I would be real. I would be true.
“Vanna Valkinen would become Vera Neulapää. Because even if we do go together . . . where we’re going you’ll be free to do what you want, of course.”
I look at Jare and suddenly an immense weariness flows through all my limbs. I could shed my eloi shell? Drop all the years of pretending away like a snake in a skin that’s grown too small?
He sees the look on my face, sees me giving in, sees me crumble. He takes my hand and quickly kisses it.
“We have to act fast. We have to get the rest of the money together quickly, take risks—we’ve got nothing to lose now. I have a regular customer who buys a lot, buys often. We’ve arranged that when I have something to sell I call his downtown office from a public phone. My code name is Paloheimo, a car dealer, so my call is always about a car I want to show him, and if he’s interested we agree on a time and place to meet. He’s a wealthy man and he knows the going rates. If I made him an offer—all the fresh and flake we’ve got for twenty-five thousand—he might jump at it. Or maybe thirty thousand—that would give us a nest egg. It would be enough chili to last him the rest of his life. He could have the biggest down-low chiller blowout Finland’s ever seen with just a couple of Ukko’s Darts.”
“But what if they know enough to suspect you? Or if you’re on their list of suspects? Won’t they be on the lookout for you? You’ll get caught. No. It’s no good.”
“What do you mean ‘no good’?”
“I have to make the sale.”
Jare looks at me for a long time. Twice he opens his mouth, but he doesn’t say anything.
“No one will suspect me. You can make the call, be Mr. Paloheimo, but Miss Paloheimo should be the one to meet him.”
Jare Valkinen and his cute little wife, Vanna Valkinen, his little lady in all her eloi regalia, are on an innocent shopping trip in downtown Tampere.
In the trunk of the car are three suitcases. Two of them contain all our personal possessions—a few clothes; enough cosmetics and other requisite eloi supplies to make me believable in my eloi role, at least as far as the border. The third case is full of money.
Jare comes out of the phone booth and gets into the car with me.
“It’s all decided. If I bring the money to the man at the Trade Ministry he can get me the papers, tickets, and travel permit all at once. We can’t get passports, of course, just a travel permit with your name added, which means that in principle we can’t go anywhere but the target country, but the important thing at this point is to get over the border and then think about what to do next. They say you can even buy passports in the hedonist countries.”
“Will we be able to leave right away? Where to?”
“There’s just one flight out of Tampere on Wednesday afternoons. It goes to Tallinn. Once we get there we’ll get a connecting flight. I’ll leave the car at the airport, let the government repossess it. The man at the Trade Ministry was still working out what would be a plausible place for him to be sending urgent expert assistance. He’s guessing we might end up in Spain, marketing Finland’s unusually clean-grown oat bran. Crushes cholesterol with the very first spoonful.”
Spain!
“What about . . . the other phone call?”
“I wouldn’t have called the Trade Ministry if I hadn’t made the deal. I called as Mr. Paloheimo and said I’d like to introduce him to a friend of mine, said that it’s a meeting I know he’ll really enjoy. I said this friend of mine was hot to make a deal, one that could also be lucrative for him. I’m hoping, counting on him to understand and bring along plenty of cash, but if he does buy the whole stash like I hope he will, I’m sure he’s going to need to make a trip to the bank.”
Jare describes the mark to me and tells me when and where we’re meeting. The masco’s name is Järvi, and we’re supposed to behave like a couple in the first phase of mating and exchange the money and packages in some appropriately secluded makeout spot.
“Just do your parrot act.”
I nod. The fresh peppers are in two flat, transparent plastic bags taped to my thighs under my skirt. The dried chili is in a shopping bag. It’s packed into two paper packages, an emptied sugar bag and flour bag, both with their tops rolled and glued to look just as they did from the store. About fifty grams that we couldn’t fit in the paper bags are in a smaller plastic bag, wrapped in paper to look like something bought in bulk—a piece of cheese or a couple of herring filets. To complete the disguise, Jare scrawled a price of a few marks across the paper, to make it look like something bought from the grocer’s. The contents of the shopping bag look absolutely normal. Anyone passing by who looked into my bag would assume I was an ordinary eloi out doing some shopping.
I spot Järvi the moment I walk into the station. A man in his fifties, short, potbellied, and ruddy. Obviously a great partaker in life’s pleasures. I’m willing to bet he’s also indulged in meat and sugar, might not even be a stranger to alcohol.
He’s leaning against a pillar in the waiting room, looking bored, reading a newspaper, his leather briefcase next to him. I stand beside him and greet him in an eloi manner, curtsying with my eyes downcast at first. “Good day. I’m Miss Paloheimo.”
Järvi raises his eyebrows, letting out a whiff of surprise, then remembers the unusual arrangement and smiles unctuously and plays along. “Miss Paloheimo, of course. I’ve been expecting you . . . It’s very nice to meet you.”
We exchange a little empty small talk for the surveillance cameras about the weather and the approaching spring, then I suggest, shyly but with firm insistence, that perhaps the gentleman knows a place we could go to get to know each other better. He does indeed. I take hold of his arm and we walk into the park next to the station. We sit on a bench under a silver willow that droops so that we’re half out of sight under its hanging branches. I get straight to business.
“Mr. Paloheimo told me to tell you that he’s got a good batch of fresh to sell, half a kilo undried, plus two kilos of flake. The fresh is, um, really good stuff, and some of it’s more than a million sco-scovilles. And the flake is all the strongest kinds and it’s just dried peppers and there’s no fillers in it. Mr. Paloheimo’ll only sell it to you if you buy the whole batch—no divvying it up. And he wants thirty thousand marks for the whole deal.”
The gears start turning in his head. Thirty thousand is a lot of money—many times the annual salary of the average working masco—but he can afford it. On the street you could add a zero to the end of it, and a one to the beginning, and it would still be a good deal.
“Can I see it?”
I nod. I get up from the bench and head deeper into the willow thicket, with Järvi trailing behind me. I press my back against the trunk of the tree and lift my skirt. Anyone passing by would at most see a couple messing around in the bushes. An eloi lifting her skirt in the bushes—it happens sometimes.
Järvi lets out a gasp when he sees the peppers, but he quickly recovers.
“And the flake?”
I let go of my skirt and open my shopping bag. I show him the sugar and flour packages.
“What’s that?” he says, pointing to the smaller paper package.
Suddenly I’m struck with a terrible feeling of insecurity. I’m about to let go of a score. I have no idea where I’m going to get my next fix.
For God’s sake, there’s no way they’re going to search us at the airport! Why would anyone in her right mind be trying to smuggle something out of Finland?
“Oh, that? That’s just a piece of cheese.”
“And how do I know it’s just chili in those bags, with no sawdust or anything?”
“Mr. Paloheimo told me to say that you can open the bags and look at them and taste them, but he said I should tell you that, um, it would be, like, safer for you to carry it if you left the bags closed, so they look real.”
“Hm
m. I suppose Mr. Paloheimo would hardly risk me checking the bags and catching him trying to cheat me. I would just cancel the deal. I believe the stuff is what you say it is. He has always been a very trustworthy supplier.”
“Mr. Paloheimo also told me to tell you that thirty thousand for the fresh stuff alone would be a steal. You could dry it or freeze it and it would give you years of really, really good cap-saicin.” I purposely stumble a bit over the word and notice Järvi’s secret amusement. “May I ask why Mr. Paloheimo wants to give me such a good deal?”
“He’s, like, going out of business.”
“I didn’t think to bring such a large sum of money with me.”
OK, here it comes. The trip to the bank. If he’s working with the Authority, if he’s a decoy, the net’s about to fall. I feign calm.
“I can wait here.”
I go back to the bench and sit down and Järvi heads to the bank. My mind darts from thought to thought—every masco walking by might be a plainclothes cop—and I remember the few grams I kept for myself. I quickly go back to the shelter of the bushes and remove the paper from the smaller plastic bag. I fold the paper wrapper and put it in my pocket. The plastic bag I stuff into my bra. There’s another bulge on the other side of my bra.
Oh yeah. The Core of the Sun. I need to find a place to hide that, too.
One Core of the Sun is enough for at least a hundred good fixes, but for once I’m thinking further ahead than my next high. If I save the seeds, I could plant them in a box on a balcony or in a little garden bed at our place in Spain. It’s more important to me now to preserve the Core of the Sun than it is to eat it. And the fruit itself is the best possible way to transport the seeds. Besides, I couldn’t cut it up now anyway—in my hurry to leave it didn’t occur to me to bring any gloves.
I have to think of a better hiding place, but there’s no time now. I go back to the bench and I’m startled to see that the mark is already at the other end of the path, on his way back to where I’m sitting. A suspiciously quick visit to the bank. Should I run? But it’s too late to think, because Järvi’s standing in front of me, puffing.
“Let’s go over there again and get to know each other better.”
When we’re back under the branches, I lift my skirt and pull the tape away from my thighs. I put the bags of fresh peppers and the sugar and flour bag on the ground and straddle them with my legs. If he tries to bend over and take them without paying I can kick him right in the face.
“Now I want to see the cash.”
He smiles and takes three thick bundles of bills out of his breast pocket. They’re wrapped in a paper strip that says bank of finland. He shows them to me, flips through the bills with his thumb. No newspaper tucked between them. I have no other way to verify that they’re real, so I nod.
“We switch at the same time,” I say.
Järvi hands me the bills and I step back so he can pick up the bags and stuff them into his briefcase. I put the bills in the side pocket of the shopping bag, which has a clasp to close it.
“It was a pleasure doing business with you, Miss Paloheimo.”
“Thanks, you too.”
“I happen to have an extra thousand marks in my pocket. If you agree to anal intercourse here and now, it’s yours.”
I must look confused, because he explains gently, “I’m sorry. Those are probably big words for you. I mean a fuck in the ass.”
I almost burst into hysterical laughter.
“Mr. Paloheimo told me to come straight back.”
I shove my way through the bushes. Järvi waits coyly for ten seconds before coming out behind me, and by then I’m long gone.
Jare is waiting in the car, which reeks of sweat and nervousness. I slide in beside him.
“What took you so long?”
“The bank, just as we expected. Thirty grand. We can keep the five thousand extra for ourselves.” I take the bills out of the shopping bag and lay them in his lap. He puts some of them in his wallet, then opens the suitcase of money and puts the rest in there. It’s so full that it’s difficult to get it closed.
“I’ll go straight to the ministry. It might take a while. A lot of papers and forms and signatures and all that.”
“If I’m not in the car I’ll be walking somewhere near here. I can’t sit still. I’m sure I’ll be back before you’re done. I’ll keep the shopping bag with me so I look as though I’m on some errand.”
“There shouldn’t be any hurry for at least an hour.”
“It would be nice if we had one of those amazing telephones, like the ones in the decadent democracies. You could call me in the middle of the street as soon as you were on your way back to the car.”
“We’ll have one of those telephones soon enough.”
Jare looks at me and the smell of rosemary and lavender and apple surrounds him such that I’m practically looking through a cloud of it to see him.
“Come back soon.”
“I will.”
One hour.
One of our last hours in Finland.
There’s something I haven’t told Jare about. It completely escaped me in all the chaos and confusion. When I remembered it, just before we left Neulapää, I broke out in a sweat from pure shame. How could I forget?
It’s August. The beginning of August.
All those times I betrayed Manna, and now I’m leaving on her birthday.
There’s still time to visit Kalevankangas cemetery and say good-bye to my sister. It’s the least I can do. Up the hill from the station, a short walk down Kalevantie, and I’m there. I’m sure it won’t take more than an hour.
I have a present for her. It’s been in the other pocket of my shopping bag the whole time. Manna loves presents.
Once I’m at the cemetery I can also figure out what to do with the Core of the Sun and the little packet of flake. It’ll be safer to make adjustments under the shade of the trees at the cemetery than in the restroom at a department store or a refreshments bar.
The Core of the Sun is the most important thing to hide. It would be smartest to destroy the flake that I kept for myself. One clever way to do that would be to soak some of the dried flakes in water in the women’s room at the cemetery and chew them up. Otherwise my visit to Manna’s grave might shove me back into the Cellar, and I don’t want to be in the Cellar on what may be the most important trip of my life. Once I’ve had a farewell dose I can flush the rest of it down the toilet. Perfect.
I smile at the thought of being ready to throw away that much chili. Before the Gaians came it would have lasted me half a year.
I find the restroom at the cemetery, go into a stall, and take the bag of flake out of my bra. But what about the Core of the Sun?
I can’t let anyone find it, for a lot of reasons. And I have to bring it with me.
There’s only one solution.
I lift my skirt, pull down my panties, and push the Core of the Sun into my vagina, tip first. It slides smoothly inside me, much easier than a cotton tampon ever did. The stem is left slightly protruding, just enough that I can pull it out again, like the string on a tampon. Perfect.
I quickly prepare a fix from the flake. I’m about to pour the rest of it into the toilet when my hand stops. What if I need a bumper dose before I get on the plane?
I put the bag back in my bra. It feels like a completely sensible decision. I’ll visit the restroom at the airport before check-in, take one more dose, and only then destroy the rest.
I step out into the sunshine. There’s a pleasant burn in my mouth, a light sweat breaking out on my temples. I feel alert and free.
Just the right mood to say my final good-byes to my sister.
I guess I should have brought some wildflowers from Neulapää so the visit would look even more natural. But I would have had to explain them to Jare. I could have bought s
ome cut flowers from the kiosk, of course, but Jare has all the money—all I have in my purse are a few coins.
But the flowers aren’t important. The main thing is to ritually cut the umbilical cord that still ties me to Finland.
The main thing is to remember Manna.
I go to borrow a little trowel from the caretaker’s booth. I crouch at the grave and start to dig. I’ve brought a few perennials to the grave since moving back to Neulapää because I wasn’t able to come here as often as I would have liked. The geraniums and lobelia seem to be doing well, but I need to pull up the chickweed and dandelion sprouts.
I turn the soil and toss the weeds into a little pile, but in the process I’m secretly digging a small hole. I slip a flat metal cookie tin out of the zipper pocket in the shopping bag and put it in the hole. Manna loved the picture of a kitten on the lid. Inside are my letters to her and a collection of other papers and clippings, even some pages torn from books—what does it matter now, since I’m leaving and can’t take my books with me? I’ve wrapped the box tightly in plastic, too, for good measure.
I cover Manna’s history with dirt and pat the earth firmly over it.
I’m cutting the thread of my own history.
I stand up and look at the gravestone.
Manna Nissilä
(née Neulapää)
2001–2016
And, as if the mere sight of Manna’s legal name could create an uncannily realistic illusion, a figure steps out of the shadows.
Harri Nissilä.
He steps right in front of me. He has a gun in his hand and it’s pointed at me. The barrel is almost touching my stomach.
From a distance it must look as though a masco is talking with an eloi and the conversation has turned intimate.
“Predictable. Just like an eloi.” Nissilä laughs, and his amusement chills me. “It’s not hard to guess where to find you on your sister’s birthday. I took a chance that you’d come without your darling snitch of a husband .”
He jerks his head toward the men’s room, which is just a few dozen meters away. “If you yell or try to call for help in any way or try to escape, I won’t hesitate to shoot you. I already have a killer’s papers—one more body won’t make much difference.”
The Core of the Sun Page 21
