The Winter War (11 page)

twelve

NOTHING GAVE KATRIINA SUCH
a sense of peace as the intense buzzing of a successful party – the knowledge that she was the one who had gathered all these people in one place, that she was the one who had created the atmosphere upon which the festivities depended. But before the guests arrived Max hadn't once taken the time to thank her for everything she'd done. Instead, all day he had whined like a child about not wanting any sort of celebration, and he'd started drinking well before noon. The speech that he'd given for Laura was both peculiar and embarrassing. Everybody could see that he was openly flirting with her.

And now a complete stranger had turned up. No one had any idea who he was.

Katriina rushed back and forth from the kitchen to the living room, making sure that there were enough coffee cups and glasses, and that all the guests were having a good time. She had on high heels and a print dress that was black and neon-pink, which she'd bought in a hurry at Stockmann's department store the day before.

Elisabeth had arrived by train to help Katriina with all the preparations. Max's older sister was married, had three children, and lived in Närpes. She made her living by selling some sort of natural supplement, and she talked about her cats as if they were people. But she'd raised three sons. One was a doctor in Uppsala, Sweden, and the other two had respectable jobs up north in Österbotten. And she had a good sense of humour. Each time she visited, Elisabeth would stand in the middle of the living room, look around, and say that she'd never seen ‘rich folks living such a shabby existence'. It was a joke, of course, because the flat where Katriina and Max lived was 1,500 square feet. But according to Elisabeth, what mattered was that they had no yard, and the fact that they both worked in professions that were abstract and, frankly, ridiculous. She always teased Max whenever he received media attention. Back in the nineties, after he'd published his sex study, she claimed that their father would turn in his grave if he knew about it. (‘Who knew that somebody could get famous from talking about the ten ways that complete strangers fuck?')

Katriina quickly surveyed the room. The unexpected guest was sitting on the sofa, waiting for Eva. His bony fingers were resting in a rather affected manner on his knees as he looked around. His gaze stopped on a large painting by Heikki Marila that Katriina had acquired at an exhibition at Korjaamo. She had never before bought anything so expensive just because she liked it, but in this case she knew she wouldn't regret the purchase.

Katriina had tried phoning Eva, but her mobile was turned off. Helen had checked the Internet and found out that the flight from Frankfurt would be two hours late.

When Katriina tried to ring again, she suddenly got through.

‘Hi, Mum. I'll be home soon. I'm on the bus at the moment.'

‘Good, good. You need to hurry, because there's someone here to see you.'

‘There is?'

‘Yes. A young gentleman. He says that he knows you. I think his name is Russ. Dad is talking to him in the living room right now.'

For a moment there was only silence on the line.

‘Russ? Are you talking about a short, dark-haired guy with a moustache?'

‘Right. That's him.'

‘But what's he doing there? How'd he get there?'

‘How would I know? Is he your boyfriend?'

‘No, he's not my boyfriend.'

‘Then who is he?'

‘He's somebody who definitely shouldn't have flown to Finland without telling me.'

‘Well, he says he tried to ring you all week, and you never answered.'

‘But I talked to him yesterday! He told you that he'd tried to phone me?'

‘That's what he says. The two of you will just have to work this out. Although I can't say I care for that moustache.'

Katriina ended the call and left Max to take care of Eva's guest. Max sent her a look that said he had better things to do, but she pretended not to notice.

She went into the kitchen, where she found Helen with her husband, Christian.

‘I finally got hold of Eva. She's on her way.'

‘Did she tell you anything about that guy?' asked Helen.

‘She said they're friends. But he's not her boyfriend.'

‘He looks kind of odd.'

‘I suppose so.'

He did look a bit odd, compared to Katriina's son-in-law. Christian was tall and solidly built. He had the physique of a skilled workman, with sinewy arms but also a certain weight and strength about him. A real man. There was nothing that Christian couldn't do. When he quit the architecture firm to become a carpenter and furniture upholsterer, they all thought at first that he was crazy. But after five years he had his own company and was a professional consultant for the Museum Department. He now earned more money than he ever had as an architect, and he'd also renovated a beautiful house for his family near Kyrkslätt, right where Esbo turns into countryside.

Katriina leaned against the worktop. Water was splattered around the sink, and she started wiping it up, but it just kept spilling over the edge. She gave up and tossed the dishrag in the sink.

‘Helen, take a look at this,' she said.

She yanked out the drawer that never opened smoothly.

‘Yes, I know. We've seen it, Mum. You've showed it to us before.'

‘Do you think we'll ever get a new kitchen?'

‘Well, just talking about it won't make it happen.'

‘But Dad refuses to even consider it. Plus, there's no time. After Christmas I'm going to the Philippines. Wivan is sending me on a mission to recruit nurses.'

Katriina slammed shut the drawer.

‘Christian, what's your opinion?'

‘About what?'

Christian looked as if he'd been startled awake from a deep sleep. He was the most diplomatic person Katriina had ever met – and there was something rather undiplomatic about that very fact, because it was impossible to be on everyone's side at all times. Mostly he tried to stay out of the domestic matters of the Paul family.

‘What do you think about this kitchen? Shouldn't we have it completely redone?'

‘It is looking a bit worn out.'

‘So do you think it's fixable? Max says that we could just repair whatever's falling apart.'

‘Maybe. But it's often cheaper to start from scratch, unfortunately. That's how it is these days. The cost of hiring workmen has gone sky-high. I think you could have some of these cupboards refinished. But if you need new shelves … The question is: what would be less expensive?'

Max came into the kitchen with the young man who was Eva's friend. ‘So, have we heard anything from Eva yet?'

He spoke English, so that Russ would be able to understand. Katriina also replied in English.

‘Yes. I just spoke to her. She should be home any minute.'

‘You have a lovely home,' said Russ. Katriina wondered what he really meant by that. Was it sheer flattery on his part, or was he genuinely impressed? It was impossible to tell whether he came from a family with little money, or whether he simply chose to dress in such shabby clothes.

‘Thank you,' said Katriina. ‘But our kitchen is terribly outmoded. Don't you think we ought to have it refurbished?'

Max raised one eyebrow and looked at Helen, as if to get her to cooperate in some tactic against her mother, but Katriina saw that Helen refused to acknowledge her father's unspoken request.

‘How about if we had it painted?' said Max.

‘Your dad is so romantic,' replied Katriina, with what she hoped was a casually ironic tone to her voice.

A strand of hair had come loose from her ponytail.

‘But I
am
romantic,' Max insisted and then laughed. It was the kind of laugh that Katriina hated, because it was an attempt to erase anything serious from the situation. At this particular moment she was sick and tired of Max.

She couldn't help it, but suddenly all the stress of the day flooded over her, and she almost fainted. She knew she should keep quiet. Instead, her voice rose shrilly.

‘Then why the hell don't you ever show it, Max? Why do you show it only to everyone else, in your books, in your articles, to your colleagues, and God knows to how many of the young women you meet? But you never show it to me.'

Silence descended over the kitchen.

‘Mum. Dad. I don't know if we … Maybe you should talk about this some other time.'

Helen cast an embarrassed glance at Russ. She looked very uncomfortable and wanted to change the subject.

‘It seems cold in the flat. Have you noticed? Don't you have the heat on?'

‘It's your father who refuses to turn up the thermostat. He thinks we need to save on electricity and just put on warmer clothes,' said Katriina.

‘Or we could warm each other up. That's romantic, isn't it?' Max ventured.

Katriina sighed and tucked the loose strand of hair behind her ear. ‘I don't feel like arguing with you right now. This is your party, and you should celebrate however you like. But if you're planning on getting drunk, you should at least have sense enough not to give any more speeches.'

Helen covered her ears. ‘Mum and Dad, I don't want to listen to this. And I don't think our guest does either.'

Now she turned to face Russ. ‘I apologise. My mother and father can't stand each other, and they think the rest of the world should know about it.'

Everyone was now looking at Russ, who tried to muster a smile.

Max was set on defending himself. He said to Russ, ‘Don't worry, it's not serious. We've been married thirty years. This is just what happens. When you turn sixty, you should be happy just to be able to locate your socks in the morning.'

Max raised his glass, spilling a little of his drink.

‘Oh, well. Happy birthday, by the way,' said Russ.

‘Thanks.'

HELSINGIN SANOMAT

Complete freedom is not an ideal condition

Professor Max Paul turns sixty today, but he has no intention of stopping working. ‘Work is the most direct path to happiness,' he says
.

by Laura Lampela

He begins by quoting Tolstoy.

‘I think that Tolstoy said it so well. You should “work for those you love and love your job”,' says Professor Paul.

We met at the Kosmos restaurant, which holds a special place in Paul's heart. This was where he went as a student to celebrate passing his exams.

‘We also came here on those occasions when we didn't pass. We often couldn't afford to order any food, but they would let us sit here and drink. When my parents came to Helsinki to visit me in the early seventies, we had dinner here after seeing a play at Lilla Teatern,' he explains.

He is easily recognisable from his appearances on TV. He has the same slightly anxious look in his eyes and the same quick wit that made him such a popular guest on talk shows in the nineties. A 1993 article in
City Guide
dubbed him the ‘young intellectual of the decade', and that made Max Paul the big star among Finnish intellectuals.

Lately we haven't seen much of you in the media. What happened?

‘It's partly because these days I'm better at saying no, and partly because the intellectual climate has changed, in my opinion. Plus, philosophy was a hot topic in the nineties, but not so much today. Unfortunately, this has also been felt at the university. Other subjects are now more fashionable, and those students who have real talent – and especially the men – choose fields that offer better job prospects,' he says.

But Max Paul has not given up his enthusiasm for sociology.

‘On the contrary. Sociology is a very generous discipline. It allows a man to have other lovers. It's polygamous by nature. I'm very interested in social psychology and the history of ideas. At the moment I'm working on a biography of the “grand old man” of sociology in Finland, Edvard Westermarck.'

It has been a while since Professor Paul published anything. His break-through book,
Under the Metropolis Star
, was nominated for a Finlandia Prize. It was a crossdiscipline examination of the post-war generation in which Paul conducted interviews with war veterans and their families to discuss how the Western concept of happiness became shaped in the modern era. The book put him on the map as one of the foremost interpreters of how the war years affected the soul of the Finnish people.

‘I still receive invitations to speak about that book, even though it's been twenty-five years since it came out. In Finland the war marked all of us in such a fundamental way that we still turn to those years for answers to our problems. Sometimes it can be a little absurd. Last year a journalist phoned me to ask whether the war years could somehow explain Nokia's recent decline.'

Paul's answer to that reporter was: ‘Of course.'

‘Personally, I think the real answer lies in the global market, and in Nokia's case, the company simply needed to reinvent itself. At the same time, I think the fact that Finland is a young nation has affected how Nokia is treated in the media – criticism has been conspicuously lacking. When Nokia was strong, nobody bothered to dig around in what the company was doing, and that says something about what a powerful function Nokia served in terms of the national identity. Maybe there wasn't enough vigilance. Finns have always needed a narrative to cling to, just like all small countries. When we joined the EU, we behaved much like a provincial family in a novel from the late nineteenth century. We agreed to everything just so we could marry into the grand landowner's family. That's okay, except that you also lose some of your integrity and set yourself up for a very big fall,' the professor explains.

In Paul's opinion, the Finnish inferiority complex shows up in a paradoxical way in politics.

‘From an economic point of view, we're one of the most financially healthy nations in Europe, and yet for a long time we've suffered from a lack of self-confidence because we consider ourselves poor – maybe not monetarily, but culturally. That's why I was personally overjoyed when the Social Democrats showed some initiative with regard to the Greek question,' he says.