Dusk in Kalevia: Chapter 4
The fragrance of frying onions and a clatter of pans from the shared kitchens seeped under the doors and into the dank stairwell, welcoming Kaija and her guest as they climbed to the fifth floor. As they mounted each flight, Kaija’s heart began to quicken at the strangeness of inviting someone into her apartment.
As she turned her key in the lock, she struggled to remember another time she had had company in the dilapidated building she called home. She supposed there was a first for everything.
“It’s not much, but it’s home.”
Kaija made a sweeping gesture around the tiny room, as though welcoming Vesa through the gate of an opulent palace suite. For a moment, she saw the place as she knew he must see it–the peeling, stained wallpaper, the iron frame of the narrow bed–and she felt a fierce, defensive pride well up in her.
No one else could appreciate this room like she did. This was the one place in all of Kalevia where she was master of her own domain; this seedy apartment had a door she could shut against the rotten world outside. Here, listening to the scurrying of rats under the floorboards and the slow, erratic shuffle of elderly drunks making their way to the communal bathroom, she could sit at her narrow desk and write feverishly until her head nodded down to rest on the ink-scarred wood, finally finding dreamlessness and peace.
“It’s…nice,” said the boy.
She chose to ignore the ambivalence in his voice and began to scour the closet shelves for refreshments. The hunt yielded little: a packet of gnawed-upon crisp bread and a half-bottle of vodka left over from some late-night carousing in the back room of the print shop. She grabbed the vodka and two small tumblers, grateful for the drunken generosity of her workplace compatriots.
“Here. This’ll warm you up a little.”
She handed a glass to Vesa, and his eyes widened as she poured him a generous dose. He took a swig and shivered, his face scrunching up at the burn of the alcohol.
“How old are you, anyway?” she asked, amused at his evident inexperience.
“Just turned sixteen. How about you?”
“Seventeen.”
“Really?” He looked surprised. “But you don’t go to school?”
“Nah, I chose an employment track a few years ago after I finished compulsory education. It’s not exactly how I would’ve planned it, but printing’s not bad work, I guess, and I lucked out in the housing lottery. Found me this place right away–only a few months wait.” She sighed, thinking back on things that could have been, the doors now forever closed to her. “I just…I needed to get out of that place. You know what it’s like.”
“I do?”
“State care?” she asked, searching his face for signs of apprehension at the mention of the dreaded institution. “You at the boarding school, too?”
“No, I…” He licked his lips, blushing furiously. “I’m not technically an orphan.”
“What the hell!”
“No, wait, I wasn’t trying to lie to you or anything. I really did mean what I said.” He inhaled deeply, collected himself, and began again. “I live with my dad, but he’s so busy with work, he couldn’t care less if I was around or not.”
“And your mom?”
“Is dead.”
“I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have…”
“No, it’s okay. I don’t really remember her–she died a little after I was born. It was the war, and dad was away fighting. He…wasn’t there,” he muttered, almost as though talking to himself. “He’s never there.”
Vesa turned to her, his face gone tender, and probed the wound. “Do you…remember yours?” he asked carefully.
She nodded. “I was seven when I last saw her.”
There was an extended pause as they stood there, awkwardly sipping their drinks, trying not to tread on the other’s pain. Kaija wondered how she ought to change the subject. If she rekindled their fiery enthusiasm for discussing hatreds, perhaps she had a chance of salvaging the night before it began an irrevocable slide into melancholy.
One particular idea came to mind, but it involved a jealously guarded secret–a further gamble with her already uncertain future. It was a risky proposition, but she’d come far enough that perhaps she could let him in on it. Nothing like the thrill of shared conspiracy to strengthen the bonds of new friendship.
“Let me show you something.” Kaija said, leaning over her bed.
She tugged the mattress toward her, and in the gap created, located a nail sticking out of the wall. As Vesa looked on in wide-eyed curiosity, she gave it a few solid tugs; a plank came away cleanly in her hands, revealing a neat little shelf concealed within the walls.
“My obsession.” She held up one of the flimsy paperbacks for him to see, rifling its uneven pages. “Samizdat.”
“Banned books!”
“There are perks to working at the shop.” She laid them one by one on the bed, lingering over each smudged brown cover. “The night manager is an eccentric, and he has this old, old printing press in the back room, from back before they kept reference prints for every run. A few of us who are in on it take turns making what we think Vainola needs to read.”
“You could be arrested!”
“Only if someone tells. Keep my secret?”
“I swear!”
He ran his fingers over the books. Poetry folios of avant-garde geniuses, novels with salacious titles, the Book of Psalms, pamphlets, handbooks, and a thin volume simply labeled In Prisons and Camps.
“The Master and Margarita,” he read, puzzling out the Roman characters on one of the books. “They’re not in Kalevian.”
“This is the Finnish translation; close enough. It’s the Roman alphabet throwing you off.”
Vesa selected another book, its cover graced by a scratchy pen drawing of the moon rising over pine trees. “Stories from the Kalevala.”
“Ah, that’s one of my favorites. Printed and bound it myself.”
“What’s it about?”
“It’s a collection of the old tales,” Kaija explained, gently taking the ragged book from him. A familiar feeling of veneration swept over her as she opened it to her favorite passages.
“Finland, Karelia, Estonia, Kalevia–we share a history of folklore. These are the ancient songs that shaped our northern lands from before history was written–the poetry of heroes.”
He shook his head. “I’ve never heard of it.”
“Why would you have? No one teaches the legends in Kalevia anymore. We have new heroes now.” She scoffed as she thought of the parade of bearded men whose graven images watched over every home and factory in Kalevia. “Who wants to hear poems when you have manifestos?”
“I do,” Vesa said, the sincere expression on his face winning her sympathies all over again.
“Here.” She settled herself upon the bed and patted the fraying coverlet. “Let me tell you a story.”
As the boy poured himself another nip of vodka and drew himself up next to her on the mattress, she cleared her throat and began.
“Mastered by desire impulsive,
By a mighty inward urging,
I am ready now for singing,
Ready to begin the chanting
Of our nation’s ancient folk song
Handed down from bygone ages…”
**
Kaija closed the book.
She had been reading for an hour or more, taking sips from her glass to soothe her voice, grown rough from lack of practice. At first she’d been self-conscious, speeding through each line with little variation or tone, but gradually she’d lost herself in the tales. As though called to life by each yellowed page, a great smith forged magic from iron, a wise bard shaped the world with his song, maidens wove on rainbows and swam the gloomy depths as fishes. Throughout it all was the song and rhythm of the forest, a paean to the natural world. Time had flowed honey-slow as she and Vesa had lived the stories, drifting together in an alcohol glow until they nestled close under a threadbare blanket wrapped around their shoulders.
Kaija let her hands drop into her lap and closed her eyes, taking a moment to savor the peace. She began to hum softly, recalling a tune that had stuck in her memory from the last time she’d felt such a calm. It brought her back to the old farm–the ceramic stove chasing the night chills away, everyone whole and together once more. She lulled herself to the edge of sleep with the song and the sweet embrace of the blanket.
Only after a few minutes had gone by did she realize that she’d begun to twine her fingers into the soft locks of Vesa’s hair. She pulled back her hand, suddenly embarrassed.
“Wh-which story was your favorite?” she blurted, trying to distract from her strange transgression. “I…I like the ones with Väinämöinen and the Sampo. What about you?”
Receiving no reply, Kaija looked sideways at Vesa, who had thoroughly bundled himself in the covers of her bed.
He was asleep. She watched him, hardly believing how near he was, fascinated by his long, pale eyelashes that fluttered slightly in dreaming. The last few teaspoons of vodka neared the lip of his tumbler as it lolled in his relaxed hand.
She could feel his body’s warmth seeping through her sweater, and the rise and fall of his chest against her arm. With each exhalation, his soft breath swept across her collarbone and sent thrills racing down her spine.
She had an inkling that this was an odd way for two young men to befriend each other. Had he guessed her secret? Or perhaps he’d found something in her masculine guise that he desired–she’d heard there were boys like that. She thought back on the look of adoration on his face and tried to analyze it, wondering if his heart beat faster for Kai or whether he was just an innocent, with no designs upon her other than simple camaraderie. How had they ended up like this? What did it mean?
Vesa shifted in his sleep, and the smell of pine soap and shampoo wafted up on the heat of his neck. Kaija fought a powerful urge to bury her face under his chin. She wanted to press herself to him and drink in the smell of his clean skin, lips searching, finding…
No. As long as she was Kai, the runner–Kai of the Forest Clan–this path was barred to her. She needed to be strong now, not give in. If they wanted to get to someone, they went for the heart–they took away children, lovers, parents. How much better to be a tough boy all alone in the world than a maiden nursing a fragile romance with another human being.
This is something you can never have, she told herself. Not until Kalevia is free.
She needed to cool her head. Burning with regret, she realized it was time to send her new friend home.
“Hey,” she said, roughly shaking his shoulder. “Hey, wake up!”
He gave a soft groan and burrowed further into the warmth of her shoulder, drawing the blanket up around his face.
“Aren’t you gonna head home?”
“Nah, I’mma sleep here,” he murmured, radiating contentment.
She shook him off and stood up, tearing the blanket from his shoulders. He opened his eyes and stared up at her in bleary befuddlement.
“You…” He sighed happily, his eyes drifting closed. “Are the best friend ever.”
As she stared down at him with growing exasperation, she became newly conscious of the fact that they were roughly the same height. His shy demeanor made him seem smaller, but now that he’d decided he was an immovable object, he’d grown into a well-developed portion of muscle and bone fully dedicated to maintaining its position in her bed.
“Oh, come on, you can’t be that drunk. Get up!”
He laughed, then–a low, rolling chuckle.
“Make me.”
Annoyed, Kaija, decided to enact this request literally. She grabbed the front of Vesa’s shirt and hauled him to his feet–even as he went limp in her arms—and began dragging him toward his boots. He laughed and struggled the whole way, acting as though she did it for his entertainment.
“What, you wanna fight?” she asked breathlessly, pulling him across the threadbare rug.
“Let’s!” Vesa said, pulling her into a headlock.
They tumbled onto the floor, rolling over each other in the combat of adolescent boys. Kaija felt a rush of elation as she held her own against Vesa, laughing as she played her strength against his. Finally Kaija gained the upper hand and found herself astride his chest. Panting, she stared down, victorious.
“I win. I’ll count to ten, and then you hit the road.”
“Not yet!” he protested, struggling under her weight. With a sudden burst of energy he wrenched himself sideways, unseating her, and for a brief moment their positions were reversed. She managed a partial escape; as he grappled for a hold, his hand slid under her sweater. She felt it grasp, connect…
She saw the moment the realization came over him, his smile draining from his face. All movement ceased. Blue eyes stared into hers, all traces of sleepiness gone.
The game was over. She threw a jab that sent him sprawling across the rug.
Vesa lay still for an instant, and then slowly drew himself up, holding his bruised jaw. Kaija glared at him with her arms across her chest.
“I’m sorry. I…I didn’t know.”
“Of course you didn’t. You weren’t supposed to,” she replied fiercely.
“I should leave.”
“You probably should.”
He struggled with his boots, his fingers still clumsy with the lingering effects of the vodka.
“I just want you to know that it doesn’t make any difference to me. Boy, girl…I don’t care.” He paused, his face a mask of contrition. “We can still be friends, right?”
“I don’t know.”
He sat there, staring at his feet for a long while. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft and terribly sad.
“When I was asleep, I dreamed you were singing to me.”
She felt the blood creep into her cheeks. So he had heard her.
“My mother used to sing that lullaby,” she said quietly.
She exhaled slowly, letting the flush fade away with her breath, and exhaustion crept in to take its place. Suddenly she was dog-tired, longing for nothing more than a return to the warmth of a few minutes before.
Perhaps she’d already gone too far. She would die for her brothers, and there were secrets she would never even tell them–sides of her that she could never allow them to see. She had let this boy in closer than anyone else, and it hadn’t been entirely accidental. When Vesa had wandered across her path, he’d given her the human contact that she’d craved for so long. She’d jumped at the chance to escape her solitude.
Now, as he stared at her, and the moment stretched between them, need overwhelmed caution.
There was no going back.
“Listen,” she said with a sigh. “You don’t need to break curfew. You can stay if you want.”
“Are you sure?”
She nodded.
“Let’s go back to bed.”
Proceed to Chapter 4, page 3–>
