in the grip of the gloomy wilderness and the marsh that borders the fields.
They pass the tollbooth, which is unoccupied because it is winter. As soon as they reach the Little Bridge, the driver spurs the horse on to an almighty trot. Teo wonders why country folk always have to do that. The sledge rocks, but Teo has got used to the uneven passage during the journey and does not feel ill. Nor does the swaying seem to trouble Juho. His winter-grey eyes wide and wondering, the boy gapes at the railings flashing past and the frozen sea that opens up beyond them. He does not say much, but watches everything curiously. That is good, Teo thinks. It will take his mind off his mother.
The driver has to slow down in Siltasaari. Here there are factories and workshops, and the bustle that goes withthem. Teo looks to the west with nostalgia; somewhere there, on the western tip of the island, there is a tavern where years ago, as a young student, he used to sit with Johan and Matias at their regular table, investing his pennies in a game of bowls, drinking and bawling Bellman’s ditties. Now Johan Berg sings no more, and Teo did not even sing him any Bellman in farewell, instead sticking to the same dreary hymns they both hated so much. The hymns were fitting for that landscape, though, for Johan’s grave under that grey sky, but he could have rebelled against the heavenly powers by singing Bellman: demonstrated defiantly that joy did once blossom amidst this misery, and the joy did not spring from a belief in otherworldly paradises, but from baseness and carnality, for which, in the end, we live, Teo thinks.
When they reach the Long Bridge, the driver roars to spur the horse into a trot again. He deems housing and others using the road nuisances, obstacles preventing him and the horse from showing off their wild speed. By rights, the rest of humanity would be gathered at the roadside, admiring the driver’s pace. Teo would like to remind the man of the difference between the cart and its passenger, a doctor, but knows he would only get a contemptuous look; the driver would consider him a coward. Perhaps with some justification, Teo has to concede.
He is relieved when they finally reach the district of Siltavuori. Once in the city, the driver pushes back his hat and steers the sledge with exaggerated calm.
*
Lars comes to the door himself. The maid is at some charity event. Lars notices Juho and bends down to look at the boy, puzzled. The boy returns the look, head tilted back.
‘Would you take him?’
Lars draws himself upright so fast that Teo fears he will fall backwards. Lars affects to have misheard, as if Teo has said something extremely funny.
‘Would you take the boy?’ Teo persists. ‘Rear him?’
Teo tells Lars where and how he found the boy, and everything he knows about the child. It is not a great deal, but still more than Juho himself knows about his journey.
When Lars finally manages to expel the air out of his lungs, the exhalation sounds like an objection. ‘You can’t take a child just like that.’
‘You can’t leave him just like that either.’
Teo asks Lars to seek Raakel’s opinion. Lars does not think that matters. He makes the decisions in their family. At least, decisions of this sort. Teo asks his brother to seek his wife’s view on that, too.
‘Come on in,’ Lars finally gets round to saying.
They sit in the living room, all except Juho, who stands before the large China rose, pushing his finger into the soil. Teo tells Raakel what he has just told Lars. Raakel gives her husband a long look. Teo takes Juho with him to Lars’s study. He selects The Tales of Ensign Stål fromthe shelf and shows the boy the pictures. Juho gazes at them solemnly, and leaves a muddy fingerprint next to each illustration. The print gets fainter on every page.
When they come back to the sitting room, Lars still seems hesitant. But when Raakel kneels down by the boy, the matter is settled.
She strokes
They pass the tollbooth, which is unoccupied because it is winter. As soon as they reach the Little Bridge, the driver spurs the horse on to an almighty trot. Teo wonders why country folk always have to do that. The sledge rocks, but Teo has got used to the uneven passage during the journey and does not feel ill. Nor does the swaying seem to trouble Juho. His winter-grey eyes wide and wondering, the boy gapes at the railings flashing past and the frozen sea that opens up beyond them. He does not say much, but watches everything curiously. That is good, Teo thinks. It will take his mind off his mother.
The driver has to slow down in Siltasaari. Here there are factories and workshops, and the bustle that goes withthem. Teo looks to the west with nostalgia; somewhere there, on the western tip of the island, there is a tavern where years ago, as a young student, he used to sit with Johan and Matias at their regular table, investing his pennies in a game of bowls, drinking and bawling Bellman’s ditties. Now Johan Berg sings no more, and Teo did not even sing him any Bellman in farewell, instead sticking to the same dreary hymns they both hated so much. The hymns were fitting for that landscape, though, for Johan’s grave under that grey sky, but he could have rebelled against the heavenly powers by singing Bellman: demonstrated defiantly that joy did once blossom amidst this misery, and the joy did not spring from a belief in otherworldly paradises, but from baseness and carnality, for which, in the end, we live, Teo thinks.
When they reach the Long Bridge, the driver roars to spur the horse into a trot again. He deems housing and others using the road nuisances, obstacles preventing him and the horse from showing off their wild speed. By rights, the rest of humanity would be gathered at the roadside, admiring the driver’s pace. Teo would like to remind the man of the difference between the cart and its passenger, a doctor, but knows he would only get a contemptuous look; the driver would consider him a coward. Perhaps with some justification, Teo has to concede.
He is relieved when they finally reach the district of Siltavuori. Once in the city, the driver pushes back his hat and steers the sledge with exaggerated calm.
*
Lars comes to the door himself. The maid is at some charity event. Lars notices Juho and bends down to look at the boy, puzzled. The boy returns the look, head tilted back.
‘Would you take him?’
Lars draws himself upright so fast that Teo fears he will fall backwards. Lars affects to have misheard, as if Teo has said something extremely funny.
‘Would you take the boy?’ Teo persists. ‘Rear him?’
Teo tells Lars where and how he found the boy, and everything he knows about the child. It is not a great deal, but still more than Juho himself knows about his journey.
When Lars finally manages to expel the air out of his lungs, the exhalation sounds like an objection. ‘You can’t take a child just like that.’
‘You can’t leave him just like that either.’
Teo asks Lars to seek Raakel’s opinion. Lars does not think that matters. He makes the decisions in their family. At least, decisions of this sort. Teo asks his brother to seek his wife’s view on that, too.
‘Come on in,’ Lars finally gets round to saying.
They sit in the living room, all except Juho, who stands before the large China rose, pushing his finger into the soil. Teo tells Raakel what he has just told Lars. Raakel gives her husband a long look. Teo takes Juho with him to Lars’s study. He selects The Tales of Ensign Stål fromthe shelf and shows the boy the pictures. Juho gazes at them solemnly, and leaves a muddy fingerprint next to each illustration. The print gets fainter on every page.
When they come back to the sitting room, Lars still seems hesitant. But when Raakel kneels down by the boy, the matter is settled.
She strokes
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