Its darkness was the darkness between the stars, cold and indifferent. Sometimes there was a flash, a supernova of pure hate, exploding in scorching flames and then dying. But even the roaring brightness of my hatred couldn’t light up the suffocating blackness of the Cellar.
And at the bottom of the Cellar flowed more and more swirling, night-colored water.
Your sister,
Vanna (Vera)
Excerpt from A Short History of the Domestication of Women
National Publishing (1997)
In the nineteenth century, a wave of unprecedented violence and chaos swept across Finland. This phenomenon began in Ostrobothnia in western Finland, and in retrospect the initiating factors are easy to trace.
The west coast of Finland had become quickly prosperous. Tar was a commodity in great demand and large quantities of timber were cut to produce it. This freed up large areas of arable land, which in turn led to a glut of grain. Grain that isn’t sold must be stored, but grain doesn’t keep long, so the only effective way to exploit it monetarily and preserve its value was to produce another commodity that was in great demand at the time: alcohol.
Prosperity also led to an increase in population. The number of children per family grew, and in some places the increase in offspring made it impossible for the youngest sons in many families to be allocated land or other means of livelihood as an inheritance. Having no home or occupation of his own made it difficult for a young man to find a wife. The situation was made more difficult by the fact that the inhabitants of Ostrobothnia had traditionally attached a strong social value to a house, a farm, and other acquired possessions.
The idleness of an unmarried state, the ubiquitous availability of alcohol, and young men’s competitive nature combined like sulfur, charcoal, and saltpeter to form a volatile mix that needed only a little spark to cause a tremendous explosion.
That spark was struck during the time of the troublemakers, or the knife-fighters, as they were called. It was a period of unprecedented fear and terror. At its worst point there were more than 20 homicides per 100,000 residents in a single year. The period between 1820 and 1880 is a shameful mark on the history of the Finnish people and its social system, and a strong warning to us. It showed us that ordinary, respectable young men can be completely corrupted when their basic rights are neglected. Marriage and the position of natural dominance and regular enjoyment of sexual intercourse—so important to a man’s personal well-being—that marriage provides are fundamental rights that the state should have granted and protected for the good of society instead of allowing deviant behaviors to foment to the point of acts of murder.
Luckily the state, in the form of the Finnish Senate, did not fail to act. Thoughtful statesmen such as J. V. Snellman introduced stricter punishments for knife-fighters. But Senator Johan Mauritz Nordenstam, well known and deeply respected for his efforts to restrain the recklessness of many young people, proposed cutting the problem off at its root. Instead of trying to rein in young men’s unrest through force, a clause was added to the parish laws fining young women for “unjustified jilting” (an infraction known today by the more contemporary term “willful mating misconduct,” though with the advancement of our present Finnish social order it is a clause rarely invoked). Since it was clear that the unrest was largely caused by young men whose proposals had been rejected, it was decided that the fine would be exacted from those young women who for reasons of misplaced pride or sheer obstinacy refused an offer of marriage. Henceforth, the only legally valid reason for a refusal of marriage would be a suitor’s infliction of serious physical injury or proof of his criminal background.
This action on behalf of dispossessed young men offered an immediate and noticeable improvement in opportunities for obtaining a wife and family, and through them a meaning and direction in life.
Of course, wealthy households could easily pay the fines, which allowed well-to-do fathers to avoid surrendering their daughters to any suitor who came along. This was, in a way, understandable, since many marriages at that time entailed combining land and possessions. The marriage chances for dispossessed young men who were discriminated against on the mating market nevertheless unquestionably improved, as could be seen fairly quickly in a gradual return to social stability.
At this time another discovery was made that would be very significant for the future. Most of those who obeyed the new law were meek-natured girls who recognized limitations on their own value and desires and were aware that a marriage proposal was an honor for a young woman and in accordance with nature’s laws. It was noteworthy that over time this attitude was increasingly passed down to female offspring—partly owing to genetics, but also largely as a result of being raised by mothers who had internalized these moral values. Uncooperative or overly proud young women, particularly those of modest means, often had to compensate for unpaid fines through imprisonment or resort to unseemly means to pay them, which caused them to age prematurely and left them with decreased hopes for matrimony. Those who had the means to pay their fines and avoid imprisonment, on the other hand, might be quickly labeled as “penalty girls” and be assumed to be ill-tempered, coldhearted, or of questionable moral character, and thus they, too, were often left husbandless and unable to pass on their socially damaging characteristics to their female offspring.
This discovery was extremely important to social welfare, and the government made an effort to reinforce this positive development—it began to select meek-tempered girls for matrimony.
A personality test was developed for the purpose, made up of a series of questions about opinions and attitudes and administered by parish pastors in conjunction with confirmation classes. If a girl’s answers were appropriately submissive, she would be confirmed and given permission to marry. The personality test made up for the shortcomings of the traditional confirmation exam, which had concentrated on qualities of secondary importance to motherhood and marriage such as literacy and knowledge of the catechism. Because the use of the new test produced consistently positive results in the life satisfaction of marriageable men and promoted social order, it was eventually adopted throughout the country.
This step produced one of the pillars of Finland’s eusistocratic system, and with the advent of Francis Galton’s eugenic theories at the beginning of the twentieth century, Finland’s eusistocratic project was further clarified. The theory of eugenics created completely new and brilliant insights into the future of the Finnish people and all humanity. Positive racial hygiene incorporating both training and genetic selection was understood to be an essential complement to negative racial hygiene, which used a variety of rules and limitations to prevent the birth of weak specimens. Later, a deeper understanding of the work of Gregor Mendel and Dimitri Belyayev and of the mechanisms of genetics served to carry the torch of eusistocracy still further.
Another important pillar of our society was, of course, prohibition, which went into effect in 1919 and was later expanded to include not only alcohol but also many other “recreational substances” dangerous to health and welfare, substances whose unfettered use we still sometimes learn about in school when we study the hedonistic societies.
One might think that prohibition is completely unrelated to the domestication of women, but these two cornerstones of our eusistocracy are inextricably connected. While it is true that public health is protected by restrictions on the availability of dangerous substances, it also must be recognized that human happiness and a balanced life are naturally connected to certain specific chemicals in the brain that promote a feeling of well-being. Physical exercise, regular sexual intercourse, and the satisfaction of serving as the head of a household—or, for the weaker sex, the joys of motherhood—are important sources of these brain chemicals.
The duty of a eusistocratic society is to support the pursuit of this good life and to strive in every way to lower the barriers to its achievement.
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Establishing prohibition as a permanent part of Finnish society has not been without its problems, however. In the early days of prohibition alcohol was smuggled into Finland from elsewhere in Europe in large quantities. Systematic prevention and surveillance, and above all substantial toughening of punishments, succeeded in bringing contraband under ever greater control. An absolutely thorough system of border control, applied to both people and goods, essential in the enforcement of prohibition and created for that purpose, later proved a blessing in other ways as well. The Finnish eusistocracy has no need for decadent democracies’ luxury goods, for dangerous substances demoralizing to the public health and destructive to human welfare, nor for the soulless human worms who attempt to exploit such substances for personal gain. Strict control of our borders also ensures that deceitful propaganda isn’t allowed to undermine the development of our society or rot away the heart of our eusistocratic system.
Wartime, as difficult as it was for the heroic Finnish people, provided a more favorable growing medium for our eusistocratic endeavor than ever before. The unavoidable loss of men on the front brought about a situation in which marriageable women far outnumbered men. It was a time when docile-natured women could more effectively be steered into marriage and procreation, while overly independent women were enlisted into maintenance and auxiliary roles required for the war in organizations such as the Lotta Svärd auxiliaries.
This meant that by the 1950s the female population of Finland was already selected to such an extent that, as awareness of Belyayev’s experiments increased over the ensuing decades, it was but a small step to adoption of a systematic and scientific program of domestication.
Manna,
I swear I tried to get in touch with you. I swear by everything most precious to me.
You very rarely called me over the winter. You were living in town so you didn’t need any gardening advice, but you called sometimes to ask about recipes or stain removal. I’d stayed in eloi school much longer than you had, after all, and taken courses that you hadn’t because of your early graduation.
I almost never saw you in town. I sometimes saw your husband in passing. Once he was even obliged to acknowledge me when I was walking by as he got out of his car.
I expected that at any time I would get that certain news.
Baby news.
But it never came. I knew that if it had happened you would have told me immediately. I’ve sometimes wondered if everything would have been different if you’d gotten pregnant.
Spring came, then summer. You and Harri were staying at Neulapää while Harri was on vacation, so my phone started to ring again. You called almost every day. The berry bushes had developed a bad case of aphids; the tomatoes were blossoming but not fruiting. What’s the best way to stake peas? There was a catch in your voice when you talked about the failed radish crop, the tops healthy looking but the roots long, thin, and inedible—“And Harri likes radishes so much!”
I asked if you had thinned them and remembered to water them, if you had pruned the tomatoes, if you had tried adding ladybugs to the berry bushes.
You didn’t ask me to come and help you, though. Just the telephone calls. “Harri says I gotta learn to take care of myself.”
In July the calls stopped like they’d hit a wall.
At first I thought that you’d finally started to get the hang of gardening.
Then I started to feel nervous about your silence. I decided to call, using your birthday at the beginning of August as an excuse. Like all elois, you set great store by your birthday—the one time in the year when an eloi, consumed with housework and giving birth, can be a princess again, can be the center of attention, dress up and get presents, if only for a day. I’d been planning to ask you if you wanted to have your birthday party in your apartment in Tampere or in my little bachelorette’s studio, or whether we should plan a party at Neulapää. After all, it would be your first anniversary, too—doubly important.
Harri answered the phone and said that you were out.
Out?
Where could you possibly go? Elois don’t drive and public transportation to and from Neulapää was limited.
I asked if he would call you to the phone.
“I’m sure she can’t hear me,” he said.
I know now that he was telling the truth for once.
Elois don’t pry and they certainly don’t question. I thought you might have gone out on the bicycle, maybe to pick up some milk from the kiosk. I asked Harri to tell you I’d called and to call me back as soon as you had a chance.
Two days passed and you didn’t call. Of course there was a possibility that you had tried to call when I was at school or at the store or out making a deal. I knew how you liked to throw extravagant, well-planned parties, so I was perplexed. The birthday girl can’t arrange the whole thing herself; it has to be a surprise, even if she actually dictates exactly what she wants to her friends and family. It was really strange that you hadn’t already come to me with a wish list. When you were younger you used to start planning next year’s birthday the moment this year’s was over.
I was afraid you were still holding a grudge against me, although I’d thought that things had finally warmed between us. Were you planning to exclude me from the party? Maybe a gaggle of your old classmates was already planning the table setting and baking cookies and wrapping trinkets for you. Or perhaps Harri was planning some big, romantic first anniversary celebration for just the two of you?
I seriously doubted it.
I called Neulapää again. Harri answered, once again irritable and in a great hurry. You were out again. I went straight to the point.
“Has Manna told you she doesn’t want to talk to me?”
“Unfortunately that is the case.”
And he hung up on me.
I was flooded with worry. I knew that elois sometimes make a show of avoiding a person—it was typical competitive behavior to be “mad” at some of your friends and form alliances with others for one reason or another, whether it was from jealousy or envy or merely a desire to stir the pot. But you had invited me to your wedding, as your maid of honor no less, and I’d been over to Neulapää to help you several times.
Even if you did still have a grudge against me, your behavior was mystifying. When an eloi has an opportunity to be the birthday girl, the center of attention, she makes sure she has an audience for it. Besides, every guest would be bringing a gift, and like all elois, you loved pretty, shiny things. You definitely would have wanted me at your party.
Jare came by to plan our next drop, and I told him about my worry. I was relieved that he didn’t laugh at my concern and listened to me seriously. I told him I was afraid because of what had happened to Aulikki.
Jare pointed out that stumbling on the stairs and hitting your head weren’t unusual accidents for a woman of Aulikki’s age. If Harri had wanted to kill Aulikki so that he could get his hands on Neulapää, wouldn’t he have waited for a time when the connection wouldn’t have been so obvious?
Be that as it may, I was tortured with worry. The dark water in the Cellar was churning, and I had to keep it from rising. I needed information more than I had ever needed a fix.
I asked Jare if he would take me to Neulapää in his work car. He pondered for a moment and thought of an excuse he could use for taking the car there, but I wouldn’t be able to come with him.
It would do. I asked only that if he saw you he would try to find the reason for your coldness.
He agreed.
I knew that you might be shocked to see Jare. But it was the only way I could think of to quickly find out what was wrong.
He told me what he saw when he went to Neulapää. Hopefully someday, if I find you, I can shed some light on at least some of what Jare was thinking, why he acted the way he did. For my sake and yours.
Until next ti
me,
Your sister,
Vanna (Vera)
JARE REMEMBERS
July 2016
I drove straight to Neulapää, parked right in front of the steps to the house, and slammed the door with exaggerated force. Driving a government car is enjoyable in a mean sort of way. People stiffen, get flustered, behave with artificial politeness, even fear. Perfectly law-abiding citizens will start to look around and wonder if they’ve broken some rule and not realized it.
Before I could even knock Harri Nissilä was already standing in the doorway. His hands were on his hips and his face was a mixture of nervousness and defiance.
“What do you want?”
I introduced myself: Inspector Valkinen from the Food Bureau. I showed him my card and said that because the property had recently transferred ownership, it was my responsibility to make a routine inspection and confirm that no illegal nicotine- or capsaicin-producing crops were being grown there and no alcohol was being produced. The Food Bureau had no resources for any such routine inspections, but how could Harri Nissilä know that?
He relaxed a little and put on his shoes, ready to show me the fields and outbuildings. I looked around. The air was warm and clear. If Manna was at Neulapää, why was she keeping herself indoors?
As we made the rounds Nissilä chattered about how it was just a summer place for him and he grew only enough food for his own needs and his vacation was over the next week and he would be going back to town. I noticed he kept saying “I” and “me,” rather than “we” and “us,” but I let it pass.
As expected, I didn’t find anything illegal going on behind the sauna or in the shed or the barn loft. I said I’d like to look in the house. Nissilä let out a pointed sigh, but he showed me in. I didn’t see Manna anywhere. The rooms had changed a great deal since the last time I saw the place. They had an unmistakable eloi’s touch.
The room that had been Mrs. Neulapää’s bedroom was now filled with a large double bed. Still no sign of Manna. There was a small dressing table in the corner scattered with makeup and lotions and creams. A hairbrush with long strands of platinum-blond hair in it. As if Manna had been there just a moment before brushing her hair and had stood up and stretched and gone to run some errand.
The Core of the Sun Page 12
