Deep River

by Karl Marlantes

  13

  By February 1926, 200-Foot Logging—still tiny compared with operations like Tidewater, Western Cooperage, and Weyerhaeuser—had become a healthy gyppo outfit. Matti had three yarders, one diesel and two oil-burning steam, operating on two Klaskanine shows and a new diesel yarder on his own timber just north of Neawanna. The Neawanna show straddled a ridge running north-south from the top of which you could see the long line of white breakers to the west, multiple white lines of combers rolling in from the Pacific, stretching from Neawanna Head to the Columbia. Saddle Mountain could be seen to the southeast—on a clear day. In February, northwesterners see mountains mostly with their imaginations.

  The spruce on the Neawanna show were so big and thick that their needles turned the usual coastal fog into rain even in summer, supplying nearly half of the trees’ total water. Sometimes if it did rain, no one on the ground far below was aware of it.

  The first job on the Neawanna show required felling these big trees to make a road to get the yarder in position. Aksel and the Bachelor Boys started on the east side of the ridge and worked their way west and uphill, pushing the line of standing trees before them. Matti, supervising over on the Klaskanine shows, scheduled his trucks to service both operations efficiently. He put Aksel in charge of the Neawanna show along with the Bachelor Boys, two other loggers, and the new diesel yarder; 200-Foot Logging was moving forward.

  * * *

  Aino’s business also moved forward. Matti and Kyllikki replaced the big woodstove with one that used propane. This meant Aino no longer had to clean soot from the walls and ceiling and pay someone to split wood. It also reduced the fire hazard. People grumbled that you could blow yourself up with propane gas, to which Matti replied, “You can, if you’re stupid.”

  Aino had dinner ready every evening at seven. The boarders were usually asleep two hours after dinner, exhausted. Aino would have liked to do the same, but she had to do the prep work and set out the table for breakfast at 5:00 a.m. The boarders would leave for work in the dark. Aino would clean up breakfast, then do the shopping for dinner and the next day’s breakfast. The rest of the day was spent preparing dinner, making sure the outhouse was serviceable, sweeping the halls and stairs, and whatever chores weren’t daily, like washing windows. The meals she served were the meals she’d learned to make when working at Reder’s Camp, twenty years earlier.

  Almost all the boarders were loggers and worked eight-hour shifts, thanks to the IWW. Aino worked sixteen hours, albeit at her own pace and without a boss. Some days there was time to do personal shopping, visit Kyllikki, or even get a brief nap. She was thankful that at her poikataloja, the boarders took care of their own rooms and laundry.

  Aksel asked Aino to a dance at Suomi Hall a couple of weeks after he had moved in. He could still dance so well that Aino felt both the joy and the envy of the other women watching them. He occasionally took her to the Liberty Theater to see moving pictures. Kyllikki and Matti often went as well and Aino and Kyllikki, over coffee at Matti and Kyllikki’s house, would discuss—even marvel at—the risqué clothing and makeup of the actresses.

  Then, one Sunday in April, Kyllikki was wearing lipstick.

  “Oh, my God,” Aino said. “Where did you get that?”

  “At Woolworths. You know they’ve had it for several years now.” Kyllikki grinned, pursed her lips, and then licked them slowly.

  “What does Matti think about it?”

  “Matti doesn’t mind. I think he even likes it, but he wouldn’t say.” Then she put her face right up close to Aino’s. “See anything else?”

  Aino pulled back abruptly. “Your cheeks are rouged.”

  Kyllikki grinned again. “You wear this and men will see you clear across the dance floor and the women who don’t have it will be feeling like farmhands.” She walked back to the stove. She looked mischievously at Aino. “You want to try some?”

  Kyllikki made up Aino the first time, talking her through the process, just as the salesgirl at Woolworths had done. When Aino looked in the mirror with Kyllikki smiling over her shoulder, she felt she’d done something illicit. The face looking back was, of course, hers but certainly more dramatic—highlighted. She moved her facial muscles and lips. She looked younger.

  “Do you think this makes my lips too obvious?” she asked.

  Kyllikki turned her around and gave the question serious consideration. “I don’t think so, but if you do, just go to Woolworths and get a color that fits you better.”

  Aino turned and looked in the mirror again. She grinned and gaily opened her fingers in a “Voilà!” gesture. You just go to Woolworths. As easy as that.

  Not entirely. Deciding among five different colors took consultation with the Woolworths salesgirl and considerable time. And it wasn’t cheap. Still, she put on lipstick for the Saturday dance, as well as a light dusting of powder the girl also sold her and just the slightest brush of rouge. When Aksel knocked on her door, she panicked. He’d think she was a whore. He’d think she looked like a clown. She took a deep breath and opened the door.

  Aksel’s first reaction was to ever so slightly pull his head back and blink several times. Then he smiled—and then came that look.

  He walked her home that night after the dance and they kissed for the first time.

  14

  The next day, Aino was making riisipuuro for Sunday supper when Kathleen Tierney walked into the kitchen. It had been thirteen years since she’d stayed with Kathleen while organizing in Centralia. She was momentarily flustered.

  She quickly made coffee and finished making the rice porridge, the first step in making riisipuuro, while they caught up. Then Kathleen came to the real reason for the visit.

  Ever since the Centralia Massacre, her brother Jack Kerwin had been in prison in Walla Walla, unjustly accused and sentenced with six others.

  Kathleen’s chin started to tremble. “It’s so unfair!” Her eyes filled with tears. Aino reached across the table and touched her hand. “Aino, there’s going to be a big May Day rally in Olympia, International Workers’ Day.”

  “For those killed in the Haymarket Massacre. It is also Vapu, Finnish May Day.”

  “No one even remembers the Haymarket Massacre,” Kathleen said. “What about the Centralia Massacre? What about my brother and the other Wobblies? They didn’t do it, Aino.”

  “There’s plenty wrong in the world,” Aino said.

  “Do you remember Elmer Smith?” Kathleen asked.

  “Sure. The Centralia local’s lawyer.”

  “He’s heading up a campaign to get the sentences overturned.”

  Aino waited.

  “Will you speak for their cause in Olympia? We’ve all heard you speak. You’re good!”

  Aino shook her head gently. She’d promised Eleanor no more jail, ever. If ever there was a risk of jail, it was defending accused traitors. “I can’t,” she said.

  “Who then? I don’t know anyone else!”

  As Aino put the riisipuuro into the oven of the electric stove, she could feel Kathleen silently begging her. She knew prison. She knew ax handles.

  Kathleen pressed harder. She outlined her plan to apply for a permit for herself to make a speech about the Bill of Rights. At the last minute, she would get sick and Aino would step in.

  “Please, Aino,” Kathleen said. “Please.”

  Aino thought about how Eleanor would see it. She remembered Maíjaliisa once telling her when summoned for what was sure to be a very difficult birth: “Sometimes God just puts things on your plate that you have to eat.”

  The first thing she did was seek support from the Finnish Brotherhood, the social entity behind Suomi Hall. Representing Suomi Hall would give her more clout than just going up there alone. It was, after all, Vapu and there were lots of Finns in Olympia. It would also make it clear that she was no longer representing the IWW.

  Aino went to the board, telling the officers that the speech would not only be about the seven men unjustly impri
soned by the state of Washington for the deaths in Centralia, but also show solidarity with all class-war prisoners serving time for crimes they did not commit, such as the fourteen IWW leaders in Chicago still serving twenty-year terms for violating the Espionage Act.

  When she finished her pitch, the officers were silent. Finally, Alvar Kari said, “Aino, all these people were convicted in courts of law.”

  She maintained control. “In the case of the Centralia men, there was no evidence. In the case of the Chicago men, the law they were convicted of violating is both unjust and unconstitutional.”

  “How is it unconstitutional if it was passed by Congress?”

  She replied, as levelly as she could, “Because it violates the Bill of Rights. How is forty years in prison on flimsy evidence not cruel and unusual punishment? How can you say we live in a free country when it is illegal, illegal to”—she put her fingers up to show quotation marks—“‘honor, print, write, or publish any disloyal, profane, scurrilous, or abusive language about the armed forces, the flag, the Constitution, or democracy’?” She brought down her hands. “How does that not violate the freedom of speech?”

  No one answered.

  “If they were serious about this law being for everyone and not just aimed at the IWW,” Aino said, “they need to arrest every soldier and sailor for any”—again she used her fingers as quote marks—“profane, scurrilous, or abusive language about the army and navy.”

  That got a laugh, especially from the veterans in the group.

  Alvar Kari quieted them and said, “Aino, we need to be good Americans.”

  “Good Americans defend their constitutional rights!”

  “We don’t want any trouble,” Kari said.

  “Trouble is here, now. These people are in jail. They have families. Forty years. We need to stop it.”

  A motion was made to take her proposal under consideration.

  When she showed up three days later with her finished column for Toveritar, Alvar Kari told her the Finnish Brotherhood couldn’t be seen supporting people convicted of being disloyal to the United States.

  Small towns have no secrets. Some members of the Finnish Brotherhood were also members of the American Legion and the Veterans of Foreign Wars. Even Aksel belonged to the American Legion. There, he could talk with men who understood war—even if they never talked about it directly or just told funny stories about their time overseas—and he could also drink without fear of being harassed by the cops. Many of the police and city officials also belonged to the Legion for the same reasons.

  On Saturday night, a week before May Day, Aksel, Yrjö, and Heppu were having a quiet drink in what was known as the “back room” but on Saturdays was really the busiest room in Legion Hall. Kullervo and Jens had gone to Neawanna for the weekend, primarily to see if any Portland girls were there. Fred Dahlquist, the current post commander, owned the Chevrolet dealership, was a friend of the mayor, and was a man who took civic duty and citizenship seriously. After all, he would often say, he fought for democracy and a lot of men died for it. Those deaths would be in vain if the living didn’t fulfill their duty to the republic. As far as Aksel was concerned, it was a fine sentiment, but he could see no way to construe that Germany and Austria-Hungary threatened American democracy. He fought the Germans because he was heartbroken and hadn’t much cared if he died over there. Joining the army also helped solve a nagging problem resulting from jumping ship in San Francisco. Two years after joining, he became a citizen.

  Dahlquist asked if he could sit with them. They pulled up a chair, all without speaking. Fred took no offense. He knew lots of Finns. He also knew the average Finnish man’s disdain for small talk. “You know Aino Kaukonen, don’t you, boys?” He included all of them in his words, but he was looking at Aksel.

  “Yes,” Aksel said.

  “I’m not trying to put my nose into anything here, but, well, I got wind of something.”

  The Bachelor Boys just looked at him, no expression on their faces.

  “I happen to know she’s going to try and stir up trouble in Olympia about those Wobblies thrown into jail for murdering legionnaires up in Centralia.”

  “How do you know this?” Aksel asked.

  “I heard she went to the Finnish Brotherhood to try and get support for a speech about those murderers. I have a good friend on the board.”

  The Bachelor Boys regarded him without affect.

  “I’ve also got a friend in Post Three, up in Olympia,” Dahlquist continued. “Served with him in France, good friend. So I called him, and he called back saying there’s a permit application for some woman named Tierney to make a speech about the Bill of Rights. It’s a cover.” He said it as if he’d just exposed a spy network.

  “Can’t she say what she wants?” Jens asked.

  “Well, of course. She’s got a right to talk about whatever, but people talk about all sorts of things.”

  The Bachelor Boys said nothing.

  “There’s a limit. Don’t you agree?”

  The Bachelor Boys neither agreed nor disagreed.

  “While we were over there fighting and dying, those Wobblies were back here sabotaging the whole war effort. Cowards and traitors. That’s what I say.”

  “You’ve got a right to say what you want,” Jens said.

  There was now an awkward silence. “Can I buy you boys a drink?” Dahlquist asked.

  The boys gulped down their drinks and held their empty glasses out to him.

  “You boys know her,” he said after buying the round. “I just think, you know, there’s going to be … Now, I know you boys are all veterans, but my friend, well, he told me”—he took a drink—“there’s going to be a lot of legionnaires and folks who support them up in Olympia and if she tries to spoil Americanization Day, well, they’re not going to like it.”

  “The Finns will be celebrating Vapu,” Aksel said. “It’s sort of end of winter and Labor Day combined.”

  “Sure, sure. That’s the point, isn’t it? We call it Americanization Day because it’s how all of us, labor, owners, immigrants, natives, hell even Catholics, we’re all Americans.”

  “Yes. We are,” Aksel said.

  Aksel could also see Dahlquist was trying to do what he thought was right. “So you want me to ask Aino to back off,” he said.

  “Well, Aksel, we wouldn’t want it to be as direct as that. Heaven knows,” he chuckled, “the American Legion isn’t exactly against the Bill of Rights.”

  “No. We aren’t.”

  “I mean it’s just working people celebrating, together. Sure it’s a socialist holiday, too. I know that. But hell, no one in Astoria’s going to have a problem with that. Half of Suomi Hall are socialists, good hardworking people, good citizens.”

  “Fred, I’ve known her for years. Asking her to back off is like asking a she-bear to back off from her cubs.”

  “Yeah, I know her reputation. Active back in the free-speech fights. A Wobbly herself, right?” Dahlquist leaned across the table. “Aksel, you and I, we fought. They stayed home and did everything they could to harm the war effort. They deserve prison.”

  “I think they just wanted higher wages and didn’t give a shit one way or the other about the war.”

  “Did we refuse to fight because we weren’t paid enough?”

  “Hard to do when you’re drafted,” Heppu said.

  That stopped Dahlquist for a second. “Will you help out?” he pleaded. “My friend, he’s the post commander. He just doesn’t want any trouble.”

  “I tell you it won’t do any good.”

  “Aksel, a lot of our boys will have had a couple of drinks.” The jocular tone was gone. “You know what happened back in nineteen between the legion boys and the Wobblies up in Centralia. We don’t want a repeat of that, do we?”

  Breathing hard from the uphill climb to the poikataloja, Aino saw the electric light from her room spilling a glow down the steep hillside toward the river. Had she left it on? Opening the d
oor, she saw Aksel sitting at the table.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  “Pretty good speech,” he said, pointing to the handwritten pages on the table. “It’s a long way from platitudes about the Bill of Rights. It’s going to enrage a whole lot of people.”

  “As if our enragement at totally unfair imprisonment counts for nothing?”

  “I didn’t say that.” He put the speech back down, neatly aligning the pages. “Aino, please sit down. I’ve been talking to Dahlquist.”

  “Capitalist toady.”

  “Aino, this is too serious for name-calling. Please,” he said, but the “please” had a ring of command to it. “Sit down.”

  She sat down.

  “Dahlquist has a friend in the Olympia Legion post,” Aksel said. “The guy’s worried.”

  “I hope so. He needs to be.”

  Ignoring the statement, Aksel said, “The American Legion is calling May first Americanization Day.”

  Aino shook her head, puzzled.

  “Americanization Day,” Aksel repeated. “On the surface, it means we’re all coming from the old country and are now here, Americans all of us.” He paused. “Underneath, it means if people don’t look like Americans and behave like Americans, they shouldn’t be Americans.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Aino. The Espionage Act you are so against is still on the books. You can get arrested for being un-American. This could land you in jail.”

  “I’ll have a permit. I won’t go to jail.”

  He still looked at her. “Can’t you just see people instead of sides?”