Burnt Land

by Tua Harno

  Ralda wasn’t Aboriginal! Sanna wanted to shout. She shut her eyes and shook her head, shuddering at the memory of Ralda’s closeness, the feel of the other woman’s warm breath on her earlobe.

  Agitated, Ville had asked about lodging a criminal complaint. Sanna saw the police officer’s uncertain discomfort.

  “What would the crime be, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  Trusting too much, Sanna thought. She remembered what Martti had said about her and tried to take a generous view of her own mistake, even though the shame was searing.

  On the day she was released, Ville arrived to pick her up and walked her to the car. Mom was waiting at the hotel. Sanna had asked whether it had a view of the river and the park.

  “You spent weeks sleeping in sand dugouts and now you want a suite with a view?”

  Not just any view, a specific one.

  “Do you remember that woman’s address?”

  Sanna stared at her brother, shocked.

  “We’re going to get your things.”

  Ralda’s house was dark, the lawn parched. The roses had dropped their petals, and a layer of brown debris covered the ground. Ville rang the doorbell and peered in through the windows.

  “The fridge is open.”

  Ralda’s not coming back, Sanna thought, remembering how when they met she had admired her self-confidence, her cosmopolitan kindness. It felt surreal and horrific that it had all been a delusion.

  A sudden fury blazed up in her and she stomped across the property on her tender feet. Walking hurt, and she was panting, but her anger won out. She tried to pick up a heavy rock, but touching anything made her burnt fingers sting. Ville saw what she was trying to do and lent a hand.

  After shattering the window they waited for the wail of the alarm system, but the house remained still. It was hot inside and the lights didn’t come on. Sanna carefully picked her way across the shards, making for the room where she had slept. Ville stayed in the hall, with the paintings and photographs. He coughed inquisitively.

  Sanna turned to look at the frame that had contained Ralda’s portrait. Her face had been meticulously cut out along its edges, and coarse brown backing remained where the face should have been. Sanna could have stopped to explain the custom to Ville, but she kept striding onward. She could feel Ralda’s gaze through the picture, the eyes the way she had seen them in the rearview mirror of the Jeep. She wanted to hunch down and protect herself but refused to.

  All her papers were where she had left them.

  Had Ralda thought that Sanna might return? Or hadn’t she had time to destroy them? Maybe it hadn’t seemed necessary.

  Ville and Mom unanimously opposed the idea of Sanna staying in Perth. Sanna was not strong enough to stay alone. She and the baby would need constant care. Before long Sanna wouldn’t even be allowed on a flight. Technically she shouldn’t even fly now, but with that stomach who’d ever believe she was seven months along?

  They were sitting on the edge of Mom’s bed in the hotel, staring at her, offended and concerned.

  The open wounds on the soles of her feet had healed at the hospital, but Sanna was still unable to walk long distances without pain.

  It had never occurred to Ville that Sanna and the guy he’d talked to had been in a relationship. When it came out, he was unpleasantly surprised.

  “You don’t want to be getting involved with anyone right now. Just focus on your health and the baby,” Ville said.

  “I went on that goddamn trek to focus on myself and the baby. I should have stayed with him back then. I’m not going to make the same mistake twice.”

  Ville and Mom exchanged glances. Sanna’s impetuousness and talk of love were all the more reason to pack her onto a plane.

  “If it’s meant to last,” Mom said, “you can see him later.”

  “You can write him a letter if a phone call seems too harsh,” Ville said.

  “I can’t reach him by phone.”

  More exchanged glances.

  “I sent him an e-mail when I got my laptop yesterday. I’m sure he reads his e-mail religiously.”

  Ville sighed, chagrined. “I’m guessing he didn’t reply yet?”

  Sanna went over to the window. White motorboats and sailboats plowed the river, leaving trails in the dark-blue water, like airplanes. The thought of Martti made Sanna’s hands clench the drapes in her fists. She wanted to yank them down. She wanted Martti at her side.

  “Sanna, honey. Please come home.” Mom hugged her.

  Sanna felt her mother’s softness and warmth, her vaguely abrupt movements, smelled the familiar scent of oily scalp. Earlier that day, Ville and Sanna had seen Mom raise her hands in triumph, plastic bags hanging from both—she had emptied the souvenir shop. This was her mother, a woman who made really bad deals.

  “Mom, trust me. I know what I’m doing. I’ll come home right after I’ve seen him.”

  “I’m not going to sponsor your little honeymoon,” Ville called out from the other end of the room.

  Sanna nodded. She would pay for this herself, no worries. She had half her salary from the mining company.

  “If I use the money, that means I’ll also have to finish the thesis,” Sanna said, trying to get Ville to smile. “I’m sure you’ve felt this way before, too.”

  Ville’s agitated pacing paused. He was on the verge of saying something, but didn’t. “Maybe.”

  Mom and Ville’s flight left late that evening. Sanna was left alone in her room.

  She awoke in the middle of the night to the drape grazing her face; in her dreams, a hand had been caressing her. She had left the window open. There was a breeze, and the curtain rose and fell like it were alive. The billowing seemed like farewells, and she couldn’t go back to asleep.

  Her head was still buzzing the next morning when she opened her e-mail. She’d received a reply that informed her that Martti was no longer employed by the company. His temporary replacement was checking his e-mail but was unable to offer any further assistance. There was no phone number or forwarding address.

  Sanna got a glass of water and called the head of security. He must have worked with Martti. He politely informed her that he wasn’t at liberty to discuss the circumstances surrounding Martti’s dismissal.

  “I’m just trying to reach him,” Sanna said.

  Her sores itched. She impatiently scratched at her ears and then hissed so she wouldn’t scream out in agony. The new skin was still tender to the touch.

  The line crackled, faded in and out, echoed with a rich silence.

  “You can try Tom Price, he might still be there.”

  Tom Price? The name sounded familiar.

  34

  SANNA

  “Hi.”

  She was practicing. She was pacing the electricity-charged carpet and practicing. Her feet prickled in their soft cotton socks. She remembered the Shire. The same tension pervaded this place, minus the shabby nostalgia.

  If cities were born again, Tom Price was a reincarnated Kalgoorlie. Moldering wood and sloughing paint had been replaced by plastic and chrome. The bed and desk in Sanna’s hotel room were from IKEA.

  “Hi. How are you? How have things been?”

  “Hi, I don’t believe it was your fault.”

  “I love you.”

  She had remembered seeing the name of the town on Ralda’s map. The town with a first name and a last name had made an impression on her. She thought Martti was at the mine there. Maybe he’d switched employers. But a call to the company’s headquarters told her how things really stood.

  What had happened? And what did it mean for them? Did a “them” even exist? Sanna stopped in her tracks.

  Ville had called to say they’d arrived home safely. He’d talked to Erika, and Sanna was welcome to stay with them. He asked if she’d seen Martti yet. She didn’t want to tell the whole story, but she didn’t want to lie, either. It was something she had thought about in the hospital. No more secrets—that would only isolat
e her from others. No one was going to be able to help her if she didn’t tell the truth.

  “He’s not working for that mining company anymore.”

  “Oh?”

  “He’s in this one other mining town, I’m going to meet him there.”

  “Have you talked with him?”

  “No.”

  Ville sighed. “What do you really know about him?”

  “What are you trying to say?”

  “Your judgment hasn’t exactly been the best lately,” Ville said. “And that’s completely understandable, with the breakup and the pregnancy. I get why you’ve been trying to see the best in those people, in Ralda and Martti.”

  “Stop lumping them together!”

  Sanna choked. Ville’s gentle tone had felt like a punch. Still, as she picked at the stiff new sheet folded over the coverlet, Sanna felt the urge to retreat. They’d had their beautiful moment. She would never forget the molten gold, the starry sky, the park in Perth.

  Couldn’t she just hold on to her image of Martti the way it still was?

  Sanna twirled the lighter in her fingers, felt the now-familiar contours. She could never exchange it for diamond-studded gold. This worthless one was the only one that mattered, even if its receptacle was empty, even if the trinket didn’t weigh a thing.

  The reception desk at the motel was paneled wood. A corridor led right from the lobby. Sanna looked down the hallway, wishing Martti would just open one of the doors. Her heart leapt at the thought. But all the doors remained closed.

  The man at reception looked at her expectantly. Sanna considered how to frame her words.

  A little girl was playing at the sliding doors, out of breath. Sanna glanced around and didn’t see any parents. A woman in a ball cap stood outside, gaunt like a junkie, having a smoke.

  “Where’s your mommy?”

  “My mommy’s dead,” the girl said, craning her neck back. Her tone was neutral, matter of fact. Her face was dirty.

  “OK.” Sanna wondered if she dared ask about the kid’s father. She turned to the counter. “Do you know where this girl’s parents are?”

  He pointed at the woman smoking outside. Sanna was dumbfounded. The woman turned around to look. Her expression changed when she saw the girl clinging to Sanna. She called to the girl, but the girl just kept staring cheerfully at Sanna.

  “You’re having a baby,” she said.

  Sanna smiled back. “Yes, I am.”

  The woman quickly stubbed out her cigarette and started walking toward them; the girl started running down the hallway.

  “Lily!”

  A door halfway down the hallway opened, and the man who emerged lifted the girl.

  It was Martti.

  “How can I help you?” the desk clerk asked.

  Sanna gawked at Martti, vaguely registered that she ought to answer. She raised a finger and headed down the hallway. Martti was focused on the girl in his arms and didn’t look up. It was only when he sensed that they needed to step out of the way that he saw Sanna.

  “Is that you?”

  Sanna smiled uncertainly; she knew what she looked like.

  “What happened?”

  “What about you?” Sanna whispered. Her voice refused to carry.

  “Who’s she?” the girl asked.

  The woman in the ball cap walked over to Martti’s side and waited. Martti just stared at Sanna.

  Sanna didn’t know what she was feeling. Here was Martti, his eyes and face, his arms, but they were wrapped around that family. Sanna didn’t understand.

  Martti snapped out of it. “Can you wait just a minute? There’s a little bar-café over there.”

  Sanna nodded. She still felt unsteady on her feet, and she passed by the reception desk without even trying to explain what she was doing. She didn’t know. She sat down in a booth with green fake-leather benches. A heavy lead-glass lamp hung over the table.

  Martti stepped outside with the girl and the woman. There was a swing and a plastic sandbox at the edge of the parking lot. The woman’s arms were folded across her chest, and she was gesturing toward the motel.

  The man from the reception desk brought laminated menus; the edges cut her fingers.

  “Do you want something?” Martti asked when he came in.

  Sanna shook her head.

  “That’s Eva and Lily—”

  “And?”

  Martti took a seat and scooted stiffly toward the window so he’d be directly across from Sanna. She looked at Martti’s face, exactly the same as she remembered it, but he looked weary. She reached a hand across the table. Martti looked at the scars in horror, asked her permission with his eyes, Can I touch? Sanna nodded.

  “The skin came off in such thick sheets that I can’t chew my fingertips anymore. That’s one bad habit I was healed of in the desert,” Sanna said.

  Her voice still caught in her throat. She didn’t really want to say anything; she would have preferred to just be—to lean against Martti and let everything slowly unravel. But now there was this table between them, and that woman and that girl. What did it mean? She pulled her hand back.

  “Your brother called and asked if I knew where you were,” Martti said.

  “They wouldn’t have found me in time if you hadn’t been able to tell them where we left from. They found the guy in Broome who dropped us at the trailhead.”

  “At the time I didn’t realize how serious things were. The way your brother talked, I thought he was just having a hard time getting in touch with you.” Martti looked apologetically at her. “What happened? Are you really OK?”

  Sanna turned to show her belly. “We’re alive.”

  Martti smiled, but his eyes were sadder than ever. Sanna said she didn’t want to, or even know how to, talk about what had happened, at least not here. They looked at each other. Both of them had the same question: Would that time and place ever exist again? Probably not. So it would remain unsaid.

  How did this happen to us?

  Sanna saw the woman light up another cigarette, while the girl studied the bumper and license plate of a car parked next to the playground.

  “Who are they?”

  “I’m trying to help them. Eva doesn’t have anyone else, she had her little girl with her at the mine.”

  Sanna’s heart almost leapt out her throat.

  “There’s something there. It’s not a relationship, exactly, but it’s something. Eva wishes it were more. I hadn’t really gotten over you yet. And now this.”

  Tears streamed from the corners of her eyes. This alternative hadn’t entered her mind. It probably should have, but she hadn’t believed Martti would be capable of it. She coughed.

  “You got a text message. Ralda sent it from my phone.”

  Martti raised his eyes, looked surprised. Sanna nodded, but what difference did it make. Martti had believed it.

  “What’s going on? I heard something at the office when I asked about you.”

  “I don’t know where to begin. How did you even know to look for me here?”

  “At this motel? The police told me.”

  “You went to the police station looking for me?”

  “I thought that was where they were holding you.”

  Joy flashed across Martti’s face. “And you still came, even though you thought I was in police custody.”

  Sanna gave a little smile.

  “I’m waiting to find out if the prosecutor is going to charge me with criminal negligence at the workplace. Of course I wouldn’t be the only defendant—”

  “I thought it was a suicide?”

  “That doesn’t mean no one was culpable. But I don’t think there was anything anyone could have done, at least by the time he was in the cab of that excavator. They’re investigating. What’s certain is that the company is going to sue me for damages, that’s unavoidable. They fired me, of course, but that’s the least of my worries at the moment.” There was a sharp twang to Martti’s voice, even though he was trying
to remain calm. “Where are you staying?”

  Sanna grinned. “At the local version of the Shire, across from the police station. I figured it would be safe.”

  Martti gazed at her, as if their eyes could say everything that needed to be said.

  I love you, she said.

  I love you, too.

  So why, then?

  I didn’t know you’d come back.

  I thought about you every day.

  Me, too.

  But I did something stupid, I made a mistake.

  I don’t know if you can understand. I think you can.

  I think I can.

  Sanna saw the woman and the child heading back in. A confusing trapped sensation washed over her. She wanted to get up and move. Sanna opened the fabric bag she was using as a purse and set the lighter down on the table.

  The concern on Martti’s face turned to tenderness when he recognized the object. The gold reflected brown against the surface of the table.

  “You have to keep it,” he said.

  The lighter warmed in Sanna’s hands. This was going as badly as it could. She had imagined telling him about the despairing campfires she had lit during her escape. She looked away. She needed to say something, but she didn’t have the words. The woman and the child were standing in the doorway to the bar. Sanna’s gaze had fixed on them.

  “Sanna, I’m so sorry. I’ve made a mess of my whole life. This isn’t, or this doesn’t make any sense—” Martti said. “You have to focus on the baby and getting better.”

  Sanna nodded without turning toward him.

  Martti sighed. “I can’t keep bouncing back and forth. That little girl was in the excavator. I promised her I’d keep her safe.”

  Sanna wiped the corners of her eyes, saw the little girl just waiting for the moment when she could run over to the table and into Martti’s arms. The woman was holding her back by her hood. Sanna looked at the girl; she’d chosen well. She’d always hoped Martti was the kind of man who would look after his daughter.