One month before I turned eighteen, I pulled myself together and visited my brother at his room on Larslejstræde. The landlord looked at me skeptically when I asked to see my brother. ‘They all say that,’ she said acerbically, and let me in. He stood in the center of the floor in a nearly empty room, in the process of gluing together a chair. A sudden wave of tenderness came over me at the sight of him. I hadn’t seen him in such a long time. He seemed to be glad to see me too, and we sat down on his unmade bed.

‘Dad doesn’t have any work,’ I said, ‘and Aunt Anna is dying, and they’re flat broke.’

‘I don’t see what that has to do with me,’ he said defiantly. ‘They ruined things between me and Gunhild. I could never invite a girl home without Mom going bananas. At least here we can be in peace.’

‘Do you have a new one?’ I asked, a bit shocked. I hadn’t thought of that possibility, even though he was twenty-one and a handsome young man.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘And I plan on keeping her.’

To my surprise I started sobbing. He had never seen me do that. We never expressed our feelings. That was how it was at home. He put his arm around my shoulder, which was also the first time ever. Then the confessions poured out of me, about my broken-off engagement, about not packaging tin boxes anymore, about the poems and my plans for the future, and about the editor, who seemed to be in love with me, and who had enough influence to help me make it in the world. And all this, I explained, could only unfold if he moved back home. If one of us didn’t support them economically, they would both freeze and starve. If nothing else, I pleaded, he could just do it temporarily to ease the transition when I moved out.

He stood up and started pacing in the little room.

‘Do you make money off that – writing?’ he asked sheepishly.

‘Nothing to speak of,’ I said, ‘but I will eventually. And then I promise to help them.’

A sad smile emerged in his brown eyes.

‘Fine, fine,’ he said with a sigh. ‘I’ll do it. Just stop crying. I can’t stand it. I think you’re going to be famous. Just wait, that editor is going to marry you.’

I didn’t look at him when I said goodbye. I didn’t ask who he was engaged to. I knew he would never be able to invite her home to our parents. Ours wasn’t a family that could ever accept new members.