Burnt Land

by Tua Harno

  The red things turned out to be IGA logos painted on the side of the donga. A store?

  That’s when she knew it had to be a hallucination.

  She dragged herself closer, and the logo remained distinct. The place was abandoned. Her vision returned, and her joy at the disappearance of the gray spots kept Sanna from collapsing at the observation that the donga had served as a temporary store. Sanna tried to think for what project. The desert offered no clues. Road construction? Why hadn’t the store been loaded onto a truck and hauled to the next site?

  The donga groaned and rasped in the wind. Sanna realized the whole structure was rubbish. It had been left here because its walls were damaged, punctured by rust. No one had forced the supermarket company to take it away; it wasn’t bothering anyone here. Its brittle iron could howl all it wanted, until devoured by wind and sand.

  Sanna felt a momentary pity for the creaking structure, how it had been sentenced to a slow, quicksand death, with no chance of defending itself.

  She shook her head. This was a dangerous cycle, irrational thoughts like this. Was there some food left here somewhere? She had to look. She wasn’t on the verge of being rescued.

  Stepping away from the trailer, Sanna saw its rounded, slouching shadow. It reminded her of a dying, panting animal. Sanna’s pity for it returned, and she vaguely understood that she wanted to sit on the stairs, listen to its squeals and groans, pretend they were the voices of the living.

  People had lived here once upon a time; heavy steel-toed boots had trod these stairs. People in yellow-and-orange safety gear, and men and women with firm handshakes, tanned cheeks, and sunglasses. They had walked into the store and upon coming out had stuffed the pack of cigarettes in a breast pocket and lit the first one on the bottom step.

  She remembered what her mother told her when they went picking blueberries: Don’t move and you’ll be easier to find. Stay in place and cry, and I’ll hear you.

  Wouldn’t this be a good place for her to stop, to curl up into a ball around her womb and talk to the child until they both fell asleep?

  “Sanna.”

  She called herself by name to stop herself from carrying out her plan. The thought started sounding too tempting; she felt the drowsiness, the opportunity here at her fingertips. She could already hear the words of the next invitation: If I just took a little rest here on these stairs.

  And the next: When someone comes to get this, they’ll see me right away.

  “Sanna, don’t. Not these thoughts. You promised, not now, not while you’re carrying the child.”

  But whom had she promised?

  She had to go on, because she didn’t know.

  But just for a moment, love, I’ll rest here on the steps. Just rest a minute, then I’ll go on. Because I want to live.

  The sand swirled and sighed around her.

  It’s not true that we come from the earth, from dust, she thought. We come from other people.

  It felt good thinking she had made it closer to them.

  PART THREE

  FAMILY

  31

  VILLE

  There’s a photo of Erika and Robby on the desk. They’d gone to the photo studio on Robby’s first birthday. Robby was sick at the time and sniffling, crying. You could see Robby’s red eyes in the pictures, the raw skin under his nose.

  Erika hadn’t been satisfied with the photos but said they’d try for better ones next year. Next year. That’s how Ville had known Erika was exhausted. Otherwise his wife would have said next week. Would have said right then and there in the studio, “Let’s give it one more shot,” and wiped Robby’s nose. For their wedding pictures, Erika had covered Ville’s stress acne with makeup.

  They were tired but happy. That’s what you said after a wedding, and after the boy was born, happy became fortunate; they’d been blessed with a child. So many of their acquaintances were just trying.

  Fatigue softened the days around the edges, the nights just moved you from one day to the next like an escalator. Ville felt like he was staying awake by force of will, even during the day, was never really properly alert. He just tried to keep his eyes open between catnaps and make sure he didn’t drop his son.

  Now, too, he realized he’d been staring at the photo for a long time. He’d taken a break, brought up the tabloid websites, but none of the headlines tempted him. Then he’d gone onto Facebook, browsed the news feed, but nothing remotely interesting was there, either—it almost felt like it was the same stream as yesterday’s. Ville reloaded the page and Janne’s update appeared on the screen; his sister’s ex had been sailing.

  There was a small-boned brunette at Janne’s side in the group photo, and even though everyone in the picture was smiling, Ville thought he caught something special in Janne’s and the woman’s smiles. When she heard about the breakup, Erika had remarked that Janne had probably found someone new at work. Ville had weighed whether to keep playing tennis with Janne or break off all contact. He’d decided to leave the matter in Janne’s hands and hadn’t heard anything, which had suited Ville just fine.

  He opened his sister’s profile. The photo was blurry and ancient: Sanna standing in a field of sunflowers as tall as her. Browsing down her wall, he came across birthday greetings from this year, from last year. Sanna hadn’t posted anything about her trip. There were no photos of kangaroos or shots of sweating drinks and toes in the sand. What had been her frame of mind when she left? It must have felt good to get out of Dodge after the breakup, not to have to deal with people and their questions. Ville would have done the same thing. If he and Erika had only had a chance to start out right, too, he thought, to let the dust settle first. They could have responded to everyone’s looks if they were certain of the answers themselves.

  At home that evening, Ville was holding Robby as Erika was getting ready to head out to a bridesmaids’ meeting. Ville was trying to talk with his wife over his son’s head. He told her about the photo of the sailing crew. Erika brought it up on her phone.

  “It’s impossible to draw any conclusions from this,” Erika said. “It could be that it finally ended because it just wasn’t meant to be. For years they’d looked like they didn’t belong together.”

  “I haven’t heard from Sanna.”

  Erika shot him a questioning look.

  “It just occurred to me.”

  “Would she tell you what she’s up to, anyway? Your mom must know how she’s doing.”

  Yeah, she must at least have some idea, Ville thought. The thought of Mom always tired him. He should call her and let her know how much her grandson had grown.

  Erika squatted to tie her sneakers and Ville asked, “Where are you going?”

  “We’re going to plan and run at the same time.”

  Erika smooched him and Robby. Ville felt a twinge when Erika closed the door and Robby started sobbing. His son was writhing, wanted down. Ville sensed his boy’s unhappiness was on the verge of turning to bawling that no amount of playing was going to quell.

  “Why don’t we go see Gramma and Grampa?” Ville suggested.

  Robby didn’t react.

  “We’ll drive over, you just need shoes and a hat.”

  Ville decided to call his dad from the car, that way they’d already be en route and no one would start suggesting a different day. If Sari and Dad weren’t home, they could go to the store, Robby always liked that.

  Erika had commented on Ville’s habit of always leaving the house when he was alone with Robby. Escaping to Gramma’s was somehow wrong, as if Ville were gaining an unfair advantage. “You don’t do any housework when the two of you are off gallivanting around, that’s not good for Robby, either.”

  Ville glanced in the rearview mirror and saw that his son was still sniveling, although the shrieks had died down. His cheeks were wet with tears. Was he sick? Or maybe transitions like this weren’t good for him.

  “Tomorrow we’ll stay home,” Ville said.

  Dad was home. He resp
onded to the proposed visit with “I see.”

  “Have you finally cut back at the office?” Ville asked.

  “What? Don’t see what good that would do. What would I do around here, anyway?”

  Dad looked uneasy. He needed some sort of project in order to stand being at home. He maintained a semipolite distance from Robby; he didn’t bend down to the child’s height, but just stood there looking down and said, as if referring to a dog, “Who’s that little critter down there?” Now that Robby was walking, steadying himself on anything within reach, Dad might pat Robby on the head before extracting his fingers from his legs. Robby continued his aimless whining and ate the hunk of cucumber he was offered like a lollipop, occasionally tossing it to the floor.

  “What’s wrong with him?” Dad said.

  “Maybe he’s teething, I don’t know.”

  Ville tried to hold Robby, but Robby arched his back. Ville rocked him, cooed that everything’s fine. He guessed that when Erika returned the boy’s face would beam like the sun. Maybe he just missed his mommy, although they had done their best to divide caretaking responsibilities evenly.

  “Have you heard from Sanna?” Ville asked while Robby griped.

  Dad shook his head; he had a strange expression on his face. He abruptly clamped his mouth shut.

  “What?”

  “Nothing, nothing. I just realized it’s already been a couple of months. I guess she’ll be home soon.”

  “What is she coming back to? Does she have a place, do you know?”

  Dad chuckled drily. “No, I don’t suppose she does, since she didn’t have a job, either, last time I asked.”

  Ville raised his voice over Robby’s squeals. “At least she’ll graduate now.”

  Robby squirmed to the floor.

  “Is he sick or something? I don’t remember either of you ever acting like that.”

  “Were you around much?”

  “When?”

  “When Sanna and I were little.”

  Dad blew air out between his lips. He’d been around the normal amount, evenings and weekends.

  “A lot of times you guys were asleep by the time I got home. Your mom used to put you to bed really early, so I didn’t get much of a chance to see you.”

  “Or so she’d have some time to herself.”

  “Oh, she had plenty of time during the day. She was home for years.”

  Ville thought Dad didn’t have a clue what he was talking about. Robby had picked himself up and toddled into the entryway. He’d tried to put on Grampa’s shoes, toppled to his bottom, and couldn’t get back up.

  “They’re a little big for you.” Ville took away the shoe.

  The boy shrieked and Ville gave it back to him to examine.

  “Are you guys leaving already?” Dad called from the living room. It sounded like a suggestion. Why was Dad so worn out?

  Ville started putting on his shoes. Robby objected; his attention had just shifted to them.

  “You can have your own shoes.”

  Robby refused to be pacified.

  “Yeah, we’re going.”

  Ville picked up his son and the boy’s shoes. Dad came into the entryway and waved at his grandson, who miraculously stopped squawking for the duration of the good-byes.

  “Let me know if you hear anything from Sanna,” Dad said.

  Ville nodded but had already forgotten the conversation about Sanna. This fatigue-induced stupor had turned his brain into a ragged sieve. He’d concentrate on a topic or question for a moment, and then it would slip from his mind. He couldn’t remember how many times over the past year he said he’d check on it, get back to someone, look into something. They were all left hanging in the air.

  He needed to talk to Sari about sending Dad in for a physical. He probably hadn’t seen a doctor since pulling his shoulder five years ago. “If I could just die on my feet,” Dad had said for as long as Ville could remember. Dad had been traumatized by his own father’s slow decline; for years Grandpa had wasted away in hospital sheets as if they were burial shrouds, a leathery skeleton in diapers.

  “Are you OK?” Ville asked from the doorway.

  “Go on, get out of here,” Dad said agitatedly when Robby started bawling again.

  Ville told Robby to wait, they’d go in just a minute, and then he looked at his father. “Well?”

  “I might have to go in for a little procedure, it’s nothing. I’m perfectly fine.”

  Ville couldn’t stand Dad’s obfuscation. “Prostate cancer? Arthritis?”

  “What?” Dad’s eyes popped open. “No, angioplasty, it’s no big deal, they don’t even put you to sleep or anything.”

  “Come on, Dad, it’s not nothing. You could actually concentrate on taking care of yourself. They’ll be fine without you.”

  “All right, all right,” Dad said.

  He didn’t mean it, of course. Dad would pull a few chin-ups on the bar in Ville’s old room just to prove to his body and his son and everyone else that he was in the prime of his life.

  Erika called and said she wouldn’t be home until after Robby was in bed, could Ville manage? When the phone call came, Robby was in his pajamas, hypnotized by the tablet. Ville stepped away to talk to his wife; he didn’t want Erika to hear Robby watching television.

  “Yeah, stay as long as you want, we men will be just fine.”

  He could hear Erika smiling at the other end. “He’s been really fussy about going to bed lately. Good luck.”

  Ville heard screaming from the living room. Robby had smeared oatmeal in his hair and his fingers were stuck.

  Ville picked up his son. “Don’t pull your hair, buddy.”

  The crying intensified because the tablet was still on the couch. Ville realized he’d left his son sitting alone on it while he was out of the room.

  “It’s OK, nothing happened,” he mumbled to the boy’s head.

  Ville relished the feel of Robby’s hand curled around his fingers as he leaned against the edge of the crib. The spot on the left side of his head where Ville had cut off the oatmeal-snarled hair was clearly visible. Ville thought about how Robby was a totally different child when sleeping. His closed eyes were bigger, his face a different shape at rest. Had Dad ever looked at him this way? A sleeping child wasn’t going to get on your nerves, but Ville still couldn’t imagine Dad stroking a baby.

  He remembered spying on Mom and Dad after bedtime, peeking out from the door to his and Sanna’s room. Dad was standing in front of the television, the light of the screen turning his nose pointy and his eyebrows into black wings. He huffed angrily. Mom was sitting on the edge of the couch with her knitting needles. Dad was gesticulating at the screen, saying, “Don’t these guys even understand the basics? You’d think so if they made it to minister.” Mom tried to interject something. “Be quiet, I want to hear this,” Dad said, then laughed, a hard, joyless laugh. Ville was simultaneously afraid of getting caught and compulsively drawn to watch.

  The nightly news didn’t send Dad into such paroxysms anymore. It was as if he had risen above daily politics. He had left Mom and the recession in the dust and floated in self-reliance ever since, or so it seemed. Ville had never asked him flat out why Dad had experienced such an abrupt improvement in financial fortunes after the divorce.

  The pacifier slipped from Robby’s mouth and he sighed in his sleep, his tiny mouth questioning. Ville extracted his finger from his son’s hand and put the Binky back in place. Ville felt like he’d become a different person since the birth of his son, even though he’d thought Erika had already helped draw out a side of him that had remained in the dark. He’d tried to explain that it felt like suddenly discovering a third hand. You hadn’t known it was there and yet you still knew how to use it naturally. Erika had humored him by listening.

  He’d shared his insight with Dad, who’d said, “For every year of a child’s life, the parents give up an equivalent number of months of their own lives. The only currency of love is time.”
Then Dad had asked if Ville was getting enough sleep.

  Ville forgot all about Sanna; he didn’t remember his promise until Dad called him a week later and asked about it.

  “Oh yeah, I was supposed to e-mail her.”

  “You can call her, can’t you?” Dad sounded concerned.

  “Of course, did something happen?”

  “No, no. I just talked with my buddy in Australia and he mentioned there’d been some confusion as to whether Sanna was going to finish her thesis.”

  Ville was annoyed. Did Sanna have to go and screw up something so simple? Ville’s assistant brought over a folder; he wanted to ask her something but suddenly he couldn’t remember her name. The assistant left the room. Ville missed what Dad said in the meantime.

  “You want me to call Sanna or are you going to do it?” Ville asked, eager to wrap up this call.

  “You do it, she might think I’m checking up on her.”

  “What?”

  Dad laughed uneasily. “She was a little short with me when she left and the one time I asked how the thesis was going.”

  Ville shook his head. Typical of Sanna to be ungrateful even after Dad had arranged things for her in Australia. All she had to do was scribble out a thesis and right away suspects someone’s checking up on her. Suddenly he was a lot less interested in contacting her.

  “She’s probably let Mom know she’s alive, right?”

  Dad clicked his tongue. “Yeah, well, I wouldn’t know anything about that.”

  “All right, all right, I’ll take care of it.” Ville ended the call and stepped over to the door. What was it he needed again? Ville looked at the folder that the assistant had brought in, but his question had nothing to do with it.

  Maybe he’d just call Mom, that way he wouldn’t have to think about the time difference. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d spoken with her. It wouldn’t hurt to be in touch, anyway.

  “It’s so awkward when she comes over,” Erika had said. Ville felt the same way. The silence was like paste when Mom was around: every conversation starter got stuck in it. Mom talked about herself as if she were an invalid. She hadn’t done anything or been anywhere, and if he and Erika tried to tell her about their trips or work, Mom would blink and say over and over she had no idea what they were talking about.