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Short Story

12/20/2023

Saga
John Fraser’s wife had merely shaken her head, when he had explained his plan to take a five hour train journey from Copenhagen to Stockholm, rather than a one hour flight. He reminded her that she knew about his student trip with a Eurail Pass on that route, again leaving out one significant detail: something he would never reveal to her. Although on a business trip, he chose the train over air travel because of his memory of that trip. Over the past years 28 years, he had occasionally spun a fantasy in his head about how his life might have been, if that train ride had ended differently.
Whereas a ferry ride had been required to reach Sweden from Denmark in the past, a high-speed train whisked him across and under the water in less than an hour to Malmö. He had left Copenhagen in time to arrive in Stockholm before dinner. Although high-speed trains now travelled this route, he chose a slower InterCity train, because it would be closer to the type he had ridden. He wanted to start his trip from Malmö, as he had then. He recalled nothing of the train station from his earlier trip, but he clearly recalled the train. The wagon had seemed new when John Fraser traveled on this route 28 years ago. Although now old and the upholstery faded, the rolling stock appeared to have been well-maintained.
Upon boarding, he found what he thought to be the seat he had occupied years ago, recalling the location in the First-class wagon. He paused in the deserted aisle and peered into the empty compartment. Unlike the first time he made this trip, he would be alone with his thoughts, memories, and fantasies. He guessed the train would not be crowded, as few people had waited with him on the platform and only he had boarded the First-class.
He slid open the door, but hesitated before entering. He thought of his first time in a similar compartment and how little seemed to have changed after so many years. Of course, he had changed and had experienced much. He was a different person from the college student he had been traveling around Europe he had been.
Memory of what had happened had wormed its way into his thoughts only a few times over the years, but he could not erase from his mind completely the most-significant incident of the summer spent in Europe. He had traveled many kilometres using a Eurail Pass, but no leg of his journey had made such an indelible impression. His age or, perhaps, his vulnerability had played a role. Whenever he thought of Sweden, he thought of that trip—not the trip, but what he had experienced. He recalled nothing of the scenery outside the compartment. This trip would allow him to discover what he had missed.
He stepped into the compartment, closed the door, and placed his bag on the overhead rack. Considering the choice of six seats, he settled into the one beside the window facing in the direction of travel. He knew he would be alone, so he would enjoy the view. The Swedish countryside, which he knew only from above, and a book would take his mind off more thoughts of what happened long ago. Although he was on a business trip, he would leave work papers in his bag. There would time in Stockholm to prepare for his meetings.
Almost on time, the train started to move. He watched the station slide by and the city turn to suburbs. He peered into neat gardens of houses on the outskirts of town. Although his eyes were on the view, his mind returned to a distant time and the girl--
The door sliding open startled him back to the present. He turned to find an attractive young woman already swinging her small bag towards the overhead rack and ignoring him. A sense of déjà vu struck like a lightning bolt, as he surveyed the new arrival—average height, good figure, blonde hair, and attractive face. Prototypical Swedish female—somewhat familiar, perhaps resembling some actress or model. Her colorful summer dress made him think of something he had seen while accompanying his wife or daughter through Zara or H&M.
She must have caught the train at the last minute, because he would have noticed such a woman on the platform. Pink cheeks suggested she had run before climbing on board, perhaps just as the conductor had blown his whistle. Her late arrival had forced her to walk length of the train to reach this compartment, passing other empty seats along the way.
Why, he wondered?
Elsa Larsson was not upset to find another passenger in the compartment she wanted to use, and noticed only that he was a middle-aged man, most likely foreign. But, strangely, something about his face caused her to stare and smile.
“Hey,” she said, the usual Swedish greeting.
“Uh…”
Normally glib, even with strangers, John found no words.
His response brought a frown to her face. She spoke in Swedish.
“Hope I’m not disturbing you.”
She could not understand why the man had such a bewildered expression. She noticed he was handsome and well-dressed, and wondered why a businessman would be on this train.
“Sorry,” he said. “I don’t speak Swedish.”
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” she said, smiling again. “I’m not a ghost.”
He could not tell if she was peeved or amused. He smiled, but could not help staring. His mind spun like a carnival ride, with flashbacks imposed upon present images.
“I can see.”
She took a seat beside the door in the direction the train traveled, crossed her legs, and turned his way. She was used to men staring at her. The accent told her this one must be American. She had no reason to ignore him.
“You’re American?”
“Guilty.”
“Not many American tourists use the train.”
She noticed this man made no attempt to hide his staring.
“Do you take this train often?” he asked.
She had expected some dumb-tourist question about Sweden.
“When I visit my grandmother.”
She detected a slight change in his expression, although he still smiled.
“Did you pick this compartment by chance?” he asked. “The others were empty.”
The question baffled her, which must have shown on her face.
“Why do you ask? Do I bother you?”
“Not at all. I’m just curious.”
She thought a moment, but could find no reason to lie.
“It’s kind of a family tradition when visiting my grandmother. My mother told me many years ago how this compartment had brought her luck. She never explained what she meant, so I always sit here anyway. The only luck I’ve had is no travel glitches.”
His widening eyes and fading smile added to her confusion. She could not understand why such an admission would surprise an American tourist.
John Fraser had been shocked by her answer. And very surprised. He had not forgotten what had happened many years ago, nor would he ever be able to forget an unusual name.
“Is your mother’s name Saga?”
If her face displayed the emotions racing through her mind—surprise, confusion, fear—than it must look to the man facing her like a kaleidoscope. She stiffened, a sense of concern growing as scenarios started playing out in her imagination. She wondered how soon the conductor would appear.
“How did you know that?” she demanded.
John felt a strange feeling in his gut. His eyes widened more and his lips parted, revealing his surprise, which was different than hers. His surprise came from knowledge, not his imagination or memory of film plots.
Elsa stared at the man and willed herself to relax. She had no reason to fear this man. She was not afraid, but she was a District Attorney and her boyfriend was a policeman, so she knew enough to be cautious with people she did not know. There could be a simple explanation, and he was not threatening, merely inquisitive.
“How do you know my mother?”
“I’m not sure I do. What’s your father’s name?”
Her sense of concern returned. Could this man be a private investigator? If so, what could he be investigating? She had nothing to fear and could think of nothing her mother might have done, but her family situation was unusual. No American could be interested in her family.
“Why do you want to know?”
“Curiosity.”
She considered whether or not to answer. She had been asked this question often in her life, but never by a complete stranger. And never someone from a foreign country, which she knew to have strange and old-fashioned ideas about relationships. Then again, she had no reason not to answer. That might lead to learning how this man knew her mother, who had never mentioned knowing any Americans or having been to America.
“Uh, I don’t have a father. I have two mothers. That’s allowed in Sweden.”
She felt the need to add the qualifier, having read how weird some Americans could be about such matters.
“Okay, but everyone has a biological father.”
She hesitated, avoiding his gaze. Before lowering her eyes, she felt his expression suggested sympathy. Again, she could find no reason to be evasive. She should consider this a friendly conversation between two travellers, who would never met again. Perhaps, it might even be beneficial to talk about something she had kept bottled up.
“My mother didn’t tell me. It’s never been important.”
John pursed his lips, his mind racing back 28 years to his younger self sitting on a train with a girl about the same age as this one. This could not be happening, he thought.
Elsa could not understand why the man was shaking his head.
“How old are you?”
“This is weird,” she stated, moving to the seat beside the door opposite from where she was, putting more distance between them and being better able to observe the man. She could easily push open the door and flee before he could reach her.
After she moved, his gaze had changed from merely a curious fellow passenger to openly staring. She thought about fleeing, but still did not feel threatened. Instead, she was now curious.
“I must warn you I'm a District Attorney.”
His face brightened.
“Congratulations. You must have been a good student.”
She shook her head, surprised by the comment. He was taking this in a different direction, away from her mother.
“I was.”
“Why not private practice? That’s where the money is.”
She shook her head.
“Americans think only about money.”
“Not really. It’s just the first thing that comes to mind, when one thinks of lawyers. They can make a lot of money.”
“Money is not the most important thing in life. Family is.”
“I agree. So, tell me: How old are you?”
She frowned, but could find no reason not to answer.
“Twenty-seven.”
After she said this, surprise—maybe even shock—showed on his face.
John Fraser was shocked, because he recalled even more vividly what he had experienced long ago in a similar train compartment on this route. Only fleetingly, at the time, had he considered such a consequence. He took a deep breath and exhaled, then studied the young woman sitting across from him. Now that she faced him more directly, he noticed features of her appearance he had neglected to study earlier. He had not been able to recall the face he had seen many years ago, even in the days afterwards, so he felt his mind might be playing a trick.
“I should have asked before: what is your name? Mine is John Fraser.”
“Elsa. Elsa Larsson.”
He smiled, while she stared at him with a confused expression. His mind was racing at the possibility he was imagining. He took a breath.
“Elsa, what I am about to say will surely be shocking. Only a DNA test can prove me wrong, but I might be your biological father.”
Elsa’s mouth dropped and her eyes widened. She could not grasp the reality of what she was hearing, a statement coming from so far outside anything she could ever have imagined. Just a moment ago, she had considered fleeing to escape being in a compartment with a creepy American man. She could not remember ever having been so shocked in her life. Her body tingled. She studied his face more intently, realising why he had seemed familiar and detecting similarities. Or, was her mind playing tricks?
“Uh, but…how?”
John smiled at her. He thought about the implications of having another daughter—he had a daughter and a son—and what he should do next. He could not, but he did owe this young woman an explanation. He stared at her face and thought about a similar girl of so long ago, one whose face he had not been able to conjure when he had planned this trip. He remembered the initial petting, followed by passionate kissing in the compartment. The girl had put her hand into his pants and suggested they go to the toilet. After the door was locked, they got down to business aided by the rocking to the train.
“I am on this train out of nostalgia. I traveled this route 28 years ago, when I was a college student on a summer trip to see Europe. An attractive girl was also in this compartment, just as now. I was shy; she was not, so we started talking. She told me her name was Saga, a name I had never heard. She was also a student, and she had just visited her parents. There seemed to be a spark between two young and attractive people. After some time, one thing led to another: she sat on my lap and we kissed. She asked if I wanted to make love to her. I remember being thrilled, but also slightly scared. After all, I was in a strange country and did not know the laws. Although being a bit of a chicken and concerned about the consequences, male hormones have a way of ruling the day. I recall pointing out the lack of protection, but was convinced by her claim to be outside her cycle. She gave me a few moments of pleasure during a boring train ride.”
“But, didn’t you spend more time with her…get to know her?”
“I fell asleep and woke up to discover she had left. I searched the train, but she must have disembarked at some stop. All I knew was her first name.
The next day, I rode the train back and forth, but could not find her. I went home and thought about that fling only occasionally over the years. Because I had seen her for a few short hours, my memory could not hold an image of her face, but I could never forget what we did. Or her name. For some reason, I decided to travel this route by train instead of plane. I guess fate is playing funny by putting us together at ‘the scene of the crime’.”
He made finger quotation marks to stress he was joking.
Elsa stared at the man who might be her father, speechless. He looked handsome. He was well-dressed and must be successful, if he traveled to Stockholm on business. Her prosecutor training woke up. Upon first seeing him, she had sensed and then ignored similarities in their appearances. Looking closer, she recognised her nose, her eyes, and her ears. The lower part of her face—mouth and chin—were more like her mother’s. No one would take them for twins, but would recognise a physical relationship. As she stared in disbelief at a man staring just as intently at her, her mind raced in different directions. She recalled how she, at times, had tried to imagine what her father might be like. She had spotted some attractive man and imposed an image of a father, knowing nothing of his character or background. She was happy she had not been seeking a father figure in Hendrik, with whom she lived and planned to marry.
“I’m so shocked, I don’t know what to say. I’ll have to speak with my mother.”
“Call her.”
Elsa hesitated.
“Not yet. First, I want to ask a few questions.”
“I’ll tell you anything you want to know. But, I also want to learn more about you.”
John held up his hand.
“Before we reach Stockholm, we will have to make a decision. Do we want to have a DNA test to confirm or deny my suspicion?”
Elsa looked down at her folded hands and shook her head. She could feel tears trying to force their way to her eyes. She fought the urge and then looked up.
“Are you married?” she asked.
“Yes, and I have two children, a boy and a girl, who would be your siblings. I live in London and work for a multi-national advertising agency. I’m here for a meeting with our Swedish subsidiary.”
John’s mind spun in many directions. He had so much to reveal and so much to ask.
“And, my parents—your grandparents, perhaps—live in Florida. I have a brother and two sisters, who would be you uncle and aunts. There are cousins.”
Thoughts of an extended family flooded through Elsa’s mind. Neither of her two mothers had siblings. She had her grandmother from her real mother and two grandparents from her second mother. All had been close, and there had never been complications. Rarely had she given thought to not having a father, as having two mothers had always been the way it was.
“This is mind-boggling. My life has been so normal and orderly, I don’t know what to think.”
“Are you married.”
“No, but I live with a man…he’s a policeman.”
Elsa forced a smile.
“We’ve been talking about marrying and having children.”
“This shouldn’t change anything. I’m not going to screw up your life. My wife might be upset, even though this happened years before I met her. I don’t know how my children and my family will take the news.”
“Things like this don’t happen…even in novels.”
“I can’t say, but the odds seem rather immense—not fathering a child out of wedlock—but not knowing about that child and meeting her by chance her 28 years later is probably unique in human existence.”
Elsa shook her head again. She decided she did want to know.
“I—we—have a friend who works in forensics. He will know all about DNA tests.”
“I don’t know all the legal implications—“
“I don’t want anything from you.”
“I’m not thinking that. I was just thinking about the possible advantages for you to have US citizenship…if you wanted. We would need proof of parentage, so a DNA test would be useful.”
“I never even thought of such a thing.”
“Well, maybe you can.”
Elsa thought for a few minutes. John turned to look out the window at the passing countryside, something he had expected to see but had missed a second time. Something far more compelling captured his attention, as it had so many years ago.
“I think I want to call my mother.”
Elsa fished a phone from bag and punched some buttons. Holding it to her ear, she studied his face.
She spoke excitedly in Swedish, pausing only occasionally for what must have been questions or comments. He could not understand a word.
“Ask if she wants to meet,” he said, interrupting.
Elsa spoke some more, before signing off.
“What did she say?”
“Of course, she was surprised. She said she didn’t expect me to ever learn the truth, but is not upset I know. She thinks your story sounds like what happened, but a DNA test is a good idea to remove any doubt. She had sex with an American—she had forgotten your name. She said now I know why she told me this compartment had brought her luck.”
John was surprised she had forgotten his name, but then again his name was rather common and their relationship had been fleeting.
“Does she want to meet?”
“She wasn’t sure. She wants to think about that.”
John could tell Elsa was pondering something.
“This is going to affect our thoughts and action for some time,” he said.
“I want to call my boyfriend. I have to tell him, but also want to ask him about his friend in forensics.”
“Of course. Find out what they need for a test.”
Thoughts about DNA caused John to spin consequences of this unusual paternity. He paid no attention to Elsa, because he did not understand a word. He did notice her frown, suspecting her boyfriend must have said something unsettling. He recalled his fear of consequences years ago, but he could now face real ones. What were the laws in Sweden about paternity? He must have some obligations. What about statute of limitations? This girl was a lawyer, so he would be at a disadvantage, if she chose to seek compensation. Ignorance of the law was never a good defence, but ignorance of fatherhood might be. He was certain theft of sperm had never been considered a crime, but that seems to be what had happened.
John returned his attention to Elsa and ignored the blur at the edge of his vision. He tried to imagine what she related to her boyfriend. Learning about Elsa’s life interested him far more than seeing the Swedish landscape passing by unnoticed outside the window. He could not believe that this girl could be his daughter. Her life had had no comparison to the life of his children. Although siblings, they would have almost nothing in common.
She ended the call and flashed a smile.
“He was certainly surprised,” she said.
“Did you ever wonder what your father might be like?”
Elsa frowned.
“No…uh, maybe…yes. What I said before.”
“What did you imagine?”
“I don’t know…uh, I don’t remember…Nothing like you.”
“I wonder if that is good or bad.”
“I don’t know”
“Surely that he was nothing like me.”
“But, I don’t know you. Even if you seem nice, I’m still a bit shocked.”
“I am nice. I have never yelled at or hit my children. I keep telling them they are lucky to have me, because I believe in brainwashing.”
Elsa smiled. She liked that description and his honesty. She did not want to admit that she had an idealised vision of a father. Her mother—mothers—were rather ordinary for her, because they had always been part of her life. She took them for granted. She loved both, as far as she understood love, and had no complaints about how she had been raised. Unconventionality had been normal. Getting to know her true father would surely be more difficult than having had two lesbian mothers, which had always seemed natural. Having to explain a real father would be challenging.
Excusing himself to use the toilet, John tottered along the unsteady corridor of the train. His thoughts, of course, were on his new predicament: he had another child. A DNA test was unnecessary to convince him. He was not sure about his emotions. Of course, he was surprised. But once the surprise became knowledge, he felt deceived. The woman he had met so long ago had not only lied to him: she had knowingly disappeared and thus deceived him. Anger would do no one any good, especially since no harm seems to have been done. He would have to make the best of a situation, which he was only slowly beginning to understand and which raised seemingly endless questions. Or he could walk away…leave the train, as a girl named Saga had done.
Swaying with the train to hit a moving target, John hoped to avoid having to return with wet pants to a daughter he did not know. He felt an urge to impress her, more so than he would any attractive young woman. This one might be in his life longer than a train ride, unlike her mother had been so many years ago.
Elsa had moved her feet to let him pass and then watched him disappear out the compartment door. She stared at the opposite wall and thought about the man who had just left. If asked, she would have difficulty explaining how she felt. Talking with him had seemed so natural, but the situation was so far from anything anyone would consider normal. The only parallel she could conceive would be meeting an alien from another galaxy.
She had often thought about traveling to the United States, influenced by television, films, and music. Her parents had taken her to many places in Europe, but also to Thailand and Bali. They had always found some reason for not traveling west, whenever she had raised the subject. The thought of being American, if only partly, would surely lead her to seek out long lost relatives.
When he returned, John suggested they move to the dining car and have meal. The two strangers spent the rest of the trip to Stockholm exchanging stories about their lives, filling in blanks neither had known to have existed. The natural chemistry provided evidence of a relationship, which both now expected to be proven by DNA. John had urged Elsa to call her friend to ask how quickly he could provide a result, since he planned to be in Stockholm for only two days. If necessary, he would extend his visit to learn the truth.
Before going separate ways at the main train station in Stockholm, they had exchanged phone numbers. Elsa had an envelope with strands of John Fraser’s hair. Her friend had promised to expedite the test, if she delivered the sample to him. She promised to call with result as soon as she knew.
John Fraser had trouble sleeping that night, his mind wandering in many directions. He could not decide if he was pleased, upset, or indifferent. He decided he was anything but indifferent, even if the result of the test turned out to be negative. He was unsure what he would do, if the test proved that he was the father of a 27 year-old daughter. How would his wife and children react to such a fact? How would his life change, if she wanted a closer relationship?
The next day proved difficult. He had pay attention to the details of a meeting he had arranged. As President of Europe for his agency, he was responsible for the performance of the Swedish subsidiary. He could not let private matters upset fulfilling his duties. He even had to stifle an urge to share his news with someone—anyone. He had known the general manager for years and considered him a friend. But he decided that no one should know, until he discovered the truth. Waiting for the phone call was difficult.
Late next afternoon, John sat in a hotel lobby in Stockholm, feeling apprehensive about his forthcoming meeting with his daughter and her mother. He had suggested this to Elsa, when she had called with the test result. Now, he recalled how thoughts of this encounter had plagued him throughout the day and waking moments last night. Iron self-discipline had been needed once again to get him through his meetings at the agency.
Many people were intimidated by lobbies of luxury hotels. He was not. John sat in the lobby of the Grand Hotel and watched people entering, immediately spotting those uncomfortable or shy. He knew Saga must be at least 50, so was surprised to see a woman who could have been Elsa’s older sister. The two could have played in one of those old dishwashing detergent commercials, in which the mother and daughter looked like sisters. Both paused upon entering and searched the lobby. He saw Elsa point at him. The two women strode resolutely towards him, ignoring their surroundings and stares of men. One he had seen the day before; the other he did not remember.
John stood to greet them. He thought of his wife, who was about the same age and still attractive, but had not aged as well. He recalled long-forgotten fantasies about what would have happened if he had found the girl in the train long ago and had returned to Sweden or had lured her to America. None had worked out well.
They stopped in front on him, both smiling. He offered his hand.
“Hello, Saga. You lied to me.”
The smile on Saga’s face faded.
“It’s not a problem,” he added. “No one suffered, but you did tell me nothing would happen.”
“Uh—“ Saga stammered, the self-confidence she had displayed seemingly gone.
“I had no idea what I missed, but you got what seems to be a wonderful child. And, Elsa seems to have had a good life.”
He smiled at her.
“I did,” Elsa said, taking her mother’s arm.
“Let me buy you a drink, and we can talk.”
He turned and led them into the bar. Once settled at a table, Saga forced a smile.
“You must hate me.”
John looked taken aback. He shook his head.
“Not at all. But, I can’t deny being shocked and surprised. I took the train yesterday, because I wanted to revisit that trip long ago. I did think of you, but could remember only your name and what we did. My memories were slim, but good. I had long forgotten your face, so didn’t recognize you in Elsa when I first saw her.. At no time did I ever think about you having a child, because I had believed what you said. Having been smitten at the time, I do admit to looking for you and wondering why you disappeared. In later years, I was happy with this outcome, because I don’t know how my life would have turned out, if I had found you and we had started a relationship. I guess I’m lucky you did not give me the chance to find out.”
The waiter arrived. Saga ordered white wine, Elsa and John beer.
Saga seemed to be contemplating how to respond.
“You forced me to tell Elsa a truth I had been keeping from her. I had told her only part of the story of her parentage. I did admit to an anonymous donor, but not that I knew who it was. Of course, I only knew you as an American student, but not where you were or how to contact you. I’m embarrassed to admit that I forgot your name.”
John glanced at Elsa and then smiled at Saga.
“We did only what Mother Nature wanted, even if governments and religions would condemn this. Look what a wonderful person we produced.”
“Even back then, there were fertility clinics,” Saga said, “but my friend and I wanted anonymity. We didn’t trust anything with records. We did not want someone to come knocking on the door who would meddle.”
He thought about a saying he had heard in some philosophy seminar: ‘There is no right or wrong. You can do whatever you want, as long as you are willing to accept the consequences’. Most societies dictated that marriage was possible only between a man and a woman. More-liberal nations allowed other forms. So, the only consequences of Saga’s action were to deny her daughter a father and to have to deal with—or ignore—questions of her lineage. From what he could determine, given the little interaction they had had, Elsa did not seem to have suffered. Intrusive sessions with a psychoanalyst might discover something different, but she seemed to be well-balanced.
“I haven’t come knocking and have no intention to meddle,” he said. “Whatever you mean by that.”
Elsa frowned, glancing at her mother.
“What about me?” Elsa said. “Did you never think that I might want to know about my real father?”
Which immediately negated what he had just thought.
John thought about the recent growth of internet dating sites. Then again, she would have avoided them, if there had been such a thing, because that would leave a data trail.
“Why me?” he said.
Saga shrugged.
“I had tried others, but none worked. I found you attractive, and you seemed intelligent. I remember asking questions about you and your family, which did not seem to bother you. I told you I was studying sociology—which was true—and wanted to understand a typical American family.”
He frowned, obviously trying to recall a time long ago.
“I remember talking to you, but not all the questions. You seemed easy to talk to.”
“I found you naive…typical American.”
“Mama, that’s harsh,” Elsa said.
“Probably true,” he said. “At that age, I was an easy target for any girl that spoke to me.”
John smiled to indicate he had no hard feelings. Saga looked at her hands, clearly embarrassed and at a loss for words.
“So, what do we do?” Elsa asked, the prosecutor in her taking charge.
John was used to solving problems for client and making recommendations.
“We have two choices: we get to know each other and each other’s families…or I walk away, and we pretend this never happened. This little meeting could be like on a vacation, where you meet another family and become friends for a week. You promise to stay in touch, but rarely do beyond the first Christmas card. I think the decision has to be Elsa’s, because she is the victim.”
“Victim?” Saga demanded. “What do you mean by that?”
“I do not feel victimised or cheated. You can’t miss something you didn’t know you had. I have two fine children, so do not need another. Some might conclude that Elsa had been cheated out of a father.”
“I don’t know if I do,” Elsa replied. “I can’t complain about my life, but I would like to learn about my true ancestors and relatives.”
“Okay,” John sais. “Welcome to the family. You’ll have to come to London to meet your siblings.”
“You have to meet my other mother and Hendrik.”
“We have to make up for 27 years.”
“Or start something new...”

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