brief second. Then she continued. "During the procedure, an accident occurred. When the surgeon made the incision, the baby moved in the womb and came into contact with the scalpel. I can't say exactly how small or vast the injury is, but it seems to have resulted in a cut on the side of her head, about a couple of centimetres behind her temple. I can't say how deep or how long the cut is, either. They're taking care of it now, and the surgeon will come and speak with you as soon as he can. One more thing... Astrid hasn't been informed yet. I suggest you wait before going in to see her until we know more. I imagine she'll have questions, and it might be difficult for you when you don't have any answers yet."
Walter sat in silence. He was so relieved, so happy that his daughter was okay. But if his granddaughter wasn't, he would still be crushed. He felt it so clearly, right then and there. The feeling was new and surprised him. He felt so strongly for his grandchild, a child he hadn't even met. It was an unsettlingly strong feeling. Maybe he was feeling the way he did because the child was an extension of his own child, Astrid. Perhaps the emotions now surging through him were about Astrid, not the newborn itself. But that didn't feel right. That wasn't it. Walter's chest filled with an almost paralyzing sensation, one that made him gasp for air. If the child was hurt, Walter would colpse. That's how much he loved this child. So much that it didn't feel healthy whatsoever.
Astrid had the exact same feelings as she y in her bed, staring at the stain on her bare chest. But for Astrid, the feeling was even more terrifying, hysterical even. It left a bitter taste of bile in her mouth. The stain was so big. So big that the middle of the decimetre-sized pool of blood hadn't yet coaguted. Along the edges, the colour had shifted from dark red-brown to a more rust-coloured hue as the blood dried. Astrid could hear her own shallow breaths, raspy and all too fast. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't calm her breathing. Panic had already set its grip on her.
When a nurse came back to check on her, she found Astrid's bed empty. Instinctively she turned on her heals and popped her head out the corridor, looking both right and left, but felt a bit silly when she, of course, found the corridors empty. She realized it wasn't likely that Astrid - newly delivered by caesarean section and still partially under spinal anaesthesia - would have wandered off on her own through the hospital corridors.
Sure enough, she found the girl on the floor beside her bed, unconscious. Astrid came to as they began to lift her up and was quickly deemed unharmed. She got a bit of gentle scolding for trying to get out of her bed. When asked, she told them she'd attempted to crawl out of her bed despite only being able to wiggle her toes, but had fainted in the process. She hadn't been informed to push the red button hanging over her head if she needed anything and when no one came, and no one answered when she called, she decided she couldn't wait any longer. At the tender age of just fourteen, there was plenty of things Astrid had yet to learn. Post-caesarean routines, for instance. Red buttons at the head of hospital beds. Where babies injured during childbirth were taken. Astrid had done the only thing she could think of - go to find out what was happening.
Laying in her bed once again she now sported a dull ache in her shoulder, likely from the fall to the floor, but she refused to let anyone know it. She did not want to be pampered, she wanted answers. The nurse named Maria came into the room and went directly up to Astrid. A soft and warm hand caressed her cheek.
"You crazy little thing. You can't be running around like that so soon after surgery. You were given an epidural, Astrid, don't you remember? It takes a few hours for it to wear off completely. And you just had major surgery, girl! You need to stay still. What happened?" Astrid's bottom lip started to tremble.
"No one came! I was alone and I tried calling for help, I waited for someone to come and tell me what's going on with my baby, I saw the blood and I know something's wrong, but no one came!" Angry tears began streaming down her face. Maria stared at her.
"What do you mean no one was here? Were you alone?" With that remark the nurse behind Maria took a discreet step back. Maria turned around.
"So, you left an underaged patient with unstable vitals, a suspected psychological trauma, fresh out of surgery and still under an effective epidural - alone?!"
"She wasn't unstable, and the baby needed —"
"This child is your responsibility, Agneta. The one lying here in this bed. I'll have to report this to Marianne."
"But is she ok!?" Astrid didn't care about malpractice or punishments; she just wanted to know what was going on with her child and it seemed every grownup in the world had gotten dense or something because no one seemed capable of answering her. Maria turned back to Astrid, her face softening.
"Oh, sweetheart, I'm sorry. Your little girl is fine. She's a jumpy little thing, your baby. During the procedure she got startled by a noise and moved. You didn't feel it. She got a small cut on her head, but the doctor's stitched it up already, and there was never any danger. Seven tiny stitches, and she's resting now. The scar will barely show when she gets older. Now they just have to weigh her and do some extra checks, but I promise you everything went well. I will bring her to you as soon as they're done, Astrid."
Sister Maria pulled up a chair and sat beside the bed. She gave the very embarrassed colleague behind her a long hard look, then turned back to Astrid.
"I'll stay with you for a while. Agneta here will go and fetch your father. He's been wearing down the floors with his pacing in our corridors."
Astrid was too tired and too shaken up to feel what she'd dreaded to feel for so many months when now facing her father. She did feel shame, and she knew there would be talking. In their high society circles the gossip would be endless. A bastard child, the unknown father, the teenage mother and her failing parents. There would be talk about the Seth family and their reckless daughter’s pregnancy for a long time. Astrid had thought about what it'd be like if she were to be disowned because of this. She'd imagined herself living in the streets with her little child, her wandering aimlessly with her baby across Europe. She'd occasionally be taken under someone's wings, given food and shelter, and she would repay the kindness with a good deed before heading back out on the road. Kind of like David Banner in The Incredible Hulk. Alone, with a big, dark secret. But the moment her father stepped through the door with the still red-faced Sister Agneta in tow, Astrid felt but one thing. Relief.
"Dad!"
"My darling sweetheart." Walter took three giant steps with his long, slender legs and that's all it took to be at his daughter's side. Sitting on the bed beside her, wrapping strong arms around her, he gently rocked her, his chin on her head and his eyes closed, as Astrid cried all the tears she'd been holding back for so long. She was, after all, still just a child herself, and she'd had enough of pretending to be the brave loner, roaming the streets of Europe. She wanted to be Daddy's little girl, like she'd been for as long as she could remember. Dad could wear the hero cape for her for a while.
And Walter did. When his wife appeared with pale cheeks in the hospital corridor several hours ter, he sat with her and expined what had happened, what Astrid had told him. They talked for over an hour before Eleonore Seth stood up and, without a word, stepped into her daughters’ room and held her close, too.
Astrid stayed in the hospital for four days. Eleonore was there for several hours each day, and she spent two of the nights in a guest bed beside her daughter. When she wasn't at the hospital, she was doing everything she could to prepare a small nursery in their apartment on Ulrikagatan. At first, she thought it best for the baby’s room to be connected to hers and her husband's bedroom, and she pnned to remove the little library. But something in Eleonore sensed this was wrong. This was Astrid's child, and Astrid shouldn't be denied the responsibility for the little one. Support and help, of course. But Astrid was the mother.
So, the hastily hired constructors were instructed to convert the guest room next to Astrid's into a nursery. They even knocked out a door between the two rooms to make it easier for the young mother during the night. The wallpaper and floors were left as they were; there wasn't time for major changes. But Eleonore bought a crib, a moveable changing table — Astrid wasn't allowed to lift her daughter during her recovery — a nursing chair Astrid liked, lots of books on childcare, colourful children's books, baby bnkets and a stroller in soft, nougat-coloured corduroy.
Eleonore also bought two paintings for the nursery. The paintings were printed illustrations from the children's book Where the Wild Things Are by Maurice Sendak. Astrid had loved that book as a child, given to her at a birthday party. Back then Eleonore had disapproved of the book, thinking it too scary for a four-year-old girl, but Astrid had been completely captivated. Eleonore initially tried to hide the book, but Astrid wouldn't have it and Eleonore eventually gave in. They'd read that book every night for over a year.
For her st night at the maternity ward, Astrid slept alone. She'd sent her father home; he'd been coughing all afternoon. Astrid was horrified and demanded he'd leave. How embarrassing wouldn't it be if he infected someone??
Astrid slept well throughout the night. Every third hour or so, the nurses would wake her, but only because her hungry daughter wanted to be fed. Astrid breastfed, still a little unaccustomed to it, and then sat with her little girl in her arms, endlessly finding new aspects or parts of the baby to love and feel at awe about. The nurses eventually came and took the child to look after while she went back to sleep. It was a quiet and uneventful night. At no point did she wake up feeling like anything unusual was going on, and she felt calm and at peace as the early morning hours came upon her, propped in her bed nursing her daughter once again. Nothing strange or unusual about this night.
Yet, something unusual and strange did happen that night.
A man entered through the hospital's main entrance a while after midnight. There didn't seem to be anything the matter with him, and he didn't seek the attention of the reception staff either. He passed the cafeteria on his right and continued toward the elevators. Four hospital employees walked by him during his short walk, but no one asked him what his business at such a te hour was. No one even so much as looked at him. He did indeed have a bnd way about him. He looked like the kind of person you would forget moments after meeting him. A speckled grey beard adorned his face. His hair concealed by a brown cotton cap, the kind joggers usually wore, with a tassel tied to the top. A green outdoor jacket with a hood covered the brown cardigan underneath. Light beige pants with side pockets and sneakers completed his outfit. He was of average height and build. No hunchback, no limp, no single trait to draw attention to him. Forgettable. Completely normal. The man entered the elevator and, without hesitation, pressed the button for the fourth floor.
Once there, he did seem to hesitate when the doors opened. But only for a brief moment, then he stepped out and turned right down the corridor. To the left of the entrance to the maternity ward a gss door stood wide open. In the room behind it, three night-shift nurses sat, having coffee, getting a bit of well-earned rest in between taking care of new mothers and their new babies. Two of them were facing the doorway and would undoubtedly see the stranger if he passed by in the corridor. This, however, did not seem to concern the man who didn't even slow his steps. His soft shoes barely made a sound on the linoleum floor, but his green nylon jacket made a swishing sound as he walked. The corridor was well-lit, and next to the door was a long window. Even if he somehow managed to slip past the doorway unnoticed, he still had almost two meters of window to pass after that.
To an outsider, it must have looked as though the man had every right to be there, even if it was in the middle of the night. As if there had been a silent agreement and all parties were in on it. As the man calmly walked past the room with the three nurses, passed the doorway and the long window, not one of the three women so much as blinked. They didn't gnce at the stranger, and their conversation continued just the same as before. Were someone to closely examine any of them they wouldn't have found a single sign of reaction. No pupils dited; no pulse quickened.
Nothing. He didn't exist.
Once the man reached the gss window facing the room filled with babies in their tiny, wheeled beds, he stopped. A nurse was in there, holding a baby about to be taken to the awaiting mother. She threw an extra gnce at the pstic band around the little boy's arm before pcing him back into the small, wheeled bed. She unlocked the wheel brake with her clog-covered left foot and then rolled the small bed and the baby toward the door. To where the stranger was standing.
It was almost as if the nurse deliberately chose not to look at the man as she passed him. Maybe that was the case. Maybe she didn't see him. Or maybe, just maybe, the man wasn't visible at all. The nurse and the baby passed by the man without so much as a flicker of an eye. He didn't exist.
Finally alone in the corridor, the man slowly began to roll up the sleeve of his jacket. As the sweater underneath became visible, he rolled that up too. He didn't stop until his entire forearm was exposed. He looked at his arm for a short moment, as if searching for something or considering what to do next. Then he took out a red pocketknife. With no hesitation he unfolded the sharp bde. Then he pced the bde against the inside of his arm, and in one swift movement, he made a deep cut from his elbow down toward his wrist. Over ten centimetres long. Blood immediately came gushing, dripping down his arm and onto the floor. The stranger dropped the knife on the ground. With his uninjured arm, he rummaged through the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a carved piece of wood. It was a dark, exotic wood, maybe coconut wood or mahogany. Or something else entirely.
If one had been able to look closely at the piece of wood in the stranger's hand, one might have been able to make out that it resembled something. Someone had once carved a figurine, or the silhouette of one. A woman. The features were extremely faint, and at first gnce, it mostly looked like just a stick. But it wasn't. The man dipped the piece into his blood. As he did, he mumbled something inaudible, something that even if someone had been close enough to hear, still wouldn't have understood. The words were in a nguage very few in the world still spoke. Never stopping his near silent stream of words, he brought the blood-soaked stick to the gss window, the one offering view over the room where the babies y in their beds. First, he drew a circle. Then two horizontal lines beneath the circle. With blood still dripping from the cut in his arm, he stared at his creation — then he spat in the circle. With a bloody finger he wrote something inside the circle, scribbling characters into the spit as it dripped down the gss. The result being secret symbols smeared in a pink mix of saliva and blood. Finally, he fell silent. He stared at the circle, through it.
"Mador len." He said it loudly and clearly, not in the muttering way he'd delivered his previous cascade of incomprehensible words. "Mador len. Mador len. Mador len."
The symbols in blood and spit would be washed away the next day, not because anyone had noticed them, but simply because it was Tuesday. And Tuesday meant window day, the day of the week when all the hospital's indoor windows got a cleaning. Lei, who had a summer job as a cleaner at the hospital, enjoyed cleaning this particur window. All the babies were so cute, and everyone working on this floor was always happy. Life was being created here, opposed to ending as it was in so many other pces in the building. She whistled a tune from the musical Grease as she wiped the damp wash cloth back and forth over the gss. Not seeming to bother her the least that her swiping created pinkish pattern all over the window. It was almost as if it wasn't there at all.
Before Lei came to do her window round, one might, if standing directly in front of the circle of blood, have gotten a small clue as to what it had all been about. Perhaps it wouldn't have helped. Maybe not even the sharpest forensic expert could have figured out what was going on.
But it was hardly a coincidence that if you stood directly in front of the abstract work, in the same spot where the stranger himself had been, in the centre of the circle, you'd find Astrid's newborn daughter, encircled in blood.
