Coffee and vodka, p.14
Coffee and Vodka, page 14
‘Shall I drive?’ Anja said when we stood on the pavement by the car.
‘Perhaps you ought to,’ Pappa said and gave his keys to her. Then he walked around the front to the passenger seat. I sat in the back as before. The car looked different to me. It was cold and damp inside. I saw the window had been wound down and rain or mist had made the other side of the back seat wet.
In Pappa’s car I thought about going back to Stockholm, to my clean, bright flat and Janne’s risotto. The thought of Janne startled me. I must phone him. I took my mobile out of my handbag and looked at the small screen. Then I glanced up at Pappa and Anja. They were concentrating on the road ahead. I saw I had missed calls: from Yri? I dialled the voicemail number and got Janne’s concerned voice, ‘Can’t get an answer from your flat, and at the school they say you’re away. Can you please call me?’
The sounds of my mobile had alerted Anja. She was throwing glances at me through the mirror.
‘Janne,’ I said.
Anja nodded, her eyes dark and wide.
There was a message from Harriet too, ‘I’ve had Janne on the phone. He told me you’ve gone away, something to do with your grandmother. What’s going on? Give me a call!’
These voices from my life in Stockholm were from another world. Although it had been just over 24 hours, it seemed to me an age since I’d spoken Swedish. The language seemed too jolly, the words too plentiful. Then I thought about Yri, how he promised to call, and hadn’t. How was I going to explain all of it to Janne? I pressed my head against the cold window and closed my eyes.
When we got to Pappa’s house, he said, ‘Anyone for a drink?’ I looked at my watch and thought it’s getting earlier and earlier, but nodded. I knew he didn’t mean just coffee, though Anja went straight over to the percolator and started loading the machine with water and spoonfuls of strong ground coffee. Pappa got a bottle of vodka out of a cupboard and placed it on the table.
‘A little bit of strength for us all,’ he said and sat down in front of the bottle. His face looked a bit brighter. Anja put one cup in front of him and the two others around the table. Pappa unscrewed the top off the vodka and poured half a cupful out for himself. I watched him gulp it down in one go. He held the open bottle up, and looking at us said, ‘Anja, Eeva?’ His eyes were lifted and he looked from one to the other. Anja shook her head and said, ‘I’ll wait for the coffee.’
‘Me too,’ I said.
Pappa poured a second helping into his cup and left the liquid there. His head was bent down, as if he was examining the bottom of his cup through the clear vodka. The percolator started making gurgling noises and we all looked at it.
‘Nearly ready,’ Anja said and glanced at Pappa. It was as if she was talking to a child. Then the coffee maker was silent and Anja got up, holding onto the table with both of her hands. She sighed and poured coffee for us all. Without asking, Pappa sloshed vodka into our cups. ‘C’mon girls, this will help a bit,’ he said and lifted his up. The scent of the alcohol mixed with coffee made me wretch, but I swallowed half a cupful.
‘Now I need to talk to you two,’ Pappa said after another round of coffee and vodka. His eyes had a determined look and he had his arms resting either side of the cup and saucer. His slender hands were crossed. I was sitting opposite him while Anja was looking out of the window. She had her hands on her lap, her fingers playing with her wedding ring. I wanted to touch Pappa’s hands but didn’t dare.
‘Saara decided everything before she fell ill. She’s going to be buried in the Kangasmaa cemetery and the service will be in the chapel there. You know, where Vaari was buried.’ Pappa added, looking at me, ‘Though you are too young to remember my father, Eeva, aren’t you?’
‘He died before I was born,’ I said. I couldn’t believe Pappa would not remember that.
‘Of course, so it was,’ he said and looked old and frail again for a moment.
‘Anyway, she told me she spoke with the pastor there, so I’ll phone and make the arrangements. You needn’t worry, it’s all taken care of,’ Pappa said looking up. Our eyes met and I touched his hands and said, ‘OK, that sounds right.’
‘Yes,’ he said. His eyes filled with tears, and he coughed and took his hand away. ‘It may be a couple of days before the funeral can be arranged. I need to contact her one living cousin. Then there is her neighbour, and…anyway, she’s left a list for me. So you girls can go and take care of your families,’ Pappa looked at me and added, ‘or jobs and things. I’ll let you know when the funeral is and then you can make a trip here again for that.’
Eighteen
The vodka warmed my body. Pappa had been right; it helped. I can see how you can become an alcoholic, I thought, as I looked around the attic. The two mattresses on the floor were about a metre apart, but Anja’s had edged towards mine and was lying at an angle. I went over and straightened it. We hadn’t had time to make the beds in the morning, not even with just a loose sheet covering the mattress and a pussilakana covering a thin blanket. I wondered about the Finnish word; directly translated it meant a ‘bag sheet’, which described it precisely. Except for the ones Pappa had given us. The blanket was far too small for the duvet cover. The ends hung loose on the floor.
I’d told Anja and Pappa that I was coming upstairs to lie down, but instead I sat on an old 1960s office chair. It squeaked when I swivelled around in it, and the orange fabric was worn out on the armrests. I could hear voices from the kitchen, Anja’s calm tone interrupted by Pappa’s baritone.
I took my mobile out of my handbag and thought I ought to phone Janne. I pressed the arrows and scrolled along the familiar names in my directory. The last on the list was Yri. I had not called him since he told me it was over. He said he had to try and repair his marriage and I didn’t want to pester him, or his wife. Many times during the last few years, coming across his number on a busy day I nearly deleted it. More often since I’d met Janne. But I wanted to keep something of Yri, a memory. The number was evidence that he existed.
Strange, I thought now, that he never left even as much as a toothbrush in my flat. When he stayed the night, the one wonderful night, he had an overnight bag, which he packed meticulously when he was getting ready to leave in the morning. I watched him fold his jumper and his white, soft cotton boxer shorts in the bottom of the worn-out leather holdall. In the bathroom, he picked up his shaving gear and toothbrush, and the little plastic comb he used to try to control his unruly hair, and placed them one by one in a small dark-green wash bag. I leant against the doorframe of the long bathroom in my flat, watching him. I was wearing a white cotton dressing gown. Yri zipped up the wash bag, and I watched his gaze move from my eyes down to my throat and follow the edge of the dressing gown past my waist to my bare thigh. I pushed one knee further out to reveal more of me and felt the ache for him again.
Next day Yri told me he had been in trouble at home for being so late back.
I looked at the name on the telephone and at the green button with a small picture of a receiver. I needed to talk to Yri so badly. Surely he’d understand this was an emergency? What the hell, I thought, he can pretend it’s a wrong number if he can’t talk.
I could feel the dampness of perspiration under my arms as I listened to the ringing tone. I practised what I’d say, ‘Hi, it’s me.’ That’s how we always started our telephone conversations. Suddenly I wondered what time it was and looked at my watch: five past five. I panicked at the thought that he’d be at home already and was just about to hang up when a voice said, ‘Hello?’
‘Hi, it’s me.’
There was a silence at the other end and I half expected to hear the disconnected tone next. Was he angry I’d called? What a mistake this was, I thought. I should have waited for him to contact me. I wasn’t playing the game, wasn’t following the rules. Then he said slowly, ‘Eeva, how nice to hear from you.’
I was trying to read his voice, but felt dizzy with hearing it. The low, almost whispering sound made me hold the small mobile phone tighter. My hands were burning.
‘How are you?’ I said with the little breath I had left in my throat.
‘Good, good…’
I could see him nodding, the loose wheat-coloured curls bouncing on his forehead. He spoke Swedish as if it was Polish and I imagined him saying instead, ‘Tack, tack’.
‘Yri, I’m still in Finland.’
‘Oh’
‘Yes, but it’s not good.’
‘Not good?’
‘No, my grandmother died today.’ When I said the words I felt as if someone else was speaking them, or as if I was acting out a part, the part of a mourning granddaughter. I struggled with the lump in my throat again.
‘Eeva, how terrible for you!’
‘Yes, Saara was old, but…’
‘It’s very sad for you, Eeva.’
‘Yes,’ I managed to say, avoiding the lump. Then I swallowed hard and said, ‘Yri, when can I see you?’
Silence again. I hadn’t planned to say that. It sounded so needy. But it was what I wanted to say, and it just came out. Again I had a surreal feeling, as if this was not truly happening. As if the lovemaking on the noisy ferry, in the narrow, uncomfortable bunk, hadn’t happened either. I bent my head. The mobile felt hot and sticky against my ear but I didn’t dare to move it to the other side of my head in case I’d miss what Yri said. I wished I’d taken another cup of vodka and coffee upstairs with me. I wanted the warm feeling of the alcohol in my chest. Instead I had a dread in there, a fear of the terrible mistake I was surely committing. Something I would torture myself with at night. But I wanted to shout the words again. I wanted to say, ‘Please come to me here, I want you here.’ I said instead, ‘Yri, please.’
‘OK, Eeva, I’ll come and see you. When are you back in Stockholm?’ His voice was dry and formal.
My mind was racing. Could I pack my bags now and leave Tampere with the night ferry? Anja would think me selfish, again. I could hear her say, ‘Pappa has just lost his mother. He needs us.’ If I left it another twenty-four hours Yri might change his mind. I heard footsteps on the creaky wooden staircase.
‘Yri, can I call you back?’
‘Yes, but not today, tomorrow.’
‘OK, bye.’
‘Bye, Eeva.’
I felt as if I was floating. He’d said he would come and see me. Did that mean he was free now? Then I remembered he said not to call today, issuing warnings just as before.
I heard footsteps again on the staircase and Anja came into the room. She slumped down on the other chair in the attic. It was one of the comfy chairs belonging to the golden velour suite downstairs. It was dirty now, and the middle was sagging.
‘What a day!’ she said and took off her short, black boots. Her toenails were painted pink and shone through her stockinged feet. ‘How was Janne?’
I said nothing just shrugged my shoulders and fiddled with the mobile in my hands. My chair squeaked.
‘How’s Pappa?’ I said.
Anja looked at me for a long time before answering. Her eyes were accusing at first. Then they started to soften and fill with tears. She came over and sat on one of the mattresses on the floor and took my hands in hers, ‘What a bloody mess!’
‘I just can’t, Anja, I can’t forget,’ I said. I realised I’d started crying. The tears just came and ran down my face as I looked at Anja sitting uncomfortably on the low bed.
‘I know, Eeva, it took me a long time too.’ She got up and put her arm around my shoulders. ‘The thing is, Eeva, it’s easier if you do.’ She was speaking to a space above my head. I felt as if we were on a stage, both looking at the audience sitting somewhere in the darkness in front of us.
‘Easier for Pappa, you mean,’ I turned to look accusingly at Anja. She removed her arm and went to sit on the velour chair again. For a while, neither of us spoke. We could hear Pappa walking around downstairs, then talking to someone, on the telephone I presumed. I didn’t hear what he was saying. Anja got up and gave me a tissue.
‘Thanks,’ I blew my nose and wiped my face. Then I looked up at her. I was startled by what I saw. She was the image of Saara. I’d never noticed the similarity before. That was probably why I thought she’d been wearing Saara’s dressing gown that morning. Perhaps it was her round shape and her large bust, or the new brown colour of her hair, nearly as dark as Saara’s. Her eyes were blue and not hazel, but there was something of Saara in the curve of her mouth, in the slant of her eyes when she looked down at me. I wondered if it was true that the soul of a person enters someone else when they die. But I’d always believed it entered a new born baby, not a grown woman, even a granddaughter. I must not let my mind wonder like this, I thought and shook my head.
‘What is it?’ Anja asked.
‘Nothing,’ I said. She looked hurt, so I quickly added, ‘I had a crazy thought because you really reminded me of Saara the way you looked at me just now.’
Anja smiled and said, ‘She was our grandmother so we are both bound to look a little like her.’
‘Yes, I guess so.’ I said and smiled too, ‘But I thought her soul had entered your body, that was the crazy bit.’
Anja put both her arms around me and hugged me hard. ‘Eeva I’m sure she’s in both of us. Now let’s go and see what arrangements Pappa has made. I need to phone home and tell them what’s going on.’
‘OK,’ I said and got up. Tomorrow I can talk to Yri again, I thought, as I followed Anja down the narrow stairs.
* * *
The vodka had made Pappa more energetic and composed. He looked taller as he ushered us into the living room where Anja and I sat on the sofa, facing him as he sat at the dining room table as before. He told us he’d spoken with the pastor and the funeral directors and that the date was set for next Saturday.
‘It’s all sooner than I thought. You can stay here, all of you. I’m sure we can fit in,’ Pappa said, looking at Anja first and then me. I said nothing, just nodded.
‘We can worry about that later,’ Anja said. She smiled at me and put her hand on mine, ‘Isn’t that so?’ she said. I nodded again.
‘I’m going to cut some keys for you so that you can go and see what you’d like from Saara’s flat whenever you want to,’ Pappa said. ‘Unless you already know what you want?’ Pappa didn’t look at us but at a notebook he had in front of him. ‘There’s money in the fund for your travel, and if need be hotel bills…’
‘Fund?’ I said.
Pappa looked at me, pulling the corners of his mouth up, almost smiling at me. ‘Saara planned her funeral well; she saved up for a fund. I helped her when I could, and now it’s there, available for us to use.’
Then he straightened himself and said, ‘I haven’t really got any food in the house. We’ll have to go out again tonight.’
‘What about the pizza place around the corner?’ said Anja. ‘They deliver, don’t they? I don’t know about you two but I’m not very hungry. Besides, they do quite good side salads too, so we could just have two pizzas and share?’ Anja was looking questioningly at Pappa, then at me. I wondered if motherhood always made you worry about food and eating, or was it just in Anja’s character. I could just drink neat vodka for the rest of the evening. Becoming an alcoholic, I thought. ‘That sounds fine,’ I said.
‘We can go out, it’s not that…’
‘No, really, pizza is good. I like pizza.’ I said squeezing Anja’s hand.
‘Pappa?’ Anja said.
‘What?’ Pappa said. He seemed to have nodded off, his eyes wide open, looking at something on the bookcase.
‘What kind of pizza would you like?’ Anja said. Her voice was soft, soothing. She’d moved off the sofa and was leaning close to Pappa.
‘I don’t want any of that foreign rubbish!’ he said. His tone was different and it made Anja stiffen. She turned her face to me and her expression was tense. Her look carried a warning.
Pappa stared at both of us, ‘You two have got into that American culture, just like…’ he stopped speaking for a while and tapped his fingers on the table, looking down at his long fingers. ‘You should learn to eat proper Finnish food,’ he boomed.
Anja came over and sat next to me on the sofa. She looked close to tears.
Then Pappa laughed a dry laugh; it was just a sound, more like a cough.
‘You have what you like. I’ll pay,’ his voice was softer and he was looking at us with his head bent, like a little boy who had misbehaved.
Neither Anja nor I spoke.
‘You never know, I may just fancy it when it arrives,’ Pappa said with a sigh and got up.
We ate at the kitchen table in near silence. Pappa drank more vodka but Anja and I just had Karjala beer. Pappa ate nearly a whole pizza on his own. When he went to take the last slice, Anja gave him a hard stare, but said nothing.
I was imagining, wildly, how I would ask Yri to attend the funeral with me. If anyone asked, I would say he was my boyfriend. No one in Tampere would know he was married. Besides, I couldn’t think who’d know me either, apart from Saara’s neighbour, Marja. But, of course, Yri wouldn’t be able to come with me – what would he tell his wife? I was already regretting my phone call, but pushed the feeling away. What did it matter anyway that I phoned him? He owed me that much, to be there when I really needed to talk to someone. Meeting him again on the ferry seemed like fate; we were fated to be together. But the feeling that I was acting like a foolish schoolgirl kept playing on my mind. Yri didn’t love me, the other voice told me, but I pushed that thought away too. I had more important things to worry about.
