‘That sounds sensible. But you don’t know your clientele. You don’t know us,’ the Ambassador said emphatically. ‘If you’re such an expert at pinpointing problems, why don’t you do something about it?’
The nurse grunted and stubbed out her cigarette in the glass jar. ‘That’s what’s so frustrating.’ She pulled chewing gum out of her pocket and started working her jaws. ‘No one hires permanent employees. A permanent gig is too great a risk for employers; you can’t fire them when times are tough or when you restructure your organization. I’m a temp worker, like all nurses. Here today, somewhere else tomorrow. Last year I was a whole three months at the same place in Porvoo, and it was a big deal. Just when I was getting a feel for the place, the work dried up. Yesterday I was at Riistavuori. It’s one of Helsinki’s biggest old folks’ homes. It was like working on an assembly line, washing and showering. Do you think I have time to ask everyone whose dirty bottom I’m washing, what their name is, what their life’s been like, what their favourite food is?’
‘I see. I’m sure you can’t,’ the Ambassador said gravely. ‘I suppose we’re barking up the wrong tree. I assume you’ve spoken about this with your employer and the other nurses? If the staff aren’t satisfied and the clients aren’t either, then who is?’
‘Yeah, well. That’s the million-dollar question. HSS is a curse word these days and care of the elderly has snowballed into such a mess that the decision-makers are lost, the employees are demoralized, and the clientele . . . Well, you don’t have much of a choice. The second you end up in hospital for the wrong reason, you lose any agency, and they pass you around like the ball at a Barça match.’
They had all heard of HSS. It was the abbreviation that was on everyone’s lips these days, and meant the unpleasant obligations – health and social services – that gobbled up every penny of public funding. Irma had come across the phrase alternative attitudes to municipal accountability in the newspaper and they had all had a good chuckle over their instant coffee. It sounded like it was promoting the idea of municipalities shirking their responsibilities.
‘But I’m drawing a blank from matchmaking balls. What’s a barsa?’
‘It must be some new trend,’ Siiri said.
The nurse wished them a nice life, coughed for a moment, and then, pounding her chest, went back inside, where the racket of the remodel had resumed.
By now the combination of jackhammering, drilling and banging had taken on a hominess; there was something familiar and regular about it, so that when it was missing it felt odd and put you on edge. The days had taken on a new rhythm at Sunset Grove. At six o’clock in the morning, the building filled with men in neon vests who revved up their machines and started swinging their sledgehammers about. That was when all the residents woke up, the lights came on in the tiny units of the tightly wrapped house, and the restless wandering down corridors to the lobby began. The aimlessness lasted until eight o’clock, when the construction workers took a coffee break and the old folks retreated to their homes for a rest. They knew the moment of silence was brief and enjoyed it for all it was worth. Siiri generally lay down on her bed, shut her eyes, and listened to the thrumming in her head without falling asleep. Sometimes she turned on the radio and listened to the Morning Show until the noise came back and drowned everything out. The pounding continued until eleven, when the highlight of the summer day began: an hour of silence and rest. The disoriented residents gathered around the tables or retreated to their cubby-holes to gather up their strength in the way each deemed best for the final ordeal, which could be protracted indeed. The construction crew worked until six, but lately there had been increasing amounts of evening work, which meant residents weren’t blessed with a moment of rest until late at night. The wiring and HVAC companies were overbooked during the summertime, and they fit in the work when they could. Just the other day, one poor young fellow had been poking about Siiri’s kitchen at 10 p.m., even though he had three small girls at home waiting for their daddy. Siiri had offered him a glass of wine. He had refused, because he was on the job, but he gladly accepted a slice of pound cake and tea and sat down with Siiri for a chat during this little break.
‘Weasel Face did promise we’d get used to the noise and other annoyances caused by the renovation,’ Irma said, popping a Mynthon pastille into her mouth so that the cigarette wouldn’t taste so harsh. ‘But I bet he never guessed the boldest of us would make friends with the workers. Do you suppose he got fired?’
‘Who? My electricity man? For eating pound cake on the job?’
‘No, Jerry Siilinpää.’
Now this was news. Irma had heard it from Tauno during Director Sundström’s information session on the plumbing retrofit. These sessions were a weekly event, generally held on Tuesdays at 10 a.m. Siiri had stopped attending before Midsummer, because they inevitably ended in cacophony and she never came away any the wiser.
‘I haven’t heard anything like that about Jerry Siilinpää,’ the Ambassador said.
‘Was Director Sundström the one who said Weasel Head got the boot?’ Siiri asked. Irma was sharp, all there, as she herself liked to put it, but now and again she’d allow herself to get caught up in foolishness before looking properly into a matter. And then, of course, there were those days when her memory failed her and she mixed everything up. But such things happened to everyone on occasion and were no cause for alarm.
‘She didn’t say anything about anyone getting fired, but Tauno knew. He wasn’t the only one wondering why Weasel Tail was missing in action and Sundström had no explanation. Just went on and on about the project’s various phases and a challenging, changing landscape. She certainly loves that word! The poor thing is starting to sound like a consultant herself, now that she’s spent so much time in Weasel Back’s company.’
‘Are you going to keep coming up with different versions of Jerry Siilinpää’s last name? Or should we get down to the matter at hand, the reason why we’re gathered here at this construction refuse recycling point?’ the Ambassador chuckled. Siiri and Irma had completely forgotten that, after meal delivery, the Ambassador had indeed called them together at the staff smoking area to negotiate the possibility of moving temporarily to Hakaniemi. He didn’t have a floorplan of the flat, so Irma wasn’t able to assign rooms, but the Ambassador promised that they’d be able to go and see the place in person, perhaps quite soon.
‘It’s possible you ladies won’t find it suitable,’ he said.
‘Nonsense, do you think we have any standards at all after living at Sunset Grove? A garage would be better than this sewer-line storage centre. Look around! Here we are, refreshing ourselves next to a mountain of old toilets. Luckily, they can’t talk and tell us what they’ve seen! I think I know which one is mine, actually. The lid broke once and I bought myself a new one, since our beloved director informed me that the board of the Loving Care Foundation could possibly be persuaded to grant me a new lid if I submitted an application that included a written report explaining what had happened to the old one. Well, I wasn’t about to wait for those alms. They had all sorts of toilet seat lids at the Etola on Huopalahdentie, and I picked that pretty flowered one. Can you see it? It’s there halfway up the pile, to the right; my dear old toilet!’
‘If we had some red wine, we could toast the memory of all the good times you two shared,’ Siiri laughed.
‘Shall I go get some? I have a box that’s barely been cracked on my nightstand. I keep it there, because there’s always some helmet-head rummaging about in my kitchen.’
‘Don’t! Be a good girl and stay put, please. I didn’t realize so many people here had bathtubs. Why, there are half a dozen old tubs there. You’d think a tub would be dangerous for old folks. Irma, do you have any funny videos in that flaptop of yours? Cat videos are popular; I saw one where this pitiful, bedraggled poor thing, a cat I mean, tried to climb out of a tub. Shall we watch it right now? I’m sure it would make you laugh.’
Before they
knew it, Irma’s green device was on the table, and she jabbed at it vigorously, bracelets jangling. But the Ambassador wasn’t interested in modern technology today; he wanted to talk about money.
‘I’ve been thinking I’d cover the rent in Hakaniemi. After all, you’ll have to keep paying your expenses at Sunset Grove, even though we’re living somewhere else. That’s enough of a burden for you ladies.’
The Ambassador had tried to challenge Director Sundström over the rent being charged residents who had moved out during the retrofit, but she had remained resolute. All expenses, including service fees, had to be paid, even if you spent months living elsewhere because of the construction. The Ambassador wasn’t wholly convinced of the legality of this arrangement.
‘My attorney is on summer vacation, so I couldn’t consult him,’ he said.
‘You have your own attorney? My husband did, too, but he died a long time ago; the attorney, I mean. And of course Veikko did too, my dear husband. As a matter of fact, Veikko died first, or was it the other way around?’ Irma said and squealed when she found the cat video Siiri was hoping for. ‘Is this it? I typed in cat and bath, and this is what my iPad came up with. He prefers to speak English.’
‘He who?’ the Ambassador asked, slightly irritated.
‘My iPad.’
They watched the video, which was not the same one Siiri had already seen, but funny all the same. The Ambassador wasn’t as thrilled as the ladies; he started clearing his throat impatiently. In the end, he stood, bid farewell to the coffee-morning group, even though they hadn’t had so much as a sip of coffee, and announced that he was going to have a nap and then head off to the Hilton to visit Anna-Liisa. He promised to be in touch as soon as he heard when they could go and see the apartment. The Ambassador took his leave in his light summer suit, with his cane hooked over his arm, and Siiri and Irma watched six more cat videos before growing bored.
‘Did the Ambassador really say he would foot the bill for this exodus of ours?’ Irma asked. She gathered up her belongings from the table and put them back in her handbag, laying the tablet tenderly on top.
‘Yes, that’s what he said. I presume he hasn’t talked to Anna-Liisa about it yet. We’ll see how things go. It could be that the apartment is completely impossible and there won’t be enough room for us, that we’ll just be underfoot.’
They sat there on the bench and amused themselves by watching two Polish workers quarrelling vehemently. Arms were waving, the saliva was flying, and a vein started to bulge threateningly on a forehead. Suddenly, the shorter man punched the taller one in the face. Then the taller one was angry, too, and a moment later the men were engaged in a full-on brawl. Irma and Siiri didn’t know what to do. When a third man ran out and jumped into the fray instead of separating the brawlers, Irma and Siiri slunk off the back way. This was one thing they had learned during the Sunset Grove renovation: they had no business sticking their noses into the affairs of professionals.
Chapter 10
‘Shall we take the fast way or the fun way?’ Siiri asked.
‘The fun way, of course,’ Irma said, not allowing the Ambassador any say in the decision.
‘That means the number 4 to the number 8 to the number 6. First transfer at the new opera, and then again at Kurvi.’
The air was abuzz with excitement as Siiri, Irma and the Ambassador took their seats at the front of the number 4 tram. They were on their way to Hakaniemi, to see the apartment that soon might be their new home. None of them said anything, but they all wore happy smiles on their faces.
Suddenly, they heard a braying from the aisle: ‘I was sitting in the back, wondering if that was you. And I was right!’
It was Margit. She had hurtled down the length of the car and stopped, out of breath, to inform them between gasps that she was on her way downtown to wander around; it was the best therapy she could think of. But she was curious as to their destination, of course, and for a moment they looked embarrassed, since they weren’t sure making her privy to their intended move was prudent.
Siiri softened the story: ‘It’s just a silly little plan.’
‘It’s a stupendous plan, for heaven’s sake!’ Margit exclaimed, just as they had feared. ‘Can I come with you?’
‘Of course!’ Siiri said. ‘To see the Ambassador’s apartment, I mean. It’s always such a lark, going to see flats,’ she added, so Margit wouldn’t get the impression that they were inviting her to move into their commune with them.
The Ambassador didn’t see what was particularly fun about transferring from tram to tram, but Irma and Siiri were having a grand time. The old Deaconess Institute was as beautiful as ever, and the Brahenkenttä soccer pitch was handsome. They remembered that Anna-Liisa had embarked on her illustrious teaching career at the Kallio School and spent a moment worrying about her present condition. Margit seated herself next to the Ambassador, in front of Irma and Siiri. She kept her eyes on the driver and looked as if she hadn’t heard a word of what the others were saying. Maybe she’d left her hearing aid at home or in her handbag again.
‘Anna-Liisa had an appointment with a psychogeriatrician on Friday,’ the Ambassador said, trying to turn towards Siiri and Irma.
‘A psychogeriatrician? That’s a doctor who specializes in old people who’ve lost their marbles, isn’t it? Is that supposed to be good news?’ Siiri wondered.
‘A psychowhatever like that could send Anna-Liisa to the SquirrelsNest for the rest of her life,’ Irma cried.
‘If you’ll let me finish,’ the Ambassador said. ‘This psychogeriatrician is a sensible woman. She spent a long time talking with Anna-Liisa and declared the patient healthy in body and mind.’
The Ambassador looked proud as he related that, in this professional’s estimation, his wife was more or less in possession of her faculties. Anna-Liisa’s confusion had resulted from the urinary tract infection, just as the nurse smoking in the courtyard had guessed. Her anxiousness and aggressiveness resulted from her frustration at feeling ignored and helpless. In the end, the psychogeriatrician had ordered her to be taken off her mood enhancers, sleeping aids, and Alzheimer’s medication. Anna-Liisa had been given a report that ended with the words: ‘The patient is confident that she can manage at home. Release.’
‘But that’s spectacular news!’ Siiri said, clapping with joy.
‘This calls for a celebration!’ Irma exclaimed.
Her enthusiasm prodded even Margit to life: ‘What are your views on euthanasia?’
‘My dear ladies!’ The Ambassador raised his voice to bring his herd under control. He promised to throw a big party the moment Anna-Liisa was back at home, but before that, they needed to arrange a home to throw her a party in.
‘Wonderful. Then we can celebrate my birthday at the same time. I’m about to turn . . . Hmm, what am I turning?’ Irma paused to reflect.
‘I think you’re turning ninety-four,’ Siiri suggested.
‘That’s very possible,’ Irma said. ‘It’s not a hundred, I know that.’
‘This is our stop. It’s that building.’ The Ambassador pointed at a massive brick building with a neon sign that read OXYGENOL on the roof.
‘Why, that’s the Arena Building! Designed by Lars Sonck!’ Siiri cried. She looked at the famous structure, practically a castle, with the round tower at each of its three corners. It took up the entire block. ‘It’s completely encircled by tram tracks. I never dreamed you were talking about the finest building in Hakaniemi.’
They hurried across Siltasaarenkatu and along the edge of the square, as if the triangular fortress would slip through their fingers if they dawdled. They paused in front of the building while the Ambassador searched for the right key. After going through his pockets, he starting rummaging through his brown leather satchel, which, based on its patina, must have been from the 1960s. Irma studied the display window of the art supply store and Margit let the light breeze caress her face.
For a second it looked as if the Ambass
ador had forgotten to bring the right key, but after numerous tries, one from his impressive set unlocked the door to stairwell A. The corridor was dark and cramped, nothing like the dignified lobby one would expect of a Sonck building. They rode an elevator with ugly steel doors up to the second floor and wondered why the lovely old scissor-gated models had been hauled off to the dump. The Ambassador was still in a fine mood; he was the first to step out, open a heavy door, and proudly present his property.
‘Welcome to your humble refuge!’
They stepped into a big, round entryway where the walls had been covered in red satin. A crystal chandelier, or some cheaper look-alike, hung from the ceiling – a rather tasteless fixture, but no one said anything. The Ambassador advanced briskly from room to room, clearly pleased with the flat’s condition and furnishings.
The living room was enormous. It was broken up by two massive pillars, and the paned windows in the curving rear wall opened onto a magnificent view across Eläintarhanlahti Bay. The façade of Finlandia Hall gleamed in the sun with a singular beauty. Siiri experienced a flash of disappointment that Alvar Aalto’s marble-faced master plan for Töölönlahti Bay had been abandoned during the 1970s’ infatuation with concrete.
‘But in this promised land of engineer-bureaucrats, no one had the vision to execute Eliel Saarinen’s plan for Munkkiniemi–Haaga, either,’ Siiri huffed. She relented when she noticed the window-framed artwork in two generations: Heikki and Kaija Siren’s circular building, Ympyrätalo, and the three-metre-tall steel ball at its entrance, by their son Hannu.
Yet something about the apartment seemed peculiar: there were mirrors and clothes hooks everywhere, along with unusual lamps and an ugly steel pole in the middle of the living room. The biggest bedroom had a closet the size of a small room, an en-suite, and a round bed. The smaller bedrooms were different colours – one was mauve, another dark green, and someone had had the bright idea of painting the tiniest bedchamber blue – and the dark walls made the rooms look even smaller than they were. The living-room curtains were heavy, formally hung velvet, like the curtains of a stage. The bedspread for the round bed was shiny red satin and embroidered with sequins that glittered in the sun, casting strange patterns on the room’s brown walls.
Escape from Sunset Grove Page 9