Helge chuckled and looked toward the sea. The villa roof was visible behind him. Samuel knew Helge wanted to say that old man Harjula had drank his brains out years ago. That’s what they all said, but Helge never judged others. He honestly couldn’t afford to. Samuel looked at the man’s tired face, his eternally forced smile, his damp eyes. Samuel was embarrassed.
“I think those are just little boys’ stories.”
They sat in silence. The reeds shuffled louder to fill in for their absent words. A branch broke somewhere with a loud crack. Usually Arvid ran around with his nose on the ground, but he was still calmly sitting right beside Julia.
“Sure, they could be made-up stories,” Samuel said, scratching the label off the bottle. “Harjula just was one of those—”
“Let’s go there.”
Julia’s face had returned from the land of the expressionless observation.
“Go where? To the villa?” Samuel asked.
“Yeah. Let’s film some footage there.”
He wasn’t sure what to say. He looked at Helge, who had a pained expression on his face as he shook his head. The wind played with the hairs on top of his head.
“There’s nothing to film there,” he said quietly.
“So you’ve been there?” Julia asked.
It looked like Helge nodded and shook his head in one motion. “I haven’t . . . Inside the house, that is.”
“I want to film it,” she said.
Her tone meant business. No room for negotiations. She didn’t threaten or beg—she just stated a fact that was bound to happen. Her face shone with adult-like certainty.
“We’re going there.”
Samuel heard the wind hissing in the trees. He thought about how it would sound once they’d reach the villa. He’d never thought about it before.
“Come on,” Julia said and pushed herself off the chair so quickly that her beer spilled onto the ground. She picked up the bottle, drank the foamy liquid, and wiped her mouth. Arvid got excited from the sudden commotion and ran a quick circle around her.
“Or at least I’m going,” she declared and began to march toward the shore.
“Wait up!” Samuel yelled and went after her.
“Samuel . . .” Helge said softly behind him, but it was too late. His legs were leading him already. Julia had found a narrow path in the reeds. She went first, with the camera in her right hand, pushing the reeds out of her way with the other. The path turned quickly into the muddy bottom of the sea, cracking and sinking under their shoes. Samuel’s sneakers were soaking wet, but he didn’t dare to complain. The reeds hid what was coming up in front of them until they reached a taller rock, at knee height. Julia hopped onto it.
“Yay,” she said and focused the camera on something.
Samuel jumped up next to her.
“It’s the villa,” she said. “I want to get closer.”
He saw right away that they couldn’t just walk there directly: the bay was between them and the white villa. And water up to their waists, at least. He was relieved.
“Can you go around through there?” Julia lowered her camera and pointed.
Samuel shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
“We never come here.”
“You and that Harri?”
Sarcasm.
“Nobody does,” Samuel said, now irritated. “We shouldn’t go there. It’s private property.”
“But doesn’t that make it more exciting?” Julia asked. “My dad said that Finland has this commie thing called everyman’s right. That you can walk anywhere.”
“Well, you can’t walk over there.”
“But can’t we—”
Julia was interrupted by a loud hiss. Samuel felt a gust of wind right next to his ear. He lost his balance and almost fell off the rock.
Something jangly and shiny moved in the reeds.
“What’s your business?”
They turned toward the voice. A man stood in a boat. He wore a rain hat, although the sun was shining. He reeled the fishing line back in. The lure stretched and ripped the reeds next to them.
“Our business!” Julia shouted back rebelliously and began to film the man.
“Go, get back to your homes.”
Julia laughed and glanced at Samuel with playful eyes.
“But it’s so boring there,” she said.
“Julia, come on . . .” Samuel said, but Julia wasn’t listening.
“You don’t own the fish here!” she yelled at the man in an alarmingly know-it-all tone.
Samuel swallowed. He should’ve apologized for Julia’s behavior, but butting in seemed dangerous.
The lure came off the last of the reeds and plunged into the water. It glittered under the surface. The man reeled it back calmly, occasionally yanking when the lure got stuck. The rain hat covered his eyes, but Samuel could see the lower part of his face: it was pale and immobile. When the lure jumped out of the water, a fish was struggling at the end of it. A small baby pike.
“This is your final warning.”
The man didn’t remove the hook gently with pliers. He didn’t clobber the fish unconscious like Samuel’s dad had taught him. Instead, the man wrapped the fishing line around his gloved hand and yanked. They both heard the hollow crunch on the shore. And then another. The lure flew out of the fish’s mouth with shreds of gills trailing after it. The head was almost severed. The fish’s tail moved uselessly, overcome by its reflexes to flee.
“Back to your homes,” the man said and threw the fish back in the sea. It floated on the surface between them and the man, the sun reflecting off its scales. Samuel was sure that the fin on the surface was still moving, but it could’ve been just the waves rocking the fish. He saw the way Julia watched it. She was still smiling, but her expression was frozen with shock and rage.
The reeds behind them rustled before Julia had a chance to open her mouth.
“Get out of there, right now,” Helge huffed. Arvid ran past him and lifted his front paw on the rock. Julia couldn’t help but scratch him, although her eyes were fixed firmly on the figure standing in the boat.
The man didn’t react to Helge at all. The fishing line swished in the air again and landed in the nearby reeds, this time slightly farther away.
“That guy has a real attitude problem,” Julia said, way too loud. Her voice would’ve been tenser if she hadn’t been scratching Arvid. “He’s a sick animal torturer,” she whispered to him.
“Come now,” Helge said and apologized to the man with his shaking voice.
“Let’s go,” Samuel said and jumped off the rock. He started walking on the path without looking behind him.
“Motherfucker!” Julia muttered in English, screaming the last syllables. Samuel was glad to hear two pairs of feet behind him in addition to Arvid’s jaunty steps.
Then Julia yelped.
He turned around.
Julia’s shirt was pulled so tight in the back that her belly button was visible.
“What the fuck?” she screamed and tried to turn around.
“Don’t move,” Helge said. “Don’t move a muscle.”
Samuel saw the lure stuck in Julia’s shirt collar. The hooks were ripping the fabric apart.
Helge shoved his way past Samuel and loosened the lure. It made a clinking sound against the rocks as it bounced back toward the man.
“Did that fucking sadist just throw—”
The man standing in the boat reeled the lure back silently.
“Shut up,” Helge said and pushed Julia onward.
They walked the way they’d come back to the cabin.
“What kind of a nutcase was that?” she asked.
“He’s a dangerous man,” Helge said, almost whispering. “You better not make him angry
.”
“He could have hit her in the neck,” Samuel said.
“If he’d wanted to really hurt her, he could have,” Helge said.
They eyed Helge suspiciously.
“No one is that accurate,” Samuel said.
“They can be. That’s all they do.”
“Who are ‘they’?” Julia asked.
“That’s just how it is,” Helge said and gestured for them to move.
Once they reached the yard, Julia turned back toward the shore. Samuel waited for another tantrum, but she began to laugh instead.
“Fucking great,” she said. “I could get killed here.”
She didn’t seem to mind the torn collar, or the idea of a hook sinking into her flesh. Samuel and Helge watched Julia, terrified. Maybe she didn’t realize how dangerous a lure’s hook under her skin would be. She’d have to go to the doctor, unless she had the guts to push the hook in farther to force the barbs out and cut them with pliers.
“He’s an accurate man,” Helge finally said. “He’s been throwing lures in the reeds for so long, he knows exactly where he’s throwing. He catches seagulls out of the air. And you, Samuel, should know how easy it is for seagulls to avoid lures.”
His voice trembled, and his hands began to massage his thighs nervously. His pant legs were covered in mud up to his knees.
“Why would he torture birds like that?” Julia asked. She didn’t sound angry, just genuinely surprised.
“That’s just what he does. I guess he practices.”
They practice, Samuel thought, but didn’t want to say it out loud.
They talked for a while, but only Julia sounded as cheerful as she had before they’d gone to the shore.
“Hey, Julia, don’t cross that boundary,” Helge told her as they were heading back home. “I know you’re new here and don’t know all the rules, but they really don’t like it if you walk on their lands. It’s just the way things have been around here.”
His tone was nonchalant, but Samuel could tell he was faking it—Helge had practiced what to say for a long time.
“You can film in those yards over there and elsewhere, but you shouldn’t go to the villa. And that Reino there . . . He doesn’t mean any harm. He’s just doing what he has to do.”
“Fine,” Julia said and kissed Arvid on top of his furry head. “But who’s Reino?”
“He’s the Bondorff villa caretaker. He’s not a bad man. He’s just a little strict.”
“Not bad?” Julia laughed. “He’s a sadist and an idiot.”
Helge didn’t argue, nor did he agree. He said he should start fixing the shed roof, so they decided to leave.
When they’d walked about twenty yards from the cabin, Julia whispered, “So, when are we going there to film?”
“To the villa?”
Julia nodded.
Samuel let out a short, joyless chuckle. She must’ve been insane.
“Today?” Julia suggested.
“No . . .”
“Tomorrow?”
“You did hear what Helge said, right?” he said. “This place has its rules.”
“All right, I believe you.” Julia laughed. “See you tomorrow, though?”
“OK,” he said.
“OK.”
She took Samuel by the hand.
For that one moment everything seemed possible. They could go anywhere. It was an intoxicating feeling, mixed with the smell of rocks covered in moss and the rustling of treetops and the light breaking through the woods. Somewhere, strange lands and huge waves and people speaking foreign languages who lived in major cities existed, and nobody asked where you were going and whether you were trying to be better than anyone else.
“I should go,” Julia said. “Dad’s annoying bitch is making burritos and I can’t stand her screaming if I’m not there to eat with them.”
What are burritos?
“When should we meet tomorrow?” Samuel asked as her fingers escaped his.
“At ten. Right here.”
“All right.”
When they split up Samuel skipped twice on the asphalt, then quickly glanced around. The windows in the houses around him reflected the burning sun of a summer day, and he could hear happy screams of children. Everything was in its place, except his eyes were so wide open they were chock-full of light.
Samuel had to ring the doorbell because he’d forgotten the keys in his rush to get out. Aki came to the door. He looked suspiciously cheerful. Samuel kicked his sneakers off and stared back at him.
“All right, what the fuck is it now?” he hissed.
“Nothing,” Aki purred and went into his room.
Samuel didn’t think his little brother could’ve followed him and seen Julia. Aki sucked as a stalker. He would’ve walked out from his hiding place with his mouth gaping wide if he’d seen someone like Julia with Samuel.
As he walked toward the kitchen, he caught a glimpse of Aki coming out of his room, then turning quickly back in.
“‘Life slips away at every moment.’”
His dad’s voice in the living room. Samuel stopped. He recognized this tone immediately. The Funny Dad, but it took a moment longer for him to recognize the words.
“‘Life is not here, it is elsewhere.’”
Poet Eeva-Liisa Manner. From the library. Due date well in the past. Aki burst out laughing somewhere behind him. Samuel marched into the living room.
“‘I do not miss it, why would I miss a fragile substance—’”
“Give me that,” he said.
His dad was on the couch in his underwear, hair like a crow’s nest and the book in his left hand. His right hand gestured dramatically.
“‘—that barely throbs!’”
He couldn’t keep a straight face when he uttered the last word. He laughed easily when he was hungover. Easier still if he’d started drinking again.
“Just give it to me,” Samuel said, his cheeks all red.
“‘—smokes like a . . .’ What the hell is this word . . .”
“Come on, give it to me already.”
Samuel felt his brother’s slimy presence behind his back, his muffled giggles and the faint aroma of the undies he’d peed in.
“‘—smokes like tormented lightning in a bottle!’” His dad fell over laughing. “The goddamned things the bourgeoisie come up with.”
Samuel lunged at his dad, who lifted the book high above his head. Its pages crumpled, but it didn’t matter. If the pages were torn it wouldn’t be Samuel’s fault. His dad struggled free and got off the couch. Samuel chased him around the coffee table while his dad opened the book at another section and continued.
“‘To witness this with one’s body!’”
“Fuck, you’re stupid,” Samuel said and stopped chasing him. “A grown man.”
In the worst case, Samuel started laughing, too. Every time he tried to keep a straight face until the very end.
His dad recited a couple more stanzas, but he was clearly past his most exhilarating high, although Aki shrieked in fake laughter to entice him to recite more. Samuel yanked the book out of his hand. He walked into the bedroom, brushing past Aki at the door.
“This is exactly why I want to get the fuck out of here.”
He turned to his dad. Or not directly to him, but close enough, and said, “Just like Mom did.”
“Don’t swear,” Aki said.
Their dad said nothing.
Samuel banged the door shut behind him as loud as he could. He knew his dad would soon walk in to talk about something else as an olive branch. That was his way of making sure they were cool. This time, though, his joy seemed to still carry a spark. Samuel took it as a sign that playing the mom card might not work any longer.
“Like a tormented fart caught in ice-fishing cove
ralls,” his voice echoed from the living room, slightly quieter now to make sure he didn’t annoy the kids so much, which just made it all the more annoying. And then: “Why would I miss the fragile Marketta from next door . . .”
Marketta was over eighty. Samuel shoved the book back into his drawer on top of an Arto Melleri book. Then he pulled the drawer open again and threw Melleri on top of the poetry book. It should be less of a source of entertainment for his dad.
“To witness this with my asshole!” his dad now declared right behind the door.
“Just fuck off already,” Samuel whispered.
His dad could be the most annoying man in the world. He had to have been born with that skill. If his dad would’ve had any say, Samuel’s name would be Yuri or Vladimir. Luckily his mom had been slightly religious and had demanded a biblical name. Sometimes Samuel thought his mom had been an angel who’d merely fallen onto this Earth to prevent the naming catastrophe his dad had planned.
Samuel dropped the Walkman headphones over his ears and slumped on the bed. A Kreator tape was still inside the deck from the night before, so it had to do. He cranked up the volume so loud that the tape’s hissing melted under the noise, and Samuel was able to forget everything else. That’s why he liked poetry and Kreator. They both charged at him, overloading his senses, making him mercifully invisible.
He drifted through the wall of noise into the sun, where reeds swayed back and forth and the wind blew Julia’s hair. Together they were allowed to go anywhere.
He didn’t stir until he felt someone poking his ribs. Samuel opened his eyes. His dad stood next to his bed. He lifted the headphones off his left ear.
“What kind of toppings do you want on your pizza?” his dad asked.
His smile was sad like the time he’d told Samuel that Mom might not come back from the hospital.
“Tuna and ham,” he said.
“All right. Aki can go get it.”
His dad ruffled his hair and then walked out of the room. He closed the door slowly behind him not to make a sound, the way he’d always done when he still read bedtime stories to Samuel and thought the child had fallen asleep.
Samuel put the headphones back on. Usually he would’ve relished his little brother’s arguments against running errands like picking up pizzas for them, but this time he had better things to think about.
The Black Tongue Page 10
