She smiled gratefully and climbed the stairs.
About an hour passed. The woman came back downstairs, waved at Olli and left.
Olli looked up at the staircase.
On the top step stood an androgynous figure with black, shoulder-length hair, a white dress shirt, grey trousers and a black waistcoat with shiny buttons.
Karri smiled, descended the staircase, looked at the coffin with a furrowed brow and sat down across from Olli.
“My hairdresser told me that there was a stylish gentleman down here drinking coffee,” Karri said light-heartedly, in a voice only partly familiar. “The plan was for you to leave before I arrived, but I’m glad you waited. So, Greta Kara’s funeral is in three weeks. She’ll be buried—or at least her pear-print dress will—in the old Jyväskylä cemetery, near to you and to all the places where she was happy. It was her last wish. Of course, you’ll be expected at the funeral, both as a grieving lover and as a grieving publisher.”
Olli lit a cigarette and offered it to Karri. He shook his head. “Thanks, but I don’t smoke. That was Greta’s vice, not mine.”
Olli looked at Karri’s neck, where his teeth marks were still visible, and sighed.
Karri smiled. “I’m sorry. I know that this is all strange to you. No doubt you won’t be able to get it into your head that Greta is gone, and that this is Karri sitting in front of you. My hair is short and black now, I’m wearing different clothes, the red is gone from my fingernails, but…”
“Yeah,” Olli muttered.
Karri shrugged and said, “Actually, Karri is no more real than Greta. He’ll have to step aside soon, too. Greta was created in a bombardment of M-particles to be a girl that you could love. I gave her all my love for you and it became her defining characteristic. Karri, on the other hand, was a boy, like his mother wanted. Both are only half the truth. I’m going to find myself a new name in the secret passages, but for now you can call me Karri.”
Olli looked at the graceful creature sitting across from him and said, “But I loved Greta.”
It sounded like an accusation, and it was something like it.
Karri took his hand, looked at him thoughtfully, and said, “And Greta loved you, Olli. That was what she was created for. As a matter of fact, she loved you a thousand times more than you could ever love her back. The years spent without you were torture to her.
“She could only bear it because she believed that in the end the two of you would get to be together, one way or another. And you did. We arranged it. I arranged it, for Greta. But I knew Greta better than anyone did. She expected a lot from your love. She expected too much. Over these past few weeks you learnt to love her so much that it was just barely enough for her, and in the end she dared to be happy. But in a year, or two at most, your feelings would inevitably start to fade, while she was destined to love you more and more as time went by. Do you understand what that would have done to her?”
Olli nodded, but he didn’t understand completely. Although in his chat last night Karri had tried to explain what was happening and why.
He patted Olli’s hand now and explained gently, as if to a child: “You read her book. Every story has a beginning, a middle and an end. We thought that a beautiful ending would be the right thing to do for you, and…”
“You said we,” Olli interrupted. “Who’s we?”
“Us,” Karri said, confused. “Me and Anne Blomroos. Didn’t I mention her? Greta went to shoot the Blomrooses—she was always so dramatic in her cinematicness—but she was also too weak to carry out what she came to do. That was why I had to free her from that horrible Dr Engel, and take care of the situation with the Blomrooses.”
“My Greta is not a murderer,” Olli said stiffly.
Karri’s eyes flashed and an expression came over his face that Olli could never have imagined on Greta’s face. “Well, she certainly would have shot Anne, who tortured her thirty years ago, without batting an eyelid, but she probably would have decided to take pity on those foolish brothers and got herself into a lot of trouble. That’s why I pushed her aside, shot Riku and Leo, and made a deal with Anne.”
“A deal?”
“Yes. Anne would use her resources to arrange it so that Greta’s greatest wish, her one and only hope in this world, would come true, and she could spend the rest of her life with you and experience complete happiness and love. Then, after the beautiful ending, and preferably before Anne herself died, I would step in to fulfil Anne’s dearest hope.”
Olli walked through the Apple Gate onto Hämeenkatu. A taxi was waiting. Snow had started to fall. A scooter pulled up in front of the house. A gaunt but cinematically elegant blonde woman dismounted—the same woman Olli had talked with at the film club.
Anne Blomroos.
“Well, if it isn’t Olli,” she said. “My dear old friend. You’re still here. I thought the show was already over. The heroine died completely happy and so on. Mission accomplished, and just in the nick of time. Olli, you should be at home now. I’m sure you don’t want your family to come home to an empty house.”
Olli didn’t say anything. Anne gave him a peck on the cheek and whispered, “Now don’t be a sourpuss. Guess who’s on her way to the secret passages?”
For a moment Anne Blomroos looked like the young girl who years ago happened to take a ride on the same carousel as Olli. She flashed him another smile and went into the house, where the person Olli had known first as Karri, then as Greta, the person who had now become someone else, was waiting for her.
Olli watched the snowflakes fall, got into the taxi and rode to Mäki-Matti. He went into the house, climbed the stairs, turned on the computer and looked at his wife’s Facebook profile.
Aino Suominen and her son are on their way home.
Then he opened his own page. His status was empty.
What’s on your mind? Facebook asked.
Post Credits: Alternative Ending
56
AFTER THEY MAKE LOVE they are overcome with a weariness as big as the universe. Greta is falling asleep. Olli’s still awake.
At some point Greta lets go of his neck, turns and sighs. She is pale but calm. Her breath is fairly steady now, though shallow and quick. The marks of Olli’s teeth are distinct on her pale skin, just as she wanted. Olli, too, has deep, bloody scratches on his back and sides. I hope that at my funeral the marks of my fingernails will remind you of one thing: the most important part of our love story won’t be that I died, but that I lived, through you, and for you…
Greta smiles in her sleep. Olli smiles at the sleeping woman. For a little while everything is all right.
After a moment’s hesitation, he puts on his slippers and goes downstairs. He uses the toilet, drinks a glass of mineral water, eats a pear, sits down at the dining room table and turns on the computer. He can spend a few minutes on Facebook while Greta gets some rest.
Aino’s profile has a new travel photo. Aino and the boy look straight into the camera, sunburnt and exhausted. Their eyes ask: Why can’t we come home?
The M-particles ease Olli’s guilt. They show him in a filmic light. Enthralled to the mission he’s been given by the kidnappers, Olli Suominen may be a selfish cinematic character, in some sense even a traitor, but it’s all for the sake of a larger-than-life love, and there’s nothing a cinematic person can do about a sequence of dramatic events once it’s set in motion. All’s fair in love and war.
Then he notices that he has a new Facebook alert:
Karri has confirmed you as a friend on Facebook.
A chill goes through him. His hands feel numb and he sits there for a moment. He goes to light a cigarette, takes a drag and goes back to the computer to look at Karri Kultanen’s profile.
The profile photo is a sculpture of a naked youth. Olli remembers seeing it in person when he was at the Louvre. It’s called Sleeping Hermaphroditus. It was sculpted by Bernini sometime in the 1600s, on a commission from a cardinal. The sculpted figure had a woman’s breasts and a penis. When
Olli noticed this at the Louvre it gave him a start, which made the French publishers and the Swedish literary agent he was with burst into laughter.
Olli looks at Karri’s information, which doesn’t mention his birthday, gender or hometown. All that’s there is his favourite quote, which Olli recognizes. It’s from Ovid’s Metamorphoses:
The restless boy still obstinately strove
To free himself, and still refused her love.
Amidst his limbs she kept her limbs intwined,
“And why, coy youth,” she cries, “why thus unkind!
Oh may the Gods thus keep us ever joined!
Oh may we never, never part again!”
So prayed the nymph, nor did she pray in vain:
For now she finds him, as his limbs she pressed,
Grow nearer still, and nearer to her breast;
Till, piercing each the other’s flesh, they run
Together, and incorporate in one:
Last in one face are both their faces joined,
As when the stock and grafted twig combined
Shoot up the same, and wear a common rind:
Both bodies in a single body mix,
A single body with a double sex.
Karri’s profile has a few status updates, though not many comments. But then he only has five Facebook friends: Olli, Aino and the Blomrooses. The most recent post is from a week ago, written at night:
Karri Kultanen just woke up and is trying not to wake the man beside him and his little nymph.
Underneath it says:
Anne Blomroos likes this.
The next most recent post is from more than a year earlier, in the spring:
Karri Kultanen took two jacks out of the game, but spared the blonde Queen of Spades.
Under that one it says:
Anne Blomroos and 2 others like this.
The two others are Riku and Leo Blomroos.
There’s also a comment from Anne:
I don’t think my dear brothers would mind my bringing them along on this little cinematic project of ours (which I think of as a romantic comedy, although it does perhaps have hints of black). It’ll make them look a little less small-minded than they really were, in at least one person’s eyes.
Olli’s cigarette has fallen on the table. He picks it up, brushes the ashes onto the floor and takes a long drag, trying to comprehend it all.
Now a little chat window with a tiny image of the sleeping Hermaphroditus and Karri Kultanen’s name opens up at the bottom of the screen; Olli is so frightened that he shouts a curse.
Of course, he’s aware that it’s possible to chat through Facebook. He’s just never had any reason to try it. Email is modern enough for him.
The message in the box says: Hello, friend.
Olli feels like screaming. And turning off the computer. But instead he writes: Karri?
Answer: Yes. We should talk.
Olli shakes his head. No, no, no, he really doesn’t want to talk; he doesn’t want to know anything about Karri. With trembling fingers, however, he writes: Where are you?
Then, answering his own question, he mutters aloud, “Where do you think, Sherlock?”
Without waiting for an answer, he gets up from the computer, runs up the stairs and bursts into the bedroom.
Greta is sitting on the edge of the bed, in the dark. She’s naked. The laptop is open on the bedside table. The screen illuminates her pale face.
She looks at Olli and says, “My dear old friend, it’s just about time for the closing scene.”
The voice doesn’t sound like Greta. The posture and gaze are wrong, too. There is something in the eyes that is both strange and distantly familiar.
Olli feels sick.
57
OLLI FLINGS A ROBE into Karri’s lap and tells him he could at least cover the woman’s body that he’s had the nerve to hijack. Then he ushers him downstairs—he doesn’t want to spend any more time in this room.
Karri has difficulty walking on Greta’s feet; they’re still stiff and numb. Olli has to help him down the stairs. It feels awkward. He’s grateful for the powerful M-particles in the house that make the situation feel at least slightly less insane than it really is.
They sit across from each other at one of the downstairs tables. The room is dim; just one small light shines on the wall. Wind blasts the rain against the black window. Olli lights a cigarette and offers one to Karri.
He shakes his head and says, “Thanks, but I don’t smoke. That’s Greta’s vice, not mine.”
Olli blows smoke across the table.
“I guess it doesn’t matter any more,” he says quietly. “Greta’s sick. The woman I love will live for maybe a few more days, then she’s going to die. I wish I could say I’m glad to see you, Karri, but you’re a ghost. We left you behind thirty years ago in the secret passages, me and Greta. What are you doing here now? Couldn’t you show just a little respect and let us say goodbye in peace?”
“I’m sorry,” Karri says in a conciliatory tone, with Greta’s mouth. “Greta really is dying. She’s dying tomorrow at sunrise, to be precise. She’ll take her last breath in your arms and die completely happy, because she’ll no longer have to fear living her whole life without you. A beautiful cinematic ending. It’s my gift to her.”
“How magnanimous of you,” Olli whispers, horrified. “Were you planning to give something to me, too?”
The golden-haired creature across from him smiles diffidently, seeming not to notice his hostility.
Olli tries to see Karri through Greta, and when he can’t, averts his eyes.
“Yes, I was,” Karri says. “For the sake of our old friendship, and because I respect you, I’m going to tell you what’s going to happen. I’m sure it will help you bear the sad ending more easily. There’s no reason to deceive you any longer. It was only for Greta’s sake that this whole performance was written and produced.”
Olli must not look terribly appreciative, because Karri’s eyes grow moist.
“Oh, Olli,” he sighs, pressing the back of his hand against his mouth. “You make me feel like the villain in this movie, revealing his dastardly plan to the hero just before he carries it out. Greta is very important to me. I created her, after all, from myself, for you. Luckily there was still something left of me, whispering in the background. Greta thought I was her deep cinematic self. If it weren’t for me, she would have remained just a plaything in Rio de Janeiro and eventually died on the operating table. And when she went to Anne Blomroos’s villa, I had no choice but to step out and rescue her from her impossible revenge plan.”
“Greta isn’t a murderer,” Olli says.
Karri is quiet for a moment, then turns serious. “Actually, your innocent little Greta would have shot Anne Blomroos without batting an eyelid. And she would have spared those foolish brothers, so she would have got caught. She would have been convicted of murder and sent to prison for the rest of her life. I couldn’t allow that. So I pushed her aside, shot Riku and Leo, and made a deal with Anne.”
“A deal?”
Karri nods. His eyes brighten. “For a long time I wanted to somehow make Greta’s greatest dream come true. And I saw that I had the opportunity to do it. Anne and I agreed that she would use the power she had to arrange things so that Greta could spend the end of her life with you and experience complete happiness and love. And after the beautiful cinematic ending—”
Olli doesn’t want to hear any more. “Well, thank you, Karri, for coming to prepare me for the death of the one I love,” he snarls, shaking his head, “but I’m sure you understand that right now I really want to—”
Karri leans towards him, touches his hand, and says, “Olli, you can call me Karri—I don’t mind—but Karri is no more real than Greta is. Greta was created in the secret passages to be a talented, wonderful girl that you could love. Karri, on the other hand, was the inhibited, shy boy Anna Kultanen raised for herself. Each of them is less than half of the whole truth that th
ey both have to make way for.”
Olli looks at Karri, not able to really listen to what he’s saying. There is still some of this night left, but the morning is a bright front rolling towards them from the east. He lights another cigarette and wipes the tears from his cheeks as Karri whispers what is to come.
“So. Greta’s condition will collapse sometime in the morning, and when you’ve said your goodbyes, she’ll release her hold on life and pass away. Dr Oksanen will arrive, pronounce her dead and cover her with a sheet, like in the movies—we both know that Greta would appreciate that. Then the doctor will say his lines. They’re sentimental and corny, but let him have them. For a respected chemist he’s a surprisingly enthusiastic amateur actor, and working for Anne Blomroos, he rarely gets a shot at drama. Then you’ll leave the house, and your part of the story will be over. And while the credits are rolling—if you’ll pardon the expression—our doctor will give the patient the antidote, and—”
Olli grabs Karri’s hand and looks hard at him. “Antidote?”
Karri avoids looking him in the eye and pulls his hand away. “Yes. The shots you’ve been giving her are real compounds that weaken the nervous system and slow the functions of internal organs, until they eventually nearly cease.” He adds, almost in passing, “When the antidote has revived her system, Greta will be gone and I’ll carry on from there.”
Olli stares at him.
Karri draws himself up and continues brightly, “I’m sure you and I will see each other again, in two weeks’ time, at Greta Kara’s funeral in the old Jyväskylä cemetery. We can think of it as a sort of epilogue. I’ll look different then. I was thinking I would cut my hair and dye it black.”
“But I love Greta,” Olli murmurs.
“And Greta loves you,” Karri says, his eyes glowing. “That’s what she was created for. She loves you with more passion than you could possibly imagine. And over these past few weeks, with the shadow of separation looming, you have loved her so strongly that it was enough to make her happy. But in a year, or two at most, your feelings would inevitably start to fade, while her love would burn just as strongly as before… It would kill her spirit.”
Secret Passages in a Hillside Town Page 29
