The Core of the Sun by Johanna Sinisalo Page B

hide the key as a child. I nodded and said of course. He smiled and said that I must remember what you say when the searcher is very close to the hiding place. I was about to open my mouth, but stopped when Mirko’s eyes widened slightly.
    You’re getting hotter. Burning hot. That’s what you say.
    I smiled back at him. “That’s the most important part of the game, isn’t it?” I said.
    â€œYes, it is. ‘Seek and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you.’ That’s what the Bible says, although that isn’t our holy book.”
    He tapped the paper with a finger, pointing to the symbol as if by accident.
    â€œIf you would like to come to a prayer meeting sometime, you’re very welcome.”
    â€œI would like to come,” I said, although I knew that it was a big risk.
    Mirko took out a pen and wrote something on the paper. “We’re having a prayer meeting today, actually. Here’s the address.”
    I didn’t even look at the paper, just put it in my pocket and thanked him.
    Mirko got up. We shook hands and went our separate ways. I didn’t look at the address until I got home. It was on the outskirts of town, in the area of wooden houses around Kauppi.
    I went there that evening. It was an old, run-down building surrounded by a well-kept garden mulched for the winter. I knocked on the door and one of the mascos who’d been at the market square opened it, nodded, and asked me in. I had hardly crossed the threshold when someone grabbed me from behind and held my upper arms tight, pulling my hands behind me.
    â€œCheck to see if he’s clean.”
    Three mascos came and patted me down all over. “He’s clean.”
    They let go of me. Mirko came right up in front of me and stood with a big, mean-looking knife in his hand. “Sorry to do this. But we have to be absolutely sure of everyone.”
    I nodded.
    â€œWe’re peace-loving people and we don’t want to cause problems for anyone. But if you decide to help us you will be magnificently rewarded.”
    There was something so bombastic about this that it almost made me laugh, but I thought it wise to keep my smile to myself.
    â€œOur mission is to give the fire back to humanity.”
    After a short discussion I was much the wiser. Mirko went somewhere else in the house and was gone for a long time, and then came back with a plastic bag. “These are our collateral.”
    He handed me a bag of fresh habaneros.
    â€œFor some time now we’ve been looking for a smart, motivated go-between. You seem to be both. We need money and we can’t risk making sales ourselves. The risk will be entirely yours. If you get caught, we have many ways of silencing you before you’re even questioned. But if you do your job right, there’s plenty more where this came from.”
    I didn’t even think about what exactly was meant by that veiled threat. I knew that some people who’d had dealings with chilis had disappeared. There were rumors of capsos in high places who could use their own channels to handle dealers who took risks. There were whispers about ways to get to a snitch the moment he was put in the paddy wagon. Those might be legends, but the heavy, juicy red bag was there on the table. It was real. Fresh stuff is impossible to fake.
    These guys were the real thing. They were serious.

VANNA/VERA
    November 2016
    I sit at the table. The pan in front of me is holy communion.
    I scoop some of the vegetables into my bowl and stir them until they cool a little, but not too much. A fix served in hot food is weird; at first it’s impossible to tell what’s warming my mouth, the temperature of the food or the precious capsaicin.
    The first hit of habanero shakes me. I’ve already had three or four forkfuls before it starts to come up on me, first in little waves lapping the shore, then, before I know what’s happening, it’s