Burnt Land

by Tua Harno

  Martti was standing farther off. Sanna waved at her husband, asked him some question with a gesture. He nodded toward the tall grass, where I could just make out a young woman with black hair and a little girl. I had met Sanna’s stepdaughter a few times. She was reserved around strangers, but clearly attached to the child, and not just for the opportunity the child offered to be around others without having to say anything.

  I took Sanna’s hand and held it; she looked me in the eye and smiled. I thought about the apartment in Varissuo, where the curtains were drawn across the windows, even during the day. About the person I had left there, knowing that the minimum amount of sunlight, fresh air, and sugar were enough to keep him alive. He was sorry when I flew north but said he wasn’t likely to change—I could go and be free, and he wished me the best. I, the stronger of us, would do just fine.

  Sanna didn’t promise me I’d get over everything. She knew that surviving hurts, too, leaves permanent scars.

  I thought about all the things I hadn’t asked my husband, how I’d tolerated his muteness. If he were able to talk about it now, I thought, would I listen to him? Would I be able to stomach what I’d learn? I was afraid I still loved him.

  The meadow of fireweed swayed, pink against the dusky pines.

  I twisted the wooden engagement ring around Sanna’s finger, saying, “Someone loved you this much even after what happened. I imagine it was orange, dry, scorching hot. And no kangaroos, out there in the desert?”

  Sanna laughed. “There are kangaroos everywhere. But I mostly saw them on quiet suburban streets, trying to get into the garbage cans.

  “In the desert, everything is wind, stone, and breath. We saw red hills shimmering in the distance, the fissures running down them, the boulders that had broken off, the coarse, crushed rock that ground into pebbles underfoot and kept getting pulverized into the finest sand, perfect for dusting into the eyes of drowsy children.

  “Breathing becomes a melody, the rhythm of the tides inside your lungs. First you hear it behind your eyes, then it swells and swallows the landscape. Sky and space sigh and surge like the sea.

  “Sometimes I wanted to hear what lay beyond, and I held my breath. When I was still I could hear the wind more keenly, even when the air hung motionless like the tongue of a dead wild dog. There were plenty of those. When I looked down, I could see the white of their skulls etched against the coppery earth.

  “On journeys like that,” Sanna said, “the suspense always lies in whether you’ll be able to conquer your own thoughts. Is your spark strong enough? Will it survive after your legs stop carrying you, after your skin has been burnt away?”

  One of seven billion formations, oxygen, carbon, hydrogen, and sulfur, there she was, part of the cycle, sand and wind, and my weakness, becoming attached to the way life had shaped her. I fell in love with her passion, how she subjected herself to questions that tormented her.

  And so in the end I followed her. I wished I could have given her a different kind of world, but the most important thing was to give her life, and so I filled the water jugs when the day was hottest and she slept.

  AFTERWORD

  Kalgoorlie, Western Australia, is home to an enormous gold mine, and there are several iron mines in Pilbara. Any similarities between the people working at those mines and the characters in this novel are coincidental, as this story is a work of fiction. The ritual performed by Ralda and Sanna in the desert is not an Aboriginal tradition.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  This book would not exist without the help of numerous people.

  A huge thanks to Jarmo Lahti, who arranged a place for me to stay at a mining camp and offered me a home in Australia. Thanks to Megan Lahti, who allowed a Finnish roommate into her home. And thanks to the whole Lahti family for their help, kindness, and open-mindedness.

  Thanks to Leighton (now CIMIC), the mining company that gave me access to the pit. I met countless helpful individuals; thanks to each and every one of you, including those not mentioned here by name. A big thanks to Micheal Yakovina, Dorothy Barlow, Richard Orman, Mark Norwell, Margaret Booth, Sean Bennett, Tanya Pavez, Stan Sedlacek, and Jarrad Sickerdick.

  Thanks to David Haataja, Virva Berg, and Antti Sjöblom of FQM Kevitsa. The visit to Kevitsa was unforgettable, and I’ve fallen a little in love with Sodankylä.

  Thanks to John Wheeler, who offered me a ride on a long road.

  Thanks to Riikka Hänninen for proofreading and mentoring the creative process.

  Thanks to Meri Kuusisto, Pasi Pekkola, and Pajtim Statovci for the writing group.

  Thanks to Reijo Majamäki, who was the reason I made any acquaintances at mines in the first place. Endless thanks to Ritva Majamäki, who cared for my son while I wrote.

  And thanks to Klaus, who has traveled many journeys with me, including this one.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Photo © 2015 Aino Huovio

  Tua Harno is an award-winning writer living in Helsinki, Finland. Her first novel, Those Who Stay—a story about roots, family, and the songs of Leonard Cohen—won the Pentti Saarikoski writing competition in 2012, and an honorable mention in the Helsingin Sanomat Literature Prize competition for best debut novel in 2013. Burnt Land is her second novel.

  ABOUT THE TRANSLATOR

  Photo © 2015 Lisa Loop

  Kristian London has translated dozens of works of Finnish drama and fiction, including Harri Nykänen’s Nights of Awe and Behind God’s Back, both WLT Notable Translations, and Crime Novel by Petri Tamminen. He divides his time between Seattle and Helsinki.