The Winter War (29 page)

june

thirty-six

MAX FELT AS IF HE'D
spent his whole adult life waiting for this moment. He straightened his back, squared his shoulders, and looked down at his notes.

He was about to give a speech on the occasion of his younger daughter's wedding, and he was so excited that he hardly knew where to begin.

He'd given a speech at Helen's wedding, but that was different. When Eva was born, he'd played a greater role as father. On countless evenings he'd rocked her to sleep, holding her in his arms as he listened to Rachmaninov, whose work he'd been obsessed with during that autumn in the early eighties. How sublime that had been. And the whole time he had imagined Eva all grown up and the day when he would give this speech for her and say these words. As if their entire relationship was defined by this moment when she was leaving him, and he could say: this is how you were. This is what it was like. This is what our life together looked like. This is what I did.

It didn't matter that he didn't really know Russ. He seemed nice, and Max thought everything would be fine. Because what was the alternative? Life went on its merry way. People got divorced, others got married.

Now he was standing at the table in the banquet room of Roddstadion, clinking a knife against the side of his wine glass until he had everyone's attention.

Everything was green outside, the light green of early summer, when all the blossoms hadn't yet faded, a time of thousands of promises and endless possibilities. It was no wonder that the older he got the more he treasured the springtime – it was tangible proof that life was reborn each year, that there was still time.

Max had written out his speech on a piece of paper that was sweaty and crumpled, but he smoothed it out and placed it on the table in front of him. He had on his reading glasses, but he could probably speak without referring to his notes, since he'd already read the speech so many times.

He cleared his throat, smiled at Eva – she wore a pale yellow dress – smiled at Russ – he'd had a haircut and trimmed his moustache – and then he began:

‘My dear friends. For a Finnish sociologist, it seems unthinkable to give a wedding speech without mentioning Edvard Westermarck. What we most often remember Westermarck for today, aside from his criticism of Freud, is his pioneering work on the history of marriage. There is a deluxe Swedish edition of his text in which we learn a great deal about marriage rituals in large parts of the world. Of course, Westermarck wrote during the late nineteenth century, and the anthropological findings of his day were without a doubt marked by a colonial outlook. Quite a few of the stories are based on Westermarck's interviews with missionaries. Nonetheless, it might be interesting to take a look at what the good Edvard had to say about marriage as an institution. I'd like to read you a passage from his notes.'

Max again cleared his throat.

‘“Before a young man of the Macusi Indian tribe in British Guiana can take a wife, he must demonstrate that he is a man and is capable of carrying out a man's work. Without flinching he must endure having his flesh sliced open, or allow himself to be sewn into a hammock filled with fire ants, or display his courage through other similar tests.”'

The wedding guests laughed.

Max made eye contact with Katriina who was drinking from a glass that she now set down on the table. Her smile was strained, almost contemptuous. Max shifted his gaze to look at his sister. The hall was brightly lit, but the birch trees outside the windows cast shadows over the walls. Elisabeth was looking at him as she always had, with a slightly amused expression, as if she was the only person in the world who knew that he was actually playing a role. That it was all theatre.

Eva was translating for Russ, who made an effort to join in the laughter.

Max continued.

‘Dear Russ, you should be glad that you're getting married in the twenty-first century. If this were the late 1800s, it might not have been as simple. In Siberia the prospective father-inlaw went into the woods and chopped down the tree with the thickest trunk that he could find. The son-in-law was then forced to carry that tree all the way back to town. Only if he managed to do so was he considered a worthy husband.'

More laughter. Max thought that he could risk one more example. And besides, he was just getting warmed up.

‘Now I'm going to quote directly from Westermarck.'

Max picked up the book, an edition from 1923, and began reading aloud.

“‘Among the Wapokomo in British East Africa, young people were prevented from marrying too early because of the requirement that a young man could only marry after he had killed a crocodile and presented the woman with some of the meat to eat. And among various southeast Asian tribes who practised headhunting, it is said that no man was allowed to marry unless he could present at least one human head as a sign of his courage.'”

Max again caught Katriina's eye. She looked bored as she stared back down at her wine glass.

‘But of course marriage is not about these kinds of tests of strength but about completely different trials. Anybody can prepare a shrunken head or kill a crocodile …'

His audience roared with laughter.

‘What's really difficult, and what you two will soon discover, is not to lose sight of each other, to find a way to live through the other person instead of through yourself. This was something that Westermarck also said. Westermarck himself never married, and today it's generally thought that he was a homosexual. But he focussed attention on one interesting detail: people seldom talk about happy marriages. As he writes: “Those are not the ones on which theatres, biographies and novelists build their dramas.” That said, I am convinced that the two of you have more sense than Eva's mother and I did. We managed to stay together for a very long time, as all of you know, but shit happens.'

There was no response from his audience or from Katriina. He looked at Helen. She looked horrified. Again he cleared his throat.

‘Russ! We don't yet know each other very well, but from what I've been able to observe, you make my daughter tremendously happy. We'll just have to ignore the fact that you are from London – a city that Westermarck described, by the way, as a place that needs “its fog in order to conceal the hideous architecture”. Now let's all drink a toast to the newlyweds!'

Everyone toasted the couple, including Katriina, who was now looking at Max with a different expression, as if she intended to stand up at any minute and say something extremely sarcastic.

Max had taken time off from his job so he could travel to London to see Eva's art exhibit. He stayed for a week in a much too expensive hotel right near Hyde Park, ate dinner with Eva and Russ when they had time, and took long walks through the city that was in full springtime bloom. One evening he was having dinner alone and almost started talking to two men who sat next to him and were telling each other stories from the Second World War. Max would have liked to join in the conversation. He could have told them that he was from Finland and said something about the Winter War – the two men seemed as though they would have been impressed, and it would have been great to talk to someone his own age. But each time he tried to make eye contact, he failed. So he just sat there listening for an hour or two while the men got more and more boisterous and finally ended up quarrelling. Max left the restaurant with a feeling that London was a place he would need considerably more time to understand. When he went to the British Museum the following day, he was disappointed to discover that the Reading Room where Westermarck had done his research was closed because the museum was installing a new exhibition. He went into the gift shop, thinking that he would buy a small set of bookends in the shape of the god Anubis, but when he stepped over to the cashier, he suddenly remembered that all of his books were packed in boxes. And he no longer had a study.

Max was still standing in front of the wedding guests.

‘Well, that's all I really wanted to say. Or … wait, there's one more thing. While I'm standing here I want to be sure to say that I'm so proud of both of you. My two daughters. You make your father very happy. So keep on doing that.'

He looked around the room. At Katriina, at Eva, at Helen and Christian and his grandchildren. Russ was sitting next to Eva, looking like a man who had just won the lottery. Elisabeth was there too, and Ebba, sitting in her wheelchair. The strange thing was that his mother looked better than she had in years. Maybe she would outlive them all.

After the applause Max went over to Eva and kissed her on the forehead.

Elisabeth called out to him. ‘Great speech. You really know how to bullshit,' she said.

Risto came up and patted him on the shoulder, wanting to offer his congratulations. Then someone started up the music, a Beach Boys tune that poured out of the loudspeakers, filling the whole room. People were out on the balcony, talking. Max looked around the room and met Eva's eye. She was standing in the doorway to the dining room in her pale yellow linen dress.

Max went over to Helen. She was holding Lukas on her lap. He had turned six just a week ago. Amanda, wearing a blue dress, had a balloon that she tossed into the air and then caught, over and over.

‘Aren't you going to say hi to Grandpa?' asked Helen.

‘Hi, Grandpa,' said Amanda.

‘How long do we have to stay at this damn wedding?' said Lukas, clinging to his mother.

‘What did we tell you about using that word?'

Almost two hundred guests had been invited to the wedding. Twenty of them came from England. They had formed a little clique in one corner of the room, and Max had the feeling that most of them were friends with both Russ and Eva. As far as Russ's family was concerned, only his mother had come, along with his sister and her children. Max and Katriina had been introduced to them, very briefly, and he wondered whether they'd ever get to know each other better. Or maybe this would be the first and last time he ever saw his daughter's mother-in-law.

He found Katriina out on the balcony. She was sitting on a bench having a smoke. She looked so beautiful, and Max hated himself for thinking so.

‘Not a bad wedding.'

‘No, it's quite lovely,' she replied.

‘Have you talked to Russ's mother?'

‘Just a little. She seems nice. Have you?'

‘No, not at all. His sister is awfully young.'

‘Not much younger than I was when I had Helen.'

‘Maybe not.'

Max sat there, with the midsummer sun high in the sky, feeling the warm air – with no mosquitoes in sight – and it was almost as if nothing had changed. He could have leaned towards Katriina, put his arm around her, and sat there all night.

‘What are you staring at?' she asked.

‘Well, um … I'm not. Staring, I mean.'

‘We should go in. I don't want people to get the wrong idea. There's no going back for us, you know.'

‘No, I know.' Max said.

acknowledgements

THERE ARE SEVERAL PEOPLE
whose assistance made this book possible. At an early stage Professor J. P. Roos at Helsinki University generously provided me with tips on various reference works and also agreed to be interviewed. When the manuscript neared completion, he was kind enough to offer his comments. Sture Sunabacka told me what it was like for someone from Österbotten to come to Helsinki in the seventies, and Em Weirdigan shared experiences from four months spent with the Occupy movement in London. Ulf Månsson contributed some of the legal wording that also made its way into the story.

During the whole writing process, Edvard Westermarck's memoirs made for both entertaining and fascinating reading, as did his book on marriage. Someone really should write a new Westermarck biography. The last one, by Rolf Lagerborg, came out in the fifties and is far from complete.

As an introduction to the art world, I read Sarah Thornton's
Seven Days in the Art World
(2008). Michael Foley's book of essays titled
The Age of Absurdity: Why Modern Life Makes It Hard to be Happy
(2010) had a certain influence on sociology professor Max Paul and his view of the world. The Paul family summer cottage is named Råddon, which is a word that I discovered in a poetry collection by Lars Huldén,
LÃ¥ngdansen
(1976). I would also like to mention Claire Messud's novel
The Emperor's Children
(2006), which gave me the idea of presenting Max via the article in
Helsingin Sanomat
.

Pia Ingström filled in for me when I took a leave of absence from my job at
Hufvudstadsbladet
, and my colleague Lena Skogberg read the manuscript when I needed fresh eyes to have a look at it. Thanks also to Svenska Kulturfonden, Östersjön's translation and author centre in Visby, and Kulturfonden för Sverige Finland.

Thanks to my editors Sara Ehnholm Hielm, Nina Eidem and Lotta Sonninen for all their comments and improvements – and most of all for their patience. And thank you to Tiina Nunnally for translating
The Winter War
into English.

And finally, a big thank you to Malin, who has always encouraged my writing. That makes EVERYTHING so much easier. I love you.

PHILIP TEIR, a Finland–Swede, is considered one of the most promising young writers in Scandinavia. His poetry and short stories have been included in anthologies, including
Granta Finland
.
The Winter War
is his first novel. He is married with two children and lives in Helsinki, Finland, in the same neighbourhood as the Paul family.

about the publisher

House of Anansi Press was founded in 1967 with a mandate to publish Canadian-authored books, a mandate that continues to this day even as the list has branched out to include internationally acclaimed thinkers and writers. The press immediately gained attention for significant titles by notable writers such as Margaret Atwood, Michael Ondaatje, George Grant, and Northrop Frye. Since then, Anansi's commitment to finding, publishing and promoting challenging, excellent writing has won it tremendous acclaim and solid staying power. Today Anansi is Canada's pre-eminent independent press, and home to nationally and internationally bestselling and acclaimed authors such as Gil Adamson, Margaret Atwood, Ken Babstock, Peter Behrens, Rawi Hage, Misha Glenny, Jim Harrison, A. L. Kennedy, Pasha Malla, Lisa Moore, A. F. Moritz, Eric Siblin, Karen Solie, and Ronald Wright. Anansi is also proud to publish the award-winning nonfiction series The CBC Massey Lectures. In 2007, 2009, 2010, and 2011 Anansi was honoured by the Canadian Booksellers Association as "Publisher of the Year."