Lucifer's Tears (33 page)

I have pity on him. “You’re safe now. Everything has been resolved to your satisfaction. You have my word. And about the job you offered me. I’ll take it.”

He brightens. “You will?”

“Yes. And now that we’re partners in crime, I’ll regard you as just that, a partner, rather than my boss.”

His brightness withers.

Sulo Polvinen comes in. I tell him to take a seat. “There’s no need,” he says. “I’ve come to turn myself in for attacking the bouncers at the Silver Dollar.”

“Have you got any money?” I ask.

He looks baffled. “Why?”

“Because the price of admission to sit at this table is a round of kossu. Until you bring it and drink with us, I won’t even consider arresting you.”

He screws up his mouth, doesn’t know what to say, goes to the bar and does as he’s told. He spreads the shots around the table and sits. “To my lovely wife and my darling daughter,” I say.

Our crowd is drunk now, and the toast is loud and raucous. “So, Sulo,” I say, “tell me why I should arrest you.”

“I tried to kill two men. My father is going to be punished for my crime.”

I chase the kossu with beer. “Your father is going to jail for murder. He’ll get ten years. If you confess to the attack, you go to jail and he still gets ten years. What would it help for you to sit in prison, too?”

“I did wrong. I deserve punishment.”

“Your father is a piece of shit who put you up to the attack in the first place. If you go to jail, your mother has no one. Your request for incarceration is denied.”

He didn’t expect this. It stuns him to momentary silence. “Well,” he stammers, “what am I supposed to do, then?”

Jyri sits across from me, still disconcerted. He wanted something, I told him no. He’s not used to it.

I say, “What you’re supposed to do, Sulo, is get on with your life and make something out of yourself.”

He stares down at the table. I slide him a pint of beer. He says, “I don’t know how to do anything.”

Jyri says he wants a black-ops team. It needs tough guys, and Jyri says I can staff it as I like. I test Jyri’s sincerity. “Sure you can. Do something about people like the ones that killed your brother. Be a cop. I’m starting a new unit and could use a mountain-sized kid who’s not afraid to take out two bouncers with a box cutter.” I look at Jyri. “That’s okay with you, right?”

We’re playing big dog/little dog again-only this time our roles are reversed. “Sure,” he says. “Whatever.”

“And you’ll see to it that Arvid Lahtinen is released from custody tomorrow. Right?”

Jyri nods.

“Don’t you have to go to school to be a cop?” Sulo asks.

I do this because I feel my power, because I can. “Your employment is contingent upon studying while you work.” I point at Jyri. “He’ll see to your admission into a law enforcement program. I’ll pay you two thousand a month cash out of my slush fund while you study.”

Sulo can’t grasp his sudden change in fortune, toys with his glass, sloshes some beer on the table. “Okay,” he says.

“Of course,” I say, “I don’t know you, and your employment is subject to termination at my whim. You have to prove yourself. Don’t fucking disappoint me.”

Jari is baffled, can’t comprehend the conversation. I guess he thinks the booze is confusing him. Milo gets it all. He loves watching me abuse Jyri, is working hard to keep from bursting out laughing.

I feel satisfied, even giddy. “Well, gentlemen,” I say, “I believe I’ve done my duty pertaining to alcohol here this evening. It’s time for me to go home. I have a wife and a child to attend to in the morning.”

“Don’t forget, you have an MRI in the morning,” Jari says.

I had forgotten.

“Is Kate coming home tomorrow?” he asks.

“She should be.”

“We have some things to drop off for your family. Do you mind if we come over? It’s important to Taina. She wants to make amends.”

“Jari, you never have to ask if you can come to my home,” I say, and don my coat.

Except for John, who didn’t understand the conversation but is content to drink heavily, the men I leave at the table look mystified, furious or amused, each for his own reasons.

I get up early the next morning. I drank a fair amount, but wasn’t out too late, so my hangover is mild, and despite it, the migraine remains absent. The snow has stopped falling for the time being, and the drive to Meilahti hospital isn’t difficult. I make my nine o’clock appointment, and technicians roll me into something resembling a thrumming spacecraft. They put earphones on me to dull the MRI machine’s cacophony. I lie still and listen to classical music for half an hour while they shoot hundreds of pictures of my brain. As hospital tests go, it isn’t so bad.

Afterward, I drive to Katiloopiston hospital. Kate is up and about, packing her things. “Mary told me you were here most of the day yesterday,” she says. “I’ve never been so tired in all my life. I slept nearly around the clock. But they tell me I can go home now.”

Mary has stayed at the hospital with Kate and the baby since I brought her here. I appreciate that, it makes me value Mary more than I thought possible. I sit in a chair with our little girl. She grabs my little finger and hangs on for dear life. “We may have a female wrestler in the making,” I say.

I drive Kate, Mary and the wee one home. John is on the couch, sleeping off his hangover. We all follow his example and nap for a while. Our baby lies on the bed between us. I can’t sleep, because I’m afraid I’ll roll over and crush her. Around noon, we all rouse, and I start to make lunch for everyone, but it isn’t needed. Jari and Taina arrive, arms full of food and gifts.

“What’s all this?” I ask.

“It’s called rotinat, ” Taina says. “In my hometown of Imatra, our tradition is that when a baby is born, all the relatives cook and knit something for the baby. The idea is to take care of the mom so she can take it easy and heal, and also to celebrate the baby. We brought enough food for a few days, baby clothes, diapers, towels and some other little things.”

Imatra is in Eastern Finland, and we don’t have this tradition in my part of Lapland. I’ve never heard of rotinat. I’m touched and surprised, don’t know what to say. Kate gets up from the kitchen table and walks over. She’s not wobbling anymore, got her balance back as soon as she had the baby. Kate hugs Taina and speaks for both of us. “That’s the sweetest thing anyone ever did for us. Thank you so much.”

I look around. John yawns, his hangover is bad. Mary’s face is troubled. Jari stares at the floor. I wonder if he’s concerned because of the last time he and Taina came here.

I check the thermometer. It’s minus thirteen, the warmest day we’ve had for a long while. I ask no one in particular, “Do you think I should get the stroller out of the closet, bundle up the baby, give her a first taste of winter and put her out on the balcony for a few minutes?”

Mary hits the roof and yells, “What?”

Once again, her anger confuses me. “What did I say?”

She stands up and walks toward me, waggling a finger, spluttering with rage. “Are you insane? You can’t take an infant out into subzero cold.”

I’ve had mixed feelings about Mary over the past week, mostly good lately, but I just reached the end of my rope. “Mary,” I say, “could I please speak with you in private?”

She storms into the kitchen, which isn’t as private as I would have liked, folds her arms and glowers at me. I keep my voice down to avoid embarrassing her. “In this country,” I say, “putting infants, dressed warmly, outside in the cold for a little while is considered a healthy practice. Everyone does it. What’s your problem?”

She deflates, drops her arms to the sides, looks down and stares at the refrigerator.

“Mary,” I say, “I’ve tried hard to like you, and sometimes I do. At the hospital, I saw your love for Kate and got my first sense of our being family. But you’re a guest here, and this home belongs to me and Kate. We have ways of doing things you’re not accustomed to, but we’re good people and you have no right to criticize us. There are two options. You either accept and respect our cultural differences, or you leave. If you prefer to leave, I’ll drive you to the airport today.”

She looks at me deadpan, considers her response. Then her anger dissipates and her bravado dissolves. She doesn’t cry, but her face falls. In that moment, she looks like an upset young woman of her age rather than the dour middle-aged woman she so often appears to be.

Mary keeps her voice low, stares at the floor. “You have a baby. I’m not able to have one myself. My husband is older than me, about the same age difference as you and Kate. When we married, we planned on having a big family. But after trying for a couple years, I found out that because of something that happened to me when I was young, I’m unable to have children. It makes me worthless in my husband’s eyes. I’m a disappointment to him and to myself.”

Now she looks at me, teary-eyed. “I’ve sometimes behaved badly, I know. I’m jealous of Kate, pure and simple. Please don’t make me leave. I don’t want to go home. I’m happier here.”

I don’t want her to feel worse than she already does. I give her a moment to collect herself, then say, “Let’s go back and join the others.”

We go back to the living room. Kate is holding the clothes Taina knitted up against our little girl, saying how lovely they look. Jari is downcast, standing in front of our bookshelf, perusing, with his hands in his pockets. I get it now.

“Jari,” I say, “would you come out on the balcony with me while I have a cigarette?”

I see he doesn’t want to. I give him a pair of slippers to keep his feet dry, and we step outside together. “Tell me,” I say.

He feigns confusion. “Tell you what?”

I light a Marlboro. “I had the MRI this morning. The results are supposed to take a few days, but you were worried about me and rammed them through. Tell me.”

He shakes his head and stares down Vaasankatu. “Not today, Kari.”

“Yes, Jari. Today.”

“Today should be joyous. You just had your firstborn child. Let it be joyous.”

I put an arm on his shoulder. “I just had my firstborn child. No matter what you say, today is joyous.”

He can’t look at me. “Little brother, you’ve got a brain tumor.”

I had already guessed as much. “Is it malignant?”

“We won’t know until you’ve had a biopsy.”

“Look at me,” I say.

He manages it.

“Am I going to die soon?”

“It’s not a large growth, and because of its placement, we may be able to remove it without causing you cognitive damage. I can’t tell you much more.”

“Give me a survival percentage. What are my odds?”

He makes himself spit it out. “If the tumor is benign, eightyfive percent survival. If it’s malignant, significantly lower.”

Poor Kate. She was ambivalent about staying home for months to take care of the baby. Now she’ll have to care for both of us. “Jari, we’re going back inside now, and you’re going to smile and chat and pretend everything is okay. Not a fucking word. Understood?”

He nods. “Leave me here for a minute to compose myself.”

I flick my cigarette onto the street below and step in. Kate, Taina and Mary are talking and smiling, all three comfortable together. Taina brought a head of cabbage. She’s explaining to Kate that putting a cabbage leaf inside her bra will keep her nipples from getting too sore when she breast-feeds. I pick up our baby girl and cradle her in my arms. She grips my little finger. We sit together and listen.