sample copy (PDF) - New World Finn

So this day finally dawned for me,
Aaro was thinking as he closed the
door to his farmhouse. Leaning on
his cane on the stairs, his eyes swept for
the last time the birch trees in the yard,
planted by him as a young man together
with his wife. Aila is gone, my home is
gone. To the Old Age Home with the poor
old man, Aaro mumbled when the taxicab
pulled up in the yard. Only a shopping bag
in his hand, that’s all. Just as when he first
stepped onto this property. Nothing but a
stony meadow and a few ragged bushes.
But let’s be off then.
“Nice place—Porola,” the taxi driver
addressed the backseat passenger, just to break the prevailing silence, but receiving no
reply, he left Aaro to his own thoughts.
“Well now, take care of yourself,” the taxi driver made another attempt as Aaro was
exiting the cab and surveying the two-story wooden building. What might Aila say if
she saw me here, Aaro wondered.
“Aaro Varala?” a friendly voice inquired from the door.
“That’s me,” replied Aaro.
“Hello and welcome to Porola.”
“Thanks,” said Aaro and started up the stairs.
Managed to survive worse places, always, Aaro thought, having survived wars, and
he followed the woman down the corridor without looking around.
Sitting in the sweltering office it occurred to Aaro that had he been in his own house,
he would have pushed open the window, let a breath of fresh air refresh him.
“No children, right?”
“None.”
“But you do have other relatives?”
“One cousin. Lives at Kemijärvi in assisted living. He’s got children and even grand
kids. And I do have a younger brother.”
“Well then!”
“In Canada. In Toronto, to be more precise.”
“Well, you won’t be bored here. We have nice boarders and all kinds of activities.
Crafts and Gym. Music...”
But I won’t be feeling the grass of my own yard under my bare feet any more, Aaro
thought. I won’t be watching Aila’s apple trees burst into bloom, won’t smell the fragrance
of the fresh earth in my nose as I dig up potatoes.
After the formalities had been taken care of, Aaro sat in his room, surveying the few
familiar things he had bought with him – framed photographs, a wall clock, and
his wedding Bible. Then his eyes moved to the door, the list tacked onto it: breakfast
8:30 AM, lunch 12 noon, snack 3 PM, dinner 4 PM, evening snack 6:30 PM; and on the
bottom line: “Gym class Tuesdays and Thursdays 3 PM.”
So an actual gym class – didn’t they used to call it calisthenics in the old days? And
food every couple of hours – no wonder you needed to exercise. Suddenly he remembered
how the Social Service worker had a long time ago taken a look inside his refrigerator,
seen the jars lined up and reproached him with a scolding expression about a grown
man living for days on end on nothing but yogurt. Wonder whether they make food here
as good as Aila’s, Aaro thought upon getting a slight whiff of some cooking floating
into his room.
When it was getting close to 7 PM, he got up off the bed, and leaning on his cane he
made his way to the common room. The evening news was on. Followed by a couple of
indifferent eyes he sat down in a vacant greenish-gray high-back easy-chair that looked
like a hippopotamus fallen on his behind. Aaro sent sideways glances at the group
assembled in a half circle in front of the TV, but since he didn’t want to seem too curious,
he fixed his eyes on the news anchor and didn’t notice that he was being observed by
a pair of small but sharp eyes that suddenly lit up as if a lamp had been lit inside the
observer’s head. After the news, four out of the six boarders got up, leaving behind only
Aaro and the sharp-eyed man who started watching the sports news. Aaro thought he
might try to get acquainted with his new fellow boarders and start with the fellow whom
he knew to be his next door neighbor behind the wall and who obviously liked sports,
as he did himself. He could start a conversation there, before they’d move on to discuss
which regiment each had served in during the war, in what section of the front, in order
to guarantee the strongest possible mutual bond for the new friendship.
“Good shot put,” he said, meaning the shot the Polish man had done, and went on:
“In case you didn’t realize, I’m your new next-door neighbor Aaro Va...” when the smalleyed
man bellowed: “Quiet!”
Reflexively Aaro straightened his bent back and pulled his cane into a ninety degree
angle. “He’s been a sergeant at least,” flew through Aaro’s brain as he was expecting
to hear next: “at ease,” and, a bit embarrassed, he looked at the man whose attention
must evidently not be disturbed by a friendly chat, like he had become accustomed to
in Monola village.
After three weeks had passed, Aaro had not exchanged one word with his neighbor
behind the wall. Even in gym class, the man only obeyed the orders given,
performed the movements precisely, and then disappeared without a word into his own
room. Nobody seemed to be bothered about the man’s behavior. Perhaps they’ve gotten
used to it over time, Aaro thought and tried to figure out what might have brought the
man to such a state--his nature or hard experiences?
So let’s stare at the sports as if no other living soul were in the room at all, Aaro
thought, a bit annoyed, even though he would have very much liked to say: “Atta boy,
show them,” when Tero Pitkämäki’s javelin flew farther than the Swede’s. “You can speak,
but not when she’s on the screen, though I don’t care for her reporting,” Aaro heard the
The Next Door Neighbor
By Meritta Koivisto
©Merutta Koivisto, 2009
Translated by Margareta Martin
man say and stared amazed at the sports
anchor who had just exited the picture and
then at his next door neighbor.
What an odd fellow. So we live here
based on pictures alone, Aaro thought. Just
like Simo in our village, the poor nutter
who at some incomprehensible command
of God circled around threes or any kind
of pillars whenever it was raining, and
it didn’t matter whether the skies sent
down snow, water or sleet, he had to walk
around the closest one. Maybe the next
door neighbor had received a shell shard
in his head in the war; Aaro weighed it in
his mind and even felt a bit sorry, but that
idea quickly hid in some cavern of his soul as he heard the man say: “I’m not crazy, if
that’s what you imagined. No shard in the head or any other place.”
Seems to be able to read one’s mind, Aaro thought. And his eyes showed a bit of
the kind of fear a runaway horse feels before the coachman has any inkling of it. What
might one dare reply to that, Aaro wondered, but again the other one knew the answer
even before the question had formed in his mind.
“You needn’t ponder about what you say to me.”
Some situation I landed in, Aaro thought uneasily. How can I think of anything if
that one can read my every thought. Think I’ll move along.
“Go on, if you want to,” came from the chair next to him, though Aaro could have
sworn that the man hadn’t even glanced at him, would not have been able to see him get
ready to leave, squeezing harder the cane that felt smooth and safe against his palm.
Aaro decided to be courageous and speak man to man, honestly and boldly, right to
the point.
“Are you a mind reader?” he asked.
“What gave you that idea?” the other man replied.
He got me there, poor me, Aaro thought fretfully and stared at the man.
“You look like you saw a ghost,” the next door neighbor continued.
Just what I was thinking, a ghost, formulated itself in Aaro’s head, but he didn’t dare
say one word aloud and tried to stop the passage of his thoughts so that the other man
would not find out more.
“What about that love affair?”
Good Lord, Aaro thought, in spite of all his efforts to stop.
“Because I was a bit too far to figure out everything.”
“Well, ...” Aaro stuttered, thinking he had arrived at the Day of Reckoning, even though
he had imagined it would be waiting for him only on the far side of the Big Gates, and
preferably in the front hall, so that his late dear wife would be beyond earshot.
“In order to give you a good start, I can assure you that we do have a stronger bond
of friendship than mere war tales which undeniably guarantee a strong feeling of mutual
belonging between new friends, that is....” The hairs on Aaro’s neck stood up. Hadn’t he
just three weeks earlier played in his mind with that very phrase about a strong sense
of belonging between friends? But he didn’t get beyond forming a response before the
next door neighbor went on: “The secret. That sports anchor...”
“Did she have a girl?” Aaro was swallowing.
“No, not after all; someone else had a daughter. She’s my love child, even though
she doesn’t know it.”
“Luckily,” Aaro let out. And since the next door neighbor looked expectant, he
thought it best to get this case finally off his chest.
“I loved Aila, my wife--that I want to say for starters.”
“I know.”
“Right. And liquor played a part, too.”
“Of course, but are you now blaming it on that, even though you know quite well
that a liquor bottle does nothing but stands on a table untouched until a hand comes and
twists the stopper and pours it down the gullet?”
“But after that I’ve not taken a gulp!”
“At least you learned something.”
“Because of Aila.”
“Not because of Aila.”
“Hey, wait a minute. Because of Aila I decided never to....”
“You’re wrong there. You might have known Aila but not cared about her.”
“Because of Love then, if you want to be so meticulous.”
“You’ve got to be meticulous in these matters; lack of precision only leads to
assumptions and they mostly lead to false conclusions but at least often to some kind of
distorted thinking. But I must say that I’m quite pleased that you didn’t plead honor or
a sense of responsibility. I can see you are an honest soul.”
“That’s what I’ve always striven to be; that’s why that matter has always weighed
heavily on my mind. Many times I thought about confessing to Aila, but I thought my
wife would feel bad over nothing, or--since you’re so meticulous--over my weakness.”
“You’re starting to learn something about yourself.”
“Is that the purpose of this?”
“It is.”
“When the End is near?”
“Yes.”
“Shall I go into the details now?”
“Yes, be as meticulous as possible.”
“Will that make me feel better?”
“Considerably, because each lie you let go of is like an iron rod pulled out of your
soul and upon removal it leaves a hole which at the same time fills with a lightness
lighter than air.”
Next Door Neighbor continued on page 12
JANUARY - FEBRUARY - MARCH • 2010 WINTER NEW WORLD FINN
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