House of Orphans

by Helen Dunmore

  She counted them. She would take her wages, she decided. Only that. He’d given her money for clothes, money for what she needed, but he still owed her…

  Why shouldn’t she take more, for the months she’d worked for him? Good wages, hers were called, but they were nothing compared to this roll of notes. Nothing compared to what he had, and didn’t even care about. He left it lying. Yes, he owed her all this. All of it, Eeva thought, taking the banknotes and shuffling them together as she counted them. Probably he didn’t even know how much there was. Here was enough to pay the rent on their Helsinki apartment for a year. They’d gone without, to pay that rent. Maybe the landlord shoved the rent that they’d sweated for into envelopes like this, as if it meant nothing.

  This money would have bought medicine for Dad. It would have bought a doctor to come every day. If she’d had this in her hands they’d never have dared take her to the House of Orphans. Destitute, they’d said she was. Destitute and in moral danger, living in the apartment of a political suspect, sharing the bed with Lauri whom she’d known all her life, who was like her brother.

  She spread the notes out like a hand of cards. She would take this one, and this, and this.

  I am a thief, Eeva thought.

  I’m only taking what’s due to me. I’m taking what’s been taken from me.

  But she would never put this money in with the money Lauri sent to her. He was bound to ask her about it. ‘That money I sent you, Eeva, was it enough?’

  That money of Lauri’s was real money. An overcoat, a pair of boots. He would go without, because he’d given it to her. And she’d repay him every penny, but not with the doctor’s money. It would be with proper money she’d earned and had a right to. And she wouldn’t mix this money, a rich man’s careless money, with what Lauri had given up for her.

  Lauri. She seemed to feel him beside her, as he’d slept so many times. He had his own smell, like everyone. One night after they’d been swimming they licked each other’s arms, to taste the salt on their skins. And then Lauri licked her stomach, and a most extraordinary feeling swelled inside her, like butterflies stretching their wings and trying to get out.

  They were both bony little kids.

  ‘You jabbed your elbow right into my ribs!’

  ‘No, it was you, your knees are like razor blades.’

  But more often they tumbled together in the centre of the bed. It was warm with Lauri there, and safe. The voices of the grownups sank away into a drone that didn’t matter. Lauri would raise his eyebrows exactly like an adult: ‘What are they on about now?’ he’d whisper, and she’d giggle without making any noise. Or if there were visitors, important comrades from Petersburg or even from Berlin, Eeva would imitate the way their noses twitched as they pushed up their glasses, or the way they put four lumps of sugar into their coffee while pretending not to notice what they were doing. She would wrinkle up her face to look serious and important, while all the time her fingers were ‘absent-mindedly’ searching out the sugar. Plop, plop, plop, plop went the imaginary lumps, one by one into her imaginary cup. Lauri would be exploding with laughter, stuffing his face into the coat that covered them.

  My God, she thought, I might see him tomorrow. It didn’t seem possible. He was locked away in her mind, like a treasure she kept hidden.

  Of course he’d have changed. He wouldn’t be the Lauri she knew. People are different when they grow up.

  Don’t think of that now.

  If she took the doctor’s money, she’d still be tied to him. His money would come along with her. And he could send the police after her, and have her locked away. He could send a telegram to Helsinki, to tell the police there to look out for her. Her name might be enough for them. Eeva Koskinen? Don’t we have a file on someone of that name?

  Eeva put the banknotes back into the envelope, making sure that the money lapped out of the envelope just as sloppily as it had done before. She put the envelope into the drawer, slid it shut, and then she picked up her bundle and slung it over her shoulder. There was nothing in there which didn’t belong to her. Her clothes, her three books. She had her food, and a bottle of buttermilk sealed with waxed paper. On her feet there were the new boots the doctor had given her. She’d never had boots like it: they fitted as if she’d had her foot measured for them. The leather was strong, and the soles thick. They didn’t let in water. She certainly wasn’t going to leave the boots behind.

  And now it was time to go. She looked out of the window. He was always staring out of the window, as if there was something wonderful to be seen in the distance. But no, there were only trees. Trees as far as she could see, marching away to the horizon. Too many trees, they made her heart sink, they sapped her courage…

  ‘Eeva,’ said his voice from the doorway.

  Fire ran up her body. She thought in a few seconds of a thousand things. He would get her taken away, put into prison, sent back to the orphanage. He’d seen her holding his money, and now he’d say that Lauri’s money was his, and she had stolen it: He would seize her and not let her go. They’d all come – Mrs Eriksson, Anna-Liisa, his daughter…

  Slowly, she drew in her breath. Slowly, she turned to face him.

  ‘Eeva, where are you going?’

  ‘You know where I’m going,’ she answered.

  ‘I don’t know anything,’ he said.

  ‘I’m going away.’

  ‘Away from me?’

  As if her journey had anything to do with him. As if she wasn’t living her own life.

  ‘Just away,’ she said. ‘I can’t stay here any more. I can’t –’ She heard her own voice squeak with misery, like a child’s.

  ‘If you’ll only tell me, Eeva, how I can make it better. I know it’s hard for you. I know how quiet it is here, and you haven’t any friends, and I’m so much older –’

  ‘It’s not that,’ she said. She braced herself. She was not a child, and he wasn’t going to talk to her as if she was. Would his eyes follow her like that, day after day, if she was a child? No, she had her own power. She felt it flow into her fingers, and lifted her head.

  It was still neither day nor night. It was a time that didn’t belong anywhere. She could say what she wanted.

  ‘I’m going home,’ she said.

  ‘You mean Helsingfors – Helsinki?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘But Eeva, my dear girl –’

  He was shocked, she saw it, but already he was gathering himself, recovering. ‘But what will you do there? You haven’t any family. You haven’t a job to go to, or anywhere to live.’

  He said these things as if they were facts that couldn’t change. She was homeless; she had no money or family. He had thrust the letter, and Eeva’s radiance, out of his mind. He was not going to make them real between him and Eeva.

  ‘I have a place to live,’ she said quietly.

  He stood there in his dressing gown. He felt old and crumpled beside her, lined with sleep. The stale air of sleep clung round him. He was afraid that she could smell him. He mustn’t think of that, he must make an effort, make her see how things really were…

  ‘So you were going to walk out of the house before I woke, and disappear,’ he said. ‘Was I even to have a letter?’

  She shook her head. It was true. She hadn’t even thought of it. She looked at him, pale and old with stubble pushing through his skin. His mouth was stiff with pain. She saw his Adam’s apple move. He was swallowing something. He put his palms on the desktop, and leaned forward on them, heavily, with his head bowed. There was grey in his hair, and it was thinning, just there. She could see the colour of his scalp. She waited.

  ‘I will give you money, Eeva,’ he said at last. ‘You can’t go off like this, alone and with nothing.’

  ‘You’ll give me money?’

  ‘I owe you your wages, at least. But you’ll need more than that.’

  ‘I don’t want you to give me money.’

  ‘What does it matter, Eeva!’ he said
impatiently, lifting his head. ‘Money’s not so very important. Take it.’

  ‘You only think it’s not important because you’ve always had it,’ she said slowly. ‘Because always having it has made you what you are.’

  He flushed angrily. ‘If money was important to me, I wouldn’t do what I do. Why do you think I’m a doctor, and not a banker?’

  ‘You don’t understand. You’ve never known anything different, how can you? The life you have – this house – what you are – all of it – you’ve always had it and you’re safe, you know you’re safe.’

  ‘You think I’m safe?’

  She nodded, like a doctor confirming a diagnosis that the patient resists. ‘Of course.’

  They were silent. Light was spilling over her feet, onto the new boots. He was seized with a longing to lie down on the cool waxed floor. He would lay his head by her boots. He would ease her slender foot out of the leather and lay his cheek against it. Her fine bones, the articulation of them, the arch of her foot there, the planting of her toes on the floor. He would rest his cheek in the hollow of her foot.

  He met her eyes. They were narrow, watching him carefully. She seemed to have light inside her eyes today, not colour. Was she afraid of him? No. Watchful, maybe, wary. But how could she not know that he would let her put her foot on his neck if only she’d stay and he could still watch her move around his house?

  Suddenly she gave him an odd, nervous little smile. He must be calm. He was frightening her. He picked up a paperknife from the desktop, and drew it out of its leather sheath. A funny little paperknife, crude and gilded. Minna had bought it for him when she was six years old. How proud she’d been, how she’d watched him to make sure that he used it every time a letter came. He used it still.

  ‘I chose this room for my study because it faces east and gets the morning light,’ he said suddenly. ‘When I don’t sleep, I come in here and work.’

  ‘East? Helsinki’s east.’

  ‘South east,’ he corrected. ‘No. East south east, probably.’

  Her smile became more real. ‘Anyone would know you’re a doctor.’

  ‘Why?’

  Her fingers flickered a mime of things being put exactly in their place.

  ‘You’re so… careful.’

  ‘You have to be careful, when you’re responsible for patients. You can’t play about with people’s lives.’

  ‘Do you think you’re responsible for me?’

  ‘I am responsible. You are living in my house. You’re working for me.’

  ‘But you’re trying,’ she said awkwardly, feeling her way into the words, ‘you’re trying to do what you said. To play with my life. You know it’s not only as you say. Me living in your house, and working for you. You know there’s more.’

  ‘But Eeva –’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You don’t understand. I’m not the man you think. What I feel for you –’

  He was pressing forward, eager, his eyes bright.

  ‘Don’t tell me. I don’t want you to tell me.’

  ‘She’s said something to you, hasn’t she? My daughter.’

  ‘No.’ Eeva folded her arms.

  ‘Eeva, that’s not true.’

  ‘Who are you,’ she asked, ‘to tell me what’s true, and what’s not true?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said. His hands, which had stretched towards her, fell to his sides. He hadn’t meant to say that. He did know what was true. He was himself, Thomas, Dr Eklund. Hundreds of people would testify for him. But this girl was digging pits under his feet. He was falling and he wanted to fall. He felt a moment of terrible pity for himself. He looked down and saw Thomas Eklund at his feet, lying in the gutter. Poor idiot, poor booby. You love her, do you? Well, look at yourself, this is where it gets you. You should have stopped before it was too late. You’ve not so much as touched her, and she’s done for you. Finished you off.

  ‘I won’t stop you,’ he said at last. ‘If you want to go, go. But wait while I dress. You could have the carriage – Matti will be here soon, he can harness the horses –’

  ‘The carriage!’ She looked at him. ‘I don’t want the whole world to know.’

  ‘Then I’ll saddle up the mare and take you part-way at least.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I can walk. I know the way across country.’

  The childish way she pushed out her bottom lip made him grow stronger.

  ‘Eeva, my dear child, you no more know it than a baby knows how to light a fire. This isn’t Helsinki, with a shop on every corner to ask the way if you get lost. You’ve got to go through the forest at Heimola, you’ll need to get across the lake, and there’s only one boatman and he’s usually drunk –’

  ‘You mean the Black Lake?’

  He laughed, surprised. ‘Yes, that’s what they call it round here. Who told you?’

  ‘I don’t remember.’

  ‘Eeva, please. Don’t you understand that the reason I want to take you is that otherwise I’ll never know whether or not you arrived safely? And how can I –’

  He broke off. He’d been on the point of telling her that he wouldn’t be able to bear not knowing if she was lost or found, not knowing if the bog had swallowed her or the lake’s water had closed over her head. She might hurt herself – fall – twist her ankle and crawl for hours without finding help…

  She shrugged. Her shoulders were still thin. How fluid she was when she moved. So fluid that she was awkward sometimes, in the beautiful way a very young creature can be awkward. She shrugged, but this time it was different. She might look sullen but he knew she wasn’t refusing him. She would let him. She would let him come with her.

  ‘Wait,’ he said joyfully, as if she might fly through the window. Are you sure you’ll be warm enough? Yes, of course, it’s summer –’ thank God, he’d made sure she had those boots – ‘and you’ll need to eat before you go – I don’t suppose you’ve eaten yet?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘We should have coffee before we go,’ he said. ‘Wait. I’ll make coffee for us. And rolls. What about some of those little rolls? You must eat.’

  He talked as if the rolls dropped down from heaven, Eeva thought. Didn’t he know she made them fresh every morning?

  ‘There aren’t any rolls,’ she said.

  ‘Well, never mind, we can eat black bread. I’ve always preferred it anyway. Black bread with sour cream. You like that, don’t you?’

  She almost laughed with surprise. You like that, don’t you? – just as if she was one of the family.

  ‘I’ll make the coffee,’ she said. ‘But don’t get the horse. I can’t ride a horse. I don’t know how.’

  Of course not, he should have thought of that. How on earth would she know how to ride? But they could get round that. He could put her up in front of him. No, it was too far. The mare couldn’t take their combined weight for long. As long as Eeva could sit on the mare, he’d walk alongside, holding the bridle, making sure she didn’t fall – but perhaps the long ride would be too much for her even so, if she’d never ridden before…

  ‘We can walk,’ she said.

  ‘Yes.’ He could not stop himself smiling. It was all so simple. He felt as if a cool breeze had blown, at the end of an exhausted evening. To walk out with Eeva into the morning, to walk with Eeva and a knapsack and the whole summer day ahead of them – and when that day finished, another day, and a day again…

  …to walk out of his life entirely.

  ‘Yes,’ he repeated. It was stupid, surely, to feel as happy as this. ‘We can walk.’

  20

  I’ll tramp the roads as far as I wish,

  I will love the one I choose.

  She couldn’t get Matti’s song out of her head. It was hot, so hot. Her feet hurt, in spite of the good boots. Flies buzzed around her head. She’d broken off a switch of fern but the more she fanned the flies away, the more they swarmed. Under her kerchief her hair was damp with
sweat.

  There wasn’t a breath of air. The trees had trapped it and made it thick with heat. Those trees, everywhere. She couldn’t see, she couldn’t get beyond them. They marched for ever. He was walking at her side but they weren’t talking any more. The track was narrow and overgrown. Brambles caught at her ankles. Birds flew away with screams of warning, and sometimes she heard the crash of a bigger animal moving off through the trees. A deer, maybe, or a fox. There were wolves in the forest, she knew that. Bears too, and elk. But they wouldn’t hurt you, not in summer with their bellies full.

  And now the trees were growing bigger. Huge pines, dwarfing her and pressing down on her.

  She was tired, so tired.

  They were close to the bogland. He could smell it: a touch of rankness, sweetish but mineral, too. When they came closer there would be the smell of water peppermint. And there’d be mosquitoes. Lucky he’d put a bottle of citronella oil in his knapsack.

  He breathed deeply, drawing the smells of the forest deep inside him. Pine resin, and a tang of fermentation. He could smell his own sweat, fresh and sharp. How good it was to be here in the depth of the forest, part of its shaded, living quiet. He trod lightly over the pine needles. And there, just ahead, the sun was coming through. They’d been logging here. The ground was littered with stumps which were already half buried in the undergrowth that sprang up as soon as light touched the forest floor. Two young birches flourished, so close that their branches were tangled. And there was water near by – yes, just over here, where the moss was bright green and there was a thicket of wild raspberry canes.

  ‘Listen!’ he said. They stopped. Yes, there it was, the soft bubbling of water. He followed the sound to a spring that oozed out of the ground into a basin of stone. Flat stones, fitted together carefully so the water would pool before it leaked away. The loggers must have done that. He dipped his cupped hands into the little basin, scooped up water, and drank. It had a pure, cold, mineral taste. As soon as he swallowed, he knew how thirsty he was.

  ‘We’ll rest here,’ he said, but when he turned from the water he saw that Eeva had already sunk onto a cushion of moss at the foot of the birches. How pale she was. Her legs were stuck straight out in front of her and her eyes were closed. He took his empty metal water bottle from his knapsack and took out the cork. Carefully, so as not to muddy the pool, he lowered it into the water, and filled it.