by Philip Teir
She glanced at her watch. It was eight thirty, which meant that it was late enough to retreat to their cabin and bring the evening to a close.
One by one the dancers broke out of the circle, but before anyone had a chance to get up to leave, even before the music had faded, a female staff member came on stage to say that the evening’s programme would end with Moomin Disco with the entire Moomin family.
‘Shall we go?’ said Helen, and Christian nodded, but both of the kids protested.
‘Just a little longer. Please?’ said Lukas, his eyes shining with anticipation. Amanda didn’t show the same enthusiasm as she sucked on the straw of her drink, but a sudden whim of bigsister solidarity made her add that she also wanted to stay.
‘I can dance with Lukas. You can stay here,’ she said, as if she were the third adult in the party.
The music had already started. Lukas seemed to be considering whether to go out on the dance floor, his whole body conveying contradictory feelings. Something in his brain seemed to say that the whole thing was a bad idea, that he’d be forced to do something that was potentially humiliating. At the same time, it might be fun, even character-building. Finally, he allowed Amanda to pull him out of his chair, and suddenly they were on the dance floor, waiting for instructions along with the other children as a shaggy and rather ungainly Moomin family appeared on stage.
The dance was led by a girl dressed up as Little My. Next to her stood Moominpappa, Moominmamma and Moomintroll. It was impossible to know whether they were men or women as they were all wearing white suits that were probably terribly hot and sweaty. As far as Helen could tell, the Moomin characters could see only through a black, net-like swathe near the snout, which meant that their field of vision had to be extremely limited.
The music started.
The Moomins bobbed and danced in time to a techno children’s song with a fast 4/4-rhythm and a melody based on highpitched voices repeating the Finnish words ‘MUUMIHUMPPA SOI NYT KUULET MITEN MUUMIHUMPPA SOI’.
Helen and Christian stayed in their seats, their eyes on the dance floor. Helen watched to see how Lukas was coping. His eyes big, he was doing his best to imitate Moominpappa, who stuck one foot forward, then back. Amanda did the same, but with more confidence. She was a head taller than the other kids, and it was obvious that she was sticking close to Lukas so she could use the big-sister excuse if the whole thing got too embarrassing. Her body language clearly signalled that she was doing this only for the sake of her little brother, and for no other reason.
Little My stood back from the others, clapping her hands overhead. Now Moominpappa and Moominmamma were wagging their tails, and the children copied their movements as the song faded out.
Helen hoped that now they could all go back to the cabin, brush their teeth and climb into bed. She was tired, and she was looking forward to taking off these sticky clothes. But the programme director wasn’t yet ready to let them escape. In a gushing voice she shouted: ‘NOW IT’S THE PARENTS’ TURN! LET’S HAVE ALL THE PARENTS UP ON STAGE!’ Christian and Helen exchanged startled glances.
With flushed cheeks, Amanda came dashing over to their table and sat down to finish her drink.
Lukas was left alone on the dance floor. In confusion he looked for Amanda. Now that all the parents had been summoned, Helen watched one after the other step forward – Finnish mothers, their hair cropped short, wearing practical clothing; Swedish fathers, moving slowly after indulging in the Silja Symphony’s generous New Year’s buffet.
Helen realised that she had no choice but to join Lukas and dance.
I love my family, she thought. I love them so much.
Helen danced the Moominhumppa. She was willing to endure whatever humiliation was needed; that was what was required, after all, when signing the contract to become a parent.
Lukas watched her with awe as she came to the dance floor, as if she wasn’t his mother but some stranger who had taken his mother’s form. He nodded to her, as if confiding a secret.
The music started.
It was the same techno music as the last tune, but this time the choreography was apparently a free-for-all. The Moomins danced around the children, their movements totally uncoordinated, as the intensity of the music rose and the lights flashed even faster. Lukas clung to Helen’s hand as Moominpappa – who apparently was having trouble with his motor functions – came staggering over to them, holding on to his tail. Helen clumsily flailed her arms about as she tried to smile, but it was a strained smile. The only thought in her mind was that she hoped the music would stop very soon.
Moominpappa was now turning pirouettes, which made him lose his balance. First he slid a few steps towards the right edge of the dance floor, so that some of the kids had to move out of the way. Then, as if the ship were moving through rough waters, he slid to the left until he came to an abrupt halt and fell to the floor, right on his snout. The music kept on thudding from the loudspeakers, and at first it seemed that Moominpappa couldn’t get back on his feet. His snout had been knocked sideways so it looked as if it had twisted ninety degrees. It was a grotesque sight, like an animal that had been struck by a car. But finally he managed to get up, using one arm to push off from the floor.
Helen could see he was having trouble because the snout was so heavy and pulled his whole body off balance. When he was back on his feet again, he managed a few wobbly steps before Little My turned up and took him by the arm. But he shook off her hand and didn’t seem to want any help, like a drunk who thinks he can make it home on his own even though everybody can see that he can barely stay on his feet. The other Moomins had now stopped dancing, but they were still on the dance floor, watching the commotion.
‘Mum, what’s wrong with Moominpappa?’ Lukas shouted over the music.
Now the programme director appeared. She grabbed hold of Moominpappa’s arm and gave it a good yank.
Only then did Helen look around and notice that all the other children and parents had stopped dancing to watch what was happening.
‘I think it’s time for bed,’ said Helen. Then she and Lukas headed back to the table where Christian and Amanda were sitting.
She glanced over her shoulder to see the programme director dragging Moominpappa towards a room to the right of the stage. Moominpappa pulled off his top hat and head to reveal a little, balding head underneath. She could see that it was a man in his fifties who was so sweaty that his sparse strands of hair were plastered to his skull. But that was as much as she saw because then the programme director pulled shut the curtains to the room.
sixteen
DURING THE SPRING HELEN DECIDED to assign Väinö Linna’s classic novel The Unknown Soldier to her secondyear class in secondary school.
‘The book is about the Continuation War – commonly known as the Winter War – that was fought between Finland and the Soviet Union from 1941–44,’ she explained as she stood in front of the class. ‘As the story opens, the Winter War has just ended. Now what was it Linna wrote? That the Winter War was “the best of all wars so far, because both sides ended up as victors”.’
The pupils fidgeted in their seats. Nobody said a word.
‘Your homework was to read the first chapter, so you must have something to say. How does the author present his characters? Let’s hear your thoughts. What is their attitude towards the war?’
‘I just don’t get it,’ said Mårten, who was one of the biggest boys in the class. He was so buff that he seemed to have a hard time sitting at his desk. Every movement seemed stiff and slow, and he had to use his whole body because his arms were so bulked up.
‘What is it you don’t get?’
‘I don’t know,’ he said, and some of the others murmured agreement.
‘When do we have to finish reading this chapter?’ asked Alex, a short boy who was one of the worst pupils in the class.
‘I was thinking we should keep reading until the hour is over. How does that sound? I want you to write up a three-page
paper about what you’ve read so far. I won’t grade your work, but we can use it to start our discussion. I’ll give you a few questions to use as a basis for your report.’
Several pupils sighed loudly.
‘Okay then. Let’s see how it goes. But you need to start now. We have twenty minutes left, so you should be able to write at least a page.’
After class, certain pupils complained that the book was hard to read because of the old-fashioned writing style. Helen had given them a textbook version translated from Finnish into Swedish by Nils-Börje Stormbom. The only part of the novel that was slightly outmoded was the dialogue, written in dialect, but even those sections couldn’t honestly be described as ‘hard to read’.
On the other hand, she wasn’t really surprised by their reaction. Last autumn she’d asked her pupils to write a term paper on the subject ‘Why do boys read far fewer books than girls do?’ She didn’t actually care for the topic, since the wording clearly steered the response so that the boys would have to defend themselves. But she’d taken the topic from a previous exam, and the point was for the pupils to use this paper to prepare for exams in their final year before graduation.
She hadn’t known whether to laugh or cry when she read the papers.
One of them, written by a boy of perfectly normal intelligence, had begun like this:
‘Ever since ancient times, women have read more than men. This is because men had to go out and hunt while the women had more time for reading.’
In her mind Helen directed a few harsh words at the parents who had raised these poor boys. Hadn’t anyone ever told them what century they were living in? This was not the first time that Helen noticed how the home environment of her pupils was reflected in the papers they wrote. These days she avoided nearly all topics that dealt with integration and immigration; she found them just too depressing.
When she went to the teachers’ room after class, she found Michael, the new history teacher, reviewing applications for the so-called ‘Holocaust trip’, which a group of pupils from the school made each year. Those who were interested in participating had to write a half-page essay to explain why they wanted to go. Only ten pupils would be accepted.
‘Listen to this,’ said Michael. He held up one of the applications and read aloud:
‘I’ve always been interested in history and I think it would be really fun to go to Auschwitz.’
Helen laughed. ‘Did you get a lot of applications?’
‘About twenty. Mostly from girls.’
Helen knew that the great interest displayed by the school’s female pupils was primarily because they all wanted to go on a field trip with the sexy history teacher. The fact that they’d have the opportunity to meet a guide who had survived a concentration camp was of lesser importance.
The school was housed in a large building constructed in the seventies when the municipality had expanded northward and also funded a new swimming hall, cinema and public library. During the autumn, the sun shone brightly through the big seventies-era windows in the back of Helen’s classroom, but now that it was winter, the windows were transformed into blank, gaping mirrors.
All the classrooms and communal spaces were on one level, except for the outdated computer room, which had been set up in the basement. Next to it was the so-called lounge, conceived as a place where the teachers could take a much-needed cat nap. Helen couldn’t understand how anyone thought they’d ever have time for that. She rarely had time even to sit down and read a newspaper, much less rest. Besides, the room was filled with stuff used for the school’s annual bazaar: tennis balls, lottery tickets, wreaths, plastic flowers and a huge cardboard shape into which the pupils were supposed to toss the tennis balls.
By the time Helen picked up Amanda and Lukas from school, it was usually close to six o’clock. Today was no exception.
‘Mum, when are we going to get Blixten and Skorpan?’ asked Amanda from the back seat of the car.
The kids had each been given a hamster when the house renovation was finished and they could move in. But just as Helen had predicted, she and Christian were the only ones who gave a thought to the hamsters when it came to feeding them and cleaning the cages. The latter chore took nearly an hour, and it was a thankless job, a Sisyphus-type task for the parents of young children. Katriina and Max had been taking care of the hamsters while the family was on holiday.
‘I don’t know. Soon. Maybe this weekend.’
‘Can they live in my room?’ asked Amanda.
‘Will you be able to sleep if they do? You know how much noise they make at night.’
‘But I go to sleep before they wake up.’
‘Okay then. We can try it.’
‘I want to have the hamsters!’ Lukas shouted. Until now he’d hardly paid them any attention at all.
‘We need to talk to your father about this when he gets home tonight. And besides, Grandma and Grandpa are taking care of the hamsters right now. Remember?’
Just as Helen finished getting everything out of the car, her mobile rang. It was Katriina. Helen went into the kitchen and set her phone on the table with the speaker turned on so she could talk while she got dinner ready.
‘Hi, I just thought I’d give you a ring to find out how things are going. How are my little darlings?’ said Katriina.
‘Everything’s fine. How are the hamsters?’
‘I’m not sure. I haven’t really paid too much attention to them. They sleep most of the time.’
‘Has the dog left them alone?’
‘He was a bit curious at first, but now he’s not interested in them at all.’
Christian and Helen had discussed whether they should leave the hamsters with Katriina and Max. They had the feeling that Helen’s parents were too preoccupied with other things and might forget to feed them. Helen honestly didn’t know how her parents managed to do so much, since she was having such a hard time handling all the demands of her own life. Whenever she phoned her mother, Katriina was always on her way to a meeting with some women’s organisation or about to embark on a long trip, like now. Katriina explained that she was going to the Philippines.
‘That sounds exciting,’ said Helen.
‘We’ll see. You know how it is working with Asians.’
Helen had no idea what she meant by that.
‘You know, everything seems great in the beginning, and people make all sorts of promises and smile a lot, but later on, when it comes right down to it, nothing happens.’
‘Huh,’ said Helen as she started chopping onions.
They had a big, white-painted kitchen. Christian had renovated the old house, doing all the labour himself except for the electrical and plumbing work.
Amanda was out in the garden. Lukas was in his room playing his favourite computer game – an online program called Moviestarz, which involved dressing digital paper dolls. Helen had seen the program labelled ‘the world’s biggest play community for GIRLS’. Amanda had noticed at once that her little brother was fascinated with a girls’ game, and she made a point of teasing Lukas about this. His face took on an uncertain expression until Helen had countered by saying that there was no such thing as a girls’ game or a boys’ game.
For the past two weeks Lukas had been begging Helen to pay four euros so he could get a special membership in the game, which would mean more dolls to dress, including some boy dolls, along with so-called ‘star coins’ that could be used to decorate the doll’s house. Christian, who had been following this whole negotiation from the sidelines, was vehemently against buying the membership. He viewed it as a waste of money, and he was also convinced that the program might infect their computer with a virus. His response prompted Helen to react as she always did: she bought Lukas a membership for ten euros. She also tracked down an email address for the game company and wrote a long email in which she criticised the game’s gender bias.
Katriina was still on the phone.
‘Mum, I have to go. I’m making dinn
er. Have a nice trip.’
‘It’s going to be so stressful.’
‘Okay, well, give me a ring when you get back.’
‘Kiss Amanda and Lukas for me.’
‘I will. Bye!’
‘Helen?’
‘Yes?’
‘Have you heard anything from Eva?’
‘No, afraid not, Mum.’
‘Okay. Bye.’
Helen went into Lukas’s room. He was sitting at the computer, choosing clothing for a virtual paper doll. Helen stood watching him for a moment as he selected one garment after another, giving all his attention to the game.
He was tall for his age, and he had the same dark hair as both of his parents. He was clicking his way through the game as if he’d never done anything else – the malleable parts of his brain had apparently already adapted to life in front of a computer monitor.
‘Mum, what does this mean?’
Helen read what he was pointing at.
‘Star-mingle. Get to know your new friends!’
‘Looks like a page where you can chat with other people. But you need to know how to write.’
‘Oh,’ said Lukas, who hadn’t yet found the patience to learn his ABC’s.
‘It’s almost time for dinner. Could you turn that off, please?’
‘Can I play a little longer?’
‘Okay. Ten minutes. Then you need to come to the table.’
Amanda was still outside in the garden. She was clearly the type of child who had the necessary imagination and selfesteem it would take to live in the middle of nowhere. Helen heard Christian’s car pull into the driveway. Then she heard him talking to Amanda, and the two of them came into the front hall.
After dinner, Helen was sitting on the sofa in the living room, correcting more term papers. She hated the sofa, but she’d been forced to live with this piece of furniture because it was a present from Christian’s parents. It was a family heirloom covered in worn brown leather and originally purchased by Christian’s maternal grandmother. When she died, it was passed down to his parents. Helen suspected that she and Christian had inherited the sofa because her parents-in-law couldn’t stand it either.