The Dinosaur Feather(109)

“Why poor Daddy?” Anna asked.

“Look, Mom. Real gold.” Lily picked up a bottle top of golden foil. Someone had smoothed it out and it looked like a small sun. “Gold. Gold!”

Anna gave up.


Ulla Bodelsen lived in a ground floor apartment in a small cobblestoned street. Anna hesitated before she rang the doorbell and started sweating when she heard quick footsteps behind the door. Lily marched straight in when it was opened.

“Look, we found gold,” she informed the old lady. “What’s your name?”

The elderly, but well-groomed woman bent down, cupped Lily’s face in her hands and studied her closely.

“Yes, it’s clear to see,” she said, enigmatically “My name’s Ulla. What’s yours?”

“Lily Marie Nor,” Lily said with emphasis. “Please may I have some squash?”

Ulla Bodelsen laughed and looked at Anna.

“Hello,” she said, warmly. Anna shook her hand. Ulla Bodelsen’s eyes were green and bright, her hair was cut in a short, modern style, and her skin surprisingly smooth. A kayak was leaning against the wall behind her.

“You’re a canoeist?” Anna exclaimed, amazed.

“Yes, well, I kayak,” Ulla Bodelsen replied, patting its fiberglass hull as she led Anna into the living room. “I retired, reluctantly I admit, some . . . twelve years ago or thereabouts. When I turned sixty-two. The thought of doing nothing was rather alien to me.” She laughed. “I loved my work, you see. But now I’m extremely pleased that I did. In fact, I’m busier now than I ever was.” She laughed again. “I’ve trained as a swimming instructor. I teach beginners three times a week, and I’ve become hooked on kayaking.”

The walls in the room were white, the furniture stylish and simple, and on the wall hung a poster from the 1996 Copenhagen Jazz Festival. Ulla Bodelsen gestured toward a black sofa and Anna sat down. The old woman had baked rolls and had made tea and there was a bowl of rock candy.

“Look what I made for you,” she said to Lily, peeling plastic wrap off a plate and handing her a selection of apple slices, melon, a peeled mandarin, three Gummi bears, and some mixed nuts. While Lily inspected her treat, Ulla Bodelsen fetched a toybox, which Lily explored with glee.

“Help yourself,” Ulla Bodelsen said to Anna, nodding toward the coffee table. “I’ve just got to get something.” Anna buttered a roll and added milk to her tea. What kind of old woman would Cecilie become? Would she be like Maggie? Like Ulla Bodelsen? Bursting with life and joy even though time was running out? Anna found that very hard to imagine.

The older woman returned with a white envelope, which she placed on the table. They ate rolls and drank tea for a long time, and they discussed the communes in Brænderup, which now had either been knocked down or renovated beyond recognition. They even discovered that one of Anna’s old teachers turned out to be married to Ulla’s nephew.

Eventually she said, “The envelope is for you.” She looked at Anna. “I don’t know precisely why you’re here, and . . .” she hesitated. “And you don’t need to explain anything if you don’t want to. That’s quite all right.” She hesitated again. “I can’t figure out how I could have ever met you before, but after last night, after we had spoken, I went through my files.” Ulla gestured to the dining table at the other end of the room. On top of it stood four cardboard boxes with metal edges. “Our conversation kept troubling me. I found the photo at the bottom of the third box. There are hundreds, if not thousands, of snapshots in those boxes. Of children and their parents during all my years as a health visitor. And there was one of a father and a child whom I remember, Jens and . . . Sara. Some corner of my mind remembered that photo, and I found it.” She looked away.

“The health visitor, who had initially been assigned to the family, moved to Greenland when her husband was offered a job up there, and I took over when Sara was around seven months old. The mother had injured her back during the birth and had been in chronic pain ever since. She had had several operations and had been hospitalized repeatedly for long periods and whenever I visited, the father was always alone with the baby.”

“Is there a record? Did you make notes about . . . Sara?”

“Yes, and that’s what triggered my memory last night. I remembered that Sara’s record was missing,” Ulla said. “When I took over, everything was in a state of flux. We had just been merged with Odense Nursing School, and the result was chaos. Before my first visit to the family, I looked for her record, but I couldn’t find it. When I explained this to a colleague, she convinced me that my predecessor must have left it with the family with instructions to pass it on to their new health visitor. But when I asked for the record, the father said it had never been given to him. So together we created a new one. Sara was thriving and gaining weight, and there was really very little for me to do. During what would be my first and only visit, Jens was delighted to share his good news with me. Sara’s mother had had another operation, at a private clinic somewhere, in England I think it was, and it had been very successful. That was the day he gave me the photograph.” She nodded toward the envelope. “I was very moved when I left. I looked forward to visiting the family three months later, to finally meeting Sara’s mother, and I hoped it would all work out for them. But I never saw them again. Jens called to say there was no need for me to come.”