The Black Tongue

by Marko Hautala

  He didn’t stay for Aki’s rebuttals but instead rushed out of the room and slammed the door behind him. His dad stopped snoring then, but he would have forgotten about it by the time Samuel came back. Only in the stairwell did he notice he’d locked himself out without keys, but that couldn’t be helped right now.

  Old lady Huhtala was collecting empty bottles that had been left next to the grill. She placed the rain-washed bottles into a plastic bag. She’d been staring at the party below all evening from her window, like a reflection of a full moon.

  Julia was already waiting on the street in front of her home. Samuel could tell from afar that she’d brought her video camera. She was filming Samuel approaching, which made him pay too much attention to the way he walked. He looked natural. So natural that he stumbled once and almost face-planted on the asphalt. Julia didn’t laugh; she just kept filming. She was wearing a fresh shirt, Samuel could tell that from afar as well. It was blue, with a graphic of a surfboard and letters spelling “Los Angeles” and something else. It was tucked into her jeans, revealing the shape of her breasts. The shirt she’d worn the previous day had been so loose that these thoughts hadn’t even crossed Samuel’s mind. All of this made him feel anxious, especially since he was hungover. He wasn’t really feeling it, but because adults always complained about a hangover after drinking a bit, he probably had one, too.

  “Hi,” Samuel said and looked Julia directly in the eye.

  “Hi.” She lowered the camera.

  “What are you filming now?” he asked.

  He’d think about her tits later when he’d go to the communal sauna in his building to jerk off. He wouldn’t necessarily think of Julia’s tits, because that would be wrong; he’d think of tits in general. He could lock the dressing room in the sauna from the inside, making sure that not even Aki would come knocking. Then again, Aki was too afraid to even go down into the basement by himself.

  “Where do you want to walk?” Samuel asked.

  “I don’t know,” Julia said and forced a laugh. “I thought you’d know what’s worth seeing around here.”

  He thought about it. He looked down at Julia’s shirt without a dirty thought in mind, and without realizing he was even looking. The shirt said “Santa Monica Blvd.” and “Los Angeles, CA.” He looked at the surfboard and thought about places worth seeing.

  “I don’t think anyone else is out at this time,” he said.

  “Well, let’s do a sightseeing tour, then. I want to film my new haunts.”

  “You want to film Patteriniemi Road?”

  “Yeah.”

  She was from Los Angeles and wanted to film this place.

  “There are some cool rocks at the shore over there.” Julia pointed. “I took a stroll this morning.”

  “Oh, those rocks. You shouldn’t go too far. They are . . .”

  Samuel rummaged inside his memory like in a toolbox for a tool he’d never expected to use. That time he’d gone on a field trip with his history class to the shore had been forever ago. Harri had gone to the movies with his older brother to watch Krull and told him about all the good parts. Samuel remembered all of that, including the magical ninja stars, but he had a hard time remembering what his teacher had said. Something about the Crimean War and that there’d been cannons and that’s why the place was called Patteriniemi, Battery Bay.

  “They used to have cannons there,” he said. “But that was about a thousand years ago. People climb those rocks sometimes and drink booze and fu—”

  “Hey, junior,” a male voice boomed above them.

  For one terrifying moment Samuel was sure God himself was interfering in his miserable attempt to come off as a ladies’ man.

  A man leaned over the balcony at Julia’s house, looking like he was on his way to a masquerade ball. Mirrored aviators, colorful shorts, a white sleeveless shirt with shiny jewelry peeking over the neckline. Samuel assumed he was talking to Julia. Maybe he was her brother. No adult dressed like that.

  “This is Samuel,” Julia yelled back, annoyed.

  “OK,” he replied. Or actually, it was more like “okay,” with a long a, and sounded like a question, even if it wasn’t.

  “He introduced me to some neighbors yesterday,” Julia said and rolled her eyes.

  The man let that information sink in for a moment behind his aviators.

  “Cool, cool,” he said. “Nice to meet you, Samuel.”

  He raised his hand in a lazy salute, just like in the movies. Samuel smiled because he was sure the man had meant it to be funny, but he looked serious.

  “Let’s go,” Julia said and walked past Samuel.

  The man lifted his elbows off the balcony and tapped on a red-and-white box for a cigarette. The tapping didn’t stop even when a woman dressed in a shiny nightgown appeared behind him and put a hand on his shoulder. She didn’t acknowledge Samuel; she just yawned and kissed the man’s shoulder. Samuel had no doubt in his mind that the woman was wearing nothing under the nightgown; and he was just as sure that nothing like that could ever happen to him.

  “See you around, Samuel,” the man said and twirled the cigarette into the corner of his mouth with a gesture he’d had to have repeated a thousand times.

  “Yeah.”

  They walked in silence. It seemed like Julia didn’t want to talk while her dad was within earshot, because she became chatty once they reached the townhomes.

  “The camera’s battery is pretty low,” she said. “I forgot to charge it. So you have to choose one subject to film.”

  “A subject?”

  “A subject. To film.”

  Samuel wanted to tell her he wasn’t a complete moron, but that’s not how you talked to a woman you were trying to hit on. Or had he already succeeded? Dating was scarier than anything having to do with the occult.

  “Or I could just keep on filming you,” Julia suggested.

  She raised the camera to her eye and turned it on Samuel.

  “State your name, cowboy,” she said in English.

  The camera’s lifeless and cruel stare reminded Samuel of a sniper’s sights. Julia’s face had changed, melted into the expressionless observation of the camera.

  He froze. He gasped for breath and blushed. He didn’t even realize he’d stated his name before its stupid echo reached the back of his mind.

  “Samuel,” Julia repeated. “Now tell me, Samuel, what do you desire the most in this world?”

  To walk with you.

  The answer that popped into his head surprised him completely. His face turned a shade redder. The camera’s eye was observing a fiery red face that had lost the ability to speak. The camera recorded it for anyone to wonder what the hell was up with that guy. Did he have a rash? Couldn’t he talk? Was it cerebral palsy?

  “I know something better to film,” the horror made him blurt out.

  “Too late,” Julia mumbled, concentrating.

  The camera was fixed on Samuel. Centuries went by.

  “Just kidding,” she said. “It’s not even on.”

  She let the camera drop to her hips. A harmless block of Japanese plastic. Only now did Samuel realize he’d never heard the machine hum. Thank God or whoever it was who decided what went down on this Earth.

  “Oh,” he said. “I was just getting warmed up.”

  All of humanity and some rain-forest amphibians stopped in their tracks and laughed.

  “All right, what do you suggest?” Julia asked. “I have battery left for maybe another fifteen minutes.”

  “Helge’s cabin,” he said.

  “OK. And what’s so special about it?”

  “He’s . . .”

  A former grade school teacher who got fired for being a perv. He had to move into his mom’s tiny cabin, where he now lived alone. He’d been beaten up a bunch of times. “He always was after t
he boys,” his dad had said when he’d heard about Helge’s getting fired. His dad had gone to the same Lutheran confirmation summer camp with Helge as fourteen-year-olds, and occasionally hung out with him. Apparently the last straw had been when Helge lured the headmaster’s young male relative to his house. When Samuel had been younger he’d joined groups of kids in breaking Helge’s windows with rocks, their favorite pastime. No one had done it recently. Maybe kids had gotten tired of it. Or maybe the dog Helge cared for so lovingly had finally turned people sympathetic toward him. Or maybe the reason was that one time Helge had begun to cry and scream, “What do you want me to do?” and nobody had known what to say. Except Jape, who’d said, “Go hang yourself,” but this quip wasn’t followed by approving laughs—just silence. Even Jape had apologized and asked Helge if he could buy the kids some booze. That had been the beginning of a permanent, secret arrangement that benefited everyone involved. That was the real reason why Helge was left alone.

  “It’s a pretty nice place, actually,” Samuel said. “You can see the sea from there.”

  “Sounds wonderful. I love the sea. Our balconies have always had an ocean view. Except here—trees are in the way.”

  “You can see the sea from our balcony, too,” he said. “You just need to lean over the railing a little.”

  “You should show me sometime. How about we go now?”

  Samuel looked around. Besides one dog walker, they were alone.

  “Let’s go,” he said.

  He chose the more difficult route. The invisible route behind the garages. The small path was hidden by trees and reeds.

  When they got closer to Helge’s cabin, he turned around, reconsidering this plan.

  “I need to tell you something about Helge.”

  “Tell me.”

  “He’s a queer.”

  “Oh.”

  His statement didn’t appear to register—Julia didn’t react. Samuel thought he’d best repeat it.

  “I mean a fag. He fondles other men.”

  “So what? Our neighbor in LA was gay. He organized huge parties where guys with mustaches sucked on each other naked.”

  Samuel waited for a cue that would let him know Julia was joking.

  “Once, these two gay guys were fucking in the swimming pool. It looked so crazy. Then they held memorials. Lots of memorials.”

  “For what?”

  “AIDS.”

  “All right,” Samuel said. He tried to imagine mustached men in a swimming pool and AIDS funerals. The only swimming pool in Patteriniemi was in that traitor Social Democrat’s backyard, built with CIA money. Trade-union men with mustaches did make an appearance, but Samuel was sure nobody fucked anyone in that house.

  “I just thought you should know,” he said.

  Something crashed in the reeds behind them. At first Samuel didn’t think the sound was scary, but then she saw Julia’s horrified face and the hand over her mouth.

  “Don’t worry, it’s—”

  The creature jumped at Julia, almost toppling her over. The hand holding the camera shot up above her head by reflex, just like when Jape still held on to a bottle of beer when he fell over on his moped.

  “It’s Arvid,” Samuel said.

  Arvid wagged his tail and licked Julia’s hand. They heard Helge shouting, “Arvid! Get over here!” in the distance. Arvid was an idiotic-looking spitz-poodle mix.

  “He’s wonderful,” Julia said, stretching out the first syllable.

  She forgot about the camera and let Arvid lick her chin, face, and mouth.

  “Get over here!” Helge shouted. Huffing and puffing, his figure waddled toward them.

  “Don’t worry, we’re fine,” Samuel shouted back at him and turned to look at Julia. He couldn’t help but envy the dog and his straightforward, stupid charm.

  “How are you doing?” Helge asked as he finally reached them.

  “I’m all right. We were actually thinking of coming to see you, if you don’t mind. Julia here wants to film with her video camera.”

  “Fine by me,” Helge said without hesitation.

  He always responded the same way. His predictability and eagerness to comply made Samuel feel sorry for him.

  They walked together the rest of the way with Arvid running rings around Julia and Samuel.

  “Did you two want something to drink?” Helge asked when they arrived at the small one-story wooden house with a sauna built next to it. A grill fashioned out of loose bricks stood in the middle of the yard with a rusty smoker placed on top of it. There was a well next to the cabin. Samuel’s dad had told him that salty seawater had ruined the well a long time ago, but Samuel had seen Helge hoist up drinking water from it. The house was in ruins: paint had chipped off in patches and the roof buckled, but Helge had somehow survived here even through the roughest of winters. Sometimes Samuel thought about Helge and Arvid while he waited for the school bus in freezing morning temperatures. Quivering, he would wonder how on earth they could make it another winter. He’d even walked to the cabin to check up on them and was always relieved to see light shining through the frosted windows.

  “I could use a beer,” Samuel said nonchalantly.

  Helge looked confused. The beer game wasn’t supposed to go like this. If the teens gave him money, he’d buy alcohol for them. Freebies weren’t a part of the deal. Samuel looked away but didn’t stand down. Julia scratched Arvid.

  “Right . . .”

  Helge went into the cabin and appeared with three bottles of beer. Samuel felt a pang of guilt but did his best to ignore it. He grabbed two bottles from him and handed one to Julia.

  “This is great,” she shrieked. “In the middle of the day!”

  Samuel did his best to look as if this were completely normal to him. He even opened Julia’s bottle with a piece of chopped birch he’d pulled out of Helge’s firewood pile. He didn’t succeed on first try, but the overall impression he made was decent.

  They sat down on the chairs facing the grill. They couldn’t lean back because the backs were covered in purple bird shit. The sun was shining. Arvid nuzzled Julia. Things could’ve been worse.

  “Can I film now?” Julia asked.

  “Of course,” Samuel answered on Helge’s behalf.

  Julia messed around with her camera before lifting it to her eye.

  “Helge,” she said. “Why is Arvid called Arvid?”

  That’s a good question, Samuel thought, one that had never crossed his mind.

  Helge squirmed in his chair. “Well, it was my great-grandfather’s name.”

  “Great-grandfather’s?”

  “That’s right. Arvid Fager was my great-grandfather. A lawyer from Raippaluoto who—”

  “Great-grand?” Julia said. “He had to be alive in the Middle Ages.”

  “In the 1800s.”

  “That’s still a long time ago.”

  “Yes. Arvid was keen on learning about fish, and eventually he even quit his job so that he could move right next to the shore. He collected fourhorn sculpins while everyone else hated them. They’d get stuck by their horns in the fishermen’s nets and never let go. A lot of their skulls are in the shed out there.”

  “What are fourhorn sculpins?” Julia asked.

  “They’re great.” Samuel tried to sound convincing. “You have to see them. They’re like that monster in Jabba’s palace’s basement in Return of the Jedi, just smaller.”

  Helge always took kids who came up to the cabin to drink to see the skull collection. And in a way it was pretty cool to see at least a hundred horned fish skulls lined up neatly on the wall.

  They went to the shed right away. Julia’s camera whirred.

  “It’s too dark in here,” she complained but kept on filming.

  They returned to their chairs. Julia seemed a little drunk.
/>   “That was amazing. And I hear you’re gay,” she said and drank out of the beer bottle.

  Helge looked confused again.

  “A fag,” Julia tried, and looked at Samuel as if he were some goddamned interpreter.

  “Yes, I am,” Helge said.

  “Do you throw a lot of gay parties?”

  A shocked silence ensued.

  “So, been getting any fish lately?” Samuel asked Helge.

  For a while they talked about fishing. Helge used to sit at the end of the peninsula, staring at the tiny buoy’s minuscule movements. That was one thing the kids joked about. He supposedly ate all the fish he caught raw, but actually it was Arvid who ate them, and they had to be cooked.

  “What’s that big house over there?” Julia asked suddenly.

  “Which one?” Helge said.

  “That one with the roof peeking through the trees.”

  Helge and Samuel turned to look where Julia was pointing. Between the swaying birch trees in the distance, you could see the top of a roof and a little turret. You wouldn’t have been able to see them if they hadn’t stayed still while the birches in front of them swayed.

  “That’s the Bondorff villa,” Helge said and slurped on his beer.

  “It must be amazing,” Julia said.

  Samuel looked at the uncomfortable expression on Helge’s face, then said, “You can’t go there. Isn’t that right, Helge?”

  The beer was making Samuel talk. It was hitting him so hard that his ears were humming. Helge shook his head and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

  “Why not?” Julia asked.

  Samuel knew that the question was inappropriate. For whatever reason Helge, the man who said “Yeah, yeah” to everything else, had always told them not to go to Bondorff Island.

  Julia was now leaning forward. She had a curious look on her face, at the same time absent and completely present, as if someone had turned her face off so that she could concentrate on every single word.

  Great, Samuel thought. “They even killed someone, right?” he half-muttered into his bottle. “Old man Harjula used to rant about it on his balcony on the weekends.”