Leena Krohn: Collected Fiction (34 page)

‘I also read poems aloud to him. He was so entranced by these lines that I had to say them every night before we went to sleep. It became our shared ritual:

What is this thing, o love,

that enters the heart through the eyes,

and in the small space inside it, seems to expand?

And what if it should overflow?

‘Whenever I remember those lines, I see before me your father’s eyes, in which joy alternated with nameless suffering.

‘On television we followed lecture series and children’s programs. We never watched police series. I told Håkan about my life, my father and mother, my brothers and sisters, all of whom had got on better in life than I had. I told him about failing my exams in maths and languages, how I had had to repeat a class, my attempts at dieting and my numerous jobs. I told him about my only lover, a certain bought-ledger accountant, who took my virginity. He treated me badly, and the relationship only lasted a couple of weeks.

‘I confessed my shame and my humiliation to your father, weeping over my disappointment, and he listened silently, shedding hot tears with me.

‘At night I took Håkan into my bed to sleep with me. His gaze uncovered my heart; a selfless, sacred love poured itself into my poor life. Since the accountant, I hadn’t slept with a man. But from Håkan there was no need to fear a curt word. Time after time we sank into one another’s embrace, and I was not troubled by his hard hoofs or his animal smell.

‘The fact that I became pregnant by Håkan was, of course, a shock. I had not even thought that a child could be born from our relationship.’

‘Did you never consider abortion?’

My mother was silent for a long time, until she admitted she had. ‘But only for a moment. For when I truly understood that I was to be a mother, I was so happy that I danced for joy.

‘But your father never saw you. He began to be ill when I was three months gone. I would have taken him to hospital, but your father forbade it. I realised that his time really was up; his short life was lived. In his last weeks, your father stopped eating completely. He changed a great deal toward the end. Not only did he become more and more human, he was also more angelic the closer he slipped toward death.

‘He died one Monday morning; it was raining. His body fitted into a large suitcase. I bought a spade, ordered a taxi and drove north. You know where I asked the driver to stop. I dug him a grave alone in a forest clearing.

‘When my time came, I went to a private hospital to give birth. As you understand, I was in a difficult position. I told the midwife and obstetrician what to expect. You were born after a long labour by Caesarean section. The doctor promised that he would not reveal anything in public about your unusual origins.’

So: I was born, a hybrid too, a monstrosity, as many people would say. There is more human in me than in my father, but there is also a good deal of goat and chimpanzee and wolf. I do not like to look into the mirror, but I rejoice that I am able to live. We live outside the city, in a rented cabin in the grounds of a large country house. As a child, I ran freely in the fields and grazed. My mother has learned to milk and, when necessary, she is able to work as an assistant milkmaid.

My father’s grave is in a meadow in the estate forest, but no one knows it but we two. My mother has sowed forget-me-nots there, and oriental poppies. From time to time we clear the willow saplings so that the meadow stays light. On the best days of summer we make expeditions there, with a bottle of wine and bread and apples in our picnic basket.

Our lives are as peaceful as my mother and Håkan’s once were, and my mother calls me, too, Håkan. I don’t go outside much during daylight; my appearance attracts too much attention. I cannot even set foot inside the byre, as the cows become very restless. I don’t want to think about the time when my mother will be dead. I hope that my life will be as short as my father’s, for I do not mean to live without my mother.

The beauty of the world never ceases to amaze me. I have more senses, and more sensitive ones, than human beings do. My sense of smell is as keen as a wolf’s. I climb with the agility of a chimpanzee. Why should I not be content with my lot, even if it cannot be called easy.

I believe that one day the age will dawn when there are no longer different mammalian species – human beings and lower mammals. The species will have hybridised and formed combinations that we cannot now even imagine. Our senses will be keener, we will see new colours and hear voices where now there is mute silence. Then we shall know and sense, understand and rejoice more than we do now.

My father and I are pioneers of the future. The day will dawn when we are all one and all equal. It is years away, millions, maybe even billions, but I do not doubt that that day will dawn.

The evening darkens; I leave my room and open the garden gate without a sound. When I remember I am a goat, I do nothing but long to wander in a meadow. When my wolf’s nature wins, I run into the deep forest, strange sounds rise from my throat and I dance alone. Sometimes I disappear for weeks. When I wish to be a chimpanzee, I clamber nimbly into tall trees and like to sit on the roof of our house. I look at the night sky in wonderment. The stars glitter, I hum to myself and my hoofs tap hollowly on the tin roof.

Locally, there is talk of strange things. It is said that one night a lamb was found torn to pieces in the meadow, but that the toothmarks that were found on it were human. My mother gives me a long look, her eyes full of anxiety.

I cannot find anyone like me.

The Very Thought!

Doctor Fakelove’s working week was ending. But he found time to read the last message of the day.

‘I should like to talk to you about the end of the world,’ it read.

One single sentence, whose content did nothing to astonish Fakelove. Fear of the end of the world was at least as understandable as that of moths. The message was signed, simply, Håkan.

Fakelove decided that he would answer just this one message more; then his working week would be over.

‘I understand your situation to be that the idea of the end of the world has begun to dominate your imagination,’ Fakelove answered. ‘How long have you been experiencing fear concerning the end of the world? Does it disturb your everyday life, for example your family relations and your work? Does it keep you awake at night? And when and how do you suppose the world will end?’

On Monday morning Håkan’s response awaited Doctor Fakelove. He wrote volubly, without grammatical errors.

The end would be swift, but Håkan did not necessarily expect it to happen within the next year. There were numerous alternative ways in which the world might end. Some, however, were more likely than others.

‘I could immediately cite at least thirty different ways in which the end of the world might begin,’ Håkan wrote. He distinguished four main classes of world’s end: the end of mankind, the end of the entire biological population of the earth, the end of the solar system, and universal apocalypse. From the point of view of human beings, of course, they would all be equally total.

Doctor Fakelove attempted to calm Håkan by commenting that the end of the world had been feared in all centuries, always in vain.

Håkan answered: ‘Do you suppose that because the end of the world has not yet come, it is unlikely that it will ever come? I have an excellent appreciation of the historical perspective. It is pointless to try to fox me with such foolish explanations. I am completely calm, but unfortunately I know more than most. It is clear that the probability of the destruction of the world is growing ever greater. Now, in the last century of the second millennium, we are in a completely different situation from ever before; that must of course be admitted.’

Without troubling himself to answer Håkan’s question, Doctor Fakelove wrote: ‘I believe that in your case the question really concerns not the end of the world, but something much more fundamental. Phobias derive from shocks to the personal emotional life, generally childhood traumas. Now we should think what the original conflict may have been. You are fleeing some memory of yours. You have not told me anything about your childhood. Perhaps the origin of these obsessive thoughts lies in your past. We should now direct our attention a little toward both your current life situation and your background. When did these fears begin? Are they linked to some particular event in your life? Were there any particular problems in your relationship with your father?’

Håkan, for his part, ignored Fakelove’s questions completely. ‘I assume you are aware,’ Håkan wrote, ‘that unusually strong sunspot activity is expected next July. It will cause unprecedented flooding, tornados and earthquakes. The consequences of El Niño are nothing in comparison. The very thought. There will also soon be a shift in the Earth’s axis, whose effect is completely unpredictable.’

Fakelove felt it best not to react to this message.

‘You know, don’t you,’ Håkan wrote, ‘that more than 20 per cent of all the Earth’s plant and animal species will soon be completely extinct. And there is no hope that the pace of extinction will slow; quite the opposite. Biodiversity is declining at an accelerating pace. The balance is already seriously affected, and before long life on this Earth will be extinct, much more quickly than even the greatest pessimists dare predict.’

‘Your knowledge and information on the subject are impressive,’ Fakelove answered. ‘But I should nevertheless like to suggest that we move on to more personal ground.’

‘Asteroids,’ Håkan wrote, ‘can easily be overlooked by even the most accurate telescopes until they have almost entered our atmosphere. Then there is no longer time to react. Perhaps you have noticed that at the moment a dense group of comets is approaching the solar system. It is entirely within the realms of possibility that its fringes will impact the Earth. The very thought of the kind of destruction such a collision will wreak is terrifying. The supposed fate of the dinosaurs may be familiar to you, but you are perhaps not cognizant of the kinds of effects caused by comets in, for example, the Bronze Age.’

Doctor Fakelove began to be a little irritated by his new client. Håkan did not seem in the least willing to co-operate.

‘Try to find new objects of interest in your life,’ Fakelove wrote. ‘Do you have any hobbies? Concentrate on them, revive your former leisure activities or choose, for the sake of change, some new, exciting way of passing the time. Perhaps you might consider something really physical, such as downhill racing, surfing or diving, which force you to concentrate on the present moment.’

‘The population crisis is now critical,’ Håkan answered. ‘Our planet cannot sustain even the current population. A billion people are already starving. Imagine, if you will, the situation in fifty years’ time, when our food supply, which will have been depleted by eco-catastrophes, will need to feed twenty-seven billion mouths. The very thought!’

‘I would urge you,’ Fakelove wrote, ‘to put the population crisis aside for a moment and give more serious consideration to your own personal crisis. You hardly have the means to solve the former, but we have plenty of time to consider the causes and possible solutions of the latter. Your situation appears to me an acute one, and deserves all your attention.’

‘Just one erroneous letter in a computer program can lead to catastrophe,’ Håkan replied, ‘just think of that! Just one wrong character! An entire communications system can be paralysed, cities go dark, nuclear power stations’ cooling systems fail.

‘We are more vulnerable than ever.’

Håkan and the X-Creatures

Everything I know about x-creatures, I have heard from my big brother, Håkan. That’s a lot. Where he got his information he will not tell me. I am sure there must be a book somewhere, where he read it all.

At the beginning, Håkan forbade me to speak to others, particularly Mum and Dad, about them. Later he said that I could tell anyone, or not tell them – people wouldn’t believe him, anyway. But I don’t tell anyone, why should I.

Håkan likes to talk about his x-creatures in the evenings, after Mum has said goodnight and turned out the light. Our beds are on the same long wall. Between them is a bedside table which we share, and glasses of water, in case we are thirsty in the night, and a lamp whose shade is decorated with dried flowers.

We lie head to head. Håkan lies on his back, his hands under his neck, and even though the lamp has been switched off I can see, if I just lean up a little and turn, his serious face in the light of the street-lamp that shines through the curtain.

I am so close that I can even hear his whispers. Sometimes I fall asleep as he talks. He makes the same claims and I ask the same questions.

‘X-creatures live in hyperspace,’ says Håkan.

‘Where is hyperspace?’ I ask.

‘Silly question,’ Håkan announces. ‘It’s everywhere. It’s really the same as space, but I call it hyperspace for your sake. To help you understand that it is not the kind of space people usually talk about. We are three-dimensional beings and so we inhabit only part of space as a whole. Or perhaps it is more correct to say that although we live in the same place as x-creatures, we can only sense a tiny part of our surroundings.

‘You must understand that, although we are complicated, there are much more complicated creatures than ourselves. Some of them live in five-dimensional space, others have seven dimensions, some thirty-five or more. Every universe, even the world of creatures that live in only two dimensions – ’

‘Are there such things?’ I interrupt. ‘Are there creatures that live in just one dimension?’

‘ – is perfect in itself,’ Håkan continues, undisturbed. ‘There doesn’t seem to be anything missing. But if you happen to live in a world with fewer dimensions, you will not know anything about those with more.’

‘But you know, don’t you,’ I say. ‘And so do I.’

‘I only know that they exist,’ Håkan explains, once more. ‘I do not really know what they are like. In fact, I cannot know.’