Secret Passages in a Hillside Town

by Pasi Ilmari Jaaskelainen

  A spouse’s psychological problems can have an effect on the whole family. When a person has a mental illness it can touch the lives of every family member. Feelings of shame can be associated with mental-health difficulties, particularly in the early stages of the illness.

  It was true: shame was pressing on his chest, squeezing his ribs so that it was difficult to breathe.

  How to recover from this mental-health problem, to clear his head of this tenacious dream, which was beautiful, but was confusing his thoughts, his feelings, his whole life? He could turn to expert help. He could make a call. A doctor he knew wouldn’t hesitate to help him or direct him to a specialist, a psychologist or psychiatrist. He could get a diagnosis and get help and everything could be all right. That’s what people did in these situations.

  Things have a way of working out, Notary Suominen used to say. Olli felt the same way, but he knew that before they worked out they might become unbearable and hard to handle.

  Olli Suominen, mentally ill.

  Now Mr Suominen, be a good boy and take your medicine and go back to sleep and that girl in the pear-print dress will stop haunting you in no time…

  At the film club they had watched One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest. Olli didn’t want to become a patient. He still had his faculties, after all. A survivor. A Suominen. Not like his father, who was weak. Surely for him milder methods would be enough. A few visits to a therapist and the right medication would no doubt help him get the contents of his head in order.

  Olli decided to call the doctor at the first opportunity. First thing in the morning.

  He postponed making the appointment, however, when he thought about how to explain the situation to Aino. Not that he wanted to keep the matter secret. He didn’t like secrets.

  At work, though, it would be best to keep his mental-health problems to himself. His employees didn’t want to hear that their boss was teetering between sanity and mental illness. Their publishing projects would come to nothing if everyone was constantly expecting the publisher to have a nervous breakdown.

  That day at work Olli went over the sales strategy for a book of popular psychology with Antero. He thought he would try to make a joke about Freudianism, but what came out of his mouth was a personal litany of wet dreams, romantic longings and deep melancholy. “I have a bit of a psychological problem, I guess,” he said finally, trying to sound humorous but ending up sounding wretched.

  Antero froze and stared at the floor.

  Olli realized he had made a mistake. Now that he thought about it, he and Antero didn’t really know each other very well. They just worked together.

  That thought was followed by another: he didn’t really have any friends. He had hundreds of acquaintances and colleagues, of course. He was constantly interacting with people and doing wonderful things with them. But when he thought about it, he realized he didn’t have anyone to talk to about personal things like mental-health problems.

  He explained, “Well, it’s a very small problem I’m talking about. Like the flu, but in your mind. In here.” Olli tapped his temple. “I just mean that it would be interesting to hear what sort of cryptic diagnosis one of these psychological theorists would think up for me if they got a look inside my skull.”

  Antero looked at Olli for a long time and said, “It’s pretty simple. You’re having a midlife crisis.”

  Olli must have looked sceptical, because Antero went and fetched a book from the shelf and read a section from it aloud. It was a book they had published a couple of years earlier titled Ageing with Dignity:

  An awareness of the limits of his own life can make an ageing man cling to the fading shreds of his youth and take a sudden interest in the lost, golden age of his life. A fear of death will often drive him to behave inappropriately and cause embarrassment to himself and discomfort to those around him.

  Thousands of books and hundreds of films have been written about the ageing man’s tragicomic struggles against the inevitable. It’s best that a man familiarize himself with such works as he approaches middle age—if for no other reason than to avoid their most clichéd mistakes.

  As an example of the middle-aged man’s methods of seeking out a vanished youth, the book mentioned taking up bungee jumping and other new hobbies, having a mania for exercise, exchanging a conservative style of dress for more youthful fashions such as piercings, tattoos or off beat hairstyles, or changing spouses or professions.

  A particularly classic symptom that was mentioned was throwing oneself into a relationship with a younger woman.

  The book warned that some men stricken with a midlife crisis abandon their families to begin a “May–December romance”, burning their bridges behind them and almost invariably regretting it bitterly in the end. The author did have some consolation for the reader, however: if a man suffering from a midlife crisis kept a cool head and learnt to be content with his life as it was, the symptoms would eventually diminish and he would be able to age with dignity and avoid hurting anyone or bringing shame on himself.

  So there was no need to get treatment. Olli was a textbook example of a midlife crisis. But in his case the May–December romance had showed up in dreams that reached back to his youth.

  This was presumably good news.

  And yet Olli felt dejected as he carried the copy of Ageing with Dignity home with him and embarked on accepting his life as it was.

  17

  THE FIRST THING OLLI DID was quit the film club.

  Ageing with Dignity helped him to understand that romantic movies fed his obsession with the girl in the pear-print dress and alienated him from his daily activities and family life, exacerbating his midlife crisis.

  After skipping the first movie night Olli stood in his living room and stared into the eyes of Olli Suominen, publisher and member of the parish council, reflected in the mirror. He examined his innermost self. When he had finished, he nodded approvingly and went to stand in front of the painting. He was delighted to realize that he was now able to face Grandpa Notary’s portrait with his head held high.

  He had things well in hand. He was going to overhaul his marriage, start being a better father, and remodel the parts of their home that most urgently needed remodelling.

  He would replace the ceiling tiles in the bedroom. A carpenter could straighten out the floors and walls. The verticals would be made vertical and the horizontals horizontal and the house would finally become the house it should be. Aino could choose the new wallpaper. Maybe that would cheer her up—she had been so silent for the past few days.

  Olli presented his ideas about the house to Aino. She had been sitting at the kitchen table all evening arranging photographs, which wasn’t like her. Usually she cooked or played with her son. He was playing somewhere by himself now, or maybe he was at the neighbours’ house.

  “That’s fine,” Aino mumbled, not looking up from a photo of the boy sitting in the bathtub with his yellow rubber duck. When Olli put his hand on her shoulder, she flinched and turned to look at him.

  It scared him. Her face was grey, there were dark circles under her eyes, and her hands were shaking.

  He asked if she was coming down with something. Aino conceded that she was feeling rather weak. Seeing his worry, however, she smiled and said, “It’ll be fine. I’ll just take some aspirin. It’s just woman troubles. You know. That remodel… Yeah, let’s do that. Great idea.”

  Olli went to the computer and sent a request for bids to some contractors and a loan application to the bank.

  At work he caused a brief panic when he announced that he would be leaving in a few days for a three-week holiday. Yes, three weeks. You heard right. No, the publishing house certainly wouldn’t collapse while he was away, as long as everyone did their jobs.

  The girl in the pear-print dress still haunted his dreams, but Olli was optimistic about the future. Everything would turn out all right now that he had begun rebuilding his life and recovering from his midlife crisis.


  In the name of healing his marriage Olli delegated a couple of his most urgent priorities to Maiju and went home an hour earlier than usual.

  The stone steps of Harju Ridge divided into two narrow stairways just before descending onto the street. Between them was a wedge-shaped space with a blue fountain, a couple of park benches, and an ice cream stand. As Olli was headed up the Ridge at this spot he saw one of Jyväskylä’s many Grace Kellys, a woman at the kiosk buying ice cream for her three little boys. She was wearing sunglasses, shorts and a pale-coloured shirt, making an effort to look like she had just stepped out of To Catch a Thief.

  A Guide to the Cinematic Life included a thorough discussion of all of Grace Kelly’s film incarnations, right down to her clothes and hairstyles. She was a favourite among fans of cinematicness. Many who found something of Grace Kelly’s timeless features in themselves decided at first to base their style on To Catch a Thief or Dial M for Murder. More advanced practitioners preferred the characters of Almodóvar or Wong Kar-wai.

  The sons of the Grace Kelly clone launched toy sailboats in the fountain, their sails bright with sunlight, like an overexposed scene from a movie.

  Olli missed the film club. Maybe he should watch a video tonight. Perhaps Casablanca. Or, if Ageing with Dignity could be trusted, perhaps ordinary entertainment television would be better for a midlife crisis, he thought gloomily. A cheery quiz show or something.

  The stairs Olli was climbing were mentioned in the Magical City Guide manuscript as the most photographed spot in Jyväskylä, and also as a very cinematic locale:

  The Harju Steps, also known as Nero’s Steps, were designed by Gunnar A. Wahlroos, and were constructed as a jobs relief project. The steps were named after city engineer Oskar Nero, although the work itself was overseen by city engineer J.E. Järvilehto in 1925. The M-particle levels on the steps vary from one day to the next, but even at their most ordinary they offer a fine vantage point on the great meetings and partings of life.

  I am also aware of an entrance to a secret passageway located near the steps (see Appendix 3). It is difficult to spot, and entering the secret passages is not recommended to anyone, due to its many risks.

  The Magical City Guide manuscript was coming together. Olli had added his comments and suggestions to the text. There were still the secret passages to be discussed. Then he could leave the manuscript with Greta to be polished, and go on holiday.

  When Olli got home, the house was silent. He poured a glass of juice and went into the living room. The afternoon sun painted the room in shades of fruit juice. The trees and shrubs in the yard glowed outside the window. Through the hawthorn hedge he caught glimpses of the house next door, where his neighbour was walking back and forth in the yard wearing a red cap. A gas engine sputtered. The smell of freshly cut grass wafted through the window.

  On the living-room table was the cheap photo album, and next to it was a pile of pictures.

  He emptied his glass of juice and noticed that he was in a glum, cynical mood. He started looking through Aino’s collection of photos. They were all poor pictures technically, taken over several years. The boy was in most of them. Olli himself didn’t appear in any, and even Aino was only in a few of them, and always with her son.

  In the earliest photos he was a button-eyed infant. The most recent ones were taken early that summer. When he was a baby he’d had Olli and Grandpa Notary’s features. Now that he was five he looked more like his mother: a cute, instantly recognizable face.

  As he looked through the photos, Olli decided to take the boy swimming. Aino could go, too, of course. Once they’d had a splash they could get some ice cream and lie on a towel in the sun and Olli could point out the hill and the ski jump on the other side of the lake. Maybe they could climb up Taulumäki. They could bring a picnic with them. And the camera. Aino could take some photos with Olli in them.

  Olli went out to the garden, supposing Aino and the boy were picnicking there. When he didn’t see them he went back inside, walked from room to room, wondering whether they were visiting someone or had gone into town.

  He stopped in the bedroom doorway.

  “Well? What is it?” Aino finally whispered.

  Olli told her his idea of going swimming.

  Aino laid her forearm over her face, heaving it there slowly, as if it were made of stone.

  “Female problems again?” Olli said sympathetically. “Can I get you some water or an aspirin?”

  “I already took one. Thanks for offering.”

  Olli asked where the boy was.

  Aino said he was taking a nap, like her.

  Olli went to peek in the boy’s bedroom. The bed was empty. He went back to Aino and told her that the child wasn’t in his bed.

  “A nap at the neighbours’,” Aino explained, without looking at him. “Anyway Lauri has a sore throat. He can’t go swimming today, and maybe not tomorrow, either. It was a nice idea, though. Some other time.”

  Olli went into his office and opened Facebook. He had a message from Greta Kara.

  Hi, Olli. I’m still in Jyväskylä. Did you want to discuss the manuscript? Shall we meet today at 10 p.m. at the observation tower?

  18

  OLLI SPENT TWO HOURS on Facebook and sent a lot of messages about the Frankfurt Book Fair. When he went back downstairs he met Aino in the kitchen, sitting at the table eating Marie biscuits. She said the boy had come home from the neighbours’, eaten dinner and gone to bed.

  “He told me to tell Daddy goodnight and sweet dreams.”

  Olli said he wanted to read to the boy from a new Book Tower children’s book just off the presses. It was called A Day with Daddy. In the book a kitten learns all about peoples of the world from his father while his mother is at home making fruit compote. But Aino shook her head.

  “No. It’s a nice idea, but he fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. Some other time.”

  Olli shaved, took a shower, got dressed and flipped through the Magical City Guide manuscript one more time, adding more edits.

  When he left with his briefcase in his hand, Aino was watching television.

  On the western slope of Harju Ridge there was a summer theatre stage and behind it a narrow wooden staircase, which Olli climbed. The evening breeze rustled his clothes rather pleasantly. Halfway up the stairs, however, he had to stop and rest so he wouldn’t sweat and spoil his clothes. Olli adjusted the knot in his tie. The last time he’d shown himself to Greta in a dirty shirt, and this time he had given special attention to how he was dressed. When the outside’s taken care of it’s easier to keep the inside under control.

  He was wearing the jewel of his wardrobe, a high-quality Dolce & Gabbana suit made of thin virgin wool. Thus attired, Olli believed he could behave in a businesslike manner and not like an inmate off his meds the way he had the last time.

  When he got to the top of the steps he turned left towards the observation tower with its neon clock. The Swedish city of Eskilstuna had presented it as a gift and installed it in the tower in 1953, when no one in Finland knew how to construct one, and they couldn’t buy one from Sweden due to currency problems.

  Olli had a habit of checking the time by this clock on his way to work. The clock had become familiar and beloved to him over the years; it sort of belonged to him.

  It was five minutes to ten.

  As he approached the observation tower, Olli looked up. He saw a person standing at the railing on the restaurant level. Possibly a woman. Perhaps the woman he was going to meet.

  He passed the raised gun barrel in front of the tower entrance. It was a memorial to the bombings and the anti-aircraft guns that had protected Jyväskylä during the Winter War, and a regular stop on the Suominen family’s Sunday walks.

  Olli crossed the lobby to the elevator and rode up to the observation deck with a young couple.

  Inside the restaurant a wedding party was gathered. The bride, radiant in white, was surrounded by champagne glasses. Olli walked out onto t
he terrace. Every outdoor table but one was empty. Next to the striped ice cream awning sat a slim woman. Her left hand was resting on the table; her right held a cigarette. She was looking down at the city. Her golden hair was pinned up. Her pale-green pear-print dress set Olli’s heart pounding in his chest.

  The manner in which she smoked her cigarette could only be described as reverent. Her slow motions were pure dance.

  A Guide to the Cinematic Life had a whole chapter devoted to the art of smoking.

  Thinking ordinarily, smoking is a vice that is hazardous to your health, and is thus limited, regulated and censured by society. In spite of that, or precisely because of that, it is also an indispensable part of the cinematic way of life.

  What would the films of Wong Kar-wai, Godard, Truffaut or Kaurismäki be without scenes of smoking? How successful would Irving Rapper’s melodrama Now, Voyager have been if someone had cut the scenes where Paul Henreid lights two cigarettes and hands one to Bette Davis! It’s easier to imagine Charlie Chaplin without a moustache than it is to imagine Humphrey Bogart, Tony Leung or Matti Pellonpää without cigarettes. A lit cigarette is an aesthetic element comparable to music, with a power of expression when used in dialogue that should not be underestimated. Like any tool, however, it takes practice to learn to use it correctly so that the effect created is the one intended.

  The following pages discuss various smoking techniques and situations, and examine how smoking can be used as an indicator of your persona and message.

  (Smoking photo spread: Tony Leung in In the Mood for Love. Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall in The Big Sleep. Bebe Daniels in My Past. Lauren Bacall in Confidential Agent. Ida Lupino in Road House. Bette Davis and Paul Henreid in Now, Voyager.)

  As he approached the table, Olli examined the woman’s profile. He noticed now that from a certain angle she resembled the silhouette of the smoking umbrella vendor. If he could commission a painting of Greta Kara and hire any artist, living or dead, Gustav Klimt would have been the best choice.