I remember my close call in the Hedgehog.
Jare doesn’t know how close I came to getting busted.
Neulapää could be the solution to the fear bottled up inside me. But I can’t make a sudden U-turn without explaining why.
“I’ll think about it.”
Manna, my dear,
I can still remember your wish list almost by heart. When the masco at the Wedding Planning Bureau tallied the expenses his adding machine tape had to have been a meter long. Embossed invitations, a four-layer cake, live music, wedding candies with love-themed words of wisdom hidden inside. Food with more animal protein and white sugar than a normal citizen eats in a week. You wanted rose-colored balloons with your intertwined initials printed on them. You wanted flower arrangements, pink candles, and, above all, the dress: a dress with a cloud of lace and a shimmer of pearls and a cascade of tulle and a tsunami of a train, all at the same time.
I called the number Aulikki had given me. I met Jare in a popular juice bar on the edge of Laukontori. I was garbed as an eloi should be when she goes to meet a masco, and I noticed that Jare didn’t recognize me at first among all the other elois who were trying to stand out from all the other elois by wearing nearly identical clothing and makeup.
We exchanged brief greetings. I asked if he was a model citizen now, and said that if he was, we had nothing more to discuss.
He laughed.
I wasn’t in a joking mood. I told him I needed some advice and assistance in a matter that a model citizen would know nothing about. I wanted to know more about the ways of the city, particularly its shady ways. There’s always a demand for the forbidden. There have been strange times in the past when people paid for sex, merely because selling sex was illegal. To be more specific: “I want to know how to earn some money under the table.”
A lemony aroma hovered around Jare, and he leaned back in his chair and gave me an appraising look. He tapped his fingers together, thinking.
He suggested we go for a walk.
We strolled side by side through the trees lining Hämeenpuisto. I told him about you and your wedding plans. He nodded, remembered you well from his days at Neulapää. I also told him how you had focused your budding eloi feelings on him and how hurt you’d been when you thought there was a romance between us.
I also added quickly that this had been a complete misunderstanding on your part, a childish mistake. Then Jare’s face changed and a smell something like turpentine floated around him.
He stopped, sat down on a bench, pulled me down beside him, and threw an arm over my shoulders. He lowered his face close to mine and said that just such a misunderstanding could be an excellent way to mislead people.
It felt peculiar sitting there, right next to a masco. With his lips almost touching my ear, Jare asked in a whisper if I’d ever heard of chilis.
That’s how it started, Manna. Jare whispered lots of things that I’d never heard before.
Alcohol, nicotine, cannabis—the ban on importing, growing or processing them was so successful that the black market for them was small, almost nonexistent. But since capsaicin had been made illegal more recently, the borders still had leaks. There weren’t effective means of investigation yet. No capsaicin dogs, no methods of detecting capsaicin use in the blood or urine. I learned from Jare that using chilis first produces adrenaline as the body starts to feel threatened, because the sensation is so literally potent, followed by the body’s release of its own endorphins. So bodily evidence of capsaicin use is indistinguishable from the effects of athletic activities, provided the chili isn’t so strong that it produces visible changes to the inside of the mouth.
Jare had, half by accident, run into a few old army buddies one night in Tampere. Among them were a couple of reckless daredevils who had their own source for small amounts of chili. Jare wasn’t tempted to try chilis himself, but when they talked about how exciting it was, how you had to have your wits about you, how it took nerve to take the plunge into the secret underworld of banned substances—a world far from the light of day, where completely different rules applied—he started to get interested.
He’d offered to come along the next time they went to get some. The first time, he just stood guard as his more experienced friends made the deal in a dark courtyard. He saw two men in civilian clothes approach and, thinking that they might be with the Authority, he told them he was lost and asked if they could tell him the way to Hatanpää. The seller and customers were able to slip away from the place and Jare got a lot of praise for his audacity. His reputation grew. He soon gained the trust of a few of the dealers, and gradually he started to learn the ins and outs of the chili trade.
I don’t know which came first for him: the excitement, the manly risk-taking, the heart-pounding tightrope walking of the game—or the realization of its amazing financial possibilities.
In any case, he had decided to perform a test of courage greater than any he had tried before.
I was right to think that when a thing is forbidden people will pay for it. The more chili Jare could move before the authorities caught up with him, the better chance he had to carry out his bold plan.
And now he had an idea.
A smart, convincing morlock with nerves of steel who looked like a ditzy eloi would be the perfect partner for selling chili. An eloi wouldn’t be suspected of anything worse than angling for a masco’s attentions. She could easily retreat with a masco into a dark corner of a dance hall or into the summer shrubbery without anyone thinking twice about it. A masco could put his hands in her clothing, or she in his; they could exchange little packages or bundles of money, and no one would think there was anything going on but what always goes on in the mating market.
I made my first run a couple of days after our conversation about your wedding.
A week later I told you—I’m sure you remember it, you were so thrilled—that I’d gotten a substantial sum from Aulikki. If you and Harri could wait just a little longer, Aulikki could give you even more, once she cashed a few stocks she had in a kitchen drawer.
A week later I told you that the rest of the money had arrived.
You had your wedding. I was so happy that you had your moment of happiness.
I didn’t know what it would lead to.
Forgive me.
Good night, dear Manna.
Your Vanna (Vera)
I wish I could a pretty eloi
and not a morlock be
for my true love loves only elois
and never will love me.
—Finnish folk song (revised circa 1955)
VANNA/VERA
November 2016
They come one at a time, each one bringing a bunch of flowers or a porcelain knickknack or a package of berry sweets or a hair doodad she found at the store that “looked like me.” They elbow their way through the door, redolent with perfume and hair spray and creams, their ultrahigh heels clomping, their mouths dewy and glistening, their eyelashes gooey with mascara, their breasts molded into high, shelflike mounds that nearly touch their chins. They screech and giggle, whisper, and kiss each other’s spackled cheeks.
They lisp out soft S’s and, as if in compensation, crow words like “fantastic” and “awful” and “heavens” in a screeching falsetto. Their names are Hanna, Janna, Sanna, and Leanna, and every one of them wishes in her heart of hearts to be my bridesmaid.
It’s a girls’ night. I’m serving sweet, fizzy, low-calorie fruit drinks and bite-size sandwiches and heart-shaped apple jam cookies I baked myself, each one with a few slivers of ridiculously expensive dark chocolate on top. The dark chocolate is considered healthy, so you can get it at the pharmacy without a prescription, but the price puts quite a dent in an eloi’s state mating market subsidy.
The girls flock around a table decked with rose-colored napkins, flowered dishes, and colorful tumblers an
d admire the bows I used to tie the seat cushions to the legs of the kitchen chairs. They peek into the bedroom and just love my pink bedspread, and they are gratifyingly scandalized at my extravagant use of chocolate.
Hanna, Janna, Sanna, and Leanna purse their lips and open their painted eyes wide as they grill me about my coming nuptials.
“How did he propose?”
“It was so romantic. He asked how many years of home economics I took, and I told him two.”
“Well, you nearly did! You’ve been in school more than a year.”
“Food preparation, household budget, home hygiene, child care, body maintenance, and, of course, sexual adaptability courses.”
“Did you take any electives?”
“Sewing and entertaining. And interior decorating. When I told Jare that, he said pretty soon I’ll be a handy housewife.”
Everyone sighs. What a wonderful masco.
“Well, then you had to know what was coming!”
“Then he said he thought I was really pretty, and that other mascos probly thought so, too. ’Cause I’ve given a wink or two to some of his friends, you know.”
“Of course you did! That’s the smart thing to do.”
“Then he said, ‘I ought to get a jump on the others before somebody beats me to it,’ and I just looked down at the ground and didn’t say anything. And then he was like, ‘Vanna, let’s get married.’”
“Oooooh!”
“Oh, Vanna, weren’t you excited?”
“Give us the scoop on your dress! Strapless? Or maybe a heart-shaped neckline? Everybody says they’re all the rage right now!”
“What kind of white’ll it be? Snow white or cream?”
“Are you gonna have a full veil?”
I squirm as if I’m feeling self-conscious, all the while sighing and trying to look like I’m drinking up all this milk and honey. “I don’t know. I might wear my debutante gown, since it’s long and white. I’m sure some of you remember it from the dance. Sort of silver-white.”
“Your debutante gown? Nobody gets married in their debutante gown!”
“Well . . . see, it’s sort of a . . . secret engagement.”
The girls emit a deep collective sigh of expectation. They’re about to hear something with the taint of scandal or the bloom of romance, and either possibility produces a delicious itch to hear more. I pause dramatically.
“See, Jare has this ex who went pretty crazy when he called it off. We’ve decided to do everything on the quiet, nothing elaborate. Otherwise she might get the idea to show up crying and make a scene at the wedding.”
An immediate uproar follows. I’m not even sure which painted mouth is hurling which question. It’s scandal and romance in one package, and it’s irresistible.
“Gosh, that’s horrible!”
“You mean you’re going to have a civil wedding? How awful!”
“Exes are such a pain!”
I bite my lip, tilt my head, and look at them with pleading eyes.
“Girls, girls, girls. You’ve got to all promise me that this’ll be, like, just between us.”
They all nod, every one of them prepared to join this great conspiracy. I lean toward them and lower my voice. “Like nobody can know about this. You’ll all keep quiet about it, right?”
They all swear that they will carry the secret to their graves.
I know that the story will now spread more quickly than the annual flu. Nobody will wonder why they weren’t invited, or why I didn’t insist on an overstuffed wedding.
“THE TRAINING OF ELOIS”
From An Eloi in the House:
Advice for a Harmonious Family Life
National Publishing (2008)
When you’ve moved in under the same roof with an eloi, it is good to acquaint yourself with an eloi’s way of thinking in order to establish rules and help her adjust to them.
You have to learn to appreciate your spouse just as she is, a creature of instinct, driven by hormones. Repetition, rewards, and reinforcement are the cornerstones of an eloi’s understanding. In token of her gratitude, your wife will be obedient, loyal, and willing to give unceasing love and devotion.
The key to training an eloi to be a wife is to be methodical, consistent, clear, and patient.
Obedience should be a natural characteristic of an eloi. There may, however, be tremendous variation in inherited characteristics from one individual to the next.
An eloi can’t always tell right from wrong; she bases her behavior on associations and whims. This means at its simplest that if a behavior has pleasant consequences, she will repeat that behavior. If, on the other hand, a behavior produces unpleasant consequences, she will avoid it. That is why the use of mere punishments is not the best method of training an eloi; it’s also important to reward and reinforce desirable behaviors.
Rewards for good behavior should also be adapted to the case at hand. If an eloi enjoys good food, it is wise to reward her with her favorite treats—in moderate amounts, of course. If an eloi responds positively to praise, then she should be complimented. Physical affection can also be used as a reward. Most elois like to have their hair stroked, have their rear ends patted, and be given a kiss not intended as a prelude to sex. Her smile will tell you when you’re on the right track. For especially good behavior you might buy her flowers, jewelry, clothing, etc., but such rewards must be used sparingly in order to be effective.
Training an eloi is easiest when she is motivated. She will appreciate a reward of a food treat the most when she is a bit hungry or hasn’t had a sweet or a pastry for a long time. Rewards of praise and attention also work best when it’s been some time since she received any.
Undesirable behaviors can also be the cause for limiting access to rewards. This generally works better than punishment, but should negative feedback be needed, a firm reprimand or small physical reminder will usually suffice.
Timing is of the essence. Give her a command, wait for her to react, and if she does what is desired, reward her immediately. If a reward is not immediately provided she may not connect the positive feedback with the behavior. Consistency is also important. Always use the same brief commands.
Train the eloi to be obedient in varying environments and give her plenty of verbal feedback. An eloi will soon learn to recognize the tone of voice of even neutral statements. If negative verbal comments don’t work, drawing her attention elsewhere is often effective (for example, in a situation where she wants you to buy her something in a store).
Make sure that your wife’s daily routine has sufficient activity so that the boredom of idleness doesn’t lead to dysfunctional behaviors.
VANNA/VERA
December 2016
It’s impossible to describe Mirko’s expression. The scent of his emotional state is a swirling mixture of extreme amazement and intense rage. He stares at me, then tears his eyes away and fixes them on Jare so fiercely that a minus man would have collapsed on the spot.
“Valkinen. You dragged an eloi here with you? Have you got something loose in your head?”
Ah. So he hasn’t told Mirko everything about me.
“We need a farm. This is no time for a family outing, even if the land does belong to her people. What’s your clever plan to keep her mouth shut?”
Jare’s enjoying this. He’s in no hurry to explain, and now I’m starting to feel steamed.
I walk straight up to Mirko with long, lanky strides, not swinging my hips, no pussyfooting. I stand myself in front of him with my hands on my hips and stare him straight in the eye. He stares at me with his mouth open.
“Can’t you tell an eloi from a morlock?” I ask.
Mirko sizes me up, undiluted astonishment swirling around him. He looks at my blond curls, my makeup, my high-heeled shoes, my propped-up shelf of a bosom. Then he looks at Jare, who’s
smiling broadly now.
“Shall I add some numbers in my head? Or maybe explain the process of photosynthesis?” There are no lisping S’s as I say this, no trace of falsetto. Mirko is still staring, not saying a word. I give him a little pat on the cheek and return to where Jare is standing. “For your information,” I tell him, “we’re not a couple, although we are engaged. We’re business partners. We make the deals together. You can take the whole package or forget it.”
“I’m sure you realize what an asset Vanna’s outward appearance can be?”
Mirko shakes his head. “I believe it. I believe it. But how is it possible?”
I raise my voice. “You can breed dogs to be small and sweet, but once in a while even the most docile parents can produce a testy little mutt. My outside is what it should be but my inside isn’t.”
“A testy little morlock,” Mirko says, smiling contentedly now.
“Yep. A very testy little morlock when I need to be,” I say.
Hello, Manna!
Do you have any idea how happy I was when you asked me to be your bridesmaid—your maid of honor? I thought it was proof that the rift between us was repaired, that you’d forgiven me, that our sisterhood could be rebuilt.
The frilly hot-pink frocks that we six bridesmaids wore were in the classic tradition—the bridesmaids should look as frumpy as possible so as not to outshine the bride. The dressmaker had done his work well; we all looked like stout, sparkly little pigs who’d just come from a roll in a pile of bright pink leaves.
All the preparations were beautifully done; the cake, the food, the music, the decorations, the dress, and the flowers were all perfect, extravagant, dripping with romance.
You were positively glowing.
You got your legal fix, your dose of an eloi’s favorite drug.
There were only a few guests on the bride’s side: Aulikki, me, and a couple of your girlfriends.
The Core of the Sun Page 10
