In the early-evening dusk everything looks passable. I hope Raimo doesn’t have any business behind the sauna in the next few days. If the weather forecast and my own instincts are correct and it rains at the weekend, this should soon look like a perfectly average strip of wasteland – the kind that you’d find in almost every garden in this town.
Back in the sauna I use the hose to clear up. The hose is long enough that it reaches out to the patio and the garden. I turn the water on full blast, and soon Sami’s charcoal smudges follow the rest of his body down into the earth. I put things back in their place, pick up the bottles of soap and shampoo, the sponges and sauna cloths that have flown here and there, return the ladle to the water pail, close the sauna hatch, clear up the splinters of wood and tidy the hole in the wall. Despite my best efforts, the wall still looks like it’s been struck with an axe, and there’s little I can do about it. And as for the axe, I’ll have to decide whether it belongs in the house or whether it was brought from outside. I decide to take it with me.
Not perfect, I surmise as I look around, but good enough.
I close the door, replace the key beneath the rug and walk back to my car. My legs are trembling with the exertion. I drop the axe into the boot. In the boot’s light I notice my own hands and realise that I must look a miner. I’m covered from head to toe in mud, sweat and grime. I peer at my face in the side mirror: I look like I’ve been crawling through the mud rather than digging it up. I wash my face, my hands and arms in the barrel of rainwater at the corner of the house. I pull off my shoes, my socks, my shirt and trousers. They could belong to a three-year-old who has spent a few hours playing in a mud pit. I stuff the bundle of clothes into the boot next to the axe. I’m holding my phone and standing in nothing but my underpants.
The situation isn’t ideal, but when was the last time things were ideal? I wonder.
Again I cross the Tervasalmi bridge. Once I reach the mainland I turn back towards Tervasaari and drive all the way to the end of the peninsula. The parkland area is empty and darkened, so I take my dirty clothes and the axe from the boot of the car and stuff them into a large rubbish bin used by hikers and visitors whose boats are moored in the marina. My things will blend in naturally with the general waste. The heavy axe hits the bottom of the bin with a dull thud. I walk back to the car, drive off and call Taina. She has never sounded so thrilled to receive a phone call from me. I explain that I want to take her up on her offer.
‘You’re right,’ I say. ‘I’m stressed out. I need some rest.’
‘Oh, Jaakko, yes you do,’ Taina sighs, her voice heavy with relief. ‘That’s exactly what I’ve been trying to tell you.’
‘I’ll leave this evening. I won’t be coming home.’
A short silence.
‘Are you already on your way?’ she asks. ‘Where are you?’
The next time you try to murder your husband but fail to time his death right, I feel the urge to tell her, the next time you drive your dying husband out of town so that you can steal his business associates while trying to play the caring, compassionate wife, try and make your little performance sound at least remotely credible. Now I can hear your barely restrained glee in every syllable.
‘Just setting off,’ I say. ‘But I think I’m heading in the right direction. I wanted to confirm a few things about the weekend’s schedule, because it looks like it’s going to rain.’
‘You’re on holiday now, darling.’
‘It feels bad not to be out there picking the harvest with everyone else. Especially as I was so determined to get everybody to work overtime in the first place.’
The seat belt chafes the skin between my chest and shoulders, my back is stuck to the chair, the pedals feel hard and stiff beneath my bare feet. Driving around in your underpants is far more uncomfortable that you might think.
‘What kind of silly-billy wants to talk about work when he’s about to enjoy a night out in Helsinki followed by a relaxing weekend at the spa?’
‘You’re probably right.’
‘I know I am.’
‘I’m sure I’m worrying about nothing.’
‘As always.’
‘Have you heard anything from Raimo?’
This time she doesn’t hesitate. ‘Raimo? Why’s that?’
‘Just wondered. I think he said his wife was out of town, that she’d come down ill and he had to go and fetch her.’
‘And what about it?’ Taina sounds genuine. Or rather, she genuinely sounds as if she couldn’t care less about Raimo.
‘I guess it’s nothing,’ I say. ‘How were you thinking of dividing up the picking sectors?’
‘Who’s almost on holiday?’
‘I am.’
‘That’s right, sweet pea.’
Sweet pea?
‘But if someone asks me where you are, then I might be able to give them an idea of where to find you.’
Another short silence.
‘I can’t imagine anyone will ask you things like that,’ Taina replies eventually. There’s a distinct note of impatience in her voice. She notices it herself, corrects it immediately and returns to sounding like she’s coaxing a child to eat his greens.
‘Don’t worry, darling. I’ll email you everything important. How about you concentrate on enjoying yourself and thinking about all the wonderful things in store for you this weekend?’
The evening is warm and still, the shadows deep and black. The air is soft and brooding, as always before heavy rain. I focus my eyes on the house, look first in the mirror then straight ahead. I can’t see movement anywhere. I listen, but cannot hear a sound.
The gravel hurts my soles. This path wasn’t designed for bare feet. I proceed with difficulty, swaying from one side to the other and lifting my feet unnecessarily high off the ground, though I realise this is pointless. I can only imagine what I must look like in my underpants, which only this morning were clean and white.
I make it into the garden and onto the lawn. The grass feels heavenly. After the rough gravel of the path this feels like walking on a mattress covered with downy blankets. I can see the illuminated windows, the empty rooms. I climb up the stairs, ring the doorbell, and I’m about to pull my stomach in again, but even to me it now feels like such an absurd thing to do that I give up on the idea. I don’t believe for a second that a puffed-out chest will replace the need for an explanation. And indeed it does not.
Her expression isn’t quite as perplexed as I might have expected.
Sanni folds her arms across her chest and leans a shoulder against the doorframe. A warm glow surrounds her. Her hair is loose and falls at both sides of her face, casting a shadow across her eyes. I note that she doesn’t ask me inside.
‘Maybe I should have called first,’ I suggest.
‘Or put some clothes on.’
I nod. ‘Are you alone?’
‘Would it be reckless of me to say yes?’
I wave my hands by way of an explanation. The gesture comes naturally, but I realise immediately that it must look like I’m showing her what’s on offer. I don’t know whether she can see the redness in my cheeks in the soft glow of the dusky evening and the electric light shining from inside.
‘I’m in a bit of a jam, if I’m honest. I need some help. I could really use a shower and, if it’s okay, I’d love to borrow some clothes. Until tomorrow. Then we have to talk about Asko and the Hamina Mushroom Company. And a few other things. I have a suggestion.’
Sanni is wearing the same thin, baggy red T-shirt as this morning. The grey jogging shorts fit the general aesthetic. I can’t stop thinking about the underwear episode earlier this morning. Then I realise it’s my turn to speak.
‘And that suggestion would be…?’ Sanni asks.
‘Not here,’ I say and show myself off again. ‘It’s the suggestion of a boss to his employee.’
Even worse, I think to myself, and I’m about to correct the situation when Sanni interrupts.
‘Taina has
thrown you out, hasn’t she?’
I wasn’t expecting this. The sudden change of direction has an almost physical impact, one that I only appreciate after it’s happened: I experience a similar Neanderthal moment to the one earlier this morning and instinctively straighten my posture, suck in my stomach and reposition myself in a more manly fashion at the foot of the porch.
‘In a way,’ I say. After all, it’s almost true: Taina has driven me out of town; that if anything is surely tantamount to throwing me out. ‘All in all it’s been quite a puzzling evening.’
For a moment we stand in the balmy summer air. Then Sanni turns away.
‘The bathroom is the first door on the right.’
Even the shampoo has added protein. That’s what it says on the bottle. I can’t begin to imagine how the protein travels from your hair to your biceps, but I use plenty of it just in case. My legs won’t stop trembling, so I sit on the floor of the shower. First I aim the showerhead at my mouth and guzzle down the water. Then I rinse off.
At first a puddle of grime forms around me, soil and sand rinsing from every part of me: my hair, my ears, even my nose. At the ends of my fingers are ten black waning crescents; each of my cuticles has to be scrubbed. Finally I am clean. I haul myself upright and dry myself on a thick, citrus-scented towel.
Sanni has left a T-shirt and a pair of jogging bottoms on the washing machine for me. I pull them on. The jogging bottoms are the right size, but so tight around the backside that I daren’t look in the mirror to see what I look like. The pastel-green T-shirt is the right fit, but there’s no denying the low-cut neckline feels somewhat awkward.
Sanni is sitting on the living-room sofa and watches as I walk into the room. There’s a floor lamp directly behind her. The warm, low lighting catches her red hair and bare legs.
‘Tea?’ she asks and nods towards a wide-rimmed mug set on the small coffee table. ‘I’ll bring you a cup too if you want.’
I shake my head, say no thank you, and sit down in an armchair.
The living room is small, almost like a den, and pleasantly dim. A brown, comfy-looking sofa, a dark-wooden bookcase, full of books and framed photographs, on the floor a long, wide rug. From among its patterns I can make out a tree, birds with colourful tails perched on its branches. On top of the rug and right in the middle of the room is a table with sturdy legs. Old-fashioned, Taina would call it. Cosy, I’d say.
‘Do you need a pair of socks?’ Sanni asks once we’ve stared at one another for a few quiet seconds.
‘I don’t think so,’ I say and glance self-consciously down at my feet. ‘Seeing as I don’t have any shoes either.’
‘Seems you left in quite a hurry.’
‘You could say it came quite out of the blue,’ I admit. ‘Did you meet Asko today?’
Sanni nods. ‘I showed him my harvest schedule. And apparently tomorrow I’m going to meet one of his Japanese contacts. Asko wants to show him everything we can offer: we’ll take him to a few spots and show him how we harvest, where the mushrooms come from, and reassure him that our produce is organic and top quality.’
‘Him? There’s only one? Not more? He didn’t say them?’
‘We were both speaking Finnish. I’m quite sure he said we’d take him, not them.’
‘Did Asko tell you the name of his contact?’
Sanni shakes her head, drinks some tea. The rim of the mug is as wide as her face; her chin disappears behind the china.
‘What else did Asko tell you?’
Sanni places her mug on the table. ‘He said you’re up to something,’ she says nonchalantly, as if she were talking about the weather.
Sanni pulls her feet up onto the sofa. Her legs are pointing towards me. Her eyes have been fixed on me all the while, but now it’s as though her gaze suddenly sharpens. I keep my hands on the arms of the chair, move my toes across the soft, pleasant surface of the rug.
‘Anything else?’ I ask.
‘Are you up to something, Jaakko?’
We look at each other. Then it hits me: a fatigue that stretches through my bones like an ache without a specific location. I’m utterly exhausted, I’ve used up every last vestige of energy. I’ve been at the police station, in the sauna, in a grave. No matter how stable my organs might be right now, they are still far from normal. I can feel the darkness approaching. I have to act fast.
‘I am up to something,’ I say. ‘Of course. I’ve asked you to spy for me. I’ve also visited Asko and his friends’ premises. Asko thinks I’ve stolen one of their swords. You probably noticed the swords on the wall.’
‘It would be hard not to notice them. Asko seems passionate about them. It seems they have something to do with the arrival of the Japanese contact. Did you steal his sword?’
‘Of course not.’
‘Asko thinks you did.’
That means Asko still hasn’t heard about Tomi, and when he does find out, will he demand to get his sword back, and will it be released to him, and if it is released to him will I once again have to worry about being imminently dismembered?
‘What else does Asko suspect?’ I ask.
‘He doesn’t think you’d give me up, not that easily.’
‘Did he say that?’
‘It was more a case of reading between the lines.’
I remember what Sanni said about waking up and seeing things differently.
‘I’m not surprised,’ I say. ‘He probably sees a lot of potential in you.’
‘What about you, Jaakko? What do you see?’
A beautiful and ambitious red-haired woman with gleaming legs; a woman I have to decide whether I can trust.
‘Where did you suggest starting the harvest?’ I ask.
Sanni stares at me. It’s hard to isolate the foremost emotion in her eyes: a cold disappointment that I’ve brushed her question aside or a quiet consideration of everything that our collaboration might entail.
‘At Onkamaa,’ she says. ‘There’s a good mix of pine forest, fields, meadows, undergrowth, a few decent hillsides and a logging zone. It’s the best place – the best combination of factors, and the best if we assume we’ll be going there right after the rain, perhaps even while it’s raining…’
‘While it’s raining?’
Sanni nods. ‘Asko said that we’re playing with the big boys now.’
‘He really said that?’
‘I took it in a gender-neutral way. I guess all he meant was whinging snobs shouldn’t bother.’
‘Exactly,’ I say and try to muster some strength. Even sitting down requires strength. I lean my back more firmly against the chair. The effect is twofold: it gives me more support but it makes me sleepy too. The armchair is soft, it sucks me in. The room seems dimmer than a moment ago. ‘That’s probably what he means. What’s the latest weather forecast?’
‘It could rain quite heavily starting tomorrow afternoon.’
‘And it’s tomorrow you’re taking the guest into the forest?’
‘Weather permitting, if the guest shows up and if Asko says so.’
‘Hang on,’ I say. ‘You, Asko and the Japanese guy? Nobody else?’
Sanni looks as though she has just remembered something. ‘Now that you mention it, I wondered about that too. Why hire a minibus when there are only three of us and we’d all fit perfectly well into my car? I guess Asko was counting on Sami and Tomi being there too. That would make five.’
I think about this for a moment. Sami and Tomi are clearly not going mushroom picking any time soon. But perhaps Asko wasn’t counting them after all. That means he must have other passengers in mind.
‘Send me a text message as soon as you know anything. This is important. I mean, it might be important.’
Sanni says nothing. There’s a faint shadow across her eyes, but still I can see a glint in them, a burgeoning question in the angle of her head. I’m so tired that I release my stomach into freedom, one centimetre at a time. Despite all my notions to the contrary, I’ve
been sucking the beach ball in, trying to puff out my chest and broaden my shoulders, but right now it feels too much like hard work. The green mound above my tummy swells and gleams in the soft light.
There are moments when, in all its sheer wretchedness, the unfettered embarrassment of middle age can surpass even death. This is one of those moments, and I should know what I’m talking about. I don’t imagine Sanni expects me to say anything in my defence, though. And what would I say if she did? I’m always home in time for dinner. I enjoy my food. I have a soft spot for sugary doughnuts. I’m dying a fat death.
‘What happens next?’
Sanni’s question wakes me from my slumber, from my pitiful self-flagellation.
‘Then we’ll have a clearer idea of what Asko is actually planning,’ I say. ‘We’ll have a better overall picture of things. And we’ll save this business.’
Sanni’s hair is now covering her face almost entirely. Light falls from above and behind her. Her hair hangs either side of her face like a set of curtains.
‘And are you going to answer my question?’
I look up at the spot where I guess her eyes must be.
‘Asko is right,’ I say, and I mean it. ‘I’m not going to give you up that easily.’
Sanni explains to me how we will conquer whole cities one at a time. We’ll charm the leading restaurateurs, start delivering to specialist outlets, provide tasting expeditions to exotic locations across Finland. And if someone doesn’t want to come to Finland, we will take the Finnish forest to them. One influential figure at a time, one matsutake at a time, one tasting at a time…
‘We need to work through some of the details,’ she continues. ‘Especially if Taina, who has been in charge of all the tastings, has just thrown you out.’
It’s only temporary, I tell her. I leave out the fact that I’m referring to my entire marriage and, indeed, my life, the transitory nature of which is highlighted all the more now that the poisoning has entered some kind of stasis. I add that organising tastings is only a secondary concern. First we have to take care of what’s most important.
The Man Who Died Page 18
