The Hummingbird

by Kati Hiekkapelto

  With a sense of great satisfaction, Anna had asked the interpreter to arrive a full hour before the interviews were due to commence. She remembered only too well Esko’s comments about wasting public money, and she also knew that this woman’s few hours of interpreting represented the only source of income for her entire family.

  Anna popped a menthol pastille into her mouth, went into her office and asked Bihar to step inside.

  ‘We’ll be recording this interview,’ Anna informed her as she switched on the video camera. ‘Interviews with minors are always recorded. And I’d like to remind you that as the plaintiff in this case, you are required to tell the truth. Do you understand?’

  Bihar nodded to the camera.

  ‘You placed a call to the emergency services in the early hours of last Monday morning. Is that right?’ Anna began.

  ‘I suppose,’ the girl replied, a note of defiance in her voice, and turned her eyes from the camera to Anna.

  ‘Why did you place that call?’

  The self-confident defiance of a moment ago was shaken. For a fleeting moment Anna thought she could see, behind the girl’s dark eyes, an animal cowering in a corner. Bihar closed her eyes quickly, took a deep breath, then opened them again, her fear concealed once more.

  ‘Um … well … I think I was dreaming. I was having a nightmare and I must have been half asleep when I called, didn’t really know what I was doing. I woke up when the cops turned up at my aunt’s place asking what was going on, what I’d gone and done.’

  ‘What were you dreaming about?’

  Bihar shuddered almost imperceptibly. She hadn’t expected that question. Perhaps she’d assumed the businesslike Finnish police wouldn’t start asking about her dreams; surely they’d stick with the facts, with the real world.

  ‘I can’t remember,’ she answered instinctively. ‘Couldn’t remember when I woke up either.’

  ‘And when did you wake up?’

  ‘When the police arrived.’

  ‘And that was?’

  ‘I dunno, four or five in the morning. I couldn’t get back to sleep after that – it was almost morning.’

  ‘Was your dad in your dream?’

  ‘Can’t remember.’

  ‘Did your dad threaten to kill you?’

  ‘In my dream or for real?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. Did he?’

  ‘Not when I’ve been awake, he hasn’t. I can’t remember anything about that dream. He might have threatened me, if that’s what I said on the phone.’

  ‘Why were you in Vantaa?’

  ‘Spending the weekend with relatives. Is that against the law?’

  ‘What relatives?’

  ‘My aunt and uncle.’

  ‘How do you travel to school?’

  ‘Huh? What’s that got to do with anything?’

  ‘Just answer the question, please.’

  ‘I walk to the bus stop and get the bus.’

  ‘Do you walk with anyone?’

  ‘No, I go by myself.’

  ‘What about Mehvan?’

  ‘He’s in a different school. I’m in high school, he’s still in middle school.’

  ‘Were you forced to walk with your brother in the past? When you were in middle school?’

  Bihar’s dark eyes looked away from the camera and stared up and down the walls, avoiding Anna’s gaze.

  ‘No,’ she replied.

  ‘My colleague says otherwise. She had a chat with your former teacher yesterday, one Riitta Kolehmainen. She says otherwise too. She told us your brother followed you like a hawk right through middle school, never let you out of his sight. She also said you were frequently absent.’

  ‘I always had my parents’ permission,’ she snapped.

  ‘Yes. This isn’t about truanting.’

  ‘Of course, me and Mehvan walked to school together when we were in the same school. Nothing weird about that.’

  ‘Didn’t it bother you?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘Didn’t feel like it was restricting your freedom?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You went to Turkey last year.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Nothing special.’

  ‘Were you there celebrating your engagement?’

  ‘Of course not,’ she scoffed with a forced laugh.

  ‘Really? What do you do after school?’

  ‘Watch TV, do my homework, visit friends. Normal stuff.’

  ‘Who are your friends? Are they Kurds? Finns?’

  ‘Finns at school – there aren’t any other refugees in our class, or in the whole school. At home they’re mostly Kurds, then there are a few Somali girls that live across the street.’

  ‘Have you got a boyfriend?’

  ‘No,’ Bihar answered.

  ‘Have you had one in the past?’

  Bihar stared at the surface of the table; her long, black eyelashes fluttered, casting a shadow on her cheeks. She took a sip of water.

  ‘No,’ she said eventually and tried to give Anna a convincing look in the eyes.

  You’re lying, thought Anna.

  ‘Bihar, I’m your friend,’ Anna decided to change tactics. ‘There’s no need to be afraid. Just tell me the truth and I will make sure you get to safety. Right now. You won’t have to go home or be frightened of anyone ever again.’

  Bihar shuddered again, hesitant.

  ‘I don’t think it’ll help,’ she said eventually.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘’Cause there’s nothing wrong.’ She assumed the bored expression of earlier and blew a chewing-gum bubble that burst across her lips.

  ‘You called 112. Your life was in danger. I’ve heard the tape. You don’t sound remotely sleepy; you sound downright petrified. I can see you’re afraid now, too. I can see you’re lying to me because you’re frightened. Wake up, girl! Do you want to live with that kind of fear for the rest of your life, let them control you like that?’

  Bihar started shifting uncomfortably in her chair.

  ‘What am I supposed to be afraid of?’ she said.

  ‘Your father, for one. Or your uncle, your brother, your mother. Maybe somebody else. They’ve threatened to kill you? And what have you done? Gone to a party with some schoolfriends and had a sip of cider? Fallen for a Finnish boy? Come on, Bihar. Think about it.’

  Bihar bit her lip and stared at the door. Light and pink blotches appeared on her olive cheeks. She wiped the corner of her eyes on her jacket sleeve, holding back a deluge of tears.

  That did the trick, thought Anna. Telitalálat!

  The girl sat silent for a moment, occasionally glancing up at Anna and the camera.

  ‘They won’t kill me,’ she said almost under her breath.

  ‘Of course they won’t, if you mope around at home long enough to get married to the nice man that your father has decided is suitable for you. Do you even know who he is yet? Are you engaged? Are you happy? Do you love that man?’

  Bihar didn’t say a word. A single tear escaped and trickled down her left cheek.

  ‘Who are you protecting, Bihar? It’s your life at stake here. You shouldn’t have to worry what your mother or father think about things or if you’re not the good little girl they want you to be. They don’t seem to care much for your feelings, or do they? You know very well what motivates them – shame. And they lie to you and tell you it’s about honour. Namus, Bihar, namus. The honour of the family and the clan. The honour of the men in the family.’

  Anna could feel herself getting worked up. Her voice had toughened. The subject was getting too close for comfort. Everything got too close eventually. I’m too hot-blooded for this job. Better calm down, so as not to startle her. Anna got up and said she would fetch more water.

  ‘Right,’ said Anna as she returned with a jug of water. ‘Tell me everything. Don’t be frightened. You’ve lived in Finland long enough to know that we’re on your side. You know that, don’t you
?’

  ‘Yeah, yeah.’

  ‘What have your relatives done to you?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Do they watch over you? Hit you, threaten you? Threaten to kill you?’

  ‘No, no, no!’ Bihar started to shout. ‘Stop it, all right? They don’t do anything. I’m fine, okay?’

  ‘When are you going to turn eighteen?’

  ‘In three months.’

  ‘You realise that they can’t tell you what to do once you’re eighteen. You can decide for yourself where you want to live, who you hang around with and what you do. You’re only answerable to the law, not your parents.’

  Bihar sniffed and looked at Anna, her large eyes full of contempt. ‘Course I know that. Why wouldn’t I?’

  ‘Do you think they’ll let you move away?’

  ‘Just stop it, all right? It was a false alarm. This whole thing is one big misunderstanding. I was dreaming. I wasn’t myself. I used to walk and talk in my sleep all the time as a kid.’

  ‘Are you absolutely sure you want to put this in your statement?’ asked Anna.

  ‘I’m sure. My parents would never do anything to hurt me.’

  ‘Why don’t I believe you?’

  ‘Probably ’cause you’re a detective. You’ve been trained to see something criminal everywhere you look.’

  ‘Bihar, false imprisonment is a crime. Threatening to kill someone is a crime.’

  ‘But none of that has happened to me.’

  ‘Then why did you call 112?’

  ‘I’ve already told you.’

  ‘You’re not telling the truth.’

  ‘Fine, I’ll admit it. It was revenge.’

  ‘Tell me more.’

  ‘I was angry ’cause they wouldn’t let me go to the school party. I wanted to get back at them.’

  ‘Is that the truth?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me straight away?’

  ‘I didn’t dare. I thought it might be against the law, you know, making a prank 112 call.’

  ‘You could be punished for it.’

  ‘It was stupid. I wasn’t thinking. I was just really angry. Sorry.’

  ‘Why weren’t you allowed to go to the party?’

  ‘My parents said people would be drinking there. And they were right.’

  ‘In three months’ time you can go to parties. And drink, if you want to.’

  ‘That’s what my dad said.’

  ‘I’m sure,’ Anna muttered. ‘For the last time – is someone threatening to hurt you?’

  ‘No. Not at all. Believe me, okay?’

  Anna sighed and terminated the interview. Bihar tucked a few stray strands of hair beneath her veil and tightened the fabric. She took a sip of water and glanced at the camera. Anna stood up and began organising her papers on the desk. Bihar remained seated and dug around in her coat pocket as if looking for something. Suddenly she stood up, staring at the camera all the while. She held out her hand and shook Anna’s. With her other hand still in her pocket, she pulled back the hem of her coat to reveal a garish, printed T-shirt that looked like it could have belonged to one of Ákos’s bands.

  ‘Thanks. See ya,’ said Bihar, gazing into Anna’s eyes like a puppy begging for a treat. Then she dashed to the door and ran out.

  13

  ‘WE CAME UP WITH SWEET FA, couldn’t get anything out of them. They just kept saying it was all a misunderstanding and they’ve never hurt anyone,’ Rauno told Anna as he brought two pints of lager to their table at a bar in the park.

  The atmosphere inside the police station had begun to feel tense and claustrophobic. The interviews had drawn on late into the evening; it was a Friday evening and summer was coming to an end. The temperature had risen above 20°c, and after hearing the weather forecast on the radio Anna had felt a sense of urgency.

  ‘This is our last chance,’ she had said to Rauno almost dramatically as he walked into the staffroom. The station had already quietened down for the evening; everyone was rushing home to enjoy a weekend of glorious late summer weather.

  Anna noticed that, once again, Rauno was in no hurry to get home.

  ‘What? Don’t worry, I’ll always give you another chance, my darling. No worries.’

  Anna was amused.

  ‘I mean it’s our last chance to sit outside in our T-shirts, have a drink in the sunshine, get a tan, just hang out. Let’s go.’

  ‘You’re in an apocalyptic mood. Are you going to string yourself up this winter or what? I’m certainly planning on sitting outside with a pint many times yet. In fact, I’m not planning on stopping,’ said Rauno.

  They had walked into town together.

  Rauno drank half of his pint in a long, single gulp and wiped the froth on his lips with his shirtsleeve. Anna sipped her own pint more slowly, enjoying the sunshine and the cool touch of the beer on her tongue and palate.

  ‘The girl eventually decided she’d done it out of revenge, because Daddy didn’t let her go to a party.’

  ‘That’s what the parents said too.’

  ‘They’d obviously agreed what to say in advance, and it’s a pack of lies. First she’d said she was dreaming and that she made the call in her sleep.’

  ‘And that’s precisely what the parents said initially too. Apparently she’d always been a restless sleeper, regularly talked and walked in her sleep. Then they started on about how they have the right to prevent their children going to places where alcohol is available, that the law is on their side.’

  ‘And in that, they’re right.’

  ‘You should have seen Esko’s face. This was nectar from heaven for the racist old git; if only Finnish fathers would take a leaf out of his book, he said later on, we wouldn’t have brats hanging around the station all day.’

  ‘Is Esko really a racist?’

  ‘Don’t cling to one word. He’s nothing in particular – he just wants people to think he’s a grumpy old man.’

  ‘He’s horrible to me.’

  ‘He’s horrible to everyone – except Mr Payedar Chelkin, oddly.’

  ‘Looks like the case is going to fold.’

  ‘I think so. Let’s talk about something else. I don’t want to think about work. This sunshine is so warm,’ said Rauno as he stood up to get another drink.

  He hasn’t asked whether I want one, thought Anna.

  Of course he hasn’t, because my glass is still almost full. Nobody ever asked in Finland. And it was a good thing.

  ‘I bought one of those natural light lamps a while ago,’ said Anna once Rauno had returned.

  ‘Crazy. Why on earth?’

  ‘The thought that it’s soon going to be dark all day really gets me down.’

  ‘Those lamps are useless – the whole idea of winter depression was invented by urbanites. Take a look: it’s August, the sun is shining, there’s a fly buzzing around over there. Now is now, there’s no point wasting your time worrying about things that haven’t happened yet.’

  ‘I suppose not, but I bought one all the same. Are you from the countryside then?’

  ‘Yes, from down the road in Mäntykoski.’

  ‘Family?’ Anna asked, though she knew the answer. Sari had already told her at the gym.

  ‘Yeah. Wife and two kids.’

  ‘How old are your children?’

  ‘Four and five, both girls.’

  ‘Sweet,’ said Anna with a smile.

  ‘Suppose so.’

  Rauno had almost finished his second pint; Anna had barely touched her first and it was getting warm. She watched the people walking through the park in summer clothes; a pigeon wobbling along, picking at crumbs; a dog taking its owner for a walk. The approaching winter was biding its time somewhere north of the Arctic Circle. Her eyes were drawn to a man making his way through the park in gentle strokes, the gravel scraping beneath the tyres of his wheelchair. The man’s legs were strapped to the chair with a wide belt. In his trendy jeans his legs looked limp and shrunken
; without the straps his feet would have dragged along the ground and possibly toppled the wheelchair. The man rolled himself to the bar, ordered a pint, dexterously swung the chair round in front of the nearest empty table and sipped his beer. Handsome, thought Anna. Look at those muscular, tanned arms, his amazing shoulders.

  ‘So basically my sleeping pattern went out the window because of that bloody lamp. Anna! Are you there? Wakey, wakey!’

  ‘What…? Ah, yes. Well, I thought I’d give it a try. The shop assistant said I should use it for about half an hour in the mornings from the beginning of September until New Year. Apparently you shouldn’t use it in the evenings, otherwise you won’t be able to get to sleep.’

  Anna glanced over at the man in the wheelchair and saw that he was looking back. She smiled; her skin started to tingle.

  ‘You can try, but I don’t believe in these lamps,’ Rauno continued. ‘I reckon this winter depression is simply down to the fact that we’re supposed to work just as hard all year round. We should be able to take it easier during the winter months, to wind down and sleep more, do less work.’

  ‘You might be right. But when do you think we’ll ever get a chance to live according to the rhythm of nature?’

  ‘Never. Well, maybe if you moved up north and took up a new career as a gold prospector or something.’

  ‘Is that what you’re planning?’ Anna’s interest plucked up.

  ‘Where could I go? Wife and kids here,’ said Rauno and downed the remains of his pint. ‘Except home, that is,’ he continued, a note of disappointment in his voice. ‘I promised to put the girls to bed tonight. My wife Nina is going out with her friends. I’d better go.’

  ‘Oh. Shame. Though it’s nice that your wife gets the chance to let her hair down. You’ve had a long week too.’

  ‘Hmph. I suppose. Are you staying?’ Rauno glanced at the man in the wheelchair. Bassza meg – he’s noticed. Anna nodded towards her half-full pint glass.