Anna could see his Adam’s apple bob up and down.
“It was fine,” he said, and his eyes grew dark. “No, it wasn’t, not at all. But I couldn’t bear it, Anna. I couldn’t bear watching it. I don’t know how else to explain it. When you were five weeks old, the health visitor returned. She had been there, twice, the first few weeks, while everything was still new. She had told me not to pressure Cecilie into breastfeeding. Bottles were okay. Most mothers got the baby blues. You were a healthy little girl. To call her with any worries.
“On her next visit, she raised the alarm. You hadn’t gained enough weight, and she couldn’t get you to respond properly. Our lives changed that afternoon. Cecilie didn’t like feeding you. She told the health visitor to her face. She thought it was disgusting when your diaper needed changing, when you puked up milk. Our house was a total mess. I was at my wits’ end. The health visitor asked so many questions. A doctor arrived soon afterward. Cecilie said that yes, she often wished she had never had you. Sometimes, she would leave you by yourself, she said, bluntly. That was when I realized how thin Cecilie had become. Scrawny, like a twig. The health visitor gave me a look I’ll never forget. It said: Don’t you realize that children can die through lack of love? They can die!
The doctor examined Cecilie and spoke to her. They left shortly afterward. I held you while the health visitor packed up your things.
“We need to look into this,” she said. “We need to decide the best place for your daughter to be. It might be a while before you get her back.” Her eyes were a mix of condemnation and compassion. Then she took you away. It wasn’t until then I snapped out of my trance. I ran around the house, howling like an animal.”
Anna wiped away a tear, and Jens looked at the floor.
“The system took over. Your mother was hospitalized. She didn’t want to see you. She would barely see me. She was far away, didn’t care. For a long time it looked like I wouldn’t be allowed to keep you. Three, four weeks. I took time off work. Endless meetings, hearings, and examinations followed. It was 1978. There weren’t many single dads in Denmark.” He smiled quickly. “They had nothing to compare with. Finally, the case was decided. It set a precedent, in fact.”
For a moment he looked proud. “You were allowed to stay with me at home. I felt terrible. I had let down Cecilie, and I had let you down, too. Physically, you recovered quickly. I fed you to the gills.” He smiled. “We slept in the same bed at night, and when you woke up . . . I looked into your eyes the whole time.” He blinked away a tear. “To begin with, you wouldn’t look at me, but I won your trust. We would lie on the bed, gazing at each other for hours.”
Anna was crying openly now.
“I met with Cecilie’s doctor. Cecilie was suffering from severe postpartum depression, he told me. It wasn’t her fault. A woman’s hormones alter dramatically following childbirth, and it can trigger varying degrees of depression. Cecilie was badly affected. She had been prescribed medication and had started intensive therapy. For months she didn’t want contact with me or you.” Jens sent Anna a look of infinite love.
“I named you Sara. It means ‘princess’ in Hebrew.” He was silent for a moment, then he continued.
“I was exhausted and miserable, but I coped. I bought a baby sling and carried you on my back when I started working again. I raised my desk, so I could write standing up. Of course, I couldn’t work as much as I used to, but we muddled through. You hung on my back babbling, waving your arms and kicking your legs. At times, it was quite distracting for my political analysis of the effect of the Cold War on European policy.” He laughed briefly. “We had a new health visitor by then, the previous one having gone to Greenland. I remember the day she came to say good-bye. She was proud of me, she said. We stood in the doorway and she hugged me.
“‘You can do this, Jens,’ she said. I knew she was right.
“In the late summer Cecilie improved and began visiting us. She thought you were cute. She wanted to come home. Slowly, I began to hope. The medication made Cecilie tired and irritable, but the apathetic look in her eyes had gone, and it was wonderful to see her take an interest in you. You were happy, chubby, and bore no grudge; on the contrary—you kept reaching out for Cecilie.
“There were only two flies in the ointment. Cecilie was adamant that no one must know about her depression. She felt ashamed and demanded that I help cover up her shame. To explain her hospital stay, she wanted us to tell everyone that she had developed serious back problems after the birth. When the new health visitor came, I realized I had accepted Cecilie’s lie. I told her I didn’t have your records, even though the last health visitor had given them to me and asked me to pass them on. It was an easy lie. I burned your old records and started spreading the story about Cecilie’s bad back. Nine months had passed and, of course, people had noticed that something was amiss. We had friends, especially in Copenhagen, people we knew from college, but no one knew the truth. The first year with a new baby is tough, everybody knows that. When we were finally ready to visit friends and relatives again, we told them the story about Cecilie’s bad back and they understood. Everyone was sympathetic.