bad. The people are truly being tested now,’ Löfgren says, pouring more punch into Teo’s glass.
The snowfall ceases the following day, but Juho is too weak for the journey to resume. Instead, Teo skis with Löfgren to a nearby hill.
From the top, the wintry landscape, bathed in sunlight,looks beautiful. All the misery that has made its mark on the area has vanished under the snow. Teo looks at the rolling forest landscape under the wide sky and wonders how far it extends. He rises above the forest and flies over low hills, icy lakes and open fields; the small, grey houses squatting around them are in danger of being swept under the snow by the slightest breeze. He follows the river bed, flies over a small town that resembles a cobweb woven by a maimed spider. The houses look like yellowing spruce needles stuck to the web. Then forest again, dotted with fields, until the open sea shimmers on the horizon. The land dives under the mass of ice covering the sea, and somewhere there, on the tip of a peninsula, lies Helsinki. Teo descends closer to the roofs of the stone houses and, at the same time, the sea is released from its blanket and floes are lifted into small fishing boats to serve as sails. Some of them rise and disintegrate into flocks of seagulls on the open sea. He curves towards Katajanokka and remains floating in the middle of a flock of gulls, to be borne by breezes blowing over the sea close to the shore. From there, he sees Matsson, who is sitting by his house inspecting his nets. Every so often, Matsson knocks his pipe against a rock. As he does so, he talks to Juho, who is seated next to him, observing keenly how his guardian is scrutinizing the nets. Matsson says something that makes the child laugh.
The faraway trees look very small, yet they are as big as the ones Teo stands next to now. And if, in this universe,the pines are so small, how small must he be, with his concerns?
He is overcome by the same feeling of insignificance as always strikes when he beholds the sea in windy weather. And this is not a bad feeling – rather, it is liberating.
The sea by the old town is frozen. In the fields of Kumpula, wind whirls the snow, but here, in the vicinity of the city, it does not feel as desolate as the sparsely populated inland.
They pass a group of raggedly dressed people. Some of them get out of the way, moving to the roadside; others stay in the middle of the track, acting as if the sledge were not there. When the driver heads straight for them, they shake their fists and shout curses at the departing sledge. No one simply steps aside politely. Perhaps they have learned something during their wandering: either you trudge stubbornly along your own track without giving way, or you wade far into the snow to get out from under everyone’s feet and bow humbly from there. But perhaps then you will not have the strength to come back, instead remaining frozen on the spot, turned into a white sculpture like the wife of Lot.
After the new railway leading to the harbour, the terrain changes, becoming rocky and forested. Here and there are low wooden houses. To the left, between road and sea, stand villas. From the forges of Hakaniemi, dark streaks of smoke stream into the blue sky.
Teo imagines how, in ten years’ time, the causeway will be flanked by housing. On a sunny winter’s day like this, Juho will step out of a dwelling and walk to one of the numerous small factories which, according to Lars, will spring up round here.
Rosy, so rosy: Teo snorts mockingly at his thoughts. He steers them to a small, smoky, dark factory space. There he meets Juho, until recently a sprightly youth. Now his bearing has gone and he stoops, old before his time, part of a faceless crowd of other pale men who were once children and are now elderly. And yet, those miserable people in their factories would be less at the mercy of weather and of capricious nature than they are now, on their miserable patches of land,
The snowfall ceases the following day, but Juho is too weak for the journey to resume. Instead, Teo skis with Löfgren to a nearby hill.
From the top, the wintry landscape, bathed in sunlight,looks beautiful. All the misery that has made its mark on the area has vanished under the snow. Teo looks at the rolling forest landscape under the wide sky and wonders how far it extends. He rises above the forest and flies over low hills, icy lakes and open fields; the small, grey houses squatting around them are in danger of being swept under the snow by the slightest breeze. He follows the river bed, flies over a small town that resembles a cobweb woven by a maimed spider. The houses look like yellowing spruce needles stuck to the web. Then forest again, dotted with fields, until the open sea shimmers on the horizon. The land dives under the mass of ice covering the sea, and somewhere there, on the tip of a peninsula, lies Helsinki. Teo descends closer to the roofs of the stone houses and, at the same time, the sea is released from its blanket and floes are lifted into small fishing boats to serve as sails. Some of them rise and disintegrate into flocks of seagulls on the open sea. He curves towards Katajanokka and remains floating in the middle of a flock of gulls, to be borne by breezes blowing over the sea close to the shore. From there, he sees Matsson, who is sitting by his house inspecting his nets. Every so often, Matsson knocks his pipe against a rock. As he does so, he talks to Juho, who is seated next to him, observing keenly how his guardian is scrutinizing the nets. Matsson says something that makes the child laugh.
The faraway trees look very small, yet they are as big as the ones Teo stands next to now. And if, in this universe,the pines are so small, how small must he be, with his concerns?
He is overcome by the same feeling of insignificance as always strikes when he beholds the sea in windy weather. And this is not a bad feeling – rather, it is liberating.
The sea by the old town is frozen. In the fields of Kumpula, wind whirls the snow, but here, in the vicinity of the city, it does not feel as desolate as the sparsely populated inland.
They pass a group of raggedly dressed people. Some of them get out of the way, moving to the roadside; others stay in the middle of the track, acting as if the sledge were not there. When the driver heads straight for them, they shake their fists and shout curses at the departing sledge. No one simply steps aside politely. Perhaps they have learned something during their wandering: either you trudge stubbornly along your own track without giving way, or you wade far into the snow to get out from under everyone’s feet and bow humbly from there. But perhaps then you will not have the strength to come back, instead remaining frozen on the spot, turned into a white sculpture like the wife of Lot.
After the new railway leading to the harbour, the terrain changes, becoming rocky and forested. Here and there are low wooden houses. To the left, between road and sea, stand villas. From the forges of Hakaniemi, dark streaks of smoke stream into the blue sky.
Teo imagines how, in ten years’ time, the causeway will be flanked by housing. On a sunny winter’s day like this, Juho will step out of a dwelling and walk to one of the numerous small factories which, according to Lars, will spring up round here.
Rosy, so rosy: Teo snorts mockingly at his thoughts. He steers them to a small, smoky, dark factory space. There he meets Juho, until recently a sprightly youth. Now his bearing has gone and he stoops, old before his time, part of a faceless crowd of other pale men who were once children and are now elderly. And yet, those miserable people in their factories would be less at the mercy of weather and of capricious nature than they are now, on their miserable patches of land,
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