The Brothers

by Asko Sahlberg

  I have barely lowered my buttocks back onto the bench when swift feet hurry to the door. It bursts open. Mauri breathes out, his voice taut with excitement, ‘We’ve got visitors.’

  THE OLD MISTRESS

  The Bailiff arrives on horseback, accompanied by three soldiers. I watch them alighting from their horses in the middle of the yard. At once I get a sense of them controlling this place, owning it. The Bailiff is short and stout, ridiculous in that fur coat that reaches down to his ankles. It hangs open, probably so that you can glimpse the uniform of the new realm. I am not near enough to see his face but I remember it: arrogant eyes, low forehead, lips that always look greasy with steak. The soldiers carry rifles which they dangle from their snowy shoulders in a pose of preparedness. They look indifferent, in the manner of men used to obeying orders.

  Erik appears on the steps, stares at the newcomers for a moment and descends into the yard. Anna follows him. Mauri is standing by the wall and, at that moment, everyone else comes into view as if by mutual, fateful agreement. Henrik emerges from the barn, the housemaid’s face looms at the kitchen window, the milkmaid’s bloated shape appears by the cowshed door. Both labourers step out of the stable, where they must have just left the mare they used in log transport. The Farmhand stops behind the soldiers and glances at me over his shoulder, as if surprised by my failure to follow him.

  The wind drops and the snowflakes, sparser now, begin to float slowly downwards.

  The Bailiff speaks. I cannot hear his voice, but I know from memory that his words sound like they are being squeezed out through a tangle of worms. Even from this distance I see Erik flinch. His head turns to one side, his jaw slackens. Something must be even more wrong than I had thought. I should have swallowed my pride and moved closer. Now my dignity will not let me.

  Henrik, who is standing further away, suddenly lets out a thunderous roar and rushes towards Mauri. The soldiers seem to have expected it; two of them grip Henrik’s arms from behind and the third walks round to face him, pointing with his bayonet. Curses and swear words pour out of Henrik’s mouth and over Mauri. Mauri stands by the wall, frail and immobile, but, to all appearances, fearless. Anna has raised her hands to her throat and is staring at Mauri. The Farmhand is staring at him, too, and Erik has turned in his direction. Mauri detaches himself from the wall and heads for the stable, barely lifting his feet off the ground.

  The Bailiff resumes his speech to Erik, having been briefly silenced by these events. The soldiers let go of Henrik, who tramps crossly to the steps and sits down. Anna’s hands move from her throat to her face and the Farmhand has found something on the ground to kick around.

  Mauri comes out of the stable carrying a musket. He says something to the labourers, who begin following him as, in that creeping way of his, he goes over to the group standing in the yard. The Bailiff turns his back on Erik, hands a sheaf of papers to Mauri and waits for one of the soldiers to hurry over and help him onto his saddle. The legal affairs of the realm are being managed by a man who cannot even mount a horse without help. He does at least succeed in getting his nag moving. I assume he will ride past me without even a glance, but at the last moment he bows his head in my direction. I am surprised by the sad expression on his swollen face. The soldiers following him on their own mounts stare ahead, uncaring, emotionless.

  The labourers and Mauri, a tight, armed group, stand in front of Henrik, still seated on the steps. Only now do I notice that one of the workers is dangling an axe against his thigh and the other has grabbed a knife sticking out from his belt. Mauri looks like an armed little boy, sheltered between them. At a distance, Erik is tramping restlessly back and forth, back and forth. Anna is staring at the field with her face in her hands and the Farmhand has started towards me, trudging slowly, his head and shoulders bowed.

  When he reaches me, he raises his head. I know the old scoundrel well enough to see he is about to explode with laughter.

  THE CROWN BAILIFF

  Just my luck, getting mixed up in this mess. I would have had to get involved sooner or later, of course, in my official capacity. But I would have dealt with the matter in the usual fashion and summoned the parties to my office. I would not have made this long journey simply to ruin a few people’s lives. Not that these peasants and their plots are any concern of mine. I do feel rather sorry for the Old Mistress, though.

  Cursed be the day when that Mauri person turned up to talk to me. It seemed like a perfectly ordinary day to begin with. I had enjoyed my breakfast at leisure and wished my lady wife God’s grace for the day. As usual I had gone the short distance to my office by foot. Upon arriving, I noticed a lowly creature crouching on the bench. I did not think much of it. I let him wait a good while before I saw him. Experience has taught me that haste is not advisable when one is carrying out official duties. When I finally ordered that he be admitted, I did not at first look up from my papers. Instead I let him stand there in front of my desk, another trick experience has taught me. It gives all those whiners who flock to see me the chance to put their message into words. When I did look up, I saw a runt of a man eyeing me feverishly. He had an unnaturally large head. His beard was so scanty that no self-respecting burgher would think it fit for his maid’s yard-broom.

  He made a clumsy attempt to bow. Then, with a trembling hand, he passed over a couple of sheets of paper. He said in a shrill, womanish voice, ‘I’ve got these certificates, see.’

  I was surprised when I saw what they were. I had not expected that. He and his papers did not go together; they were at odds with each other, like a tramp strolling around in the drawing room of a mansion, or a nobleman on a dunghill holding a pitchfork. On the other hand, I have seen both in my time, so I merely nodded and put the sheets down.

  ‘I want all this done quick,’ he said.

  ‘The matter will be settled in good time,’ I replied. ‘I’m sure sir understands that, given the current circumstances, the matter cannot be hurried.’

  ‘Why not? It’s all there in black and white.’

  ‘The documents are sure to be in order, but times have changed. Has sir not noticed that we’ve become part of an empire? Such a change means extensive reorganization.’

  He started chewing air, shocked. He masticated away, quite as if his mouth were full of tobacco. He carried on like that for a while, before asking, in a voice that was hoarse with stubbornness, ‘The law’s not on my side, then?’

  I could have revealed to him the real situation and explained that I was not that clear about my powers and therefore not willing to take any action. I said, ‘The new situation demands that I receive confirmation of the relevant sections of the law and how they are to be put into practice. And that may take time.’

  ‘I haven’t got time,’ he said. ‘My time was up long ago.’

  I spread my hands. ‘I can’t do anything about that. Sir will just have to wait.’

  ‘And is that Mr Crown Bailiff’s last word?’ he asked. If he could have spat bullets out of his eyes, you would have been able to see through the holes in my face. ‘That I can’t get justice in this matter?’

  I was growing seriously irritated with him. I said, ‘Sir will get justice all right. But sir shouldn’t imagine that the whole realm dances to his tune. Just leave your address in the office, go home and wait till you’re summoned again for a hearing.’

  ‘And the papers?’

  ‘They’ll stay here for the forthcoming proceedings.’

  ‘How do I know they’re safe?’

  I stood up, staying calm, and walked round my desk. ‘The clerk will give you a certificate with the official stamp of the Empire for the papers and their contents.’

  His eyes darted about wildly. ‘A certificate for the certificates?’

  I opened the door for him with my own hands. ‘Exactly. Please go now. And wait.’

  Perhaps it was at that very moment that he made up his mind not to wait. I suspected nothing. I forgot him before the day was done. N
othing in my career had prepared me for it: that raggedy dwarf turned out to be the most devious and unscrupulous crook I have ever encountered.

  I do not completely dismiss the notion that higher powers intervened in my fate, punishing me for my immoral conduct. If my offence comes to light some day, despite all my precautions, I will appeal to the fact that the harlot was put in my way maliciously, as a temptation. A man who has carried out heavy official duties for decades should be judged by different standards from those applied to some dung-cart driver or ploughman. And the conclusions drawn when judging his actions should surely also differ. I undoubtedly did wrong in getting mixed up with that slattern, but there are mitigating circumstances. Unfortunately, they are unlikely to impress my lady wife.

  I suppose I fell for the whore’s youth. A man of a certain age knows when he is over the hill. The valley looms down below and the man grows anxious. He is moved to mourn all the chances he thinks are lost. I was unexpectedly offered such a chance. It was positively handed to me on a platter. I happened to pay a brief visit to the salon on the outskirts of the town. No one could count me among its regular clientele, but nonetheless, I occasionally found my way there in order to escape the toll exacted by my heavy workload. I thought I would just sit down for a while, drink a well-deserved glass of liqueur and maybe smoke a pipe, when an unknown woman unexpectedly joined me. She was giggling naughtily and fluttering her eyelashes. She smelt of warm thighs.

  The madam of the salon came over. She whispered into my ear that there was a room upstairs that happened to be unoccupied. Somebody had left a bed in it. That bed had clean sheets. I did not think much about what I was doing. We ascended the stairs and reached the end chamber. The woman seemed to have four pairs of hands, grown for fornication, and three pairs of legs suitable for the same purpose. Then the door we had shut suddenly sprang open. She vanished from the tangle. After twisting into a sitting position I saw that creature Mauri, whom I had by now blissfully forgotten. He had two men with him. They may not have been the most esteemed gentlemen of the town, but they were nevertheless trustworthy burghers. I knew their testimony would carry weight. I rapidly assessed the situation. I realized that if their testimonies were to be supplemented by the evidence given by the scarecrow named Mauri and the harlot who was presently pulling on her dress in a corner, and if their reports all matched up, I would find it extremely hard to prove them false. So I sent the others on their way and asked the scarecrow what he wanted from me.

  ‘There’s that business I came to see you about,’ he said.

  ‘Yes, that’s true,’ I replied, yanking on my trousers. ‘I was intending to act in the matter first thing tomorrow.’

  ‘Thought so.’

  I had no choice but to comply with his wishes. However chaotic the official machinery of the realm might be nowadays, I do not doubt but that my actions will have the force of law in this matter. I need not have a guilty conscience in that respect. On the contrary, one could argue that I have shown commendable initiative in carrying out my duties. I would now be able to forget the whole thing, along with all the other trivia I have had to deal with in my life, had I not seen the eyes of the older mistress of the house.

  If only I had seen sorrow in her eyes, because what I saw was a great deal more frightening: she gazed at me with the eyes of a woman unnaturally contented with her fate.

  ERIK

  He has told us to leave in the morning. The Devil knows where he got the money from, unless all this time he has had a fortune buried somewhere on my land. That is unlikely, for even Beelzebub’s henchmen are not endowed with such patience. Anyway, at least the land is staying in the family. Until today, I would not have believed that he could run a pigsty, let alone a large estate, but now I would not be surprised to learn he was conspiring to acquire the whole municipality.

  He is good enough to let me have a mare and a cart. No doubt he expected me to burst into songs of praise. I could argue that household goods are not part of the property, but it would probably not be worth doing so; he seems to be in great favour with the Bailiff. I suppose we must be grateful that we do not have to leave in our birthday suits.

  The worst of it is, I can understand him. We have not treated him well. Pride comes before a fall indeed. We are paying now, by humbling ourselves.

  Who knows, maybe I will find a position in Turku and I will yet be able to lead a life with Anna that is fit for a human being. Whatever else Henrik may say, he may be right that these times require new men. Fortunately, my aunt’s husband is well connected. According to Mother, he has long hobnobbed with the Russians. I just have to conceal the fact that I enlisted off my own bat to get to slaughter Russkies. The existence of documentary evidence is unlikely, unless Mauri has it under his mattress.

  All in all, the more I think about this new turn of events, the more relieved I feel. Before long, I may be able to sleep at nights. Defeat came long ago; postponing its admission has only prolonged my agony. Now, finally facing up to my loss, I am freed.

  ANNA

  I look at Erik’s sunken shoulders and I see in him an old man. Tomorrow he will look like the Farmhand. Grim thoughts will thin his hair, his lips will shrivel into dry lines, he will rub his aching loins surreptitiously. He will see the world through melancholy eyes and look away. I approach him from behind, I rest my hand on his shoulder and peer over it out of the window. The snowfall has ceased, the landscape stretches out, shivery and empty. Erik’s nape is cold bone. At times I would like to bury him as if he were a child who had died at my breast.

  ‘You didn’t have a woman, after all,’ I say.

  ‘I didn’t.’

  ‘And I thought you did.’

  ‘That’s not good.’

  He has said sorry this way before. I twist my other arm round his waist. He does not move. He is a tree, abandoned by a forest that has crawled off and left him behind to be battered by the winds.

  ‘When do we have to leave, then?’ I ask.

  ‘He said we should go in the morning.’

  ‘Can he be that cruel?’

  He turns; my hold on him loosens. ‘He’s come to an agreement with the Bailiff. Who knows what sort of a pact they have. If we don’t go voluntarily, soldiers might yet come to turf us out.’

  When I see his face I understand that he is not crushed by sorrow. He is thoughtful and exhausted, but not sad. Something resembling a smile even plays round his mouth as his eyes travel the drawing room, as if he were seeing it for the last time. He says, ‘Strange how some tend to cling to places and others don’t feel at home anywhere.’

  ‘How do we know that Henrik hasn’t missed the place?’

  His smile is cut deeper by an invisible knife. ‘I didn’t say anything about Henrik.’

  ‘But you meant him.’

  He tilts his head, as he does often when in a playful mood. ‘What if I was talking about myself?’

  ‘Are you saying you’re suddenly dying to see the world?’

  ‘Well, I’ve heard there are these women out there,’ he says, and slaps me on the buttock. But instantly, his voice grows serious. ‘We should start getting our belongings together. We won’t take anything big; all the furniture stays here.’

  ‘How on earth will we manage, then?’

  ‘We will, somehow. We’ll start with the small things and build up as time goes by.’

  ‘In Turku?’

  ‘There or elsewhere. There to start with, at least.’

  He leaves the room, lightly, speedily, prepared for the days to come. I am left to soak up this feeling. Soon I will leave these hostile rooms, which I have always roamed as if in a derelict church. Perhaps I will start combing my hair fifty times again, perhaps I will learn the habits of townspeople and take to sniffing contemptuously when I recall all this. It is good we are leaving. Our departure is already within me, awaiting birth.

  I will not even bother to say goodbye to Father. I can see him sitting in the kitchen, swollen with inactiv
ity and agreeably weary of everything. He would raise his warm, listless, indifferent gaze to me and say yes before even hearing me out. He would wag a fat finger at me and say something like, ‘Feel free to leave. Just don’t say one word about that animal.’

  MAURI

  I had to wait outside at first. It was summer. The sickly-sweet scent of the lilacs floated in the shadows of the garden, and as the evening thickened into night, the birds of the dark began singing. One of the downstairs windows of the big house was open, letting out pale light and men’s voices into the yard. I could hear one man’s triumph and another’s disappointment. I promised to keep my mouth shut but I did not yet understand how profitable silence was. I was pleased when the maid was sent to bring me ale and sustenance. I thought it would always be my lot to be thankful for crumbs from others’ tables.

  Come the autumn, I was allowed into the porch. I sat on an uncomfortably rickety chair, the smell of foreign tobacco wafting towards me from the drawing room, late-night carriages clanking past in the street. I tried not to look at the woman staring down at me from a painting hung between two candlesticks on the wall. I thought how grand it must be, to live in a pile like this. I myself would have loved to be a man with the money and the daring to hang naked women, breasts pendulous as sacks of flour, on the walls of a handsome villa.