lightning frozen in their attempt to strike at the sky from the ground. Teo throws a farewell glance at the grave and sees Mrs Berg levering a large stone into it with the long-handled spade. Matias strides back, takes the spade from the wife and carries on filling the grave. She stands, shoulders hunched, and watches the earth falling into the hole.
Teo beckons to two thin men standing by the cemetery gate. He offers them a banknote. The taller of the two shoves the note into his breast pocket.
‘I fucking knew it, didn’t I?’ he snorts at his companion.
Matias offers Mrs Berg his arm and guides her through the gate.
Teo looks up at the sky. He would like to see a sign of Johan, or even God. But there is a grey carpet covering the firmament. If God is behind it, he is not looking at Finland, and Johan has not risen from his grave but lies instead in a wooden coffin, stones thumping against its lid like church bells proclaiming the end of a life. Only endless, dreamless sleep remains.
That is where Johan Berg is laid to rest, except there is no old friend resting there, but something that was once Johan Berg. The booming laugh he would let out, years ago, when he was sitting drunk at the table in the Green Villa, still echoes in Teo’s head, though ever more faintly.
And when Teo no longer hears it, there will be nothing left of Johan.
After coffee, sitting in comfortable armchairs, Teo and Matias light their pipes. The stove in the rectory parlour exhales a warmth that makes them forget the icy grave for a moment.
Teo tells Matias of the visit he made to a small cabin on his way here. When he went in, the farmer barely glanced at him from under his dark brows.
Teo tried to speak the man’s own language to him. When he failed to get a reply, Teo placed a banknote onthe table. The man’s gaze moved along the bare surface towards it. When it reached the money, the man got up, retrieved a wooden box from the top of the stove, put it on the table and took out three identical notes. Then he sat down and stared at his money.
‘You eat yours, then I’ll eat mine,’ he grunted finally.
Teo was about to stand up and leave when from some dark corner a woman appeared and brought him a bowl of gruel. The man disappeared in a huff and did not come back for as long as Teo was there. The woman kept moving her hands about apologetically and plucking nervously at her apron. She then took the money, the man’s own and the note Teo had put on the table, and placed them in the box, which she lifted back into its hiding place. She turned to face Teo and curtsied. Teo, already on his feet, curtsied back, thanked her in Swedish by mistake and left.
Matias laughs at the story as if it were a funny anecdote. Teo, too, has to chuckle at the memory of the situation. All the same, he wonders how they can be touched by the surrounding misery, if they are merely amused by it. If they truly felt what was going on, would they still be able to laugh?
Instead of looking at others, as they should, they look in the mirror. Look, there is your neighbour, moulded by God in His own image. What you do unto him, you do unto God; serve him, therefore, and do what good you can.
What about Johan, what happened to him? Did the bear with his ready laugh – that manly, rumbling roar – turninto a gloomy, emaciated spectre? Did this reality touch Johan Berg with its cold fingers and rob him of all the joy he had in life?
In his last letters to Teo, Johan had reminisced about their shared student years, repeating the same old stories as if to convince himself of their reality. Despite all the amusing memories, the letters were gloomy. Or because of them: perhaps the contrast was so great that, as he wrote, Johan finally realized that all was now lost. Was Johan’s soul deadened by what he saw to be the reality, or by what he saw to be dead and gone?
The Book of Marja
The yellow wall takes up the entire length of the street. Marja walks
Teo beckons to two thin men standing by the cemetery gate. He offers them a banknote. The taller of the two shoves the note into his breast pocket.
‘I fucking knew it, didn’t I?’ he snorts at his companion.
Matias offers Mrs Berg his arm and guides her through the gate.
Teo looks up at the sky. He would like to see a sign of Johan, or even God. But there is a grey carpet covering the firmament. If God is behind it, he is not looking at Finland, and Johan has not risen from his grave but lies instead in a wooden coffin, stones thumping against its lid like church bells proclaiming the end of a life. Only endless, dreamless sleep remains.
That is where Johan Berg is laid to rest, except there is no old friend resting there, but something that was once Johan Berg. The booming laugh he would let out, years ago, when he was sitting drunk at the table in the Green Villa, still echoes in Teo’s head, though ever more faintly.
And when Teo no longer hears it, there will be nothing left of Johan.
After coffee, sitting in comfortable armchairs, Teo and Matias light their pipes. The stove in the rectory parlour exhales a warmth that makes them forget the icy grave for a moment.
Teo tells Matias of the visit he made to a small cabin on his way here. When he went in, the farmer barely glanced at him from under his dark brows.
Teo tried to speak the man’s own language to him. When he failed to get a reply, Teo placed a banknote onthe table. The man’s gaze moved along the bare surface towards it. When it reached the money, the man got up, retrieved a wooden box from the top of the stove, put it on the table and took out three identical notes. Then he sat down and stared at his money.
‘You eat yours, then I’ll eat mine,’ he grunted finally.
Teo was about to stand up and leave when from some dark corner a woman appeared and brought him a bowl of gruel. The man disappeared in a huff and did not come back for as long as Teo was there. The woman kept moving her hands about apologetically and plucking nervously at her apron. She then took the money, the man’s own and the note Teo had put on the table, and placed them in the box, which she lifted back into its hiding place. She turned to face Teo and curtsied. Teo, already on his feet, curtsied back, thanked her in Swedish by mistake and left.
Matias laughs at the story as if it were a funny anecdote. Teo, too, has to chuckle at the memory of the situation. All the same, he wonders how they can be touched by the surrounding misery, if they are merely amused by it. If they truly felt what was going on, would they still be able to laugh?
Instead of looking at others, as they should, they look in the mirror. Look, there is your neighbour, moulded by God in His own image. What you do unto him, you do unto God; serve him, therefore, and do what good you can.
What about Johan, what happened to him? Did the bear with his ready laugh – that manly, rumbling roar – turninto a gloomy, emaciated spectre? Did this reality touch Johan Berg with its cold fingers and rob him of all the joy he had in life?
In his last letters to Teo, Johan had reminisced about their shared student years, repeating the same old stories as if to convince himself of their reality. Despite all the amusing memories, the letters were gloomy. Or because of them: perhaps the contrast was so great that, as he wrote, Johan finally realized that all was now lost. Was Johan’s soul deadened by what he saw to be the reality, or by what he saw to be dead and gone?
The Book of Marja
The yellow wall takes up the entire length of the street. Marja walks
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