by Philip Teir
Julia thought Marika was lying in order to flatter her, but the remark had the opposite effect. It sounded condescending.
‘And you always had nicer dolls than I did,’ said Marika.
Erik gave Marika a hug and seemed cheered by the warm reception.
‘It’s great to be out here in nature all summer. I’m so tired of the city. Two months here is exactly what I need. I can’t understand why we’ve never come here before,’ he said.
‘Exactly,’ said Marika. ‘And now that we’ve met each other, this could turn out to be really nice.’
For a few seconds no one spoke as they looked around the tent.
‘This is amazing,’ said Julia, trying to sound sincere.
Marika nodded.
‘I saw a tent like this in Scotland and knew at once I had to have one of my own. In certain parts of Finland you can rent yurts, but we wanted to have a permanent one, so Chris built this himself.’
‘It’s made of nearly all reclaimed materials,’ said Chris.
‘Where are you from?’ asked Erik.
‘Scotland,’ said Chris.
‘So what do you think of Finland?’
‘It’s wonderful. Reminds me a little of Scotland. A similar mentality. And out here in Mjölkviken … it’s so untouched, so peaceful, perfect for the movement.’
Erik asked the same question that had come to Julia.
‘What do you mean by the “movement”?’
‘I’ll explain,’ said Chris. ‘But first let’s sit down and eat.’
It turned out that Marika and Chris were environmental activists. Or rather: they had been. Now they had formed a loose-knit group in Scotland whose purpose – and the whole thing sounded a bit vague to Julia – was to prepare for living in the world after climate change. And they had decided that Mjölkviken was the perfect place from which to welcome the apocalypse.
They learned all of this as they ate dinner down on the beach. Marika had set out large platters of salads on a blanket.
‘So what we’ve discovered lately, over the past five years, is that there is a great pent-up frustration within the environmental movement,’ Chris told them with a stern expression as he looked from one guest to another. ‘There are thousands of other people out there, first and foremost all the environmental activists, who have reached the same conclusion that I have: that the old type of environmental activism is no longer productive. We’ll never be able to change policies by demonstrating outside climate meetings or signing petitions. Fuck that. It’s frustrating and won’t lead to anything. That’s why we’re trying this model instead. And we’re not alone. There are other neo-green movements in different parts of the world. We’re the Scottish-Nordic version.’
‘But what exactly is it you do?’ asked Erik.
‘You’ll see. It’s a matter of preparing for disaster before it happens, and it’s bound to occur sooner or later. Actually, you might say it has already happened. You can see that clearly in Asia,’ said Chris.
Marika glanced at him and he nodded, as if giving her permission to continue where he’d left off.
‘It’s already too late to do anything politically,’ she said. ‘It doesn’t help if you buy organic tea. That’s not going to change anything. So we need to start thinking about how we want our society to be after the disaster. We give seminars, organise workshops, hold meetings, and write and think. But above all, it’s a matter of grieving. And realising that the end is already here.’
There were nine people altogether. Marika and Chris, Erik and Julia, Ylva and Roger, the guy with the dreadlocks – his name was Ville – and a young woman named Helena, who was in her twenties and from Greece. She was skinny and dark-haired, wearing a T-shirt with a feminist symbol on the front. She fixed her gaze on Chris as he talked. She spoke fluent English.
Julia tried to remember all their names, but it was difficult. She kept mixing them up but decided that maybe in the long run it didn’t matter.
Marika and Chris had a thirteen-year-old son named Leo who attended school in both Finland and Scotland. He didn’t say a word as he played solitaire while the grown-ups talked.
When Julia asked Leo whether he liked being in Mjölkviken, he looked up at her with the same almond-shaped eyes as Marika, but he had clearly inherited some of the unwavering seriousness that characterised his father.
‘So where do you actually live?’ asked Erik.
‘We live in Scotland during the winter months and in Nykarleby in the summer and spring,’ said Chris. ‘But we’re thinking about moving out here.’
‘Here?’ queried Julia.
‘Yes. It would be the perfect place to start a new chapter,’ said Chris.
According to Chris, there were thousands of former environmental activists who had joined various so-called ‘chapters’ all around the world. He talked about Aniara, which was apparently what he’d named his own group, after the epic science fiction poem by the Swedish author Harry Martinson. (‘I love Nordic modernism. It’s so pure and filled with fresh air,’ he said, showing them a well-thumbed copy of the book. ‘I always carry it with me.’)
‘In Martinson’s Aniara, the earth has been destroyed and a spaceship takes thousands of emigrants to Mars and Venus. But above all, it’s a melancholic poem about a lost paradise. It feels like the perfect epic poem for our time,’ Chris said.
‘So what about the rest of you? Are you also part of the movement?’ asked Erik, looking at the others, who had sat in silence as Chris spoke.
Roger was the first to respond. He was now wearing clothes: a pair of corduroy trousers and a big, striped Marimekko shirt that could barely close over his stomach.
‘I’ve been active in Greenpeace for the past twenty years, but then I read Chris’s blog and decided to contact him. I was already aware of the movement and similar groups in other places, but I didn’t know there were supporters in Finland.’
‘I came here with Roger,’ said Ylva. ‘It’s very exciting.’
‘How interesting,’ said Julia, thinking this really was genuinely interesting because Marika had been such a typical upper-class child. She played piano and seemed to hover above everyone else, yet she’d ended up in this group.
‘Is there a specific date?’ asked Erik.
‘What do you mean?’ asked Chris.
‘A date when the world will end?’
Marika laughed and glanced at Chris.
‘It’s not like that at all. It’s true that it’s too late to turn developments around. We may have as little as ten years before we start seeing huge migrations. Fifteen million people fleeing from Bangladesh alone. North Africa, the Middle East. We’re already seeing the beginning of that. But the earth will still exist afterwards. It has survived climate changes before. The question is whether human beings will still exist.’
Now Chris leaned forward.
‘Here’s the thing: I’m fifty years old, and at that age you inevitably end up a little disillusioned. This is not just about the environment. Over the past few years, politics in the Western world hasn’t been exactly encouraging. I’m no longer thinking about joining demonstrations in Paris and hoping for the symbolic power of a protest. Instead, I’m trying to prepare myself for what’s coming. Most people are going to be totally unprepared.’
Julia was surprised to hear he was fifty. She would have guessed he was ten years younger. Marika was only a year older than Julia. She was kneeling on the blanket, leaning slightly towards Chris, eating tabbouleh from her plate as Chris talked. The food was good, though not at all what Julia had expected to be eating in Mjölkviken. They had eaten new potatoes and grilled meat all week.
For a few moments no one spoke.
‘All of this sounds very exciting,’ Erik said at last. ‘I mean, it’s inspiring, isn’t it? I don’t understand exactly what you’re doing, but it’s good you’re doing something. I was also thinking of trying to get closer to nature this summer.’
He turned to Julia.
‘Right?’
She looked at him without saying a word.
‘Yes,’ replied Chris. ‘Although the point is that we don’t think there’s anything we can do. We have to accept that there’s no hope. Nothing can save us. Or you.’
‘Okay, then,’ said Erik. ‘Let’s say that. But at least you make good food, even though you’ve given up hope for humankind. I really shouldn’t eat any more. I was planning on losing some weight and getting into shape this summer.’
Julia looked at him. She thought he was trying to ingratiate himself with Chris, who was so fit. Erik had never mentioned wanting to lose weight.
‘Losing weight is the least life-affirming thing anyone can do,’ said Ylva, placing her hand on Erik’s shoulder.
The evening proceeded with more wine and food. Roger and Ylva suggested that Julia and Erik might want to join them for some skinny-dipping.
‘I don’t know whether you’ve ever considered experimenting, but we have a very open relationship,’ said Ylva with such a friendly and inviting tone of voice that it sounded as if she were asking them if they’d like dessert.
Julia, who thought the water looked cold, politely declined, and yet she felt a strange sort of envy at Ylva’s candid flirtatiousness. Free love seemed to be something that still flourished both in theory and in practice among a number of people of that generation. It was all a little too much for her, and she was glad the children had stayed home.
‘I assume that if the world’s going to end, it makes no difference who you have sex with,’ said Julia. ‘Is that true?’
‘Sex is never a matter of indifference if you fully enjoy the moment,’ said Ylva.
Julia glanced at the boy, Leo, who had been sitting with them the whole time. He remained silent, watching them as if he expected something was about to happen. Roger laughed merrily.
‘If desire should arise, we’re open to any suggestions.’
Helena, the young Greek woman, still hadn’t said much. With studied concentration she had rolled cigarettes, which she then smoked, holding her cigarette between her thumb and index finger, as if sucking on the straw of a milkshake.
‘I think it’s awesome the way any generational gaps are erased here at Marika and Chris’s place,’ she said now. ‘So what’s your thing? What do you believe?’
‘Our thing?’ asked Julia.
‘You haven’t really said. Do you belong to those who still think that traditional parliamentary democracy will somehow magically make the polar ice caps stop melting?’
‘I haven’t actually thought about that. But I assume there’s no harm in voting green,’ said Julia. ‘It has to be better than nothing, right?’
Helena laughed.
‘Ah. So you’re one of those. A little recycling and we’ve solved all the problems. Just read a few articles and share them on Facebook. People in Iraq, who are already being persecuted by ISIS, die from heat waves while you think it’s lovely that the summer here in Finland is a little warmer. You’re in for a big surprise,’ she said, speaking English with an American accent.
Julia looked at her and suddenly felt sad. She thought this sort of guilt-tripping reminded her of what she’d experienced in other situations, other relationships. Placing blame on someone else was a means of strengthening your own convictions.
‘But if you say there’s no longer anything to be done, why can’t you just go on living like before? What does it matter if you’re unaware?’
‘I choose instead to take the red pill. I want to see how deep the rabbit hole is,’ said Helena.
‘Sorry?’ said Julia.
‘The Matrix. Right?’ said Erik.
Helena nodded, looking pleased. Julia gave Erik a puzzled look.
‘Keanu Reeves has to choose between the red and the blue pill. If he takes the blue pill, he’ll wake up in his own bed the next day and everything will be the way it was before. If he takes the red pill, he’ll get to see the truth. We saw the film at the cinema before the kids were born.’
Helena laughed and went back to sucking on her cigarette.
Eventually the men went off to heat up the sauna. Julia stayed sitting on the blanket with Marika while the others dispersed. It had been more than twenty years since they’d last seen each other, but Julia noticed that her friend could still provoke the same feelings in her – the sense that Marika had an emotional advantage over her. She had grown more beautiful over the years, but mostly she seemed just the same.
‘Where did you and Chris meet?’ asked Julia. She poured herself another glass of wine. Marika pulled her hair back from her face.
‘We met at a seminar on de-civilisation in Oslo.’
‘De-what?’
‘Not sure what it’s called in Swedish, but in English it’s “de-civilisation”, a rather loosely used term. But that’s not the point. I was there because I was curious. I’d taken a few months off from work to recharge my batteries, so to speak, and that’s when I met Chris. It was an intellectual attraction. Maybe you know what I mean? As if we’d met before.’
Julia nodded and sipped her wine. ‘What kind of work do you do?’ she asked.
‘I’m actually a botanist. I’ve worked in the profession off and on over the years. But right now I’m involved in the movement.’
‘I assume botanists will also be needed when the climate goes to hell,’ said Julia, laughing.
‘Well, that depends how bad it gets. What do you do, by the way?’
‘I write. Or try to write. I’m working on a novel.’
‘So you’re an author? How did you happen to decide to do that?’
Julia thought that maybe she was a writer because of people like Marika, people who had affected her during childhood, who had left traces behind, experiences that Julia wanted to return to, in the same way as she had returned to Mjölkviken in her first book.
‘Well … I have a job at the university too, teaching a few courses. And I’ve already written one novel.’
‘Oh, I should read it. I don’t read much, but Chris has a blog. I think blogs are great because they’re interactive. You get in touch with other people and you can exchange ideas. You can’t do that with a traditional book,’ said Marika.
‘My first novel was nominated for the Runeberg literary prize.’
‘Wow,’ said Marika, nodding pensively. ‘Is there an English translation? These days I prefer reading English.’
‘Yes, actually, there is,’ said Julia.
‘I’ll have to check that out sometime. I have a Kindle. Maybe I can download it this summer.’
Julia regretted saying anything about her book. She didn’t want Marika to read it, even though it was fiction, even though it was about something that happened so many years ago. It made her feel so naked, so absurd.
‘What kind of work does your husband do?’ asked Marika.
‘Erik? Oh, he’s in IT. For a long time he had his own firm, but then he was hired by a big company in Helsinki.’
Julia noticed that she was bragging. There was something about Marika that brought out that side of her. She didn’t want to say that Erik was the IT manager of a department store. In Marika’s world, that would undoubtedly sound far from sexy. Her husband Chris had talked about ‘zero growth’ and such things all evening. These were people who were privileged enough to condemn consumption. Yet she had never imagined that Marika would become an activist or anything like that. Instead, she’d always thought – when they were kids – that Marika would follow in her parents’ footsteps and become a doctor or go into some other highly bourgeois profession.
‘So what are your parents doing these days?’ asked Julia.
‘Pappa lives in Åbo. He’s remarried. Mamma died from uterine cancer five years ago. I don’t see Pappa very often. You know, over the past few years I’ve had occasion to think about my childhood. Chris says it was a destructive childhood, that my parents were emotionally immature. Now that Pappa has met another woman, I no long
er feel like he’s my responsibility. I notice that I’m happier when we’re not in contact,’ she said.
Julia found this surprising. She had always envied Marika, who seemed to have a symbiotic relationship with her parents. They were the perfect little family, beautiful and gentle, and their home always smelled so good.
‘I bet the sauna is heated up by now,’ said Marika. ‘It’ll be almost like when we were kids.’
Marika lay down on the top bench in the sauna. She stretched out full length, resting her head on a towel.
‘What do you think about Chris?’
They had undressed in the small room where the towels hung on hooks, and Julia had caught a glimpse of Marika’s body. She was slender and athletic.
‘What do you mean?’ asked Julia.
‘I don’t know. I was just wondering what sort of impression he makes.’
‘He seems nice.’
‘Really? He’s terribly ambitious. He always does everything a hundred per cent. He’s totally focused. I’m so glad we met. He’s a man I can truly admire,’ she said.
Julia thought this might be the way women were expected to talk in a sauna about their husbands.
‘How did you meet Erik?’ asked Marika.
‘We’ve known each other for a thousand years,’ said Julia. It usually sounded funny when she said that, but for some reason it didn’t this time. ‘He’s a fantastic father,’ she added.
‘I never thought I’d end up with such an alpha male as Chris,’ said Marika. ‘In fact, I lived with a woman for almost three years while I was studying at the university. I threw my whole self into that identity. I really thought I was a lesbian. When I met Chris it was like I’d found something I’d always been looking for. Almost as if someone finally took my hand and led me straight into the woods, if you get what I mean.’
Julia found the analogy odd. It made it sound as if Marika was still lost. Maybe that’s how people expressed themselves in blogs.
‘Is there any sort of feminist perspective in the whole thing?’ asked Julia.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean, if you’re thinking we’re going to return to a pre-industrial society, there’s a risk that it’ll be a step back for equality. Are you picturing that women will do the cooking while the men go out and hunt?’