Dusk in Kalevia: Chapter 2

As Demyan accompanied Minister Kuoppala and the Chairman down the hall, a young man emerged from a doorway and jogged up to them.

“Hey, can I ask you something?” the newcomer asked as he fell in step with the Chairman.

The audacity of it was so overwhelming that it took Demyan a moment to parse the situation. In that instant, he tried to fit this person into all the boxes of the political social strata that he knew. He found no matches.

“Vesa?” The Chairman frowned. “Aren’t you supposed to be at school? Where’s Mika?”

Of course, his son! Then this was Vesa Uusitalo, the Chairman’s sole remaining family. Demyan had seen him in pictures and up on stage at events. From far away, he had seemed much more of a child, always surrounded by the old Party men–but in fact he was almost as tall as his father, easily mistaken for a grown man. Upon closer inspection, Demyan noticed the navy suit coat was a school blazer, with the requisite red kerchief tucked in at the neck.

“It’s a holiday,” Vesa said. “Listen, I–”

“You know my office is off-limits.”

“But Dad, I swear, just this one thing!”

“Vesa, how many times have I told you…” The Chairman began to lecture his son, but he stopped suddenly and stood there, clutching the bridge of his nose as though the boy’s presence had begun to give him a headache.

“Just make it quick. I have a very important meeting.”

Demyan hadn’t done anything, but he could see the boy’s spirit visibly deflate. His narrow shoulders slumped and his reddish bangs fell across his face, not enough to hide the disappointment in his eyes.

“I just needed to get your permission to do my volunteer assignment today,” mumbled Vesa, looking sideways at the wall.

“Yes, Fine. Just make sure Mika goes with you.”

“Joo. No problem.”

“I’ll see you when I get home.”

Sure. It would always be like that, right? Another awkward dinner at home in the big dining room, the clink of silverware painfully loud in the void of conversation. He would sit there, picking at his fish while his father asked him the same pointless questions as he did every time they ate together. He would give the same sullen answers until they both tired of the act and went back to pretending to enjoy the meal, the butter now congealed and the potatoes grown cold.

I didn’t do this, Demyan reminded himself.

In times like these, he always second-guessed himself, assuming he was inadvertently the source of such unhappiness. But no, these were old wounds, built up and nursed over long years of shattered expectations. Despair in its natural habitat.

As Demyan pondered this, a sturdy-looking young guard appeared in the doorway. He rushed across the hall and clapped a hand on Vesa’s shoulder, his handsome face a mixture of relief and embarrassment.

“You were supposed to stay in the waiting room! I leave you alone for one minute to run to the bathroom and you disappear!” The guard ducked his head apologetically to the Chairman. “I’m sorry for the interruption, Your Excellency!”

“Hi, Mika,” Vesa said, without much enthusiasm. “Bye, Dad.”

He was sorry he was such a disappointment.

Demyan watched the boy exit with his bodyguard, and knew Vesa was forcing himself not to look back over his shoulder at his father.

**

As the ministers filed into the room, they talked in low voices, speculating about the phone call that had woken them from their sleep the previous night.

As usual, no one approached Demyan. As an outsider with the unspoken might of the KGB behind him, Demyan knew it was only natural that the members of the politburo would be careful around him–but this went beyond that. It was more that they avoided looking at him directly, as if trying to pretend he wasn’t there, ignoring an ugly truth.

Funny how the human mind works, thought Demyan bitterly. No matter what I look like or how useful I am, they can always tell, somehow. He settled himself into his chair and focused instead on the heady prospects of this morning’s meeting. He needed the pick-me-up.

Demyan did not exactly enjoy briefings. He liked them no more or less than any other part of his work, but they were a reliable source of emotional fuel. Emergency briefings meant something had gone wrong, and when things went wrong, someone had to take the fall. All he had to do was sit back and quietly feed on the confidence bleeding out from the sacrificial functionary.

This morning’s scapegoat appeared to be one Commander Joensuu, a military man responsible for a portion of the army units stationed in the north. A film of moisture glistened on his bald forehead; he kept reaching up to dab his brow with a handkerchief. The windowless room was stifling and close, but no one else gushed sweat like they were in the sauna.

Kuoppala marched around, passing out the folders. He stopped under the portrait of Juuso Rautainen, the father of the Kalevian revolution, and addressed the five statesmen seated around the hardwood table.

“I know you’ve already been made aware of the circumstances, but before we begin, take a look at this.”

With a flick of his wrist, he sent a photographic print spinning across the tabletop. It came to rest neatly in front of the Chairman, who looked at it and raised his eyebrows. Demyan, curious, leaned in.

The mess in the photo had probably been a building once. Demyan saw jagged wood and cinder block fragments in a circle of burned earth. Shattered crates erupting with the ruined metal of fused gun barrels lay beside something covered with a sheet. A body.

“Commander Joensuu can fill us in on the details of the incident,” Kuoppala said, and yielded the spotlight to the main act.

The commander rose unsteadily to his feet and cleared his throat. As Demyan watched him fumble with his papers, a fat droplet of sweat crept down his temple and vanished into his starched collar.

Demyan inhaled slowly, savoring the last dying gasps of the man’s ambition.

“In the early morning, sometime around four o’ clock, counter-revolutionary saboteurs attacked an army supply station on the Northern rail line near Lieksalla. Not only did it cause a costly loss of munitions and disrupt rail traffic to the entire region, but it unfortunately resulted in the death of a serviceman.”

A rumble of indignation issued forth from the ministers as they warmed up for the assault.

“How could you let this happen?”

“This is the third time in as many months that we’ve had such an attack! ”

“What’s going on up there?”

The commander’s eyes darted about, searching for a sympathetic face; Demyan knew he found none. He continued, barely managing to hold his voice steady.

“Forgive me. I accept full responsibility for the lack of adequate protection, but it’s impossible to know where they’re going to strike next. We’ve posted extra units at all the critical outposts, but without questioning the perpetrators of the last incident…”

“So you mean tell us that you have no leads? ”

“And no arrests have been made? Unacceptable!”

“I can assure you have my best men on it!” Commander Joensuu protested. “Again, I apologize.”

The Chairman cleared his throat, and all fell silent.

“Who are they?” the Chairman asked.

The commander paused. Minister Kuoppala interrupted.

“They call themselves the Forest Clan.”

There was a collective intake of breath, a murmur of recognition. Demyan glanced over at Kuoppala. He sported the calm smile he always wore when in control.

“It’s been awhile since I’ve heard that name!” said the Minister of Defense.

“I thought they were all dead!”

“They were! We put them down for good in ’48.”

“Let’s be honest,” said the Minister of the Interior, spinning his pen in a thoughtful way. “We all knew there might be dissidents still out there, but it’s easy to forget uncivilized malcontents squatting in forest mud-holes. They haven’t tried anything for years.”

The Chairman looked from one advisor to another, at a loss for words.

“Then why start again now?”

None present were brave enough to say it, but the unspoken implication hung heavy in the air.

Because you’re weaker than Rautainen.

Juuso Rautainen had inspired such fervent adoration and terrible fear in the hearts of the nation, he had transcended the role of mere politician and become an icon–a symbol of Communist Kalevia. The current Chairman had been head of state for a mere three years, and the memory of the old leader still cast a long shadow on his administration. While he had proven himself a master of diplomacy, many perceived a softness in his methods, a weakening of resolve.

The partisans are growing bold, Demyan mused. Testing their boundaries in the hope that the new Fearless Leader isn’t as iron-fisted as his predecessor.

“Another rebellion, then!”

“Should we ask for military assistance?”

“The Russians? Why don’t you ask Comrade Chernyshev what he thinks?”

“Settle down,” ordered Minister Kuoppala. His strong, even voice cut through the bickering like a knife through butter. “No need to get our friends in Moscow involved yet.”

He rose and walked slowly to the head of the table, casually taking command of the room. He was still smiling. Demyan imagined that he probably looked that way right before he killed someone.

“We at State Security have been gathering intelligence on this so-called ‘Forest Clan’ for quite some time. I can say with certainty that at this point, a mobilization of troops is ill-advised.”

“You’ve got intel on them?” someone cried, indignant. “And when did you plan to tell us?”

“To have revealed this information sooner risked blowing some of our more delicate operations in the region. The enemies of socialism are everywhere. Ferreting them out requires patience, finesse; we have to bide our time and wait until we have them completely within our grasp. And then–”

He clapped his hands suddenly and loudly. Commander Joensuu jumped.

“We strike–and end them once and for all.”

Now Kuoppala stood opposite the Chairman, speaking only to him, staring directly into his face from across the table.

He isn’t nervous at all, thought Demyan. The goddamn balls.

“Your Excellency,” Kuoppala went on, “I previously warned you about this threat in general terms, but spared you the details. Now it’s time. With your permission, I propose to create a special task force under the control of State Security to remove this threat to Kalevia.”

A silence fell over the room.

All at once, the table erupted in controversy, discordant voices warring to be heard as everyone spoke at once. The Chairman banged both hands on the table to call them all to order. He spoke harshly, affecting the dictatorial tone expected of him under the circumstances.

“First,” he bellowed. “Comrade Joensuu. I am appalled at the lack of command you’ve shown dealing with this threat. I will arrange for you to be removed from active duty, and transferred to Requisitions and Supply. You’re dismissed.”

Joensuu’s mind went bright with relief.

He wasn’t going to die! He wasn’t going to die!

Demyan snared him then–pulled his spirit deep into the clutches of his shadow and drank.

The man was so unreasonably happy, and the warmth flowed freely from him, blossoming in Demyan’s chest like sips of mulled wine. When elation faded to a somber acceptance of his new fate, Demyan released Joensuu from his coils, leaving him as a hearth banked, but still flickering with a few glowing embers.

Commander Joensuu saluted mournfully. He took his leave, closing the door behind him.

The Chairman turned to his Minister of State Security.

“Comrade Kuoppala,” he warned. “Never keep me in the dark again. I expect a full report of any threat to national security, no matter the level of confidentiality involved. However…”

The leader of Kalevia slowly nodded his head in sincere respect.

“You will have your task force.”

Proceed to Chapter 2, page 3–>