When Siiri returned to the apartment, Anna-Liisa and Emilia were engrossed in the Sudoku puzzle from that morning’s paper. Emilia never read the print version and hadn’t realized it contained Sudokus and other things to do. Her smartphone shimmied and shook on the table, but neither of them paid any attention to it. Apparently, Margit had drifted off, because the faint rumble of her snores could be heard from her room. Siiri ordered Emilia into the spa to do the pregnancy test and gave her all three sticks. The girl obeyed. Anna-Liisa said that Emilia had perked up during the Sudoku and told her all sorts of things about her work and other troubles.
‘They have unreasonable schedules,’ Anna-Liisa stated unequivocally, as if Emilia’s problems had given her a boost. Each client, which in this case meant old people who needed help, was doled out eight to twelve minutes per visit. Caregivers weren’t paid for trips between clients, as if they could zip like holograms from Pajamäki to Hakaniemi. To top it all off, they had a monitor in their phones that set off an alarm when the client’s time was up. The only way to turn off the alarm was to sign off on the visit, in other words, to report that the visit was complete. Emilia had reported four visits during Siiri’s absence, even though she hadn’t budged from their sofa.
‘The poor thing is a nervous wreck. It’s as plain as day that she can’t keep up, but in this instance I don’t believe she’s to blame.’
Then the caregiver in question stepped out of the bathroom. The stick in her hand showed two blue lines, but she didn’t appear particularly overjoyed about the fact that she was pregnant.
Chapter 18
Although days at the Hakaniemi commune could be hurried and hectic as everyone went about their business, Siiri and her friends had a habit of gathering together in the evenings. After dinner, they would generally sit in the living room playing cards and drinking wine, and if the Ambassador sometimes preferred a whisky-soda on the rocks and Margit wanted the occasional gin-and-tonic, Siiri, Irma and Anna-Liisa stuck to red wine.
‘I’ll have my whisky when I turn in; the doctor has prescribed me a glass of whisky at bedtime for my ailments,’ Irma said every night, as she shuffled the deck and refused the whisky the Ambassador offered, although on occasion she forgot her principles and joined Onni for a whisky or two while she played cards. But Siiri appreciated the repetitiveness of certain rituals and the sense of security they brought.
Siiri had prepared fresh sausage soup for dinner, and it had been a big hit. Muhis and Metukka had been intrigued by the fresh sausage, and so Siiri had written down the recipe for them and warned them that in all likelihood the sausages contained pork. But the boys weren’t sticklers for the rules and had promised to make sausage soup for their families that very day.
‘They thought siskonmakkara was such a funny name,’ Siiri said. ‘I’ve always thought it a strange word myself: “sister’s sausage”. They wondered if it was because fresh sausage is pale and soft, like Finnish women.’
‘That’s not the origin,’ Anna-Liisa said. Her recovery from the urinary tract infection and her subsequent hospital-induced collapse was nearly complete. She sat up straighter, placed her cards face down on the table, and commenced her lecture. ‘Siskonmakkara is an erroneous translation, in other words, a pronunciation-derived adaptation, if you’ll allow me to use a non-scientific term so you can grasp my meaning more easily. Raw sausage originated in France, where it is known by the term saucisse. It spread to Germany under the name Sausichen; a Germanic diminutive, then, of a French root. It was adopted in Sweden in the form susiskon, a rather unusual word and one that is, perhaps, unfamiliar to you, as in Swedish the name spread in the form siskonkorv, of which our Finnish siskonmakkara is a partially onomatopoetic translation: siskon, which happens to be the Finnish for sister’s, and makkara, which is a direct translation of the Swedish korv, sausage. Quite the etymological adventure, wouldn’t you say?’
‘Are spades trumps?’ the Ambassador asked merrily, in the hope of getting the game going. He had a good hand if spades were trumps. They played for a while, until Irma grew tired of waiting for her turn and remembered that she’d dropped by Sunset Grove that morning before water aerobics.
‘It was horrible; it didn’t look like the renovation had advanced at all, utter annihilation everywhere you looked. The electricity has been cut off in part of the building, and there was water damage everywhere. And then I ran into Tauno – you remember, that veteran who’s as crooked as a corkscrew?’
Irma spoke of Tauno as if the flat-capped veteran were a top-notch private eye. It was also possible, of course, that Irma was embellishing her story a bit, but she claimed that Tauno had used his superlative spying skills to uncover the workings of the enemy and had discovered that the Estonian company Fix ’n’ Finish had a Finnish owner, an extremely wealthy and respected individual. ‘And Jerry Siilinpää wasn’t fired, he just disappeared and then reappeared, hair as waxy as ever. But Tauno has been battling it out with Director Sundström, who continues to insist that residents pay full price for services that don’t exist.’
‘Yes, and we’re paying for them, too, even though we’re living here,’ Siiri said. Her great-granddaughter’s boyfriend Tuukka had wondered about this practice and had sent Siiri a record of all the direct debits that had been withdrawn from her bank account. Several thousands of euros, enormous sums, every month. ‘We shouldn’t even be paying for electricity under the circumstances,’ Siiri continued, before getting distracted by the thought of poor Tauno alone in the unlit building without water, a toilet or food, like the sole survivor in some bombed-out city.
‘He’s not alone; that tattooed body-chopper is still there.’
Tauno had reported that the medical examiner didn’t have a summer cottage or much other property to speak of, because she had drunk it all away, and that she was living at Sunset Grove on the city’s dime, or, in other words, collected public assistance of some sort.
‘Did she seem to be in a bad way?’ Irma asked.
‘She’s not exactly fresh in the face.’ The Ambassador’s assessment was undeniably accurate. ‘Considering her age. Isn’t she the same age as our children?’
‘What are your views on euthanasia?’ Margit asked. Siiri had started to worry that Margit was depressed, had really taken ill from melancholy, like the lovelorn young ladies in Russian novels or the despondent Hermann in Tchaikovsky’s opera The Queen of Spades, as she had less of an appetite every day and spent significant amounts of time lying in bed.
‘Listen! I made fruit soup for dessert. Would anyone care for some?’ Siiri bounded into the kitchenette in her apron to bring out the dessert she’d made the previous day. That would surely cheer up Margit. She even found some cream in the fridge, and there was sugar in the cupboard. Siiri set it all out on the bar, along with bowls and small spoons. Irma had followed her, looking for wine.
‘Are you sure that will taste good with the fruit soup? It’s gooseberry soup.’
‘I’m not fussy,’ Irma said, and Siiri knew she was waving her hand dismissively, because she could hear the jangle of the bracelets behind her back. ‘Hellfire and brimstone, someone drank all my wine again. Is there any in your room, if I go and get it?’
Siiri didn’t remember having stashed any bottles in her room, but Irma had already barrelled past on the hunt. She had barely opened the door when they heard a shriek. The in-home caregiver! Siiri had forgotten to tell Irma that they had laid the exhausted caregiver down on Siiri’s bed for a nap. Was she still there, the poor girl?
‘I’m coming, I can explain!’ Siiri cried, running into her bedroom. The caregiver was more discombobulated than ever; she didn’t know where she was or what time it was. It was lucky she remembered her name.
‘Emilia, I’m Emilia,’ she stammered in reply to Irma’s barrage of questions. Siiri quickly explained that the girl had come to rehabilitate Anna-Liisa but had ended up in their care because she was pregnant.
‘Don’t you know who the fathe
r of your child is? How is that possible? Do you have that many bedmates?’ Irma asked the girl as she helped her up. ‘You could have caught some dreadful venereal disease.’
‘Yeah, I know, or I mean no. We were on a cruise and I can’t remember everything. But I’m not, like, hanging with anyone.’
Irma’s curiosity was piqued. ‘Hanging with anyone. Is that what you call sex these days?’
‘Hanging with anyone, dating, I’m not.’
‘You’re not what? A virgin?’
‘I’m not with anyone! But you don’t have to be, to have sex.’
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake. You must have hopped into bed with someone, unless this is the second coming of the Christ. Siiri, I must say, you’ve found another cross for us to bear.’
‘Would you like some fresh sausage soup?’ Siiri asked.
‘Huh? What’s that?’
They managed to get the caregiver to her feet and interested in a bowl of fresh sausage soup. The Ambassador rose politely when he saw the young lady enter the living room. Anna-Liisa nodded in greeting, but Margit paid no attention to the newcomer; she just kept staring at her playing cards, although the game had come to an end ages ago.
Emilia had a healthy appetite and ate two bowls of sausage soup, which provided Anna-Liisa with a second opportunity to present her etymological lecture, this time to a distinctly more receptive audience, as Emilia found the story of siskonmakkara’s journeys from France to Finland via Germany mega-fascinating. The Ambassador was amused indeed when he understood that this frail urchin was his wife’s in-home caregiver.
‘So we’re paying for this service, is that correct?’ he said and smiled at Anna-Liisa, who now found this aspect of the whole affair amusing enough to warrant laughter.
‘It looks like I won’t be needing in-home care much longer,’ Anna-Liisa said melodiously, wiping the tears from her eyes. ‘At least this sort of care.’
Margit emerged from her reverie and pointed rudely at Emilia, who was sitting on a bar stool: ‘Is that the caregiver?’
Irma’s eye fell on the bowls Siiri had set out on the counter: ‘Is anyone else hungry for fruit soup? I know I am!’
‘Anneli, fruit soup? Don’t get up, I’ll bring you some,’ the Ambassador said, getting up to serve his wife dessert. Siiri was pleased that her leftovers were so popular. Apparently, no one remembered they’d eaten the same fruit soup the day before.
Emilia helped herself to a third bowl of sausage soup. Margit’s eyes were glued to the girl and followed her movements like a hawk. When the third bowl was empty, Margit walked up to the caregiver but didn’t seat herself, as climbing up onto the stools required too much effort.
‘You’re a nurse. Are you also responsible for administering medication?’ she asked brusquely.
‘Um, well, yeah. I have to administer medication to clients who need it. And I pick up prescriptions from the pharmacy. I give insulin shots and stuff; I like it.’
Margit narrowed her eyes and looked at Emilia even more intently. She bent closer to the girl and spoke into her ear, imagining this would prevent the others from hearing her. But her stance caught their attention, and even with a hearing aid Margit spoke in a very loud voice. So they were all listening, frozen still, when Margit blurted out, in a supposed whisper:
‘Can you tell me how euthanasia is done? What kinds of drugs will ensure that an old person will definitely die in his sleep?’
The silence continued. Weakened by the early stages of her pregnancy, the in-home caregiver stared, wide-eyed, at Margit, unsure of what this weary old woman with dazzling white teeth was getting at with her talk of euthanasia. Siiri had the urge to explain that Margit’s husband was lying in a nursing home somewhere in eastern Helsinki in a state of profound dementia without the slightest hope for a better life, but she didn’t have time. Margit grabbed the caregiver’s pale, slender wrist, gripped it, and repeated her question. ‘I need to know. My husband cannot suffer a single week longer than he already has.’
A healthy flush rose to the girl’s cheeks. She looked fearfully at Margit, and then at the other elderly people, who nodded encouragingly.
‘You can’t do that. It’s a crime in Finland.’
‘I know. But haven’t you seen any of these horrible fates as a caregiver? An old person lying in a filthy bed year in, year out, a living corpse waiting for one thing and one thing only: death!’ Margit’s agitation intensified alarmingly, and the Ambassador stepped in.
‘Let’s consider it on a purely theoretical basis, shall we?’ he said, taking both the in-home caregiver and Margit by the hand. ‘Let’s forget about the legal aspects and only consider whether it would be theoretically possible to grant a loved one a merciful death without a doctor’s help?’ He trained his warm but penetrating blue Jean Sibelius eyes first on the caregiver and then on Margit. They calmed down; Margit stopped talking, and the in-home nurse frowned slightly as she concentrated on formulating an answer to this merely hypothetical question.
‘Umm, like if my grandma was like . . . mega-demented and she had, like, certain medication, I think I could help her out.’
‘And how would you get your grandmother to consume the necessary amount of medication?’ the Ambassador asked, as if this were the current affairs programme Tough Talk and he were Jan Andersson, the handsome, polite young host who posed his questions, even the difficult ones, in a clear, pleasant manner.
‘I think that . . . that I’d, like, put it in her food maybe . . . oatmeal or yogurt or something . . . if he’s, like . . . if my grandma were able to eat.’
‘And if she weren’t?’
‘Then it would be harder, although I’m pretty sure that, with certain medication, you can, like, dissolve them, so you could, like, put it in a drink, but then there are some that . . . if, like, my grandma couldn’t even drink, then wouldn’t she die anyway, from lack of nutrition?’
‘Yes, I believe that’s an alternative,’ the Ambassador said, and concluded the conversation with a warm thanks to the in-home caregiver. Margit seemed very calm, and she went to her room without saying another word. Siiri and Irma loaded the dishwasher, but as only some of the dishes fit, they continued with their favourite activity, washing dishes. It had gradually become a bit of daytime fun for them. They loved soaking their hands in the warm water and soft foam, and it also gave them a nice opportunity for a cheery chat. Although at the moment, neither could come up with anything cheery to say. Emilia politely carried her bowl over to be washed and prepared to make her departure.
‘It was mega-chill the way you guys helped me out and fed me and let me rest,’ she said, with a peculiar little curtsey.
‘Promise us you’ll go to the prenatal clinic first thing tomorrow,’ Irma said, and the in-home caregiver replied cheerfully that tomorrow was her day off, so at least she’d have time to call.
Chapter 19
Despite the continuing warmth, the trees of Tokoinranta Park showed signs of autumn. For a brief moment they thought the hot weather had ended and lovely, cool autumn had set in, but then another heat wave struck. When it did, old folks talked about Indian summers and everyone else talked about climate change. Luckily, their refugee asylum had air conditioning; Irma had accidentally set it blasting once when she thought she was turning off the television, and since then they’d learned to use it. All one had to do was press ON on the grey remote and then remember to press OFF at some point, too. Irma had written ‘COOL AIR’ on the remote in a red marker so that they’d remember which the right one was.
‘Would today work for you?’ Margit asked brightly one morning, when she and Siiri were the only ones awake. The television was blaring by itself, and the two of them were on the couch, eating boiled eggs and reading their newspapers. Initially, they’d thought it was silly for four copies of the paper to be forwarded to Hakaniemi, but they quickly realized that the thought of giving up their personal paper at breakfast was impossible. ‘You promised to visit Eino at the S
quirrelsNest with me, remember?’
Siiri thought it was a fine idea, her first adventure in ages, never mind that a home for dementia patients wasn’t the most uplifting destination. She’d been spinning her wheels in Hakaniemi for weeks now, trapped at the stove of their refugee asylum and attempting to get occasional stimulation by visiting the farmers’ market, the market hall, the parks, and the exotic shops. The days had passed in housework, grocery shopping, having coffee at the farmers’ market with Muhis and Metukka, and endless cooking, which she had grown rather fond of. But Siiri hadn’t set foot on a tram in weeks. A little outing would surely do her good.
‘How will we get there? What tram line goes to the SquirrelsNest?’
‘There’s no tram, but we could take the metro. How does that sound?’
The metro! Siiri couldn’t even remember the last time she’d been on the metro, and they had a horrendously ugly metro station right outside their window. This was going to be exciting. Just to be sure, she packed the things you never knew you might need; hunted for her handbag and her reading glasses before discovering them in her bedroom cupboard, swept up a random assemblage of other items from the table, dropped them in her handbag, and pulled on her beige poplin coat.
‘I probably don’t need a hat, do I?’ she said. She was holding a blue beret, not quite sure if it was hers or Irma’s.
‘I’m going to wear a scarf,’ Margit said, and that sounded like a good idea to Siiri, too. She searched for her scarf without remembering what it looked like, and in the end gratefully accepted one from Margit’s abundant collection. It was green with gold curlicues and smelled faintly of Margit’s musky perfume.
They walked to the Hakaniemi metro station in the mild autumn breeze and down into a vast, desolate hall. They wondered what the purpose of all the extra space was – construction was horribly expensive, after all – or if it served as a bomb shelter, although bombs no longer seemed to be used during wartime the way they were back when Finland was at war. Since then, bombers had turned into tiny, toy-like gliders controlled from some tower at a safe distance; there had just been pictures in the newspaper. Siiri and Margit made their way down an empty, echoing corridor that led to an escalator that took you down to a landing, where you boarded another escalator. By this point, their expedition through the subterranean wasteland had them in stitches.
Escape from Sunset Grove Page 15