Black Noise

by Hiltunen, Pekka

  You couldn’t describe Berg like that, Lia thought. He was their wizard of stage design, their friend, their bear in overalls. Gro’s master. Berg was laughter, intelligence, attentiveness. The sounds of the Den.

  Lia knew why Mari was lying at home incapacitated.

  Paddy and Maggie left, but Rico wanted to stay with his machines.

  ‘Can you watch Gro for a little while?’ Lia asked.

  ‘Are you going to Hoxton?’ Rico asked.

  Lia nodded.

  ‘Tell Mari that…’ Rico began but trailed off mid-sentence. ‘Say that we’ll get through this too,’ Rico finally said. ‘I’ll work on my tablet so I can sit with Gro Harlem in the Den.’

  Mari’s flat was dark and silent.

  Lia switched on the hall lights and glanced around. Had Mari been up and around?

  Nothing in the flat suggested so. There were no clothes tossed over the back of a chair and no cup left on the table. The large kitchen showed no signs of anyone having eaten there. Lia looked in the fridge, which was almost the same size as her entire kitchenette in Hampstead. An open milk carton, cheeses, and something in the vegetable drawer. Everything arranged in orderly fashion.

  Does she have a cleaner?

  Was that possible? Mari protected her privacy with almost frightening fastidiousness, but the flat was large and Mari was always at work. And she had money – maybe she did use a maid.

  Lia listened quietly at the bedroom door. Nothing came from inside. Lia turned off the hall light so it wouldn’t shine into the bedroom and carefully opened the door.

  Mari was sleeping, her breathing deep and slow.

  Lia inspected the flat more thoroughly. She wanted to see all the rooms, but she had to do it cautiously.

  Holy shit I’m curious about her.

  That didn’t mean voyeurism though. You couldn’t go too far into friends’ personal areas, especially not with a friend like Mari.

  She didn’t open any drawers or sniff around in any cupboards. She sat in different places, read the spines of books in the wall of bookcases and looked at the paintings. There were few decorations, although she knew Mari travelled a lot.

  She thought for a moment about Mari’s office at the Studio. One wall there was dedicated to shelves bearing dozens of neatly arranged binders with information about the Studio’s previous jobs, the ones Mari had never been willing to talk about. But Lia couldn’t go riffling through the binders without Mari’s knowledge. The very thought was impossible, also because a beautiful curtain Berg had made covered the shelves. Not only would Lia have to break Mari’s trust, in a way she also would have been insulting Berg.

  Glancing around a friend’s house stayed within the bounds of propriety though.

  I’m not prying. I’m just looking.

  She allowed herself a couple of open-faced sandwiches. The bread and other bits and bobs were easily accessible in the kitchen – she didn’t need to go snooping too much in the cupboards.

  It was almost time for the Channel Four news. But of course there was no normal television in Mari’s home, either in the living room or the kitchen.

  Lia went into the study. It resembled Mari’s office at the Studio: a large room with a long, handsome desk, binders and books on the shelves. An enormous plasma screen covered one wall. Mari must have used that for watching TV.

  Lia spent a while searching for a remote but didn’t find one. Finally she plucked up the courage to sit in Mari’s chair and looked at the desk. The laptop was in sleep mode.

  She brushed the touchpad. The machine started reviving, which also woke up the wall display. On the screen Lia saw quick links for television and several other options: apparently Mari watched TV through the computer.

  Opening the evening news on the computer, and thereby also on the enormous flat screen, Lia leaned back in Mari’s chair and ate. She felt a little guilty. But also relieved.

  Guilty because here she was sitting in her friend’s inner sanctum, seeing things with Mari’s eyes, possibly dropping crumbs in a place where no one was supposed to eat. Relieved because Mari was sleeping. Things might work out and the time for grieving might pass someday.

  Berg’s and Brian Fowler’s deaths weren’t even the number one story on the news any more. At its height, Craig Cole’s Gropegate scandal had dominated the headlines for a few days, and the letters, phone calls and scrapbooks the Studio had made to help him had spawned their own consequences, but the notice they had attracted was waning as well. The video killings would remain in the news for some time to come, until eventually they had to make room for other things as well.

  Publicity was a cold sea governed by no one and in which no one was safe. Lia was wondering whether that was sad or just the way the world dealt with problems and moved forward, but then her thoughts were disturbed when something started ringing.

  A soft buzzing, insistently repetitive. Lia frantically searched for its source so that Mari wouldn’t wake up, until she spotted a telephone icon pulsing on the computer screen. Opening the app, Lia read the name next to the caller’s avatar. Mamia.

  Mari’s mother? What was her name? Don’t they live somewhere in Häme, near Pori?

  Before she had time to think it through too carefully, Lia clicked the Answer button. She jumped when a face flashed onto the computer screen and the large wall display.

  An elderly woman with dark hair stared from the wall. She couldn’t be Mari’s mother – she was much too old.

  ‘This is new,’ the woman said in Finnish.

  ‘Good evening,’ Lia answered when she didn’t know what else to say.

  ‘Dear girl, I can’t hear you,’ the old woman said. ‘You need the headphones with the microphone. They’re there somewhere. Or turn on the microphone on the computer.’

  Lia stared at the old lady who was instructing her how to use Skype on Mari’s computer. Looking around, on the edge of the desk Lia found a light pair of headphones with a small mic attached. Quickly she plugged them into the computer. Mari had to sleep, and Lia didn’t want Mari to see her messing with her computer.

  ‘You’re the Finn,’ the old woman said once Lia had the headphones on. ‘You’re Lia.’

  Lia realised that the woman had to be some relation to Mari. She could hear it in her voice and see it in her features, her cheekbones.

  ‘Yeah,’ Lia said.

  ‘Where is Mari then?’ the woman asked.

  ‘In there – sleeping.’

  The woman’s eyes sharpened ever so slightly.

  ‘I’m Mari’s grandmother,’ she said. ‘Her father’s mother. Mirjami Rautee.’

  Lia smiled and nodded. The video connection was a little slow, giving the feeling that you had to exaggerate your gestures and speak more clearly for the other person to understand.

  ‘In the family everyone calls me Mamia,’ Mari’s grandmother said.

  ‘Mamia,’ Lia repeated.

  ‘There’s a little story behind the name,’ Mamia said.

  Lia took a breath and thought for a second. Mari was sleeping off a case of shock so severe she had wanted to give Lia her keys to every door in the Studio and her home. Mari certainly hadn’t intended for Lia to end up talking to her grandma, but she could hardly take offence.

  ‘What kind of story?’ Lia asked.

  ‘Let’s not get into that now,’ Mamia said. ‘Maybe we can talk about it sometime though.’

  The same quickness, the same accuracy in every thought as Mari.

  ‘Now I don’t want to be unfriendly, Lia,’ Mamia said, ‘but since you’re answering when I called Mari, it’s clear that everything isn’t right there. Mari hasn’t answered me in days. At all. You are apparently a new visitor to Mari’s home, or at least you haven’t been there often. You didn’t know to use the headset for the phone, and you have a plate under that sandwich that Mari doesn’t use for sandwiches. It’s too small. You must have taken it out of the cupboard yourself. What’s going on there? Is Mari ill?’


  Lia had a difficult time balancing what she could and couldn’t tell Mari’s grandmother. The bluntness of Mamia’s questions didn’t help the situation.

  But in her own way Mamia was also leaving her space not to talk about things, Lia noticed. Mamia wanted to know specifically whether Mari was in some sort of distress, but she wasn’t one of those old people who didn’t give others space to live their lives.

  Lia said that a good friend of theirs had died tragically, and they were all trying to get over the shock.

  ‘It wasn’t Paddy, was it?’ Mamia asked immediately.

  How much does she know? Lia wondered. Could she know about the Studio?

  ‘No,’ Lia said. ‘Not Paddy.’

  ‘Good. I’ve told Mari over and over that in many ways women may be at their best single, but if a man happens to come along you can fall for, you should give the option serious consideration. Mari doesn’t exactly have men lining up outside her door. Men who could keep up with her that is.

  ‘You don’t want to tell me any more about this death,’ Mamia continued. ‘That’s fine. Not everything needs to be spread around.’

  Lia listened, baffled by the woman’s frankness. Mamia relaxed and gave a laugh.

  ‘You’re obviously hungry. I don’t mind if you eat while we talk.’

  Their conversation was strange and stimulating.

  Lia didn’t remember ever meeting anyone like her – only her first encounter with Mari had made as deep an impression.

  Mamia had to be at least eighty years old, she decided. She didn’t know how old Mari’s parents were, but the wall-sized display revealed the lines in her grandmother’s face. Mamia was very thin. She had on a light frock, almost a summer dress, although early spring was cold in Finland, Lia knew.

  Good blood circulation. She must exercise a lot or be health conscious otherwise.

  Mari hadn’t told Lia much of anything about her family. Only that they were from Häme and they were social democrats. Her sister was a teacher somewhere, or at least she had been. And there was a brother who secretly married a Chilean woman without telling anyone.

  ‘You’ve been at Level how long now? Six years?’ Mamia asked.

  ‘Yeah, I guess. Why?’

  ‘It’s good to get yourself a solid position,’ Mamia observed. ‘But that’s quite a long time to spend at one publication. If you compare it to others your age on the London job market. Don’t most people switch places every few years?’

  ‘I haven’t needed a change,’ Lia said. ‘It took me a long time to get used to this job. I’m not much of a… career person.’

  ‘No, you aren’t,’ Mamia said.

  Her expression was so warm Lia couldn’t take offence at how direct she was being. Mamia seemed to be well-informed about life in London. Maybe Mari had told her about it.

  ‘You and Mari, neither of you think about your careers,’ Mamia said. ‘Sometimes I envy you. When I was that age, we had so many more rules. It was rare for someone to go abroad unless they had to in order to make a living. Back then you had to choose what you were going to do and stick with it.’

  ‘What did you do?’

  Mamia had been a secretary in a magistrate’s court. Her diction told of the meticulousness and diligence she applied to discharging her duties. At times she had been frustrated with the hierarchical institution, but now she was mostly proud of her working years. She had seen people’s lives from many different perspectives, she noted, and learned how to manage information.

  ‘You were a little surprised to have an old lady like me calling you over the Internet,’ Mamia said.

  Lia laughed.

  ‘Yes, it was a bit of a shock,’ she admitted. ‘My grandparents have got used to mobile phones, but email and the Internet and all that is still a struggle.’

  ‘I can imagine. I do much better than most. On the other hand, one does have plenty of time at this age.’

  ‘Mari doesn’t talk much about her parents or other family,’ Lia said. ‘Where do you all live?’

  The furrowed face on the wall turned serious.

  ‘Here and there,’ Mamia said. ‘Here and there.’

  They talked for a long time. Mamia spoke about Finland, the dramatic twists and turns of the recent elections and what was on at the major art museums and theatres.

  Lia deduced from their conversation that at least some of Mari’s family members lived in Finland but that communication between them was not uncomplicated. Still, how dear Mari was to her grandmother was obvious.

  Lia recognised a good number of similarities between the two. Mari had surely inherited some of her sense of justice from her grandmother. They had the same quick wit and the same habit of issuing orders.

  ‘I imagine you’re still hungry,’ Mamia said. ‘You can stop being so polite and picking crumbs off your plate. There’s Finnish crisp bread in the kitchen. I know because I sent it.’

  Lia obeyed, fetching more bread. She forgot to take care not to drop crumbs in the study as Mamia told the story of her nickname.

  ‘It happened near Pori,’ Mamia said. ‘I’m sure you don’t think someone from Pori could come up with something like this on her own. We’re far too serious.’

  Mari and her three siblings had been visiting their grandparents.

  ‘It was a rare joy for us,’ Mamia said. ‘It didn’t happen often at all.’

  Mari’s mother didn’t like sleeping in strange houses, she explained, and there were other reasons.

  ‘They had strong childrearing principles. Children weren’t allowed to speak rudely. Swearing was punished. They were likely the politest, most obedient children in all of Finland.’

  Mamia had taken issue with many aspects of parenting in her son’s family. Lia noticed from Mamia’s careful choice of words that she was tiptoeing around the topic.

  Once when Mari’s family was visiting, Mamia was watching the children play inside. Mari’s parents were outside, and in the middle of the game Mari’s little brother said, ‘That’s shit.’

  ‘The boy said it without thinking,’ Mamia said. ‘We had been watching television and there was a comedy show where one of the characters cursed about a Finnish rally racer’s car using that word. And the little boy repeated the word, as children are apt to do. My thought was that these overly obedient children felt so free with me that they could say anything that popped into their heads.’

  The little boy was frightened when he realised he had said a swear word. He thought he had offended his grandmother and knew if his parents found out they would punish him.

  ‘I told him it was a word just like any other word. A strong word, yes, which should be used with care and consideration. But since their parents didn’t want them to use it, they should honour that.’

  Then she invented a game for the children. They could choose a nickname for her. The children thought that was ever so exciting, and Mari’s big sister chose the name Mamia because when she was little she used to call Grandmother Mirjami that when she was learning to talk.

  ‘So I said that from now on, I’m Mamia. And whenever you say Mamia, it can mean anything you want. And it’s also a swear word, but only we know that.’

  Lia laughed in surprise.

  ‘I didn’t see any harm in it,’ Mamia said. ‘It was good for the children to learn that swearing could be perfectly acceptable at times and that no one should make such a fuss about it. It was a harmless way to let the children talk like children.’

  The name game had become Mamia and the children’s shared secret. Saying her nickname amused the children to no end. Sometimes they would chant it. ‘Mamia, Mamia, Mamia.’

  Mari and her siblings never revealed the game to their parents, Mamia said.

  ‘What does the name mean now?’

  Mamia smiled.

  ‘It’s simply Mamia. They can swear all they want now. Now they can do as they wish.’

  The call had lasted for more than an hour when Lia noticed that night had
long since fallen outside. Mamia saw Lia glancing at the clock.

  ‘We should stop now,’ Mamia said.

  ‘It would be nice to chat longer,’ Lia said. ‘But I have a dog I need to take out and some other things to do.’

  Mamia looked contemplative.

  ‘You mentioned that Mari doesn’t talk about her family there,’ she said. ‘She doesn’t say much to me about her friends. I’ve heard a little about you. And Paddy, of course.’

  ‘That’s how she is,’ Lia said.

  Neither said anything for a moment.

  ‘Lia, do you know that I’ve always thought that Mari is one of the last women that life could ever crush. She’s experienced so much.’

  Lia swallowed, not knowing what to say.

  ‘But then if something ever were to knock her down…’ the old woman said, trailing off. ‘If you can, take care of her now. She doesn’t want to be taken care of. She can’t stand anyone watching over her. But no one can survive everything alone.’

  Lia thought of Mari lying in her bed nearly incapacitated with grief.

  ‘If something gets through all of Mari’s defences, things could go very badly for her,’ Mamia said. Lia nodded.

  Mamia smiled plaintively.

  ‘Goodnight.’

  The old woman’s face disappeared from the wall. Lia picked up a few breadcrumbs she had dropped and turned off the computer.

  She walked to the door of the room and could sense before she entered the corridor that someone was there.

  In the hall she found Mari, swaying, leaning on the wall for support.

  What had Mari heard of their phone call? At least the end.

  Mari looked at her. The agony was visible in her eyes. Lia knew she couldn’t say anything about Berg directly. And this wasn’t a woman anyone could nurse.

  ‘Gro is waiting,’ Lia said. ‘I have to take her out and then get her home.’

  Water welled up in Mari’s eyes. Cautiously Lia approached and hugged her. They stood in the dark hall without saying anything, holding tight to each other and crying.