Silence (4 page)

Of course he rejected the idea and instead went straight back to his car. If the woman did still live here he didn’t want her seeing him.

He drove home. It was still afternoon, but beginning to get dark. The snowfall was slackening.

He left the car under the projecting roof, took the newer of his two shovels and dug the snow out of his entrance.

He greeted the married couple from the house next door, who were walking past him, in a clearly audible voice. They both looked surprised, presumably because Ketola sometimes forgot to say good day at all. The couple’s daughter, so Ketola thought, would be about the same age now as the dead girl had been back then.

After finishing his work, Ketola put the shovel back in its place and went up to the house. Unlocked the door, knocked the snow off his shoes and went in. He headed straight for the kitchen and made coffee, adding a shot of cognac.

Then he sat down on the living-room sofa, switched on the TV set, put his cup on the table and, for the first time in a very long while, and with a sense of decided relief, began shedding tears.

8 J
UNE

1

T
imo Korvensuo felt the evening sun resting on him, warm and high overhead.

He quickened his pace, took the three wooden steps up to the front door in a single stride, and gave the woman another smile before he opened it.

‘I thought you might like this,’ he said, and left the view to do its work.

The woman stayed in the doorway, because even from here she could see the sun over the lake through the living-room window and Timo Korvensuo knew that during these weeks of the year, in this weather and at this time of day, it always stood at an unusual angle, flooding the lake with almost improbably beautiful light.

He had shown the house to eight potential buyers so far and, although none of them had yet decided to clinch the deal, this image never failed to impress clients. Korvensuo stood beside the woman as she admired the view and thought that he liked this house, and in spite of its structural deficiencies might perhaps have wanted to buy it himself except that, as it happened, he already had a weekend house on this same lake, only a few minutes’ drive away. Later, after this last appointment of the day was over, he would go there at his leisure and have a little while to himself before Marjatta, the children and their guests arrived. He might even manage a sauna and a swim.

‘Shall we take a look inside this gem?’ he asked the woman.

‘Yes, let’s,’ she said. ‘I think I really like it.’

Korvensuo nodded and took her round the rooms, which as usual he had had cleaned and furnished in a style that was bound to appeal to viewers.

In the course of his guided tour he never failed to mention every single flaw in the house to interested parties, but at the same time he took care that the properties he was selling showed their best side. And if the owners of a house themselves were not in a position to make sure of that, he would lend a hand himself. No sellers had ever yet complained.

‘It’s … yes, attractive, in spite of the drawbacks. I’ll think about it,’ the woman finally said and Korvensuo nodded.

They shook hands, and he waited for her to get into her car and drive away before seating himself in his own. He was satisfied. He lingered for a little while, looking at the house in the red glow of sunset. It would soon find a new owner.

Then he started the car and drove round to his own place on the other side of the lake. As he had hoped, he still had a little time left before all the noise and racket started. The kids would be in high spirits today, the first day of the long summer holidays.

He was looking forward to a family weekend together, the first in a long time – he’d been travelling a great deal these last few weeks. But yesterday he had finally found takers for two properties that were really beginning to feel like a burden on him, and now he felt liberated. He decided not even to go indoors first, or take a sauna, he would just jump straight into the lake.

He got out of the car and went down to the landing stage, stripped off his clothes, put them all together in a neat rectangular pile, left his shoes at a right angle to it, put his watch in his left shoe, then decided on the right shoe after all, and jumped into the water. He let himself sink to the bottom, catapulted himself back to the surface and swam far out to the middle of the lake.

Only now did he really feel how those two properties had been weighing on his mind, and what a great relief it was not to have to drive to that Helsinki suburb again at long last, to offer two more flats in dire need of renovation, as if tempting someone to have a sour beer. It had been a mistake to take on those properties in the first place, particularly as the seller had expressed unrealistic ideas of the price he could get and had been a prickly character in general, but in view of the present financial situation Korvensuo hadn’t had much choice. And ultimately it had been worth while, because thanks to a builder who would undertake to renovate the two flats himself and was obviously glad of the job, those properties were off his hands.

He swam back to the bank, swung himself up on to the landing stage and dressed. In half an hour’s time Marjatta and the children would be arriving. And another half an hour later so would their guests. Johanna and Arvi Mustonen with their two daughters. And Pekka, his young colleague, a man he really liked. Pekka did good work, he was a quiet, decent man.

It was going to be a fine evening. He draped his jacket and tie over his arm; he had a T-shirt in the car boot. He felt good. He turned round once and after a few seconds turned again in the opposite direction. Then he ran up the slope to his car.

2

T
he children were chasing back and forth between the sauna and the lake, never tiring. Aku, Laura and the Mustonens’ daughters. Timo Korvensuo watched them, and felt nothing but pleasure, relief and a sense of agreeable emptiness after several days of hard work.

The Mustonens’ younger daughter was wearing a pink bathing suit, the older girl wore red bathing trunks with a green and white striped bikini top. He liked the look of that, it didn’t trouble him, he talked to his guests in relaxed mood and merely took in the details out of the corner of his eye. The drops of water on the girls’ skin, the older girl running her hand through her hair in a certain way, the water spraying on his arm when the girls ran round the table.

They were playing Catch, and Aku was always It and had to be caught. The girls got him down, swarmed over him and tickled him, and Aku laughed, otherwise not bothered, and was already jumping back into the water. The girls followed. They swam far out, their laughter dying away in the distance.

‘Please take care!’ Marjatta called.

‘They’ll be all right,’ said Arvi.

‘Anyone like a second helping of meat?’ asked Korvensuo.

Johanna and Marjatta waved the offer aside. Arvi raised a hand.

‘You too, Pekka?’ asked Korvensuo.

‘Well, yes, just a little more,’ murmured Pekka. Korvensuo was mildly amused by his young colleague. When it came to selling houses, Pekka Rantanen wasn’t half as diffident as now, sitting carefully motionless on his chair, saying hardly a word and eating little. People acted so differently in various situations.

Korvensuo served meat on to the guests’ plates, turned round, which the others didn’t seem to notice, sat down, began eating heartily and let Arvi muse on the state of the national Finnish football team.

‘They have good players, but they just don’t make the best use of them. You can bet we’ll be left nowhere again,’ he said, and Korvensuo nodded as the children’s laughter came closer again.

‘Terrible luck with injuries,’ murmured Pekka.

‘While we’re talking about football, why not switch on the box? The Under-21s have a game today.’

‘Sure, if the ladies don’t mind,’ said Timo Korvensuo, but the ladies were deep in discussion of second-hand shops. Korvensuo smiled to himself as he carried the little portable TV set out on to the terrace. He placed it on a chair, switched it on and fiddled around to find the best position for the aerial.

‘You even watch the juniors playing?’ asked Pekka somewhere in the background.

‘We won’t ever really be up with the best if we don’t have promising youngsters coming through,’ replied Arvi.

The picture wasn’t particularly good, but it would just about do.

‘You might get yourselves a new set some time,’ said Arvi. ‘This one’s out of the Ark.’

‘We don’t really watch TV much here … and look, it’s okay,’ said Korvensuo, pointing to the screen. Sure enough, the picture was clearer now and the Finns had possession of the ball.

Korvensuo turned away and looked at the lake. The girls were standing in the evening sunlight, jostling one another about until Laura, screeching, fell into the water. Aku had put his clothes on again now and came running towards them shouting that he wanted ice cream.

‘Coming in a moment,’ called Marjatta.

Korvensuo sat down and let Arvi’s ramblings about the Finnish team lull him almost to sleep. From time to time Pekka added a comment. The game on the screen was soporific too, and the warmth of the evening enveloped him like a blanket. Now and then his eyes closed.

Marjatta brought out ice cream, the children chattered to each other and reached for the dishes that she was handing them. The sun had gone down now, but he almost felt the air was getting warmer and warmer. He saw a newsreader on the screen. He was about to ask Arvi whether the game was over or if this was half-time, but Marjatta asked him a question that he heard only indistinctly, because he was looking at something that had caught his attention.

‘What?’

‘I asked if you’d like ice cream too, or what little they’ve left,’ Marjatta repeated, holding the dish in front of his face, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the picture he was looking at, the picture that … And the girls were chattering away all round him, and Aku had started to cry.

‘I’ll just go and get another pack out of the fridge, then everyone will be happy including our little Aku,’ he heard Marjatta say, and he realized that he had risen to his feet and was on the move. ‘What’s going on there?’ he asked Arvi as he went past, but Arvi, deep in animated discussion with Pekka, didn’t hear him.

Aku had stopped crying.

‘I want some more ice cream too,’ said Laura.

Korvensuo knelt down in front of the TV, never taking his eyes off the screen, and tried to concentrate on the words coming out of the set. He groped for the volume button.

‘Anything special?’ he heard Marjatta ask. She was standing right behind his back as he carefully turned up the sound.

Marjatta put a hand on his shoulder.

He listened to the newsreader’s matter-of-fact voice.

‘Tum it up a bit louder, sounds like something’s happened,’ said Arvi.

There was a bicycle on the screen. A field. A field in the sunlight. Korvensuo made out a cross beside the bicycle. A cross standing just outside the field, and beyond it, in the field itself, was a bicycle. The bicycle lay there in the sun. The newsreader’s voice spoke of the cross and a similar case that was now thirty-three years in the past. A girl’s photograph came up on screen. The voice gave her name and age, and said the girl had been murdered thirty-three years ago.

‘How awful,’ he heard Johanna saying and then he saw a red car on the screen, not a photograph but a drawing of a small red car. He sat up abruptly. Something was trickling through his body. A warm feeling. Dry. Like sand. He moved past the others and back to the chair where he had been sitting, The rest of them were standing around the TV set talking, but he heard only Arvi’s voice as the dry, warm sand trickled through his body.

‘You wonder what kind of bastard would do a thing like that again,’ said Arvi. And when no one replied he added, ‘Enough to stop anyone wanting to have children.’

After that no one said anything for a while. The children were hovering about in front of the TV, eating small spoonfuls of ice cream. Marjatta suggested making coffee and Johanna followed her in. Aku took advantage of his mother’s absence to pile another helping of ice cream on to his plate.

‘Can I?’ he asked.

Korvensuo nodded.

Arvi and Pekka went back to where they had been sitting before and watched the screen. The second half of the football match was beginning. The girls went down the slope to the landing stage with a pack of cards.

Korvensuo saw everything very clearly. His body was full of sand.

Marjatta poured coffee.

Arvi and Pekka were cheering a Finnish goal.

‘People somehow don’t think such things happen in Finland,’ said Marjatta. Johanna nodded. Arvi and Pekka were concentrating on the game. Korvensuo nodded. Nodded to himself and looked at the screen. He raised the cup to his mouth.

‘Do you see what I mean?’ asked Marjatta.

‘Of course,’ said Johanna.

‘You get bastards everywhere,’ said Arvi, without taking his eyes off the screen.

‘That was offside,’ said Pekka.

Korvensuo felt his wife’s gaze resting on him. ‘Sure,’ he said. ‘Sure.’ He raised the cup to his mouth again. A shot in slow motion flickered before his eyes. A foul.

‘They were saying on the news there was a girl murdered on that very same spot thirty years ago,’ said Johanna.

‘Thirty-three years ago,’ Pekka said.

‘On that very same spot. The cross beside the bicycle is in memory of the dead girl,’ said Johanna.

‘Really weird,’ said Arvi. ‘Whoever murdered the girl back then must be drawing his old-age pension by now.’

‘That depends,’ said Pekka.

‘I expect it was the girl’s family put the cross up there,’ said Marjatta. ‘And now the place has been … well, kind of desecrated again.’

‘Hm, desecrated …’ said Arvi.

‘Did you say her family?’ Korvensuo asked.

‘Yes. Well, I suppose it was them, anyway, the report didn’t say that in so many words, but it mentioned that the girl lived only a few minutes away from the place. I mean the girl who was murdered all that time ago.’