Olli stifles a smile, looks at Greta blankly, and hears himself repeating a Burt Lancaster line from Sweet Smell of Success: “Bite you? I’d hate to take a bite outta you. You’re a cookie full of arsenic.”
For a moment Greta looks as if he’s slapped her in the face. Then she recognizes the quote.
“Fiddle-dee-dee,” she answers cheekily. “That’s a quote from Scarlett O’Hara.”
They look at each other. Olli’s suppressed smile escapes and spreads to Greta, and it’s very becoming on her.
They chat.
Greta talks about her happy life in Paris and the intoxication that came with the success of A Guide to the Cinematic Life. Her anecdotes reflect the charm, sharp wit and sensibility of their teller, her sometimes almost naive quality.
Olli talks of his own life in a vague way, avoiding any mention of his wife or son. When the conversation drifts too near to his family, Greta becomes uncomfortable and her face turns sad. Then Olli changes the subject and they settle on pondering life, art and other safe, abstract matters, but soon slip into talking about their own lives again when a good story or incident comes to mind.
The whole while they are both pretending. Greta pretends that Olli doesn’t have a family waiting for him in Mäki-Matti. And Olli acts the part of a man whose family is indeed waiting for him at home, as they are both aware, but pretends that they aren’t, for reasons of convenience.
In spite of the difficulties this entails, the conversation progresses like a spring brook, branching and meandering in its search for a route, but never stopping.
Olli almost succeeds in forgetting that he’s there as a victim of extortion. He allows himself to enjoy the conversation, and at the same time a part of him remains an observer, assessing the developing situation relative to his objective.
You and Greta had a beautiful love story; we understand that now. It’s time your story had a beautiful ending.
A beautiful ending. But what sort? An ending like the one in Emma Bunny? “Do you like me? I like you. When we grow up, we can get married and have children together.”
One thing Olli knows is that these meetings are just the beginning of the beautiful ending that Anne is demanding. Today they have orders to walk hand in hand and share a kiss. Next time they’ll have to go further. The Blomrooses have decided to sacrifice Olli’s marital fidelity and give Greta the gift of his love in compensation for the crime they committed as children.
Olli smiles at Greta’s remarks, answers with his own, and tries to keep the conversation light, and his own grim thoughts hidden. It apparently isn’t working because Greta reaches out and touches Olli’s brow with the back of her hand.
“Do you feel all right? You don’t seem to have a fever, at least. You look quite pale.”
Olli remembers something he read in A Guide to the Cinematic Life:
A person’s life doesn’t consist of just one story but of many, some of them consecutive and others overlapping. While one story is a comedy, another may be a melodrama, or a thriller. It’s important to recognize every incipient story’s genre and let the deep cinematic self develop the right state of mind to supersede the slow continuum.
The holy cinematic trinity is beauty, hope and pain. A beautiful story has a beautiful beginning and a beautiful ending. The illusion of happiness makes the beginning beautiful, but the ending draws its beauty from pain.
In order to live with cinematic depth, you must surrender completely to the story that has become true at a given moment, even if it demands morally dubious behaviour or, as some would call it, sinfulness. Morality is one of the lower orders of aesthetics, and is ultimately subordinate to beauty. Morality changes—today’s sin is tomorrow’s beautiful dream—but the aesthetic is eternal. Even cruelty, betrayal and ruthlessness can, in some situations, be aesthetically justified and even unavoidable choices, and categorically avoiding them can lead to slow continuum attachment and the death of life feeling.
Olli touches Greta’s face and whispers, “I’m sorry. I’m just a little sleepy.”
Greta answers, “Don’t. Love means never having to say you’re sorry.”
Love. The word, carelessly tossed off, startles both of them.
Olli knows the quote. It’s from Love Story. Some love story this is. He almost breaks character, but manages to pull himself together, nods with soldierly charm and genuinely believes in M-particles when a fitting line from Sergeant Bruce, in W.S. Van Dyke’s Rose Marie, comes instantly to mind: “Well in that case… Your dream prince, reporting for duty!”
They get up and continue talking as they walk through town, listening to each other’s voices, but not the words themselves. Their thoughts are trapped behind their words, and the unspoken seeps through between their sentences.
When they come to the compass embedded in the pavement at Compass Square, Olli’s fingers feel their way down her arm and their hands join, as his instructions directed. It’s pleasant walking down the warm street. Olli’s step is light, and Greta moves with him, as sweetly as a dream, more gliding than walking.
The streets are full of racing fans, and of course people he knows from the parish council and publishing circles also walk past. Some of them slow down and turn to look at him. But Olli doesn’t look at them. He gazes into the distance, smiling fixedly and squeezing Greta’s hand so that he won’t lose his hold from sheer weakness. This is no time to wonder what people are thinking when they see publisher and parish-council member Olli Suominen out and about with a pretty, golden-haired woman who is clearly not his wife. His wife, after all, is the one who could suffer if he started to hesitate or lose his nerve, and he wishes he could yell this at acquaintances who stare at him, overcome with righteous shock, but of course that, too, could cause Aino to come to harm. So he will just have to worry about his reputation later, if he’s able to fix things such that it even matters.
Olli doesn’t venture to look Greta in the eye until they reach Are Square, which is packed with people.
They’ve all come to look at the eighth wonder of the world, brought to town for the occasion: a rally car on a stage with a famous French driver sitting in it. Children peep at the car and the man from atop their daddies’ shoulders; adults shove each other out of the way to get closer. Only two of the people present aren’t looking at the car. They’re looking at each other.
Greta opens the green of her eyes at Olli. No games now. No teasing.
Just complete openness, which is at the same time a question that shows her own vulnerability.
Olli looks deep into her and thinks that it would be easy to allow himself to sink so deep into that green that he forgot everything else.
They have left many things unsaid, but at that moment they stand facing each other, their souls bared, intertwined, although their bodies are not touching. This moment in a crowd is more intimate than a physical touch or nakedness could ever be.
Then Greta remembers that she has an errand to take care of and Olli says that he should get back to the office.
Before they each go their own way, they exchange a kiss. The touch of their lips is quick and light, an airy goodbye between friends that attracts no attention from anyone around them.
Olli crammed himself into a cab that had just dropped a passenger off in front of the pharmacy, and gave the driver his home address. It sounded strange and unfamiliar as he said it. He repeated it to make sure he hadn’t got it wrong.
When he got home, he opened the refrigerator. He was looking for mineral water, but he got some juice instead. He felt like something sweet. The neighbours’ lawn mower was yelling outside. He felt like his blood pressure was rising. He took off some clothes, went to the sofa, shut his eyes and forced his body to relax.
Sleep came quickly.
He dreamt about his family.
Olli is lying naked on a towel. Aino is on her own towel next to him. The whole family is spending a holiday on the lake shore at Tuomiojärvi.
His son is buildin
g a sandcastle. The towers are surprisingly tall and the whole structure is truly a masterpiece of sand architecture with unbelievably precise details.
Olli is proud of the boy. As the castle grows more and more fantastic, Olli’s angst is also growing—he left the camera at home. Maybe he should go and get it and take as many photos as he can while he has the chance.
It’s Sunday and there’s no one else on the beach. They’re all at church. The bells at Taulumäki Church are pealing. Aino sighs guiltily and mumbles that next time they should go to church, too, no matter how beautiful the weather is.
Olli reminds her that because he’s in the parish council he’s ineligible to go to the services when they’re handing out tickets to heaven. “Unfortunately my position of trust prevents the two of you from getting into heaven as well, but somebody has to do this job. And spending eternity under the ground won’t be so bad. Even God himself is there, at the intersections of all the secret passages, watching movies.”
“Yes, that’s what you always say,” Aino sighs, and starts spreading suntan lotion on her legs. “And if that’s what they said at the parish-council meeting then I guess it must be true.”
The heat of the golden sand reaches their skin through the towels. Olli’s towel is blue and Aino’s is red. Olli wonders what it would be like to lie down with Aino on the red towel. The thought of it makes him feel aroused. Aino notices it and sits up. “Oh, no.”
Olli looks at her questioningly.
Aino takes a syringe out of her beach bag. “Maybe we should paralyse that, just to be safe,” she says, looking between Olli’s legs and smiling uncomfortably. “You know what I mean. So nothing inappropriate happens. Since you are having your midlife crisis.”
“No, thanks,” Olli says.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes,” Olli assures her. “Look, it’s already shrinking again… You can hardly even see it now. No need for an injection.”
Aino nods and lies back down again. The waves lap. Gulls float across the sky. The wind has a salty smell. Olli informs Aino that Tuomiojärvi isn’t a lake any more; it has turned into a sea. There was a long article about it in the newspaper.
“I know that,” Aino says. “I can hear the mermaids’ song.”
Olli notices that Aino’s skin is a lovely brown and her physique is statuesque and beautiful. It attracts him and arouses him again. He puts his hand between her legs.
Aino stiffens and looks at the sky. “We shouldn’t,” she says sadly, glancing around them meaningfully. “You know why…”
“They’re not here right now,” Olli says. “Besides, we still have one intercourse left in our marriage. If it’s all right, I’d like to use it now.”
Aino hesitates. “Our son is over there. We can’t do it where he can see us.”
The boy’s sandcastle is now several metres tall and wide. Olli realizes that it’s going to be a copy of Notre-Dame cathedral in Paris. What marvellous arches and ornamentation their child has built out of sand!
Then Olli notices something in the water. A school of bare-breasted mermaids has appeared among the waves, close to the shore. They’re playing with something that looks like a plastic boat.
“He can go and play for a little while with the mermaids,” Olli suggests, kissing his wife’s breast, which tastes like chocolate. “I saw on a nature show that they like human children and are happy to suckle them.”
Aino smiles, now obviously aroused. “Well, perhaps just for a little while. But if he starts to smell like fish, then you have to scrub him with soap and a brush…”
Aino gets up and leads their son by the hand into the waves, encouraging him to go in deeper, like a good boy—the mermaids are waiting for him. He obeys and the mermaids take him with them. Aino turns and looks at Olli, and Olli becomes frightened.
Her face is chalky white and registers a bottomless sorrow. Olli feels deep horror. The weather has turned dark and cold. Snow is falling.
The mermaids escape beneath the sea. Their son is nowhere to be seen. Aino shrieks like a bird, falls into the waves, and vanishes from sight.
Olli can’t move. Little by little the snow blocks his nostrils, his mouth, until his breathing finally stops.
When he woke up, Olli went to read his new instructions on Facebook.
Anne was happy to report that she had arranged for Aino to have an unpaid holiday lasting until Christmas, so Olli didn’t have to worry that the school was wondering where she was.
It goes without saying that we will reimburse your wife for all the income that she loses being away from work because of our little project, and we’ll pay her an executive level per diem as well. A sum has also been deposited into your account which should admirably cover any costs the project entails for you.
Anne assured Olli that he didn’t need to worry about anything, and that their collaboration seemed to be going swimmingly.
Olli tried to believe her, nodding to himself reassuringly. But he started to feel faint and had to go curl up on the sofa for a while before he felt able to look through the Facebook profiles of his wife, Greta and the Blomrooses.
Aino’s status said:
Aino Suominen is on holiday! Greetings to everyone in Mäki-Matti!
There was a new photo on her profile. A picture of the boy sitting on the beach building a sandcastle—though not a cathedral—and Aino rubbing suntan lotion on her legs. She was looking straight into the camera. Her mouth smiling, her eyes empty. Maybe they were feeding her tranquillizers, or maybe she was just stressed.
Olli wrote a comment under the photo:
Greetings from Jyväskylä. Don’t worry, I’m taking care of everything.
He would have liked to write his wife a long letter and apologize for the way that his past had been mixed up in their present and turned her life into an incomprehensible nightmare. He felt vaguely guilty. When exactly had the Blomrooses decided to meddle in the lives of Greta and the Suominen family? Had it only been once Facebook had thrown them all together?
Clearly the Blomrooses were in control of Aino’s Facebook account, and he definitely shouldn’t do anything to upset Anne as long as his family was at the mercy of her whims. So he always gave brief, businesslike answers to the Blomrooses’ messages and was careful what he wrote to Aino.
Greta’s status said:
Play it, Sam. Play ‘As Time Goes By’.
Leo and Richard’s status hadn’t been updated for a long time. There were a couple of mentions of “meeting old friends” in posts from months past. Anne was a more diligent Facebook user. According to her most recent post she was “atoning for youthful sins before it was too late” and sorry for “any discomfort this is causing for those not involved.”
Olli clicked the Like button.
For the past few weeks Olli had, with the help of some acquaintances of his, found out what Anne Blomroos had been doing over the years. It was obvious that she was a charming but dangerous sociopath. Of course, Olli knew this already from his days with the Tourula Five, and in particular from the day that the Blomrooses, led by Anne, had destroyed Greta. Anne’s Facebook profile said only that she worked in “a leadership position in business”.
More thorough research—mostly Googling and enquiries to friends in the business world—told him that Anne Blomroos was a senior executive and leading shareholder in a chemical company. Olli knew a Dutch publisher who had connections to the firm. According to him, the stock value of the company had been falling lately, because of rumours that Anne Blomroos had incurable cancer that had spread to her brain. A brain tumour would certainly explain many things, and make the situation even more to be feared. A person with a terminal disease had nothing to lose.
Olli returned to his wife’s profile and stared at the blank picture attached to Karri Kultanen’s profile. He had spent two days not daring to click on it. His testicles had gone cold when he thought about what he might see.
When he finally did look, Facebook coolly no
tified him:
Karri only shares some of his profile information with everyone. If you know Karri, send him a message or add him as a friend.
He wasn’t sure if he was relieved or disappointed. Probably both. If you know Karri… Yes, he knew Karri. Or had known him decades ago. Before the boy disappeared into the secret passages. And he did need all the information he could get. So he made himself move his mouse, and Facebook-friended Karri.
He waited for his former friend to confirm, although he wasn’t sure what would happen next.
After looking at Facebook a little longer, Olli went downstairs, wrapped himself in a blanket, and started watching old movies, because he couldn’t go to sleep. Casablanca, The 400 Blows, The Bridge on the River Kwai. At some point he closed his eyes and let the sound of the film recede behind the hum of sleep. Just before he dozed off, Colonel Saito told the men building the bridge: “Be happy in your work.”
The next meeting would be at the river. Wait on the bridge at 7 p.m., Anne’s message said.
When Greta arrives, rush up to her and kiss her. This time you have to shift the friendship to romance! That is what she hopes and expects. Be brave and make the first move. Kiss her in a way that removes all ambiguity. Read the chapter on stolen kisses in A Guide to the Cinematic Life and you’ll know what to do.
28
THE RAIN WASHED over the river valley, which looked like an old sepia-toned photograph.
Olli stood on the bridge. He thought about his recent dream, and the dedication on the first page of Greta’s book: For the love of my life, from the girl in the pear-print dress. The same message in millions of books sold all over the world, and no one knew that the love of Greta Kara’s life was Olli Suominen, from Jyväskylä. The mystery had even been discussed in women’s magazines.
Secret Passages in a Hillside Town Page 17