[196-197]
Kirsti and Heikki are waiting for me by the garden swing. Matti is asleep in his pushchair beside the swing, undisturbed by the shouting of the grown-ups.
‘Perhaps the girl can stay with you for a few days until we get things sorted out back there in Rovaniemi,’ Kukko explains.
I run straight to the sandpit and pretend to have a fit of rage.
‘I don’t believe that man is mentally ill. Abusing a little girl. First her parents throw her out and then she has a grandpa who behaves like that,’ Kirsti chatters, out of breath.
Heikki asks if Grandpa will get a long sentence. Superintendent Kukko assures him that he will get the sentence that right for him, a just sentence. But not the death sentence, though Kirsti thinks that would be just and fair.
‘He's a real rat!’ she shouts.
Heikki puts his hand to Kirsti’s mouth. Superintendent Kukko explains that cases like this are difficult.
‘He may get off with probation,’ he thinks.
Through Heikki’s fingers, Kirsti shouts that Kukko can stuff his probation. Kukko doesn’t start to argue. He waves his hand peacefully and sets off towards his car. Kirsti sobs hysterically and keeps on shouting that they ought to cut his balls off, they ought to kill him.
Kill. They mustn’t kill him. They mustn’t cut Grandpa free of me.
I drag myself to the edge of the sandpit. Granny is coming along the garden path, half running. She is waving my red schoolbag in her hand.
‘You traitors! Give Saara to me!’
Granny attacks Kukko and tries to pull his hair.
‘Insulting people - is that what the police do? Set Rauli free. He’s never done anything wrong in his life.’
‘I’ll drive you home,’ Kukko says tautly.
‘I’m not leaving here without my granddaughter. Where have you hidden her?’
I climb out of the sandpit and go to Granny.
‘Tell them it’s not true. Don’t you believe them!’ Granny screams.
I tell her that Grandpa is safe, and Granny calms down.
‘Why are you making such a fuss? He’s in prison.’
I tap my tummy.
‘Grandpa's here. I love Grandpa.’
‘This is so sick that I’m going to be throw up,’ Kirsti shouts, and Heikki able to keep her quiet no longer.
‘Yes, it’s going… too far,’ says Heikki, and leads me back into the house.
Granny’s shouting echoes in the yard. Then I hear the sound of the car engine, and Matti’s faint crying.
The crying goes inside me, grows big and oppressive.
‘Granny took my schoolbag,’ I sob.
‘I know, you’ve had to endure too much,’ Heikki whispers.
Kirsti comes in with the sleepy Matti in her arms. She says I mustn’t worry about the schoolbag. Heikki and Kirsti will buy me new books and soon I will be going to a new school.
‘I don’t want to go to a new school.’
‘Not right now. It’ll be for the best.’
Kirsti hugs Matti in her arms. Heikki puts his arm around us all.
‘Saara is our daughter now.’
‘Daughter,’ Matti confirms, and pulls my ear.
Then he pulls his own ear and starts to cry and Heikki and Kirsti burst out laughing. They laugh and laugh, so that the water streams from their eyes, and I too begin to laugh and Grandpa’s nest rocks and sways and I laugh some more and rock my body harder and at last Grandpa falls out of the nest, hits his head on something, and loses consciousness.
translated from Finnish by David McDuff
Your Love Is Infinite - 1
Your Love Is Infinite - 2
Your Love Is Infinite - 3
Your Love Is Infinite - 4
Your Love Is Infinite - 5
Your Love Is Infinite - 6
Showing posts with label Maria Peura. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Maria Peura. Show all posts
Sunday, 17 May 2009
Wednesday, 13 May 2009
Your Love Is Infinite - 6
[194-195]
At the pace of a snail I walk along the sandy path to the main road. At the junction I lazily wave my horns and decide to turn to the left. Whoever wants to go to Granny’s can turn to the right.
I don’t want to go to Granny’s. I want to go far away from Granny’s.
The snail has four little legs. But when the snail is in a hurry, it grows a thousand. The legs of the thousand-legged snail are also small and soft, but when they all get going, they really speed along. They run away from the police superintendent, from the rector, from Grandpa.
No no no. Not away from Grandpa. Grandpa rises up from under the ground and the haystack. Grandpa creeps from inside the mattress. Grandpa kills the little birds from the bottom of his tummy and conquers their nest. Grandpa is a big young cuckoo, that sleeps inside me and cuckoos inside me.
Cuckoo boom cuckoo boom. The grandpa cuckoo cuckoos in time to my heart. When my heart pauses, Grandpa goes cuckoo.
Grandpa’s nest is shaped like a circle. Grandpa is inside the nest and doesn’t come out of it. And I can’t get inside to turn Grandpa out of my nest, my circle.
A car is speeding along the main road. The sun dazzles me badly, and I can’t make out the colour of the car. Is it Grandpa’s Lada?
I jump into the verge of the road and hide among the frosty stalks of grass.
I count the seconds. One cuckoo two cuckoos three cuckoos four cuckoos. The car stops, a door slams. Heavy footsteps shake the ground. They can’t be Grandpa’s steps. Grandpa is light as a snowflake, and he can’t make any sound while he’s moving.
There’s an eclipse of the sun. I suddenly confess all my sins and make the sign of the cross.
‘What are you doing in the ditch, Saara?’
Superintendent Kukko peers at me from the near distance.
‘I’m resting.’
‘Are you, indeed. Get up and I’ll give you a lift.’
‘I’m not going to Granny’s.’
‘Why not?’
I can’t think of the right answer. I cry to Jesus for help. Without meaning to, I shout out loud, and bursting with laughter Superintendent Kukko lifts me high in the air and points to the sky.
‘That’s where Jesus is. Don’t disturb him. I’ll see to it that you don’t have to go to your Granny’s.’
The pit of my tummy turns over. Grandpa is turning over on his side there. I don’t understand what Kukko wants, but follow him into the police car.
We drive into the yard of the police station. When Kukko goes inside to call Heikki and Kirsti, I open the glove compartment and find a big truncheon there.
Kukko arrives with a beaming face and says that Heikki and Kirsti will be glad to take me. On seeing the truncheon he looks sad and says that it’s not for children.
‘We only use it if we have to. Like if Grandpa tries to escape from prison.’
I put my hand on my tummy and reflect that Grandpa isn’t going to escape anywhere. Grandpa is going to stay in the nest.
‘Is your tummy sore?’ Kukko asks, with concern.
I shake my head violently, and Kukko drives off. On the way he explains to me that the truncheon is never used to hit anyone on the tummy or the head. It’s only used on the soles of the feet and then only if a very bad criminal is involved.
I see Grandpa lying on an iron bed in prison and Kukko beating him on the soles of his feet. Grandpa’s pain passes like electric shocks from the soles of his feet to his head. I tell Kukko that Grandpa mustn’t be harmed. I can feel Grandpa’s pain. Kukko glances at me in surprise and doesn’t say anything. For the last bit of the journey I stare silently at my toes and try not to cry.
translated from Finnish by David McDuff
Your Love Is Infinite - 1
Your Love Is Infinite - 2
Your Love Is Infinite - 3
Your Love Is Infinite - 4
Your Love Is Infinite - 5
At the pace of a snail I walk along the sandy path to the main road. At the junction I lazily wave my horns and decide to turn to the left. Whoever wants to go to Granny’s can turn to the right.
I don’t want to go to Granny’s. I want to go far away from Granny’s.
The snail has four little legs. But when the snail is in a hurry, it grows a thousand. The legs of the thousand-legged snail are also small and soft, but when they all get going, they really speed along. They run away from the police superintendent, from the rector, from Grandpa.
No no no. Not away from Grandpa. Grandpa rises up from under the ground and the haystack. Grandpa creeps from inside the mattress. Grandpa kills the little birds from the bottom of his tummy and conquers their nest. Grandpa is a big young cuckoo, that sleeps inside me and cuckoos inside me.
Cuckoo boom cuckoo boom. The grandpa cuckoo cuckoos in time to my heart. When my heart pauses, Grandpa goes cuckoo.
Grandpa’s nest is shaped like a circle. Grandpa is inside the nest and doesn’t come out of it. And I can’t get inside to turn Grandpa out of my nest, my circle.
A car is speeding along the main road. The sun dazzles me badly, and I can’t make out the colour of the car. Is it Grandpa’s Lada?
I jump into the verge of the road and hide among the frosty stalks of grass.
I count the seconds. One cuckoo two cuckoos three cuckoos four cuckoos. The car stops, a door slams. Heavy footsteps shake the ground. They can’t be Grandpa’s steps. Grandpa is light as a snowflake, and he can’t make any sound while he’s moving.
There’s an eclipse of the sun. I suddenly confess all my sins and make the sign of the cross.
‘What are you doing in the ditch, Saara?’
Superintendent Kukko peers at me from the near distance.
‘I’m resting.’
‘Are you, indeed. Get up and I’ll give you a lift.’
‘I’m not going to Granny’s.’
‘Why not?’
I can’t think of the right answer. I cry to Jesus for help. Without meaning to, I shout out loud, and bursting with laughter Superintendent Kukko lifts me high in the air and points to the sky.
‘That’s where Jesus is. Don’t disturb him. I’ll see to it that you don’t have to go to your Granny’s.’
The pit of my tummy turns over. Grandpa is turning over on his side there. I don’t understand what Kukko wants, but follow him into the police car.
We drive into the yard of the police station. When Kukko goes inside to call Heikki and Kirsti, I open the glove compartment and find a big truncheon there.
Kukko arrives with a beaming face and says that Heikki and Kirsti will be glad to take me. On seeing the truncheon he looks sad and says that it’s not for children.
‘We only use it if we have to. Like if Grandpa tries to escape from prison.’
I put my hand on my tummy and reflect that Grandpa isn’t going to escape anywhere. Grandpa is going to stay in the nest.
‘Is your tummy sore?’ Kukko asks, with concern.
I shake my head violently, and Kukko drives off. On the way he explains to me that the truncheon is never used to hit anyone on the tummy or the head. It’s only used on the soles of the feet and then only if a very bad criminal is involved.
I see Grandpa lying on an iron bed in prison and Kukko beating him on the soles of his feet. Grandpa’s pain passes like electric shocks from the soles of his feet to his head. I tell Kukko that Grandpa mustn’t be harmed. I can feel Grandpa’s pain. Kukko glances at me in surprise and doesn’t say anything. For the last bit of the journey I stare silently at my toes and try not to cry.
translated from Finnish by David McDuff
Your Love Is Infinite - 1
Your Love Is Infinite - 2
Your Love Is Infinite - 3
Your Love Is Infinite - 4
Your Love Is Infinite - 5
Friday, 8 May 2009
Changes at Teos
News from Helsinki that Maria Säntti is quitting her post as editorial director of Teos, the enterprising independent Finnish fiction and non-fiction publisher which has prominent authors like Leena Krohn and Maria Peura on its list. She is leaving the firm at her own request, and intends to embark on a round-the-world trip. Her place will be taken by Timo Suo, the company's current sales director.
Thursday, 7 May 2009
Your Love Is Infinite - 5
[124-126]
I don’t want to be a weak little girl gnat. I want to be a sharp-toothed boy blackfly. Because I like human flesh, bitter-sweet human flesh in a wet woollen sock. I don’t mind the bad taste, because afterwards I can jump in the lake and rinse my mouth and body for so long that all the smells and tastes go away.
I climb as nimbly as a bear. I’m not afraid. I don’t remember to be afraid. It doesn’t matter, even though I may fall. Because the earth would receive me. The earth loves me. The earth will never deceive me.
If I fall sick, the earth will look after me. If it accidentally scratches me, soon it will unfold a soft tussock of moss that I can crawl on to. It will look after me, rock me in its arms like a baby, and I will be able to drink the milk from its breast, clear pure resin-tasting milk.
The earth puts the birch tree’s roots round me like hands. The hands caress me, stroke my hair and the back of my neck and my armpits and my tummy and the soles of my feet and everywhere but my poppy and my bottom. The birch mother’s finger doesn't go inside me. Her cry doesn't hurt my ears. If I want, she is quite still. She lets me sleep and sleep. And only when I myself want it, does the birch mother lift me from inside the earth, and again I can climb up her warm trunk to the top. I can suck the sap-milk through a long straw in a little nest.
The milk is warm like Mummy’s skin in the early morning, when she has finally fallen asleep and I have woken up to smell her scent.
That's what the birch mother feels like. The birch mother is kind, and she is never angry. She doesn’t punish me. She cries when Granny turns her by the fingers and toes and tears birch twigs from her body. The birch mother cries, because she thinks beating is wrong. No one must be beaten. No one must ever be beaten.
No one must even be cuffed on the ear or slapped. Never. No one.
The birch mother cries when Granny beats me. The birch mother cries when Grandpa splits my trunk in two with his axe and throws the pieces in the stove, lights the sauna fire for me. And when the sauna is hot, Grandpa climbs up on the bench and pees straight into my heart.
It's so humiliating that I will have to die. I will have to die many times, but I won’t get into heaven.
And I can’t manage to climb any more, either. I can’t climb higher than my nest. I will stay with the little birds and live under heaven. I will look after the baby birds while their mother is travelling about. I will keep nasty things away, because I know what nasty things feel like.
I don’t have a mother either. The only thing I have of Mummy is a checked lilac-coloured handkerchief with a little harebell printed on one corner.
At the top of the birch tree I ring the harebell, so that Mummy will know to come to me. I want Mummy to come and find me in the bird’s nest. In the bird’s nest I would be able to tell her how bad I feel.
At Granny’s I am silent, and if I do speak, it’s all lies. All of it.
Oh Mummy, come and take me away from the top of this birch tree. I will give you the bird’s nest as a present. You can put it in your hair, on top of your bun. You can dance in the circular saw garden with the Arabian princess and in the flower meadow with the sunflower. You can dance in the garden of the skull chamber and I will initiate you as an Indian mother. I will give you the finger of a dead reindeer calf. When I wave a birch branch, the finger will turn into gold and you will be able to work miracles with it. Anything you like. Even though it’s dead.
Dead. Dead. Dead.
Mummy doesn’t come. The little bird doesn’t come. Pentti doesn’t come.
I am cold in the bird’s nest. I want down, but I don’t dare to climb. I don’t dare to look down. I’m dizzy and I feel sick. A cloud ship is swaying there. I jump into it. I shall leave the kingdom of Jesus now now now I shall jump, into the seesaw of the ship.
I jump.
Black waves down below. The nasty pirate is taking the sun on the deck of his ship. The skull and crossbones flag is flying. La-la-la, Grandpa’s still on the waves. I sway high up with the clouds. I sway yes I sway, though my body lies cold and frozen in the attic of Granny’s house, in the little yellow bed, which has latticed sides and Mummy’s name on the headboard. Amalia Elina. Mummy. Rest in peace. Saara Seitikki. Fly in peace.
I sleep and the ship flies alone, glides through the gates of space and then the gates close.
It’s night. It’s still night. Late summer. The gnats are angry now, and the blackflies are fat.
translated from Finnish by David McDuff
Your Love Is Infinite - 1
Your Love Is Infinite - 2
Your Love Is Infinite - 3
Your Love Is Infinite - 4
I don’t want to be a weak little girl gnat. I want to be a sharp-toothed boy blackfly. Because I like human flesh, bitter-sweet human flesh in a wet woollen sock. I don’t mind the bad taste, because afterwards I can jump in the lake and rinse my mouth and body for so long that all the smells and tastes go away.
I climb as nimbly as a bear. I’m not afraid. I don’t remember to be afraid. It doesn’t matter, even though I may fall. Because the earth would receive me. The earth loves me. The earth will never deceive me.
If I fall sick, the earth will look after me. If it accidentally scratches me, soon it will unfold a soft tussock of moss that I can crawl on to. It will look after me, rock me in its arms like a baby, and I will be able to drink the milk from its breast, clear pure resin-tasting milk.
The earth puts the birch tree’s roots round me like hands. The hands caress me, stroke my hair and the back of my neck and my armpits and my tummy and the soles of my feet and everywhere but my poppy and my bottom. The birch mother’s finger doesn't go inside me. Her cry doesn't hurt my ears. If I want, she is quite still. She lets me sleep and sleep. And only when I myself want it, does the birch mother lift me from inside the earth, and again I can climb up her warm trunk to the top. I can suck the sap-milk through a long straw in a little nest.
The milk is warm like Mummy’s skin in the early morning, when she has finally fallen asleep and I have woken up to smell her scent.
That's what the birch mother feels like. The birch mother is kind, and she is never angry. She doesn’t punish me. She cries when Granny turns her by the fingers and toes and tears birch twigs from her body. The birch mother cries, because she thinks beating is wrong. No one must be beaten. No one must ever be beaten.
No one must even be cuffed on the ear or slapped. Never. No one.
The birch mother cries when Granny beats me. The birch mother cries when Grandpa splits my trunk in two with his axe and throws the pieces in the stove, lights the sauna fire for me. And when the sauna is hot, Grandpa climbs up on the bench and pees straight into my heart.
It's so humiliating that I will have to die. I will have to die many times, but I won’t get into heaven.
And I can’t manage to climb any more, either. I can’t climb higher than my nest. I will stay with the little birds and live under heaven. I will look after the baby birds while their mother is travelling about. I will keep nasty things away, because I know what nasty things feel like.
I don’t have a mother either. The only thing I have of Mummy is a checked lilac-coloured handkerchief with a little harebell printed on one corner.
At the top of the birch tree I ring the harebell, so that Mummy will know to come to me. I want Mummy to come and find me in the bird’s nest. In the bird’s nest I would be able to tell her how bad I feel.
At Granny’s I am silent, and if I do speak, it’s all lies. All of it.
Oh Mummy, come and take me away from the top of this birch tree. I will give you the bird’s nest as a present. You can put it in your hair, on top of your bun. You can dance in the circular saw garden with the Arabian princess and in the flower meadow with the sunflower. You can dance in the garden of the skull chamber and I will initiate you as an Indian mother. I will give you the finger of a dead reindeer calf. When I wave a birch branch, the finger will turn into gold and you will be able to work miracles with it. Anything you like. Even though it’s dead.
Dead. Dead. Dead.
Mummy doesn’t come. The little bird doesn’t come. Pentti doesn’t come.
I am cold in the bird’s nest. I want down, but I don’t dare to climb. I don’t dare to look down. I’m dizzy and I feel sick. A cloud ship is swaying there. I jump into it. I shall leave the kingdom of Jesus now now now I shall jump, into the seesaw of the ship.
I jump.
Black waves down below. The nasty pirate is taking the sun on the deck of his ship. The skull and crossbones flag is flying. La-la-la, Grandpa’s still on the waves. I sway high up with the clouds. I sway yes I sway, though my body lies cold and frozen in the attic of Granny’s house, in the little yellow bed, which has latticed sides and Mummy’s name on the headboard. Amalia Elina. Mummy. Rest in peace. Saara Seitikki. Fly in peace.
I sleep and the ship flies alone, glides through the gates of space and then the gates close.
It’s night. It’s still night. Late summer. The gnats are angry now, and the blackflies are fat.
translated from Finnish by David McDuff
Your Love Is Infinite - 1
Your Love Is Infinite - 2
Your Love Is Infinite - 3
Your Love Is Infinite - 4
Saturday, 2 May 2009
Your Love Is Infinite - 4
[63-65]
Granny says there are seven days in the week. I can count from one to five and from five back to one, but seven I don’t understand. Seven sounds like a lot. Grandpa has promised me seven days.
I hold a festive holiday in honour of this peaceful time. My guests are the trees of the forest. They bow deeply to me when I step into the forest. The trees have put crowns in their hair in my honour, dark green ones, pale green ones. The wind mixes up the tops of the trees so that the crowns go higgledy-piggledy. As they get mixed up they form new shades of colour, new glowing green crowns.
My holiday dress is yellow, more yellow even than the sun. Mummy made me the dress for the kindergarten spring fête. I chose yellow cloth, though Mummy thought pale green would be a more suitable colour. I wanted yellow grape juice and golden yellow sunbeams. I got yellow, and now I’m happy with it, though my dress has faded in the sun. Yellow is like a beacon for me. In a pale green dress I would melt into this forest, and soon I wouldn’t be able to find myself any more.
I feel around in myself and the ground. I find the stone where I sat when I got lost. Behind the stone begins the path that leads to the circular saw clearing. The clearing is nearby. I can’t get lost any more.
I dance along the path on bare toes, though Granny has said that there are snakes on the land. I can’t be afraid of snakes. Sometimes when Grandpa’s games have worn me out I hope that an angry poisonous snake will come and bite me so that I die.
The soles of my feet open out towards the earth. They marvel at the hard touch of the cones and fir needles. The soles of my feet are alive and need protection. Soon thick skin will grow on them, the hard and rough bark of a tree. Soon I won’t need shoes at all. In the autumn I will trudge to school in my bark shoes and in winter I will grow a thick coat of fur.
I will turn into a forest creature, watchful and swift.
I will enfold the tree with my arms. I will press my forehead against the mighty trunk. The tree will whisper to me that as a human child I may also enjoy the power and love of the forest.
There is a pricking in the soles of my feet. I step towards the circular saw clearing and drown the pain in sawdust. The sunbeams explode from the blade of the circular saw into my eyes. I see black balls, in between them the tips of my toes.
I bow and draw a circle in the sawdust with my finger.
Humming a quiet song I step into the middle of the circle.
Soon the second day of my holiday will be over. Then another five whole days, during which Grandpa will find others to play with. Perhaps the holiday week will go on and on. I hum in the circular saw clearing for a long time. In the sawdust I feel happy and safe, in a stall of my own, in the circle I have drawn with my own fingers.
translated from Finnish by David McDuff
Your Love Is Infinite - 1
Your Love Is Infinite - 2
Your Love Is Infinite - 3
Granny says there are seven days in the week. I can count from one to five and from five back to one, but seven I don’t understand. Seven sounds like a lot. Grandpa has promised me seven days.
I hold a festive holiday in honour of this peaceful time. My guests are the trees of the forest. They bow deeply to me when I step into the forest. The trees have put crowns in their hair in my honour, dark green ones, pale green ones. The wind mixes up the tops of the trees so that the crowns go higgledy-piggledy. As they get mixed up they form new shades of colour, new glowing green crowns.
My holiday dress is yellow, more yellow even than the sun. Mummy made me the dress for the kindergarten spring fête. I chose yellow cloth, though Mummy thought pale green would be a more suitable colour. I wanted yellow grape juice and golden yellow sunbeams. I got yellow, and now I’m happy with it, though my dress has faded in the sun. Yellow is like a beacon for me. In a pale green dress I would melt into this forest, and soon I wouldn’t be able to find myself any more.
I feel around in myself and the ground. I find the stone where I sat when I got lost. Behind the stone begins the path that leads to the circular saw clearing. The clearing is nearby. I can’t get lost any more.
I dance along the path on bare toes, though Granny has said that there are snakes on the land. I can’t be afraid of snakes. Sometimes when Grandpa’s games have worn me out I hope that an angry poisonous snake will come and bite me so that I die.
The soles of my feet open out towards the earth. They marvel at the hard touch of the cones and fir needles. The soles of my feet are alive and need protection. Soon thick skin will grow on them, the hard and rough bark of a tree. Soon I won’t need shoes at all. In the autumn I will trudge to school in my bark shoes and in winter I will grow a thick coat of fur.
I will turn into a forest creature, watchful and swift.
I will enfold the tree with my arms. I will press my forehead against the mighty trunk. The tree will whisper to me that as a human child I may also enjoy the power and love of the forest.
There is a pricking in the soles of my feet. I step towards the circular saw clearing and drown the pain in sawdust. The sunbeams explode from the blade of the circular saw into my eyes. I see black balls, in between them the tips of my toes.
I bow and draw a circle in the sawdust with my finger.
Humming a quiet song I step into the middle of the circle.
Soon the second day of my holiday will be over. Then another five whole days, during which Grandpa will find others to play with. Perhaps the holiday week will go on and on. I hum in the circular saw clearing for a long time. In the sawdust I feel happy and safe, in a stall of my own, in the circle I have drawn with my own fingers.
translated from Finnish by David McDuff
Your Love Is Infinite - 1
Your Love Is Infinite - 2
Your Love Is Infinite - 3
Thursday, 30 April 2009
Your Love Is Infinite - 3
[26-27]
The night spreads black shadow over the forest. The path disappears into darkness. Under my feet stones and moss, thicket and fear. I have walked a long way, but I still have not succeeded in burying the birch. The ground is stone-hard, and one can’t dig in it with one’s bare hands.
I climb onto a big rock to pray and let the fear trickle from the soles of my feet onto the ground. From inside the rock flows the strength to face the night, which urges me on the road to death.
Death is my friend. Waiting for me at death’s house is my guardian pony Zorro, who was slaughtered in a sausage factory. I walk through the air to heaven, where Jesus rides Zorro along a glowing path. The light tickles my angel’s wings. I jump onto Zorro’s back and sink my face in Jesus’ sun-fragrant hair.
The thunder of Zorro’s hooves drives all the fear out of the forest.
When I jump to the ground to look for food, Zorro and Jesus disappear. I pick black, foul-tasting crowberries and swallow them quickly, so that the crows don’t have time to notice.
God punishes me with thirst. I rinse my mouth with spittle, but the thirst doesn’t go away. I think about Jesus, who was hung on the cross for my sake and the sake of other sinners. Things went okay for Jesus. He died of thirst and followed Zorro to heaven.
I stumble onwards and come to a clearing covered with a soft carpet of sawdust. I sit down on the ground and let my strength go away. The smell of sawdust reminds of the time when the house was whole and Daddy sawed logs in the back yard. Mummy walked in the garden with the watering can and often looked at the sky, sat on the bench and let the clouds caress her shoulders. Under the bench there was a bottle of spirits, but Mummy didn’t drink from it very often. And when she drank, she began to laugh. She didn’t know yet that everything she ate and drank turned into poison. Then, when Mummy realized that life can’t be trusted, she picked up the garden shears and cut down everything she had planted.
The soft smell of the trees enfolds me in its embrace. I bury the birch deep in the wood-shavings, close my eyes and run to and fro on the carpet of sawdust. I run blind with happiness and see Zorro galloping beside me. When I open my eyes Zorro glances at me, laughing, and gallops out of the clearing.
From the edge of the clearing a rusty circular saw stares at me sadly. I carefully stroke its rough blade and cut my finger. I put my finger in my mouth and quench my thirst with blood.
The night drops a big swarm of gnats on the clearing where the circular saw is. I dive deep into the sawdust and the gnats only find little bits of me. I hope that soon they will suck their bellies full and then die happily.
I’m alive and thirsty. I want to go through sleep to death where no one is thirsty, neither gnats nor people. But sleep can’t manage to open death's heavy gates. It takes me to Daddy, exposing his even row of teeth which gleam in the sunshine like the furiously turning blade of the circular saw.
Daddy throws the logs in and the circular saw receives them, laughing a rusty screeching laugh with its sharp teeth, just like Daddy's.
translated from Finnish by David McDuff
Your Love Is Infinite - 1
Your Love Is Infinite - 2
The night spreads black shadow over the forest. The path disappears into darkness. Under my feet stones and moss, thicket and fear. I have walked a long way, but I still have not succeeded in burying the birch. The ground is stone-hard, and one can’t dig in it with one’s bare hands.
I climb onto a big rock to pray and let the fear trickle from the soles of my feet onto the ground. From inside the rock flows the strength to face the night, which urges me on the road to death.
Death is my friend. Waiting for me at death’s house is my guardian pony Zorro, who was slaughtered in a sausage factory. I walk through the air to heaven, where Jesus rides Zorro along a glowing path. The light tickles my angel’s wings. I jump onto Zorro’s back and sink my face in Jesus’ sun-fragrant hair.
The thunder of Zorro’s hooves drives all the fear out of the forest.
When I jump to the ground to look for food, Zorro and Jesus disappear. I pick black, foul-tasting crowberries and swallow them quickly, so that the crows don’t have time to notice.
God punishes me with thirst. I rinse my mouth with spittle, but the thirst doesn’t go away. I think about Jesus, who was hung on the cross for my sake and the sake of other sinners. Things went okay for Jesus. He died of thirst and followed Zorro to heaven.
I stumble onwards and come to a clearing covered with a soft carpet of sawdust. I sit down on the ground and let my strength go away. The smell of sawdust reminds of the time when the house was whole and Daddy sawed logs in the back yard. Mummy walked in the garden with the watering can and often looked at the sky, sat on the bench and let the clouds caress her shoulders. Under the bench there was a bottle of spirits, but Mummy didn’t drink from it very often. And when she drank, she began to laugh. She didn’t know yet that everything she ate and drank turned into poison. Then, when Mummy realized that life can’t be trusted, she picked up the garden shears and cut down everything she had planted.
The soft smell of the trees enfolds me in its embrace. I bury the birch deep in the wood-shavings, close my eyes and run to and fro on the carpet of sawdust. I run blind with happiness and see Zorro galloping beside me. When I open my eyes Zorro glances at me, laughing, and gallops out of the clearing.
From the edge of the clearing a rusty circular saw stares at me sadly. I carefully stroke its rough blade and cut my finger. I put my finger in my mouth and quench my thirst with blood.
The night drops a big swarm of gnats on the clearing where the circular saw is. I dive deep into the sawdust and the gnats only find little bits of me. I hope that soon they will suck their bellies full and then die happily.
I’m alive and thirsty. I want to go through sleep to death where no one is thirsty, neither gnats nor people. But sleep can’t manage to open death's heavy gates. It takes me to Daddy, exposing his even row of teeth which gleam in the sunshine like the furiously turning blade of the circular saw.
Daddy throws the logs in and the circular saw receives them, laughing a rusty screeching laugh with its sharp teeth, just like Daddy's.
translated from Finnish by David McDuff
Your Love Is Infinite - 1
Your Love Is Infinite - 2
Sunday, 26 April 2009
Your Love Is Infinite - 2
[22-25]
I pick flowers in the meadow. If I pick a very big bunch, I'll be able to decorate the whole house with flowers. Granny said that I could, before she went to the cowshed. Grandpa is in the cowshed, too, and I can play all by myself.
The whole big meadow is my playground!
I go into the long grass and lie down, and look at the sun. When I open my eyes, the world is yellow. I stroke my face and it is yellow too. And my hair. And my hands. And my feet.
I am like the sun.
I dig deep in the soil and come into being upwards. Slowly I come up from the soil in the form of a sunflower, rise above the stalks of grass, open my yellow arms and dance slowly, slowly I turn around like a flower, and the other flowers smile to me, nodding their heads approvingly. I am like the flowers, yellow, happy. I have a lot of friends, flowers.
Like a flower I dance a big circle around the meadow. Only the flowers are allowed to enter the circle. The flowers are good, scented with sun. The summer has made the flowers wise.
In my circle the flowers are able to grow into people. I will mix the right colours for them, give them advice if they come. But they don’t come. They just smile and go on swaying their light bodies, smile in a friendly way, but don’t want to come, want to stay far away from my circle.
The petals tremble above me. I dive into the clump of flowers and tear them from my face and head and feet. I claw the roots from deep in the ground and stuff them into my mouth. I grind the bitter-tasting pap in my teeth, and then a sharp spike of sand cuts a wound in my tongue.
The grass casts a black shadow over me. The sun has gone away, and there is no longer a smell of summer in me or the flowers. There's a bad taste in my mouth. The yellow dress is stained. Small soil-coloured rivers flow from my eyes to my cheeks and the neck opening of the dress. I lift the skirt of the dress and gather soil-sobs in my hands. The flowers, which I just whipped and killed, are sobbing in my hands, because the summer is only beginning and they must die.
I want to be punished. I want the flowers to come back from death and tear my hair, pinch me and mock me, tell me I am old and ugly and I will cry and they wll feel sorry for me and we will make an agreement and play at flower meadows again. We'll be a glorious flower meadow and I wll be the biggest and yellowest of all and the other flowers wll be small and pretty and happy.
But the flowers don’t come back, and neither does the sun. Granny comes from the cowshed. I stumble from the meadow into the yard towards her, try to climb into her arms, but the milk pails are in the way, clatter spitefully. Granny looks past me, sternly.
Only in the living room, when she sees the empty flower vases, does Granny remember me. She looks at me angrily and at once I start to explain that the flowers died and the sun went away, but Granny doesn’t listen, just sighs wearily and says that now Saara will get the birch.
The birch sounds horrible, like death. Fear mingles with the flood of tears, eats away at my cheeks and throat, does not end until I lie on my tummy on Granny’s knees. The birch rips my bare bottom. The floorboards of the living room come close, tempt me to stick out my tongue.
The sharp Smurf lemonade numbs the pain and the fear and I laugh when the matches fly out of my mouth with the spit. Granny beats harder and harder. The Smurf lemonade tastes sweeter and sweeter.
The grass and the flowers rise up from the pool of lemonade to tell me that now we are quits, and not to remember the past. We can play together again and I can be a big sunflower. I am happy.
When it’s over I hug Granny and say thank you Granny thank you Granny, again and again, until Granny gets cross and pushes the birch towards me, chases me out of the house and shouts after me that I must take the birch to the forest and bury it deep in the ground and put all the badness and wickedness in the same hole.
translated from Finnish by David McDuff
Your Love Is Infinite - 1
I pick flowers in the meadow. If I pick a very big bunch, I'll be able to decorate the whole house with flowers. Granny said that I could, before she went to the cowshed. Grandpa is in the cowshed, too, and I can play all by myself.
The whole big meadow is my playground!
I go into the long grass and lie down, and look at the sun. When I open my eyes, the world is yellow. I stroke my face and it is yellow too. And my hair. And my hands. And my feet.
I am like the sun.
I dig deep in the soil and come into being upwards. Slowly I come up from the soil in the form of a sunflower, rise above the stalks of grass, open my yellow arms and dance slowly, slowly I turn around like a flower, and the other flowers smile to me, nodding their heads approvingly. I am like the flowers, yellow, happy. I have a lot of friends, flowers.
Like a flower I dance a big circle around the meadow. Only the flowers are allowed to enter the circle. The flowers are good, scented with sun. The summer has made the flowers wise.
In my circle the flowers are able to grow into people. I will mix the right colours for them, give them advice if they come. But they don’t come. They just smile and go on swaying their light bodies, smile in a friendly way, but don’t want to come, want to stay far away from my circle.
The petals tremble above me. I dive into the clump of flowers and tear them from my face and head and feet. I claw the roots from deep in the ground and stuff them into my mouth. I grind the bitter-tasting pap in my teeth, and then a sharp spike of sand cuts a wound in my tongue.
The grass casts a black shadow over me. The sun has gone away, and there is no longer a smell of summer in me or the flowers. There's a bad taste in my mouth. The yellow dress is stained. Small soil-coloured rivers flow from my eyes to my cheeks and the neck opening of the dress. I lift the skirt of the dress and gather soil-sobs in my hands. The flowers, which I just whipped and killed, are sobbing in my hands, because the summer is only beginning and they must die.
I want to be punished. I want the flowers to come back from death and tear my hair, pinch me and mock me, tell me I am old and ugly and I will cry and they wll feel sorry for me and we will make an agreement and play at flower meadows again. We'll be a glorious flower meadow and I wll be the biggest and yellowest of all and the other flowers wll be small and pretty and happy.
But the flowers don’t come back, and neither does the sun. Granny comes from the cowshed. I stumble from the meadow into the yard towards her, try to climb into her arms, but the milk pails are in the way, clatter spitefully. Granny looks past me, sternly.
Only in the living room, when she sees the empty flower vases, does Granny remember me. She looks at me angrily and at once I start to explain that the flowers died and the sun went away, but Granny doesn’t listen, just sighs wearily and says that now Saara will get the birch.
The birch sounds horrible, like death. Fear mingles with the flood of tears, eats away at my cheeks and throat, does not end until I lie on my tummy on Granny’s knees. The birch rips my bare bottom. The floorboards of the living room come close, tempt me to stick out my tongue.
The sharp Smurf lemonade numbs the pain and the fear and I laugh when the matches fly out of my mouth with the spit. Granny beats harder and harder. The Smurf lemonade tastes sweeter and sweeter.
The grass and the flowers rise up from the pool of lemonade to tell me that now we are quits, and not to remember the past. We can play together again and I can be a big sunflower. I am happy.
When it’s over I hug Granny and say thank you Granny thank you Granny, again and again, until Granny gets cross and pushes the birch towards me, chases me out of the house and shouts after me that I must take the birch to the forest and bury it deep in the ground and put all the badness and wickedness in the same hole.
translated from Finnish by David McDuff
Your Love Is Infinite - 1
Friday, 24 April 2009
Your Love Is Infinite - 1
In 2001 Finnish author Maria Peura (b. 1970) published her first novel, On rakkautes ääretön (Your Love Is Infinite, Tammi, 2001). To say that its subject matter was controversial at the time would be an understatement, and the book stirred controversy both within Finnish literary circles and in public opinion at large.
The German critic and translator Stefan Moster has characterized the novel as follows (my tr. from German):
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
[9-13]
I draw a circle in the sand and go and stand in the middle of it. It has a border that Grandpa is not allowed to cross. Now we’ll play by my rules. Grandpa is not allowed to come into the circle, my circle. Only I'm allowed to be in the circle.
Grandpa likes me more than anything in the world. If I am kind to Grandpa, he will never desert me. He looks after me, Grandpa’s girl, and I promise always to be kind to Grandpa. But when I stand in the circle, Grandpa is not allowed to come inside it.
Grandpa knows the rules, but now he forgets to keep them. He crosses the line, steps inside my circle. I shout that Grandpa’s not allowed inside, but he doesn’t listen, no, no, he comes all the same, steps over me with his boots on, tramples the yellow sunflowers to death. Only blackness remains after Grandpa. Nothing but blackness.
The ground under Grandpa sobs. The tips of Grandpa’s boots dig deep wounds. The ground’s sandy covering is a rag, a circle rubbed deep into the skin. Blood flows onto Grandpa’s coat.
He kicks and laughs, crosses the border lots of times, digs with the tip of his boot, is bad, is bad too long. Less is not enough for Grandpa. He doesn’t go away. He never goes away.
I'll tell Mummy and Daddy. I will definitely, definitely tell them… As soon as they take me home again, I'll tell them about Grandpa and the tips of his boots and Grandpa will be made to feel ashamed and will have to apologize and… no, no, no… Grandpa is old. Old people must be forgiven. If I give Grandpa a row, bad things will happen to me. I am bad bad bad, but old people must be shown respect.
Yet I don’t respect Grandpa. Grandpa can go to hell. He can go to hell, no matter how angry Mummy gets. Mummy doesn’t want me home again. Mummy laughs a nasty laugh and says that I don’t know where hell is. I should go and find out if it’s the sort of place where old Grandpa would feel at home. And I should go quickly, because my words are hurting Mummy’s ears.
Mummy doesn’t hear me or see me and I pack my rucksack and slip out into the hallway and let the house spit me out from its insides. I run down the garden path to the main road. I stick up my thumb and the wind pulls me into the sky, to fly to Grandpa and Granny in hell.
From the side pocket of my rucksack Grandpa fishes out a letter in which Mummy says that Saara is going to live at Granny’s for a little while, at least until Mummy and Daddy have had the house repaired, and that Saara is an obedient girl who likes to please Grandpa and Granny. When Grandpa has read the letter, I ask him to give me back the rucksack, because there’s a Strawberry Trip in it, but Grandpa hangs the rucksack on the hatstand, so high that I can’t reach it.
I've kissed Grandpa, and I don’t want to go and sleep under his arm. As soon as I say NO to Grandpa, another voice inside my head screams YES. It’s Mummy’s voice and I obey Mummy.
I creep in between Grandpa and Granny, though not like Saara, but like a little hedgehog. I point my spikes outwards and curl myself up. I sleep curled up in a tight ball, until Grandpa’s snoring wakes me. Granny wakes up too, and stomps off with her duvet to the other room.
I am alone with Grandpa. The spikes around me melt away. I pretend I’m a hedgehog that is sleeping without any spikes, sleeping quietly in an underground vault. No one can hear. It sinks deeper and deeper inside the earth, and nothing is left of it. Not a scent, not a memory. Nothing. The hedgehog isn’t there. The hedgehog has vanished from around the heart, because the heart is pumping up and down.
The heart cuts into Grandpa’s sleep and he opens his mouth wide. Grandpa’s face is brown and wrinkled. He turns on his side and his face slides away. I press the heart to my lips with my fingers, tell it to be quiet. The heart bites me and a sharp squeal cuts the bedroom’s thick air.
Grandpa turns over. His face comes near. His eyes are closed, but I guess that he is awake, and Grandpa guesses that I'm awake. I suddenly grow new spikes, but they turn thin and flabby. Grandpa laughs at my hedgehog act and, to be on the safe side, I giggle a bit, too. Grandpa is old and his feelings are easily hurt. I put my hand in Grandpa’s rough hair and smooth it a little.
Grandpa's eyelids open. Little sparks glow in Grandpa’s eyes.
‘I’ll show you some games we can play in Granny’s house.’
I don’t want to play games. I gather spittle in my mouth. Perhaps Grandpa will fall asleep if I spit into his eyes and put out the sparks.
Grandpa senses my plan and pulls a mask over his eyes. He looks like an ugly pirate.
I get ready for my dream. I nestle nto the warm space left by Granny. The dream conjures up a salty sea. I take the form of a ship and a big white sail carries me from wave to wave. I sway in the sea’s embrace, until the wind dies down and the grandpa pirate takes hold of the ship, throws the anchor down to the sandy bottom and steps into the hold.
A hand presses my face into the pillow. I bite the pillow to shreds and shout with my mouth full of feathers that it hurts, hurts more than having my ears pierced, more than being sick, more than ever. I shout to the ship’s crew for help. I shout to them to throw me a lifeboat, but the feathers muffle my voice, and no one can hear me. I am alone, at Grandpa’s mercy.
Grandpa’s mercy hurts. I toss about there, until Grandpa loosens his grip and a bad, fusty smell spreads into the hold. I run to the side in order to breathe sea air. The grandpa pirate puffs close behind me, grabs me with slimy hands. I slip out of his grasp, leap into the lifeboat and start to row.
The wind gets up, makes the waves grow big. Grandpa’s ship sucks me closer and closer, back to the fusty smell. The strength goes out of my arms. The oars come loose from the boat, drift far into the sea. I think about Mummy’s nightdress. The pain spread into it, vanished, went away. I tell the nightdress to come now, wrap itself around me, take the pain away, cover up the pain.
The nightdress stays where it is. I swallow a sob deep inside me. After all, I'm big and strong. I’m not at all as weak and wretched as Grandpa, who takes off his pirate’s mask when the game is over and bursts into tears. I press the duvet into Grandpa’s face and the surf stays there.
‘You smell good,’ Grandpa sighs.
Grandpa is telling a lie. Grandpa's not allowed to say nice things about me. Grandpa must be quiet. I press my lips against Grandpa’s lips. Grandpa sticks his tongue out. I press my lips together and swallow sea water.
Grandpa’s rough hand scratches my tummy and thighs, lightly smooths my poppy, wipes the wounds away. Grandpa also strokes my hair and my eyes and my head and the sea wind blows in my face, until I fall into the warm waves of the dream, caressed by the sea. The salt smarts and burns from the deep. The shore is quite close. With a few kicks I could be there, in safety, but I don’t want to go.
translated from Finnish by David McDuff
The German critic and translator Stefan Moster has characterized the novel as follows (my tr. from German):
She tells the story of a 6 year-old girl who becomes the object of sexual abuse. Peura is not content merely to depict the girl’s traumatic experience and the dreary, almost hermetically sealed environment in which she lives, but puts the emphasis on the reconstruction of the little girl’s inner life. The reader is left in no doubt about the damage to body and mind that is taking place. Yet in spite of the painful theme, a note of hope is also struck at the end: a way out of the traumatic spiral can be glimpsed.The book is also remarkable in being written in a lyrical style that reflects and follows a child's thought-processes, with intevening passages in North Finnish dialect. What follows is a series of excerpts in translation, which hopefully may give readers something of the flavour of the work. As usual, there will be more than one blog post in this series.
Saara, the novel’s main character, is ordered into the care of her grandparents in a remote North Finnish village because her parents are unable to look after her any more. Her father has gone to Norway and her mother is fighting a drink problem. At Granny’s, Saara becomes a victim of her grandfather, a bitter old man who lives with his wife in a sterile marriage, forces Saara to play “games” in which he subjects the child to intolerable forms of abuse. Saara’s means of defence are not sufficient; she draws a circle in the sand and goes to stand in the middle of it: “There’s a border there that Grandpa mustn’t cross. Now let’s play according to my rules. Grandpa’s not allowed to come into the circle, my circle. Only I’m allowed to be in the circle.” But Grandpa repeatedly enters the circle and hurts the girl, who suffers and flees into her own inner world. There is no place that is safe.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
[9-13]
I draw a circle in the sand and go and stand in the middle of it. It has a border that Grandpa is not allowed to cross. Now we’ll play by my rules. Grandpa is not allowed to come into the circle, my circle. Only I'm allowed to be in the circle.
Grandpa likes me more than anything in the world. If I am kind to Grandpa, he will never desert me. He looks after me, Grandpa’s girl, and I promise always to be kind to Grandpa. But when I stand in the circle, Grandpa is not allowed to come inside it.
Grandpa knows the rules, but now he forgets to keep them. He crosses the line, steps inside my circle. I shout that Grandpa’s not allowed inside, but he doesn’t listen, no, no, he comes all the same, steps over me with his boots on, tramples the yellow sunflowers to death. Only blackness remains after Grandpa. Nothing but blackness.
The ground under Grandpa sobs. The tips of Grandpa’s boots dig deep wounds. The ground’s sandy covering is a rag, a circle rubbed deep into the skin. Blood flows onto Grandpa’s coat.
He kicks and laughs, crosses the border lots of times, digs with the tip of his boot, is bad, is bad too long. Less is not enough for Grandpa. He doesn’t go away. He never goes away.
I'll tell Mummy and Daddy. I will definitely, definitely tell them… As soon as they take me home again, I'll tell them about Grandpa and the tips of his boots and Grandpa will be made to feel ashamed and will have to apologize and… no, no, no… Grandpa is old. Old people must be forgiven. If I give Grandpa a row, bad things will happen to me. I am bad bad bad, but old people must be shown respect.
Yet I don’t respect Grandpa. Grandpa can go to hell. He can go to hell, no matter how angry Mummy gets. Mummy doesn’t want me home again. Mummy laughs a nasty laugh and says that I don’t know where hell is. I should go and find out if it’s the sort of place where old Grandpa would feel at home. And I should go quickly, because my words are hurting Mummy’s ears.
Mummy doesn’t hear me or see me and I pack my rucksack and slip out into the hallway and let the house spit me out from its insides. I run down the garden path to the main road. I stick up my thumb and the wind pulls me into the sky, to fly to Grandpa and Granny in hell.
From the side pocket of my rucksack Grandpa fishes out a letter in which Mummy says that Saara is going to live at Granny’s for a little while, at least until Mummy and Daddy have had the house repaired, and that Saara is an obedient girl who likes to please Grandpa and Granny. When Grandpa has read the letter, I ask him to give me back the rucksack, because there’s a Strawberry Trip in it, but Grandpa hangs the rucksack on the hatstand, so high that I can’t reach it.
I've kissed Grandpa, and I don’t want to go and sleep under his arm. As soon as I say NO to Grandpa, another voice inside my head screams YES. It’s Mummy’s voice and I obey Mummy.
I creep in between Grandpa and Granny, though not like Saara, but like a little hedgehog. I point my spikes outwards and curl myself up. I sleep curled up in a tight ball, until Grandpa’s snoring wakes me. Granny wakes up too, and stomps off with her duvet to the other room.
I am alone with Grandpa. The spikes around me melt away. I pretend I’m a hedgehog that is sleeping without any spikes, sleeping quietly in an underground vault. No one can hear. It sinks deeper and deeper inside the earth, and nothing is left of it. Not a scent, not a memory. Nothing. The hedgehog isn’t there. The hedgehog has vanished from around the heart, because the heart is pumping up and down.
The heart cuts into Grandpa’s sleep and he opens his mouth wide. Grandpa’s face is brown and wrinkled. He turns on his side and his face slides away. I press the heart to my lips with my fingers, tell it to be quiet. The heart bites me and a sharp squeal cuts the bedroom’s thick air.
Grandpa turns over. His face comes near. His eyes are closed, but I guess that he is awake, and Grandpa guesses that I'm awake. I suddenly grow new spikes, but they turn thin and flabby. Grandpa laughs at my hedgehog act and, to be on the safe side, I giggle a bit, too. Grandpa is old and his feelings are easily hurt. I put my hand in Grandpa’s rough hair and smooth it a little.
Grandpa's eyelids open. Little sparks glow in Grandpa’s eyes.
‘I’ll show you some games we can play in Granny’s house.’
I don’t want to play games. I gather spittle in my mouth. Perhaps Grandpa will fall asleep if I spit into his eyes and put out the sparks.
Grandpa senses my plan and pulls a mask over his eyes. He looks like an ugly pirate.
I get ready for my dream. I nestle nto the warm space left by Granny. The dream conjures up a salty sea. I take the form of a ship and a big white sail carries me from wave to wave. I sway in the sea’s embrace, until the wind dies down and the grandpa pirate takes hold of the ship, throws the anchor down to the sandy bottom and steps into the hold.
A hand presses my face into the pillow. I bite the pillow to shreds and shout with my mouth full of feathers that it hurts, hurts more than having my ears pierced, more than being sick, more than ever. I shout to the ship’s crew for help. I shout to them to throw me a lifeboat, but the feathers muffle my voice, and no one can hear me. I am alone, at Grandpa’s mercy.
Grandpa’s mercy hurts. I toss about there, until Grandpa loosens his grip and a bad, fusty smell spreads into the hold. I run to the side in order to breathe sea air. The grandpa pirate puffs close behind me, grabs me with slimy hands. I slip out of his grasp, leap into the lifeboat and start to row.
The wind gets up, makes the waves grow big. Grandpa’s ship sucks me closer and closer, back to the fusty smell. The strength goes out of my arms. The oars come loose from the boat, drift far into the sea. I think about Mummy’s nightdress. The pain spread into it, vanished, went away. I tell the nightdress to come now, wrap itself around me, take the pain away, cover up the pain.
The nightdress stays where it is. I swallow a sob deep inside me. After all, I'm big and strong. I’m not at all as weak and wretched as Grandpa, who takes off his pirate’s mask when the game is over and bursts into tears. I press the duvet into Grandpa’s face and the surf stays there.
‘You smell good,’ Grandpa sighs.
Grandpa is telling a lie. Grandpa's not allowed to say nice things about me. Grandpa must be quiet. I press my lips against Grandpa’s lips. Grandpa sticks his tongue out. I press my lips together and swallow sea water.
Grandpa’s rough hand scratches my tummy and thighs, lightly smooths my poppy, wipes the wounds away. Grandpa also strokes my hair and my eyes and my head and the sea wind blows in my face, until I fall into the warm waves of the dream, caressed by the sea. The salt smarts and burns from the deep. The shore is quite close. With a few kicks I could be there, in safety, but I don’t want to go.
translated from Finnish by David McDuff
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