The Howling Miller

by Arto Paasilinna

  Ervinen and Vittavaara, however, their cheeks flushed from the cognac, launched into a description of the miller Huttunen’s activities for the governor’s benefit. They listed all his transgressions in detail, and insisted the man was armed and dangerous, and terrorising the whole village. No one could do anything about him.

  Jaatila tried to minimise the extent of the affair. The man wasn’t really dangerous, he stressed, just a bit crazy and simple-minded; he wasn’t worth taking seriously.

  ‘In the final analysis, I’d describe the miller Huttunen as an oddball … He’s unstable, certainly, but harmless and naturally easygoing.’

  But the governor had heard enough.

  ‘It is totally unacceptable that an armed, mentally disturbed and, it would seem, extremely dangerous individual should be allowed to roam the forests of my province at will. Chief of Police Jaatila! You must step up your searches. This man must be sent to hospital without delay. Society has specifically allocated places for such individuals.’

  At that moment, a distant, mournful howling came from the direction of Mount Reutu. The living-room window was half open; the governor opened it fully to be able to hear better. His face lit up with excitement.

  ‘A wolf? Isn’t that the call of a wolf?’

  The chief of police went over, pretended to listen and said as he tried to shut the window, ‘Yes, of course, a wolf … a lone wolf that must have crossed the border. Harmless at this time of year.’

  The governor stopped him shutting the window. He said it was the first time he had heard a wolf howling in the wild.

  ‘This is one of the happiest days of my life! Pour me another drop of cognac, Chief of Police, just this once!’

  Ervinen broke the spell by remarking venomously, ‘It’s not a wolf. I know my patient’s voice. That’s the miller Huttunen howling out there.’

  ‘He’s always yelped like that,’ confirmed Vittavaara. ‘It’s definitely Huttunen and not a wolf. You must have recognised him too, Jaatila.’

  The chief of police had to admit that if he listened more closely, yes, perhaps it was Huttunen howling after all.

  The governor exploded. This was utterly incredible: they were letting the man terrorise the canton with complete impunity. Why didn’t they go and arrest him immediately?

  The chief of police explained that it would be almost impossible to find the miller until the ground had become harder with the first frosts. It would require a lot of men, trained dogs and luck. There was only one constable in the canton, Portimo, who was not up to the task and had already let the former miller escape several times. For the moment, all they could do was let Huttunen howl. In autumn, when it started snowing, the chief of police would put an end to his yapping. But in the meantime there was nothing that could be done.

  The governor was of a different opinion.

  ‘I’m going to have the light infantry regiment of the Rovaniemi frontier division send you backup. They’ll soon flush this lunatic out of the woods, I can assure you. If you’re short of men and dogs, Police Chief Jaatila, I will personally see to that side of the matter.’

  The window was closed. Coffee was poured for the governor. Police Chief Jaatila went and sat down, highly irritated. The way he did his job had just been sharply criticised, all thanks to that loudmouth Dr Ervinen, that imbecile Vittavaara … and of course the devil incarnate, Huttunen.

  After a pause, the police chief suggested to the governor that they open peace talks with the miller Gunnar Huttunen and try to come to an agreement.

  ‘Couldn’t we grant this man an amnesty of some sort? We could get word to him saying he can come out of the forest, he won’t blamed for the error of his ways, he won’t even be taken straight to hospital … I am sure if he returned to civilisation he would calm down. We could even demand a written promise from him not to howl within earshot of his fellow villagers. Our rural counsellor has given us to understand that she has been in contact with him. We could draw a veil over this whole lamentable affair.’

  The governor thought the suggestion over, but decided against it.

  ‘No. It’s out of the question. We can amnesty a criminal, that’s not a problem, but how can we do the same for a lunatic? It is not within the authorities’ power. The situation is quite clear: the man must be taken to the psychiatric hospital where he belongs immediately. I will not allow a human being to howl in the woods of my province.’

  There was a noise in the hall. The maid came in to tell the chief of police that someone called Launola wanted to talk to him. The police chief went into the hall to listen to the farmhand. In the living room, the governor made out the hermit Huttunen’s name amid the shouting. He called in the chief of police and the farmhand.

  ‘Tell us what you know about this Huttunen, young man.’

  Launola bowed and began to explain that he had stood in for the verger of the parish who was ill.

  ‘He’s got emphysema and he’s in bed because the medicine isn’t doing any good and he hasn’t got any money to go to any other doctor than … than … D–Dr Ervinen.’

  ‘Get to the point, Launola,’ Ervinen snapped. ‘The governor’s not interested in the verger’s moth-eaten lungs.’

  Launola said he had gone up to the bell tower of the church that morning to ring the bells. Huttunen had been waiting for him.

  ‘Kunnari knocked me out and tied me up so I couldn’t get away or make a sound. Then he rang the bells himself and after the service we watched the athletics. We even saw the governor, sir.’

  Launola said Huttunen had kept him prisoner all day. The hermit hadn’t left the bell tower with his victim until the evening. He had locked Launola in the church cellar. The farmhand had only just managed to escape through the window.

  ‘That’s all I had to tell you.’

  He was allowed to go. When the door was shut behind him, the governor said severely, ‘When a man behaves in such a fashion, with such brazen insolence, he must be arrested without delay, with the army’s help if necessary. Can one imagine a more loathsome sacrilege: a madman ringing the bells in the House of the Lord!’

  The governor opened the window of the living room again. Everyone listened in silence. But Mount Reutu was quiet. Huttunen was already on his way back to his camp west of the Kemijoki.

  CHAPTER 34

  Several days passed and then an old acquaintance appeared at Sandbank Camp: Happola. Huttunen was lying in the hut leafing through the Kaitilas’ manual on marketing techniques, when the jays perched on his roof suddenly flew up, distracting him from his studies. Rifle in hand, the hermit awaited the intruder. When he recognised his fellow mental patient, he cried out, ‘How did you get here so quickly?’

  ‘You wrote to me, remember? What an expedition though! You live a bloody long way away these days. But your directions were pretty clear. It was only the letterbox that I had a bit of trouble finding.’

  Happola looked extremely well and cheerful. He wore a new leather jacket and moleskin breeches, and, on his feet, a brand new pair of top boots. Huttunen put the kettle on and sliced some bread and bacon for his guest.

  After drinking a first cup of coffee, Happola moved on to serious matters. He had left Oulu two days ago, he explained, spent the night in Kemi and then gone to the Suukoski mill.

  ‘I was inspecting your mill yesterday and today.’

  ‘And, what do you think? It’s in good shape, don’t you reckon?’ Huttunen asked impatiently.

  Happola acknowledged that it didn’t look in bad shape at first sight. The building was freshly painted like new. The dam looked sturdy. The waterwheels appeared to be working. He was less sure about the driving belt. Huttunen said he’d ordered a new belt for the millstones in the spring. It was waiting at the station; the bill from Kemi Hardware just had to be paid.

  ‘I don’t know much about mills,’ Happola added, ‘but the stones for animal feed look newer than the ones for flour. And feed stones are barely cost-effective, as you know.’<
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  ‘Don’t worry, you’ll be able to mill with those flour stones for years,’ Huttunen insisted.

  ‘The mill’s main problem is that the logs at the base of the building have pretty bad woodworm. On the south side, three at least need to be replaced. There’s rot at the end of the millrace as well. I tested the logs with my knife and it went in that far, or even more,’ Happola reported, spreading the thumb and index finger of his left hand.

  Huttunen admitted that two levels of logs on the wheel side would have to be replaced in the next couple of years, but as the mill was built on pillars, that wouldn’t be difficult.

  ‘You just have to lever up the base of the cabin, knock out the rotten logs and put in new ones. Then you just lower the building back into place. It’s a day or two’s work for a carpenter.’

  ‘But it’s going to affect the price. And don’t forget that basically I don’t need this mill, I’ve never worked in cereals.’

  Nevertheless Happola made Huttunen an offer. The price was low; you could only have bought a little cabin, or two or three horses, with harness and plough, for the amount. But Huttunen couldn’t refuse, because no one was going to make him a better offer in the depths of the forest. The men shook on it and the deal was done. Happola promised to send the money when his solicitor had authenticated the deed. He said he’d take care of the paperwork as soon as he got back to the village.

  ‘I know a solicitor in Kemi. I just have to go over the mortgages, even though I trust you,’ said Happola, who seemed delighted to have bought his first mill.

  The men began talking about their time in hospital. Huttunen asked Happola how he had negotiated getting out. The man’s features hardened.

  ‘Christ! I wasted years of my life in that place. The last five years I spent inside were utterly pointless.’ Happola explained that when his tenth year of mental illness had come to an end, he had gone straight to the doctor to announce that he was actually in perfect health. He told him the whole story. At first, no one believed him, but eventually, when he had told them about his double life in town, the hospital staff had to face facts. They had reluctantly declared him sane. However, they had imposed conditions on his release.

  ‘Those imbeciles couldn’t think of anything better to do than to call in the hospital administrator. He said that the institution didn’t support people in good health for nothing. He thrust a bill for the last five years in my face and said that if I didn’t pay it, I wouldn’t get out. They bunged me in solitary confinement and threatened to put me in a straitjacket if I didn’t cough up the money.’

  Happola had asked what right they had to make him pay for five years in hospital, for his board and lodging in other words. The answer he got was that they would have demanded payment for all ten years if there weren’t a statutory limitation concerning the services he’d used during the first five years. So Happola had paid the hospital for his treatment.

  ‘The bill was absolutely criminal. What a cynical character, that administrator, what a skinflint! The meals were almost charged at restaurant prices, more or less – lunch, dinner and with a free health cure thrown in for every customer. And the room! As if I’d been swanning around in a hotel for five years! I had to stump up the full whack in one go. As soon as I got out, I went straight to my lawyer and it’s going to court this winter. But I had to pay, so I paid.’

  Happola resented it bitterly. He reminded Huttunen of the sort of food they served in the hospital.

  ‘I ate their sludge for ten years. Maybe it wasn’t your sort of thing, but I stuffed myself with it. At what a price, for Christ’s sake!’

  ‘It wasn’t very good, it’s true,’ Huttunen acknowledged. He remembered the hospital’s staple dish: a thick, lumpy porridge of oatmeal meant for cattle, that was generally cold by the time it got to the table. It wasn’t unusual to find a full beard in one’s bowl.

  ‘That’s how they fleece people in public institutions,’ Happola grumbled. ‘It’s lucky the Korean War is still on. I sold forty acres of wood in Kiiminki and paid my hospital bill with the proceeds, and I’ve got enough left over to be able to help you with your mill. I’ve got a buyer in Kajaani; I’m not buying it just to leave it idle.’

  Huttunen asked how their old roommates were.

  ‘Still the same,’ Happola said, shaking his head. ‘Except that Rahkonen died at the start of July. He was the guy who sat all day in the same place, frowning. One day he died without a word; he fell over, just like that. A few days later, they brought us a slightly cheerier loopy loo instead, the sort who laugh at anything. Do you remember the skinny lad? He took your escape very badly, the poor boy. For weeks he was asking when you were coming back. Oh yes, remember the cleaning lady who made such a racket? She was moved to the women’s wing, but when she started her usual complaining, the la-las grabbed her and beat the daylights out of her. They gave her a broken leg and now she’s with the deaconesses. It’s broken so badly she won’t be back before Christmas. We got a new cleaner, a man. Lazy bugger. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t do anything either.’

  ‘What about the doctor?’

  Happola said that the duty doctor was still cleaning his specs, same as ever.

  ‘He hit the roof when I told him that I was sane and healthy. He began yelling and bawling and only calmed down when the orderlies came and threatened to put him in a straitjacket. He took it hard. You can understand, I suppose, when you’ve treated someone for ten years thinking they’re mad and then they just turn up and say “Bye, I’m off now”.’

  ‘That doctor was ill himself.’

  ‘You’re telling me. The craziest bloody doctor in Finland.’

  Huttunen showed Happola his camp, the gear he’d taken from Ervinen, the rifle and Piittisjärvi’s still. He talked about his days, how he spent his time. In the circumstances, he said, things hadn’t got off to a bad start. But in the long run, this hermit’s life couldn’t last. Surviving in winter would be hard. When it started to snow, the police could easily find the camp. Huttunen said that he was thinking of building a hut somewhere deeper in the forest, provided he could settle his money problems first.

  ‘Life in the wilds out here is pretty tough.’

  Huttunen said he’d started studying business. He showed Happola the correspondence coursework and used some business terminology. Happola listened attentively.

  ‘If you weren’t temporarily, and officially, mad, we’d make a good team. I’ve never been in business. I’m interested in wholesaling. Why don’t you do your course for a start and then we’ll see. We could set up a wholesaler’s in Oulu or Kemi. I could be on the road visiting clients, and you could take care of the paperwork and everyday stuff.’

  Huttunen offered Happola some salted trout. After they’d eaten, he accompanied his friend to the main road. When the men parted company, Happola shook Huttunen’s hand for a long time.

  ‘I’ll drop you a line over the next couple of days about the purchase of the mill. You’ll have the money as soon as the papers are signed, one hundred per cent guaranteed.’

  Huttunen returned to his camp extremely satisfied. It had been a long time since he had felt this reassured. The future hadn’t seemed so serene for months. He had the prospect of money and he was making progress in his studies … perhaps he would be able to leave the country with Sanelma Käyrämö soon and start a new life!

  CHAPTER 35

  Next week, Piittisjärvi made another delivery of mail and vegetables to Sandbank Camp. In her letter, the horticulture adviser Sanelma Käyrämö advised Huttunen not to howl anymore because the governor himself had apparently threatened to send the army to arrest him if he didn’t stop his shouting and assaults. She signed off by saying she was desperately in love with Huttunen and stressing the importance of his business studies. She urged him to grate the vegetables Piittisjärvi had brought and have them in a salad.

  There was another important letter, from Happola. Huttunen opened it jubilantly, convin
ced the sale must have gone through. Now he just had to sign the papers and collect the money.

  The hermit’s disappointment when he read Happola’s brief note was brutal. The property developer reported that he couldn’t buy the mill because it had been confiscated by the commune’s social services unit. Huttunen had been pronounced incapable and was no longer entitled either to sell or mortgage his property.

  Under these conditions, the sale is off. Try to get the ban lifted and I’ll buy your mill. Look after yourself. Happola

  Huttunen seized his rifle and jammed the barrel in his mouth, planning to shoot himself on the spot. Trying to calm his friend, Piittisjärvi said that Huttunen would be mad to kill himself now.

  ‘It would make their day, those fellows in the village.’

  Huttunen thought about what the postman was saying; he was right.

  ‘I’m going to burn that bloody mill, then we’ll be rid of it!’

  He threw his rifle over his shoulder and, without stopping to draw breath, stormed off to the village. Piittisjärvi tried to keep up with him, but he was left behind halfway across Puukko Marsh. The hermit disappeared into the forest. It’ll be complete mayhem if Huttunen turns up in the village in that state, Piittisjärvi thought. And with a gun, too …

  It was afternoon; the hermit’s feet sank into the bog at every step, mud spurting out from under them as he ran towards the main road. He charged past the station, rowed across the Kemijoki and tore straight off towards the Suukoski mill, ripping fistfuls of bark from the birch trees he passed. He arrived at the mill drenched in sweat. In a flurry of nails, he wrenched the boards off the front door and raced up to his room.

  From the chest by the stove, he took an armful of dry wood, and, hacking at it with a knife, made a pile of twigs. Then he carried both piles downstairs where he made a fire on the floor between the millstones. He propped the logs against each other, put the bark and kindling in the gaps between them, and took his matches out of his pocket. He struck one but he was so agitated and his hands were trembling so badly with rage, it went out.