Her Enemy

by Leena Lehtolainen

  Suddenly we were out of time and had to make the trip by bike. Unfortunately, my dress got in the way. The police-auction eighteen-speed I had was a men’s model, not designed for use with a narrow skirt and high heels. After my third attempt to mount ended with threatening sounds from the hem of my skirt, that was it.

  “You could ride on my rack,” Antti suggested.

  “And sit sidesaddle! Fat chance!” Flustered, I marched inside and put on my running shoes and a pair of bike shorts. Then I hitched my skirt up around my waist, hoping the resulting wrinkles wouldn’t be a complete catastrophe. I brought the heels, deciding I could smarten up once we got to the house.

  “Nervous?” Antti asked as I stepped back into my shoes along the shoulder of the Hänninens’ street.

  “I hate being shown off like this.”

  Of course, I had met all the close relatives in small batches—but the idea of a public inspection, where they would probably all be trading comments about me, was irritating.

  “I’ll get you back, though. My Uncle Pena’s sixtieth birthday is in the fall,” I said as we walked in.

  Built in that ostentatious style popular in the mideighties, the Hänninens’ house featured white plastered brick, columns, and arbors, making it clear the owners wanted us all to know they had spent time in southern Europe. The woman of the house was Antti’s sister, Marita Hänninen, née Sarkela, a math teacher who spent her summer vacation tending her immaculate geometric garden. Well-dressed partygoers mingled through, filling the linear spaces between the flowerbeds. I wished I had drunk a stiffer cocktail before leaving.

  A champagne glass in his hand and a rose at his breast, the man of the hour was standing in front of the buffet table. Risto Hänninen was wearing a well-cut summer suit, with an expensive-looking red silk tie that perfectly matched the rose in his lapel. My dress, picked out at a thrift store, suddenly felt more secondhand than vintage. Marita was standing next to him, dressed in a gauzy navy number that softened the angles of her slender frame. I had heard rumors that Risto’s company was doing just as poorly as every other engineering firm during the recession, but you couldn’t have guessed it by looking at the two of them.

  We presented our gift, a leather-bound book about nineteenth-century hunting firearms. Antti had paid an arm and a leg for it at a used-book shop, and the volume was beautiful, with each individual illustration a small work of art. Although I find hunting revolting, I had flipped through the pages of gun diagrams out of sheer professional curiosity. As an ex-cop, I mean.

  Instead of letting us slip away after drinking to his health, Risto insisted on presenting us to the other guests—“the cream of Tapiola.” He really said that, and I honestly couldn’t tell whether he meant it ironically. I met a couple of local politicians, the director of a major bank, a famous conductor, my own boss, and a local gynecologist who glanced at my pelvic area with a professional eye, making my dress feel not only secondhand but also too short.

  “Hey, Antti! Maria!” Kimmo called out from across the grass. Wearing a beige three-piece suit more appropriate for an older man and with his cherubic curls uncombed as usual, Kimmo was disarming, even with his acne-scarred face. Nearly fifteen years separated Risto and Kimmo. After the death of his first wife, Risto’s father, Henrik Hänninen, had remarried. He and his second wife, Annamari, had Sanna, and then, several years later, Kimmo.

  “Maria, this is my fiancée, Armi,” Kimmo said enthusiastically as we made it over to him. About my height, with a round face, wide hips, and thin blonde hair the stylist had wound too tight while doing her last perm, the girl looked sweet. Her poofy, flowery dress was woefully out-of-date. Maybe she’d gone to a thrift shop too, but she clearly wasn’t even trying to look vintage.

  “Armi Mäenpää,” she said, smiling warmly. The blue of her eyes was so bright that I wondered whether she might be wearing tinted contacts.

  We traded news and complained about the heat wave, and then said hello to Antti’s parents, who had come all the way in from Inkoo just for this party. I had already emptied my glass of Champagne—with a capital C, because judging from the label on the bottle, this was the real stuff—and started scanning the room, hoping for something stronger. Antti was telling Kimmo about his progress on his thesis, so I tried to chat with Armi.

  Actually, I didn’t have to chat at all. Armi took care of the talking.

  “I hear you’re working in Eki Henttonen’s law office. I’m a nurse, in Dr. Hellström’s clinic. He’s a gynecologist with a private practice. Actually, I’d like to specialize in obstetrics as well as gynecology, but after nursing school I’d had enough studying for a while. I hear you have two degrees—Marita told me—that you were a police officer first and then went to law school. Didn’t you like being a cop?”

  “Well, it was sort of—” I managed to say before Armi interrupted.

  “It was probably pretty dangerous…I guess handling legal cases pays better too and works better for a woman. But I’ve never known a policewoman before. I have all kinds of questions for you.”

  Antti’s parents appeared with two wriggling little boys in tow. Completely spoiled, the Hänninen twins—Matti and Mikko—were terrors well known to our cat, Einstein. Whenever he saw them, the poor thing usually scaled the highest bookcase he could find. At first, Einstein had tried hiding under the bed but had found that it was too easy to end up boxed in, with a twin on either side.

  “Uncle Antti! Uncle Kimmo!” the boys whooped. “Come look! We got a Nintendo for our tree house!”

  “Maria, you haven’t even seen the boys’ tree house yet! Kimmo and I built it last summer. Come on,” Antti said, laughing as one of the shrieking boys dragged him and Kimmo toward a pine in the backyard with a handsome playhouse perched in its branches.

  I swallowed. When I was little, I’d always wanted a tree house just like that. All the most exciting books featured one as a fort or clubhouse. However, building a tree house would have required the help of an adult, and my father didn’t think girls needed tree houses.

  “Can we climb up and look?” I asked, genuinely excited.

  The little boys looked abashed.

  “No girls allowed,” Kimmo explained. “But Maria used to be a police officer. You have to let police officers into tree houses, don’t you?”

  “You used to be a cop?” Unconvinced, Matti looked me up and down just as pointedly as Dr. Hellström had. “Cops don’t wear dresses.”

  “They wear all kinds of clothes on TV,” Mikko said. “Do you have a gun too? A revolver? Dad has hunting rifles, but he never lets us touch them.”

  “I did have a gun when I was a police officer, but not anymore.”

  Despite this, the boys gave me permission to climb up with Antti to look at what might have been the first game console ever installed in a tree. Antti seemed almost hurt when I asked him whether the tree house would hold our combined weight.

  “Hey, we do good work. Kimmo and I have built plenty of forts in our day.”

  Imagining them running around with just as much energy as Matti and Mikko was easy, with Armi under the tree playing the mother, telling them to be careful and passing up cups of juice. Maybe it was time for someone to teach the Hänninen twins that women liked tree houses too. I kicked off my shoes, and, despite the narrow skirt, succeeded in climbing up the wooden ladder.

  Although the tree house was only a few yards off the ground, it gave a bird’s-eye view, revealing the degrees of baldness of the men at the party. Behind the illusion of the curls, Kimmo’s hair had started to thin on top, while Risto had skillfully combed his own hair to cover a bare spot. Audible from below, Armi was giggling a little too loudly, standing with Makke, who had just arrived at the party.

  “Sanna always made fun of Armi’s name,” said Mikko, appearing at my side. “She said she should wear boots and be a soldier.”

  “‘Cause her name sounds like ‘army’ in English,” Matti added. “Did you know Sanna, Maria?”
<
br />   “We went to the same school.”

  “Sanna drank too much vodka and then she died,” Matti continued. “She was really good at Nintendo too.”

  The boys started showing off their video games, and I crouched with them, safe in the tree house, until I realized that I needed to find a bathroom.

  I had visited the Hänninens a couple of times already, so I easily found my way. However, there was a line. I got behind Armi, was also waiting in the hallway.

  “I like your dress,” she said nicely.

  “I feel like maybe it’s too short,” I replied.

  “No way. You have great legs; you should show them off.”

  I tried not to bristle at such a personal comment as she continued to chatter.

  “Actually, I just bought a leather miniskirt,” I blurted out. Why was I telling her this? “I just need to let out the waist a little, but I don’t have a sewing machine.”

  “I do!” Armi said. “It has a good leather needle too. You can come over any time and use it. Really. Tomorrow? I just live over behind the sports park. Maybe about two o’clock? It would be a nice opportunity to talk.”

  The bathroom door opened, and Makke stepped out. As Armi slipped inside, Makke smiled and whispered, “Looks like ‘the Army’ has decided to draft you.”

  I laughed, although the idea of poking fun at someone because of her name made me vaguely uneasy—reliving high school was the last thing I wanted to do as an adult.

  After I got out of the bathroom, I couldn’t find Antti, so I walked around the house to the front yard. There I found a handful of older gentlemen sitting in a circle of chairs: Risto, Antti’s father, my boss, Dr. Hellström, and the principal from the school where Marita taught. When I realized they were talking about me, I stopped short and stayed behind the shrubbery.

  “You sure lucked out, Eki, getting a young chick like that to replace Parviainen,” Dr. Hellström said. “I’m guessing these days you’d rather be in your office than at home with your wife.”

  To my astonishment, my boss grinned.

  “Having a little eye candy around the office is nice,” he agreed. “But you have Armi. She’s not so bad-looking either.”

  “Oh, I get to see plenty of naked women during business hours,” Hellström said with a laugh.

  “As far as I can tell, Maria isn’t just a ‘chick,’” Antti’s father broke in dryly. “I might even call her a feminist.”

  “She has the calves of a feminist anyway. She’s got muscles like a man,” Hellström continued. “I prefer something more slender and feminine.”

  “Listen, you boys don’t have any idea how masculine my calves would be if I hadn’t shaved my legs,” I observed loudly, stepping out from behind the bushes. “Any more comments about my body? Why not make them to my face?”

  The furious expression on my face silenced them. “I’m pretty sure you hired me for my specialty in criminal law, Eki. You could have paid a lot less for tits and ass.”

  I hadn’t known my boss long enough to read him very well, and I had no idea how he would react to a reaming like this. For about two seconds, I was bracing myself to be fired, right then and there. I was relieved when Eki burst out laughing and turned to Antti’s father.

  “Forget your diplomas and forget your calves, Maria; you got the job because you don’t take guff from anyone. I can’t stand women who knuckle under.”

  I snorted and headed toward the drinks table, where a bottle of the best cognac available from the state liquor store had appeared. The recession was definitely not bothering the Hänninens. I was pouring myself a good stiff drink when Antti appeared by my side.

  “Do you really need a drink that badly?”

  I told him about my eavesdropping, but Antti just laughed.

  “There’s no doubt Erik Hellström makes too much noise about how thoroughly he knows the women of Tapiola. Mom stopped going to him because of it. But I’ve heard he’s one hell of a good doctor. Without him, Armi’s sister, Mallu, would be dead. So I don’t know.”

  “What happened? What was wrong with her?”

  “Bad miscarriage, real bad. Ask Armi. But don’t ask now—that’s Mallu right there behind Armi.”

  Armi was leading a thinner and darker-haired version of herself toward us. I tossed the rest of the cognac down my gullet and poured myself another. I had already had my fill of new people and obligatory smiles. I spoke politely with Armi and Mallu, but Mallu didn’t seem any more interested in talking than I did. Armi dominated the conversation, with Kimmo and Antti throwing in a comment when they could get a word in edgewise. Someone refilled my cognac. I was starting to get drunk. When we heard dance music start coming from inside, Kimmo said that three musicians from a local big-band orchestra had been hired for the party and were playing in the living room.

  “Shall we dance?” Makke had appeared and was bowing to me somewhat ironically. When I nodded, he led me inside. Under his dress shirt, I could feel Makke’s hard shoulder muscles. His hand was on my back, sweaty from the warm night and cognac. Makke smelled of too much aftershave, but he was the perfect-height dance partner for me. Antti and I always have trouble because he’s a full foot taller than me. Other couples slid past us: Kimmo and Armi, my boss and his wife, Antti with his mother. The cognac was pulsing from my head down to my feet as the trio turned to tango music and Makke bent me into a perfect dip.

  Dancing past the mantelpiece, I caught sight of a large graduation picture of Sanna, wearing that bored smile of hers. I’d been a freshman in high school when she graduated, and, after the ceremony, half of the school had been drinking at the only park in my little hometown. Sanna was falling-down drunk and some people were whispering that she had taken something stronger too. I remembered how a bottle of rowanberry wine slipped from her lips and the red liquid stained her jacket. Sanna took it off, and the skimpy camisole she had underneath revealed arms adorned with cigarette burns and slashes, maybe from a razor blade. I had heard rumors about her arms before, but that was the first time I’d seen them in all their gruesome glory.

  Makke noticed the picture too.

  “I’m surprised they invited me here,” he whispered in my ear. “I guess they wanted to show that they forgive me.”

  “Sanna’s death wasn’t your fault,” I whispered back.

  “If I hadn’t been so drunk, I would have been able to stop her from going swimming,” Makke replied.

  “And if you hadn’t been drunk, Sanna wouldn’t have been either. Listen, Makke, if there’s one thing I’ve learned in life, it’s that there’s no point what-if-ing.”

  If only I could have remembered that myself the next day.

  The rest of the evening was actually fun. Perhaps I had the cognac to thank or perhaps the skill of the musicians. We headed home at around one thirty, about the same time as Armi and Kimmo. We were already down the driveway when I heard Armi yell from the Hänninens’ front gate.

  “See you tomorrow at two with your skirt! And we can talk; I have so much to ask you!”

  2

  When I woke up, around noon, my mouth felt sticky, and even after my morning coffee and a long, cold shower, my temples still throbbed. As I took two ibuprofen in preparation for my ride to Armi’s house, Antti declared he was taking the day off and went out into the yard to read a collection of French poetry. I would have liked to stay and lie next to him, perhaps lazily making love under the cherry blossoms.

  “If I’m not here when you get back,” he said, “I’ll be over swimming at the breakwater.”

  “Wait for me. We’ll go together. This will only take about an hour.”

  “Don’t count on it. Armi’s quite a gossip—you’ll be stuck there forever,” Antti said.

  As I pedaled across town, I thought about how little interest I had in trading girlish secrets with Armi. It was oppressively hot, and though the bike path was relatively flat most of the way, I started sweating immediately and desperately needed something to drink by t
he time I made it to Armi’s street.

  Armi lived in a rented one-bedroom row house. I remembered Kimmo explaining the day before, his mildly drunk eyes amorously gazing at Armi, that she had two homes: this little place and a house she shared with her parents in Haukilahti, on the other side of the freeway. I hoped Kimmo would be here too; it would take some of the pressure off me.

  I rang the doorbell three times, but no one answered. Strange. Could Armi be in the shower? She didn’t seem like the type to dally in the shower in the middle of the day, but then again, it had been a late night. Just to be sure, I checked my watch. Two o’clock. That was what we’d arranged, and I didn’t think Armi had been so drunk as not to remember. Perhaps she was sitting in the backyard and couldn’t hear the doorbell.

  When I walked around the building, I discovered a lush backyard, bordering a small stand of trees. Creeping vines hung over the gate, and a high fence, also covered in vines, prevented any view into the neighboring yards. I peeked carefully through the gate.

  “Armi?”

  No answer. I stepped through into the yard. After the shadows of the trees, it was a hangover nightmare: the bright sunshine stabbed at my temples, and the red of the flowers blazing in the beds felt excessive. A garden table and a couple of chairs stood surrounded by flowering yellow forsythia bushes. A pitcher of juice and two glasses sat invitingly on the table. I noticed something else behind one of the bushes and stepped toward it.

  A foot. Judging from the pink nail polish on the toes, a woman’s foot.

  There was Armi, lying on her stomach with her face buried in the grass. I walked closer, repeating her name, but she neither stood nor answered. In my police work, I’d seen enough dead bodies to know one when I saw one, but I still checked her pulse and carefully turned her head.

  Her swollen, purple tongue lolled out of her mouth like a child pretending to be a dog. The face was Armi’s, but it was still grotesquely unfamiliar. I wanted to close the eyes that stared back at me in terror, but I knew I shouldn’t.