it’s not me…’
‘Well what is it?’
‘It’s Matti. And you…’
‘You shouldn’t worry yourself about our problems. He’s going through a phase; it’ll soon pass. I’m sure he doesn’t really hate me.’
‘He doesn’t… But you weren’t supposed to know. Matti told me that for as long as he could remember Mum’s been telling him that you don’t really love him, that you’re just pretending, and that she’s the only one that really loves him.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes. He misses you so much that all he ever does is listen to your writing music. Always something classical, never anything that other kids his age listen to.’
‘Well now I understand a thing or two…’
Sanna lowered her arms limply, walked over to the sink and wiped her face with a towel before bursting into tears again.
‘Sanna, listen.’
‘You don’t know! He didn’t want to… he didn’t dare tell you. He told me and… and…’
‘And?’
‘And now Mum’s trying to do the same to him!’
‘What’s she doing?’
‘You know the way she tried to smoke me out of the house because I couldn’t stand Roo. Imagine: there’s a strange man in the house eyeing me up and I’m supposed to act as if there’s nothing wrong! And she expected me to send that oaf a Fathers’ Day card!’
‘Sanna. What’s she doing to Matti?’
‘Exactly the same. She doesn’t speak to him for days, doesn’t wake him up in the morning, so that he oversleeps. She takes the rubbish into his room if he’s forgotten to take it out and goes off with Roo for days at a time withouttelling him anything, so he suddenly finds himself home alone for the weekend. Last autumn they went to Crete and left him at home for a week!’
‘What in the world can we do to help him?’
‘Don’t you know?’
‘No…’
‘You need to save him like you saved me!’ she shouted, her voice strange and almost angry, but in a way that the anger wasn’t directed at him. ‘He’s got to come and live here with you, but then you won’t be able to write again and…’
‘Good God,’ Mikko whispered almost silently. He could sense the swamp, frighteningly close, dragging him into its murky, brown waters. He saw eyeless, white fish swimming deep beneath him. He barely had enough time to bring his hands up to his face before bursting into tears; the heavy, pounding sobs of a grown man. And he cried not only because of what he had just heard, but for the sake of so many other things that had passed without tears.
15. Aftertaste
‘He’ll be over there. Take it back a couple of frames.’
‘OK.’
‘And make sure to print it off, in case the image is clearer on paper,’ he continued, though he wasn’t sure whether this would be of any use.
He and Rastas from the forensics lab had been sitting in the video room for well over four hours and it had clearly been too long. Harjunpää’s eyes could barely focus, they felt as though they were covered in powder; his neck was stiff and his temples were pounding with the beginnings of a headache. From Rastas’ laboured sighing Harjunpää could tell that he wasn’t feeling much better.
‘However you look at it, it’s impossible to say what actually took place.’
‘I know, it’s the same on the camera by the door. There’s some sort of movement, but it could just as easily be the guy himself.’
‘At least now we know the exact time of the accident, down to the second.’
Rastas rolled his finger over the viewfinder. The screen clearly showed how, like a vortex, some of the people on the platform surged backwards, while others found themselves pressed dangerously close to the side of the train, which was still moving at considerable speed. Then a man in a light-coloured jumper threw up his hands and began waving them frantically: this must have been the man the driver had mentioned.
But no one ran off, nor did anyone attempt to hide. The tape revealed absolutely nothing about what had taken
‘Well what is it?’
‘It’s Matti. And you…’
‘You shouldn’t worry yourself about our problems. He’s going through a phase; it’ll soon pass. I’m sure he doesn’t really hate me.’
‘He doesn’t… But you weren’t supposed to know. Matti told me that for as long as he could remember Mum’s been telling him that you don’t really love him, that you’re just pretending, and that she’s the only one that really loves him.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes. He misses you so much that all he ever does is listen to your writing music. Always something classical, never anything that other kids his age listen to.’
‘Well now I understand a thing or two…’
Sanna lowered her arms limply, walked over to the sink and wiped her face with a towel before bursting into tears again.
‘Sanna, listen.’
‘You don’t know! He didn’t want to… he didn’t dare tell you. He told me and… and…’
‘And?’
‘And now Mum’s trying to do the same to him!’
‘What’s she doing?’
‘You know the way she tried to smoke me out of the house because I couldn’t stand Roo. Imagine: there’s a strange man in the house eyeing me up and I’m supposed to act as if there’s nothing wrong! And she expected me to send that oaf a Fathers’ Day card!’
‘Sanna. What’s she doing to Matti?’
‘Exactly the same. She doesn’t speak to him for days, doesn’t wake him up in the morning, so that he oversleeps. She takes the rubbish into his room if he’s forgotten to take it out and goes off with Roo for days at a time withouttelling him anything, so he suddenly finds himself home alone for the weekend. Last autumn they went to Crete and left him at home for a week!’
‘What in the world can we do to help him?’
‘Don’t you know?’
‘No…’
‘You need to save him like you saved me!’ she shouted, her voice strange and almost angry, but in a way that the anger wasn’t directed at him. ‘He’s got to come and live here with you, but then you won’t be able to write again and…’
‘Good God,’ Mikko whispered almost silently. He could sense the swamp, frighteningly close, dragging him into its murky, brown waters. He saw eyeless, white fish swimming deep beneath him. He barely had enough time to bring his hands up to his face before bursting into tears; the heavy, pounding sobs of a grown man. And he cried not only because of what he had just heard, but for the sake of so many other things that had passed without tears.
15. Aftertaste
‘He’ll be over there. Take it back a couple of frames.’
‘OK.’
‘And make sure to print it off, in case the image is clearer on paper,’ he continued, though he wasn’t sure whether this would be of any use.
He and Rastas from the forensics lab had been sitting in the video room for well over four hours and it had clearly been too long. Harjunpää’s eyes could barely focus, they felt as though they were covered in powder; his neck was stiff and his temples were pounding with the beginnings of a headache. From Rastas’ laboured sighing Harjunpää could tell that he wasn’t feeling much better.
‘However you look at it, it’s impossible to say what actually took place.’
‘I know, it’s the same on the camera by the door. There’s some sort of movement, but it could just as easily be the guy himself.’
‘At least now we know the exact time of the accident, down to the second.’
Rastas rolled his finger over the viewfinder. The screen clearly showed how, like a vortex, some of the people on the platform surged backwards, while others found themselves pressed dangerously close to the side of the train, which was still moving at considerable speed. Then a man in a light-coloured jumper threw up his hands and began waving them frantically: this must have been the man the driver had mentioned.
But no one ran off, nor did anyone attempt to hide. The tape revealed absolutely nothing about what had taken
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