Holy Ceremony

by Harri Nykanen

  I remembered what Laurén had said about a little rat.

  “What did Headmaster Kivalo do? Did he know what was going on?”

  “Definitely. A few boys wrote him an anonymous letter. But he didn’t do anything. He was a mouse of a man, was afraid a scandal would bring down Daybreak, and him with it. He knew a similar incident had come out at the US church in the past. That had been swept under the rug, too, so there wouldn’t have been any help coming from America, just the opposite. That meant Reka and a few of the other boys had to pay the price for Särkijärvi’s shenanigans. Reka wasn’t able to talk about it with anyone, not even me, and in the end he tried to kill himself. That failed, too. He was sent home on sick leave for a couple of months, but he came back. So I’m not too surprised that he developed psychological problems later.” Halme looked at his watch, but I pretended not to take the hint.

  “The students had a fraternity called the Sacred Vault. Did you belong to it?”

  Halme chuckled. “Yes. Where did you hear about that? It’s still a big secret. Anyone who talked about it was supposed to have his tongue cut out and be banished for thirty years.”

  “What was its aim? Every organization has a mission.”

  “Yeah, we did, too, and it wasn’t exactly modest. Our goal was to go into different fields and gradually take over the Finnish Lutheran Church and rebuild it from the ground up. I planned on studying theology myself. Let me tell you, the world lost a real preacher in me. We were walking in the footsteps of Martin Luther and as serious as only kids that age can be. The Vault had been founded before we arrived at Daybreak, but the mission hadn’t changed. On the side, we planned Särkijärvi’s murder and getting rid of his body in the furnace. We didn’t do that either, unfortunately.”

  “Who planned it?”

  “At least me, Reka, Jukka Majavuori, Moisio, and Jokela. It was Jokela’s idea. He promised to throw Särkijärvi into the furnace himself if need be. It never went beyond talk.”

  “What were Jokela’s and Moisio’s first names?”

  “Tuomo – we called him Tonto – and Heikki.”

  “Weren’t all three of them equally guilty, Särkijärvi, Anteroinen, and Kivalo?”

  “Not just three. We were all guilty, I mean all of us who knew but didn’t have the courage to do anything about it. It took me a long time before I could look myself in the face. We were as guilty as villagers living near a concentration camp who smelled the reek of burning bodies but convinced themselves that the smoke was nothing more than burning garbage.”

  “Someone had the courage to kill Anteroinen, though.”

  “I read about that in the paper. The case was never solved, right? It’s not nice to say, but it served the creep right… That’s not why you’re looking for Reka, is it? A guy like that is going to have plenty of enemies, so that’s pretty far-fetched. I heard Anteroinen was hanging out with unsavory elements.”

  I continued without commenting. “Someone also killed Headmaster Kivalo.”

  “That was a robbery in Spain. You can rest assured the Sacred Vault didn’t have anything to do with those murders. We were kids looking for meaning for their lives, a little mysticism and excitement. We weren’t any worse than Boy Scouts. We didn’t murder anyone then, and even less now.”

  “But you planned it.”

  “At that age, you come up with all sorts of things. None of us were serious. It was make-believe. Moisio came up with the idea of luring Särkijärvi into the boiler room and shoving him into the furnace. It could take three-foot logs. Evil would have gotten its reward.”

  “Pretty brutal plans.”

  Halme didn’t seem to hear. He was still lost in his memories. “I can still remember the smell of that boiler room: smoke, drying wood, oil, grime. The boiler made this clicking sound, the gauges clinked, and the air was thrumming. Smelling that smell still makes me want to puke.”

  “What is Särkijärvi doing now?”

  “When the whispers and rumors started spreading, he was awarded a scholarship and sent back to the States to continue his studies. Church policy; they wanted to cover up any tracks. At some point, Särkijärvi came back to Finland and got a doctorate in theology. Last I heard, he was in Brussels on some special EU assignment. He probably still is. No one has murdered him. The statute of limitations on his crimes passed years ago… it would still make for a good news story if—”

  “If what?”

  “There’s a recording that proves what Särkijärvi was up to… Moisio hid a tape recorder in the boiler room and set it up so Reka would turn it on the next time Särkijärvi brought him down there. It worked, but Moisio held on to the tape.”

  “Why?”

  “Maybe he started being afraid they’d figure out whose tape recorder and idea it had been. I was there when he listened to the tape. It turned out surprisingly well. Every word is crystal clear. It was damned creepy. Well, Moisio is long gone, and I’m guessing the tape is, too.”

  “Laurén belonged to the Sacred Vault, too, didn’t he?” Simolin asked.

  “Of course. There were about twenty members. New members joined and the old ones moved on once they graduated.”

  “I’d like all of their names,” I said.

  “It’s been almost thirty years. I can’t remember all of them.”

  “As many as you can remember.”

  “I’ve got to get to this staff training, so I suggest I take my time thinking at home tonight, make a couple of phone calls, and get the names to you tomorrow. I have a class photo somewhere, too. It might help me remember. Does that work?”

  I said it did. Halme was already standing up when I asked one final question: “Who were the Great Guardian of Souls, the Guardian of the Great Seal, and the Adorner of the Sacred Vault?”

  “Tonto, I mean Jokela, Jukka Majavuori, and Reka, in that order.”

  “Where can I find Jokela and Majavuori?”

  Halme pointed upwards. It took a moment for the gesture to register.

  “Majavuori’s dead. Shot himself. Was a successful surgeon. You can pin that one on Särkijärvi, too. Majavuori was one of his victims who could never completely free himself from his past. He wasn’t the only one. Two other former Vaulters killed themselves, too, a couple have become junkies, a few are drunks. Some have psychological problems. Others are successful and at the pinnacle of society, judges, lawyers, politicians, doctors, scientists, captains of industry. They’re not interested in rebuilding the Finnish Lutheran Church, though.”

  “I’m guessing you aren’t either,” I said.

  “No, I have to say I’m not. I’d rather rebuild the business world, if that. It’s even more stuck in its ways than the Church.”

  “Not even Johan Kaltio, who was named bishop a year ago? He also belonged to the Vault, didn’t he?”

  “Oh, yeah, that’s right. Reka expected a lot from him and was badly disappointed. His brand of rebuilding was supporting the sort of change favored by progressives.” Halme gave the word progressives another meaning by putting it in air quotes.

  “So Reka feels God shouldn’t adapt to meet man’s preferences, but that man should adapt to those eternal forms God has laid out for him.”

  Halme gave me a quizzical look. “Would Judaism have survived if the old religious and cultural traditions were always done away with just because the new generation wasn’t feeling them? Move the Sabbath to Tuesday and shorten it to two hours, toss out kosher guidelines because they get in the way of living a normal life and offend pork eaters? And Pesach would of course be turned into a celebration for all religions of the world.”

  “I think I’ll leave that unanswered, but I know what you mean.”

  “Anyway, Reka tore into Kaltio right after his acceptance speech and broke off all contact with him.”

  Simolin came back to the original question. “What about Jokela?”

  “He went off to Germany to study and came back a couple of years ago… pretty strange coincidence, bu
t I heard just a week ago that he’s lying in a coma in Tampere. Overdose… there’s nothing funny going on there. The way he was going, it’s a miracle it didn’t happen earlier.”

  “What did Laurén mean when he told me that the Brotherhood of the Vault still exists?”

  “I have no idea. Maybe that a lot of them have held on to their ideals from that time. The Vault shriveled up and died back in the ’80s.”

  “Do you stay in touch with its former members?” Simolin asked.

  “Not really. I might run into one of them somewhere and have a couple of beers, remember old times. When Daybreak celebrated its ninetieth anniversary, I attended. There were a few members of the Vault there. I guess the next time we’ll see each other is when Daybreak celebrates another decade; it’s turning 100 at the end of April.”

  The question had been lingering in the air, so I finally asked it. “How did you fare with Särkijärvi?”

  “Better than most. My dad was a cop, and I threatened to tell him when Särkijärvi tried to fondle me. That did the trick. He left me alone. It still bothers me that I didn’t have the courage to come forward about Särkijärvi and the other boys… But now I have to get going. We’ll have to get back to this later.”

  We rose at the same time as Halme. “Get us those names.”

  “I’m still not sure what it is you want with Reka.”

  “I’m not surprised, because I’m not sure myself.”

  15

  I’d only recently started to understand the meaning of family in our lives. My brother Eli had been selling me on it for twenty years, but who listens to their older brother? At least not to an older brother whose marriage, despite a handsome facade that included a luxurious home in Helsinki’s poshest district, Eira, was a mass of complications. Eli had cheated on his wife Silja with his co-worker Max’s wife Ruth on the leather sofa of his office, and Silja had cheated to get back at him. The kids had survived, however; both of them were at the university. The old married couple had also accepted that their coexistence wasn’t perfect but better than the alternative.

  I didn’t ask for much from life. A one-bedroom apartment, comfortable furniture, a good stereo, a few modern works painted by my artist cousin, and a four-figure sum in my bank account were enough for me. I had little in the way of material possessions, but no debt either. I enjoyed living in Punavuori, where I’d spent my entire life. My dad had been born there, too. Every old building, park, hill, and slab of shoreline granite brought back memories, if I chose to remember. My dad had owned a dilapidated fishing boat that smelled of mold and petrol and was kept down at the Kaivopuisto marina. In the spring, Dad would fix it up alongside the other men, moor it between the dock posts, and there it would stay right up until the autumn storms came and it was time to haul it out for winter. The boat had a butane stove we would cook on from time to time; Dad would even fry up any fish Eli and I managed to catch.

  All I asked for was a good woman, and with that I was asking for everything. It had been two years since my previous dalliance, which with some goodwill one could have characterized as dating. Now and then I paid a visit to a nice Russian woman who lived a couple of blocks away and sponsored her teenage children’s education. That relationship cost me €150 a pop. It was a steal.

  After one such visit, I had literally taken a good look at myself in the mirror. Was I so stuck in my pitiful bachelor ways that I couldn’t stand another person with their own ways at my side? I wanted to challenge my doubts. Someone else’s toothbrush in the bathroom or a roll of toilet paper hanging the wrong way didn’t bother me. What made me anxious was the thought that once we started living together, all of my comings and goings would be somehow subject to that other person’s will. If I wanted to go out for a beer after work, I would have to take into consideration that someone was expecting me at home, maybe even that that someone had cooked a dinner for me that would get cold if I didn’t show up on time.

  Despite such restless ruminations, I was even more anxious about being alone. In my desperation, I had started attending community events in the hopes that a few lusty widows or divorcees would have somehow found their way there. And I had met one two weeks ago, but after three dates I still wasn’t sure if I was in or out of luck. Rea Friede was from Turku, had moved to Helsinki for work. We had gone to Ekberg for coffee, out for dinner a couple of times, the movies and a photography exhibit, nothing more intimate than that. I had avoided talking about myself and concentrated on listening. It was a start.

  Last time we said our goodbyes, I had promised to give her a call within the next couple of days. That was three days ago. The next couple of days were starting to run out.

  After the death of his business partner Max – whose wife he had screwed on the couch in his office – Eli had been seeking out my company a lot more often. Maybe he felt guilty about the role he’d played in causing Max’s death and endangering my life at the same time. If I had shown up at Max’s boat a few minutes earlier, chances are good I’d have taken a bullet between the eyes.

  Sometimes Eli suggested I join him for a round of golf. He’d been accepted as a member of a high-end golf club thanks to his father-in-law, who helped him skip the line. Or he’d ask me to the movies, or just show up at my doorstep without warning. It had been less than a week since I’d seen him last, and now I bumped into him at the community’s center. I was there to meet Director Weiss, who’d been trying to coax me into taking over as activity director. I had just informed him I wasn’t the right man for the job. Eli strolled into the room, perfectly at home, and plopped down casually on the spare chair.

  “Hey, little bro.”

  “We’d have plenty of work for a man like you,” Weiss said in a pleading tone, and turned to Eli for backup.

  “Assignment not good enough for you?”

  “Police work is too irregular for me to head up clubs.”

  “It’s not as if we see you much around here as it is,” Weiss said. “Working with the clubs would give you a good reason to spend more time here. You’d get to know the other members of the community.” He raked a hand through his thinning hair. I felt like a lost lamb being shepherded back into the fold, delicately but firmly. If that didn’t work, harsher measures would be brought to bear.

  “I came by to take you out for a beer,” Eli said.

  Weiss furrowed his growing forehead at the interruption. He hadn’t finished with me yet. “We’d also have use for your competence in security matters.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” I said as I rose. Eli hopped up, too.

  My brother’s Benz was parked on Malminkatu. It was the latest model and must have gone for a cool hundred grand. That’s why it was so glaring that one of the taillights was shattered.

  “I was coming back from lunch when some old guy backed into my taillight and said it was my fault. The little troll was about five two in his hat, jumping up and down and screaming like a banshee that it was my fault and he wanted payment in cash, because checks are a scam and credit cards are from the Devil. And guess what? I’m so insane I went and paid him €300 in repair costs for a tiny dent in his ancient piece of Jap shit, when I should have called the cops and made the old cunt pay me. Fixing the Benz is going to cost me at least a grand, not to mention the insurance points. Guess why I paid?”

  “Because you’re such a nice guy?”

  “Because I imagined what it would look like if it read on the front page of the tabloids that a rich Jewish lawyer crashed his Benz and made an invalid vet shell out his last pennies to pay for it.”

  “I doubt he was a World War II vet. He’d have to be at least eighty-five. And the tabloids wouldn’t have been interested, and it wouldn’t have read Jewish lawyer.” Then I remembered Oksanen’s kike comment, and I wasn’t so sure anymore.

  “OK, so an old man’s money. Not much better. The point is, I’ve started having some pretty weird thoughts lately. Does that mean I’m getting old?”

  “What do you
mean, getting?”

  But Eli wasn’t thrown by a jab from his little brother. I hadn’t been able to get under his skin since we were teenagers. Back then he had flown into a rage when I borrowed his brand-new suede blazer and got mustard all over the front.

  The second I opened my front door, Eli extended a hand, made a beeline for the fridge, latched onto a bottle of beer, and popped it open, completing the sequence of movements with a long swig.

  “If anyone deserves a beer, I do. It’s been a crazy day,” Eli sighed. “I have a brilliant idea,” he continued, when I collapsed on the sofa.

  I didn’t have to pretend not to care. I didn’t.

  “Silja and I are headed out to the cabin this weekend to get it ready for the summer. It’s supposed to be warm this weekend. Why don’t you and Rea come with us. We can sit around the bonfire all night…”

  Eli and Silja’s summer cabin wasn’t a cabin; it was a massive wooden manor on the sea. And there was no need to get it ready for the summer. It was equipped for year-round use.

  “No thanks.”

  “But you’re coming to Seder, right? That’s not up for discussion.”

  Seder was an important part of Pesach, which served as the basis for the Christian Easter. It’s when Jews commemorate the release from bondage in Egypt with friends, relatives, and family.

  “We can talk about that later.”

  “No, we can’t. You automatically say no these days whenever I suggest something. What’s wrong with wanting to spend more time with your little brother? We never know when this journey is going to come to an end, and then it will be too late.”

  Eli would have sounded more convincing if he hadn’t been concentrating so intently on his beer and the game show on TV. I hadn’t mentioned a thing about Rea to Eli, but I wasn’t surprised he knew about us. Of course he knew his bachelor brother had been seen around town with a beautiful Jewish woman. That would have been as impossible to keep secret as the coastal artillery’s live-round drills.