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Twenty-six: Heritage
View attachment 438961
Notices about air raid exercises and advertisements for musical events, dancing and movies.
Helsingin Sanomat, October 21st, 1939.
....
Urho
There were responsibilities, and they were not always easy. But if one had asked Urho Kekkonen, he might have said that at this time responsibilities were not divided evenly among the Finnish cabinet. At the moment, the First Minister of the Interior, Mauno Pekkala, was about to travel to North Karelia to attend the ceremony where Porajärvi and the sourthern part of Repola [3] would officially annexed to the Republic of Finland, and receive a parade of infantry and cavalry with the Kuopio provincial governor, Ignatius, and General Laatikainen to represent the military.
And here was Urho Kaleva Kekkonen, overseeing the evacuation of Terijoki and the other areas on the Isthmus to be given over to the USSR in a bit over week's time. The original stipulation had been two weeks from the signing of the Moscow Agreement, and the attitude of the angry, hostile and all-around recalcitrant Karelians was not helping with organizing the handover at all.
Urho could not blame them. He'd be furious if he had to give up his home to the Bolsheviks as well. But why did he have to be the man to receive the wrath of the evacuees and the local politicians when he, personally, had opposed giving up to the Soviet demands all the way? Why wasn't the president here to face up to what, ultimately, was his decision? The deal with the Soviets was creating rifts among Finns, and it was not enough that the opposition to the Agreement could be seen here in Karelia – even in Helsinki, people had taken to flying the flag at half mast due to the ”capitulation”. The Patriotic People's Movement was capitalizing on the issue in the Eduskunta, and it had required a huge amount of desperate horse-trading by the cabinet to push the Agreement through the Finnish parliament.
Urho stood by the side of the road, just a mile from the parish border between Terijoki and Uusikirkko on the coast. A seemingly uninterrupted line of evacuees passed him towards the west. The evacuation of the areas to be given over was of course voluntary: people were free to stay and become citizens of the USSR if they so chose. Practically, only very few people, and those few convinced Communists, were staying put. The vast majority of the locals were pulling up roots.
The irony for many was that they had just in the previous weeks been part of the voluntary evacuations west, and had already returned back home during the last part of the negotiations, believing that the worst was over and that Finland could keep its borders intact. For these people, leaving their homes again after a few days was all the more bitter.
Urho looked at a man in his fifties, leading on a horse pulling a heavy wagon overflowing with bags and furniture. His wife and children were following him on foot. The minister tried to offer an encouraging nod at the man. He had none of it, turning his head away in protest and spitting on the muddy road.
From the west, a unit of infantry made its way on foot, with difficulty passing the line of evacuees going west. Roughly where Kekkonen and his State Police escort were standing, the NCO leading the group decided to give the men a bit of rest, calling a break for cigarettes and water.
”Keep hydrated, youse numbskulls”, the senior sergeant said with a snarling command voice”, I won't have you passing out on me on such a short march”.
Kekkonen smiled at the words, despite his otherwise gloomy thoughts. He could recognize a North Savonian accent anywhere. Interested, he approached the men, spotting a vaguely familiar-looking corporal among the men.
”Corporal”, he said, nodding to the man in lieu of a greeting, ”it's good to hear a familiar pattern of speech, where are you boys from?”
The corporal looked at him wearily.
”We're from Kuopio and surroundings, minister Kekkonen”, he said, ”reservists all. Sent here to help with the evacuation.”
Urho nodded. The man seemed sharp, knowing him by looks alone, but there was a gloomy note to his voice as well.
”Call me Urho”, he said, offering his hand, ”we're probably practically related, anyway...”
The man took his hand and shook it, the look on his face melting into a slight smile.
”Veli Vaara. As a matter of fact, my second cousin married a Kekkonen last year. The girl is from Lapinlahti.”
Kekkonen nodded.
”Just goes to show. We Savo boys need to stick together.”
A State Police agent approached Kekkonen, tapping his watch.
”Minister, we need to be going to make the parish centre in time. I think we can take the smaller roads to avoid the congestion.”
”Alright, Myyrä, get the car ready. I'll be there in a moment.”
He turned back to the reservist, wondering how his face was so familiar. Maybe they were relatives after all?
”Good luck then, Vaara, with your work. And take my regards to your family when you get home. Your second cousin and his young wife, first of all.”
The two shook hands and Urho started walking through the mud towards the state car and his agents.
The senior sergeant looked at the corporal and shook his head.
”The company you keep, Vaara...”
….
....
Veli
Veli Vaara was feeling a slight chill. Maybe he was coming down with the flu? His nose was runny, and the night before his throat had been sort of sore.
Meeting with the Second Minister of the Interior had given him something to think about. It wasn't easy to be a minister at the moment. The government's decision to cave in to the Soviet demands was hugely unpopular among a large swathe of the Finnish people. Even if Paasikivi and the other negotiators had managed to whittle down Stalin's original shopping list a great deal. Paasikivi definitely was not starting his presidency under lucky stars, to hear what people were talking about him.
Having heard from the senior sergeant that there was some minutes to spare before the unit would move on, Veli started walking along a side road leaving away from the main highway running east. He wanted some privacy for his thoughts, and a private place to relieve himself. After two hundred meters or so, though, he arrived to a small farmhouse. It struck him how much it was similar to Heikki Hyvärinen's farm back home in Hirvilahti.
On the yard stood a wagon, and a man and a woman were loading up their belongings in it. A girl of maybe seven or eight was helping them. Not a word was spoken, though Veli could hear the woman sobbing slightly. Not knowing what to do, Veli just stood there, watching.
In a minute, the man noticed him, and then beckoned him to come over.
”Good day, corporal”, he said, his face a little red from the exertion of putting heavy parcels up on the wagon, ”would you mind helping us a little?”
Well – we're here to assist with the evacuation, anyway, he thought and nodded.
”Sure. My unit's just down the road, I can go fetch a couple guys more if you need us to...”
The man shook his head.
”One man's quite enough for this job. Hold on...”
He went to the barn to the left and arrived with a canister of kerosene in his hand, and a stick of matches.
”Take these and put the house on fire.”
Veli recoiled at the thought. He remembered what the officer briefing them had told the reserve unit in Lappeenranta.
”We're strictly prohibited from sabotaging the buildings and infrastructure in the evacuated area”, he said to the man, ”as per the Moscow Agreement...”
The man raised his hand and interrupted him.
”I don't care a whit what the so-called Agreement says. I am not leaving my house to Stalin and his Bolshevik scum. I want it made sure that they can't use it for their purposes. Please, help me. I want the house gone.”
He looked at the little farmhouse. Veli could see a tear rising into his eye.
”But I can't do it myself, I can't bear it. I built it with my own hands, two decades ago now. My daughter was born here. Please.”
Veli nodded, grimly, and took the kerosene and the matches from the man.
When he walked into the house's foyer, he felt like he could still smell the scent of a freshly baked barley bread in the air.
Slowly, methodically, Veli Vaara doused the walls of the biggest room with the flammable liquid.
Then he withdrew to the door. After a little pause, like a moment's hesitation, he struck a match.
...
September 2009
The white-bearded man in his early sixties entered his apartment and closed the door with a thump.
He was kind of rattled after experiencing the terrorist bombing in Töölönlahti very close by. He had been questioned by the first Civil Guard patrol that arrived to the scene, and then by the Fennia Security goons in dark blue. They had taken down his information, and made it known that he might be called for follow-up questioning later.
Jyri Rantanen walked directly to his liquer cabinet and poured himself a big glass of Suomen Tähti.[4] Getting a bottle of soda water from the fridge to wash it down with was an afterthought.
He sat down in his chair in the middle of overflowing bookcases and piles of books and documents on the floor and downed his glass of ”national cognac”.
In a minute or three, he started feeling a bit better.
After someone had written him threats in the windscreen of his classic VAU convertible, he had pretty much made up his mind about what he would do with the American girl.
In maybe fifteen minutes he stood up and walked to the foyer. There he found some papers that had been dropped in through the letter slit. The first one was a glossy advertisement with a bespectacled woman in a white lab coat, mature but attractive, on the cover, flanked by that familiar jagged logo.
INTERESTED ABOUT YOUR HERITAGE?
Here at Systek Genetics, we know the genetic profile of the Finnish people. And we are ready to let you know as well! Sign up to our Genetic Heritage Program for free, and you will know what your genes can tell you about your ancestors and about YOU.
Would you like to know more? Call our toll-free numbers, or log on to your FinnAccount and go to #systekgeneheritage# right now!
Rantanen crumbled the ad and threw it on the floor.
The other thing in his hand was a plain white paper with simple block letters on it.
FORGET THE GIRL AND WALK AWAY.
IF YOU HELP HER, YOU BOTH WILL SUFFER.
DON'T BE STUPID.
That does it, Jyri Rantanen thought.
If there was any doubt before about what he would do with the girl, this removed all ambiguity.
Now the bearded man was sure he would help Nora Farrah in any way it was possible.
...
Notes:
[1] Georg von Wendt was a German-educated Finnish physician and the long time professor of veterinary sciences at Helsinki University, while the Swedish geneticist Gunnar Dahlberg was the director of the Statens institut för rasbiologi, the Swedish state's foremost research centre in the field of eugenics and human genetics.
[2] Literally ”The Opera Cellar”.
[3] Stalin had in the last minute cancelled the handover of the northern part of the parish, apparently as a response for smaller than expected Soviet gains on the Isthmus.
[4] ”The Star of Finland”.
…
To Be Continued
Twenty-six: Heritage
…
Sisko
The older man removed his glasses and leaned on the lectern. Then he raised his greying head to face his audience.
”Today, gentlemen...”
”And ladies!”, Sisko Vaara quipped, ”if you don't mind, professor.”
It made the grumpy old man to look at her direction, and some heads to turn towards her as well in the audience. Some had smiles on them, others a look of reproach.
”...And ladies. Thank you, Miss Vaara”, the man said, looking annoyed. But then, just briefly, a smile seemed to grace his lips.
My God, Sisko thought, am I finally getting through to him?
She looked at one of the few other women in the lecture hall, Leena, to see her slightly flushed but giving her a brief smile nonetheless.
”...I trust you have all perused the reading material, von Wendt's book on racial hygiene and the recent volume by Fisher. And Dahlberg's articles, of course. There's no point for us being here if you have not done your homework...”[1]
The professor glanced at Sisko, looking stern, as if to make a point about due diligence. It always seemed to her that he held her to a higher standard than most of the male students. She hoped it was not only because of her gender.
”From those materials alone, one can see that a lot has been happening in the study of heredity in the last three decades, and we have certainly come a long way from Mendel's days. Today, I can say with certainty, eugenics stands on the verge of true success as a field of scientific study – and a practical endeavour.”
The professor took his glasses in his hand and pointed them towards the audience.
”You know have babies are made, ladies and gentlemen, and I am certain that at least some of you already have some empirical experience on the specifics of such proceedings...”
That caused some snicker among the audience. Sisko glanced at Leena, whose face had gone altogether red now.
”But we need to look beyond the vulgar hydraulics of the matter, and consider the deeper, more fundamental issues: what makes us the human beings we are? What makes race? How does a Finn or a Swede get his light skin tone, and how a negro his dark complexion? What makes the Finn such a good athlete that he time and time again prevails on the field of Olympic endeavour? And why is the Russian, his numbers much greater by comparison, not as adept in the realm of sports?”
The man paused for effect.
”And of course we can take the effort even further than that. The question of eugenics, indeed, is not just why things are like they are, it is also what could be done about changing them.”
When Sisko that evening sat at a table at the Oopperakellari[2] together with Tapio he was still thinking about the matters of heredity and eugenics.
”Where are you today, Sisko? Because surely you're not here with me!”
Roused from her thoughts, the medical student smiled at her beau.
”Oh, sorry, Tapio. I was thinking about my lectures today.”
The newspaper man smiled and winked at her.
”You'll make a great doctor one day, Miss Vaara, attending your studies so conscientously”, he said, with mock seriousness in his voice.
”What you should really improve upon is your bedside manner, though.”
Sisko raised her fist for effect.
”It's just an observation, don't hit me! It's not very ladylike to beat up journalists in one of the finest dancing establishments in the Republic's capital, you know.”
”Shut up, Tapio, and get me a drink”, Sisko told the man, now with an glowing smile on her face.
”Will do!”
On the dais in front of the restaurant hall, the band was setting up its instruments. The Dallapé was somewhat diminished due to some of its regular members being called up for military duty, but according to those in the know, the band had managed to secure passable replacements for its losses.
A female waiter set the drinks on the table and made a curtsey. Sisko and Tapio thanked her with a nod.
”Hilirimpsis, like you Savonians say”, the young man said and raised his glass, ”for a better future!”
”I'll drink to that”, Sisko acquiesced.
The singer came up on stage.
”Oh, it's not Malmstén”, Sisko observed, deflated, as the band struck up a foxtrot.
”You didn't know? Jori got called up, he's with the Navy Band now. But this guy they got covering for him, Virta – he's not half bad. I've heard him singing a few times by now.”
Sisko looked at the young singer, who smiled to the audience in his tuxedo. He wasn't hard on the eye, at least. And when had sung a few songs, Sisko had to agree with Tapio: the man had a voice on him.
”Tapio, good to see you! Mind if we join you at the table?”
The brusque question was presented in the English language. Tapio looked up.
”Jim! Please, do join us. Sisko, this is Jim, ah, James, he's an American news correspondent. Jim, Sisko is a friend of mine from the University.”
The American smiled.
”Just a friend, not a fiancé?”, he said, raising an eyebrow, ”nice to meet you, Sisko. Tapio, Sisko, do meet my friend as well. Martha is a colleague of mine from the States, she's here as the correspondent for Collier's.”
The two women shook hands.
”Sisko Vaara.”
”Martha Gellhorn, happy to make your acquintance. You're a university student, then, Sisko? What will you be when you grow-up?”
”A doctor, if possible”, Sisko answered, feeling awkward with her clunky English.
”It's the modern times, dear”, the American journalist said and smiled a slightly crooked smile, ”if I can be a foreign correspondent for a major US paper, then you can certainly be a doctor.”
She glanced out towards the bar.
”Jim, be a good boy and get us a drink, will you? My throat's parched.”
Gellhorn told Tapio and Sisko that she had come to Finland expecting a war to break out. She had to admit that the deal made between Finland and the USSR was a bit of a let-down for her, even if the Finns might not feel the same way.
”Tomorrow, though, I get to travel to Karelia to cover the evacuations. Should find something to write about there, at least.”
....
…
Sisko
The older man removed his glasses and leaned on the lectern. Then he raised his greying head to face his audience.
”Today, gentlemen...”
”And ladies!”, Sisko Vaara quipped, ”if you don't mind, professor.”
It made the grumpy old man to look at her direction, and some heads to turn towards her as well in the audience. Some had smiles on them, others a look of reproach.
”...And ladies. Thank you, Miss Vaara”, the man said, looking annoyed. But then, just briefly, a smile seemed to grace his lips.
My God, Sisko thought, am I finally getting through to him?
She looked at one of the few other women in the lecture hall, Leena, to see her slightly flushed but giving her a brief smile nonetheless.
”...I trust you have all perused the reading material, von Wendt's book on racial hygiene and the recent volume by Fisher. And Dahlberg's articles, of course. There's no point for us being here if you have not done your homework...”[1]
The professor glanced at Sisko, looking stern, as if to make a point about due diligence. It always seemed to her that he held her to a higher standard than most of the male students. She hoped it was not only because of her gender.
”From those materials alone, one can see that a lot has been happening in the study of heredity in the last three decades, and we have certainly come a long way from Mendel's days. Today, I can say with certainty, eugenics stands on the verge of true success as a field of scientific study – and a practical endeavour.”
The professor took his glasses in his hand and pointed them towards the audience.
”You know have babies are made, ladies and gentlemen, and I am certain that at least some of you already have some empirical experience on the specifics of such proceedings...”
That caused some snicker among the audience. Sisko glanced at Leena, whose face had gone altogether red now.
”But we need to look beyond the vulgar hydraulics of the matter, and consider the deeper, more fundamental issues: what makes us the human beings we are? What makes race? How does a Finn or a Swede get his light skin tone, and how a negro his dark complexion? What makes the Finn such a good athlete that he time and time again prevails on the field of Olympic endeavour? And why is the Russian, his numbers much greater by comparison, not as adept in the realm of sports?”
The man paused for effect.
”And of course we can take the effort even further than that. The question of eugenics, indeed, is not just why things are like they are, it is also what could be done about changing them.”
When Sisko that evening sat at a table at the Oopperakellari[2] together with Tapio he was still thinking about the matters of heredity and eugenics.
”Where are you today, Sisko? Because surely you're not here with me!”
Roused from her thoughts, the medical student smiled at her beau.
”Oh, sorry, Tapio. I was thinking about my lectures today.”
The newspaper man smiled and winked at her.
”You'll make a great doctor one day, Miss Vaara, attending your studies so conscientously”, he said, with mock seriousness in his voice.
”What you should really improve upon is your bedside manner, though.”
Sisko raised her fist for effect.
”It's just an observation, don't hit me! It's not very ladylike to beat up journalists in one of the finest dancing establishments in the Republic's capital, you know.”
”Shut up, Tapio, and get me a drink”, Sisko told the man, now with an glowing smile on her face.
”Will do!”
On the dais in front of the restaurant hall, the band was setting up its instruments. The Dallapé was somewhat diminished due to some of its regular members being called up for military duty, but according to those in the know, the band had managed to secure passable replacements for its losses.
A female waiter set the drinks on the table and made a curtsey. Sisko and Tapio thanked her with a nod.
”Hilirimpsis, like you Savonians say”, the young man said and raised his glass, ”for a better future!”
”I'll drink to that”, Sisko acquiesced.
The singer came up on stage.
”Oh, it's not Malmstén”, Sisko observed, deflated, as the band struck up a foxtrot.
”You didn't know? Jori got called up, he's with the Navy Band now. But this guy they got covering for him, Virta – he's not half bad. I've heard him singing a few times by now.”
Sisko looked at the young singer, who smiled to the audience in his tuxedo. He wasn't hard on the eye, at least. And when had sung a few songs, Sisko had to agree with Tapio: the man had a voice on him.
”Tapio, good to see you! Mind if we join you at the table?”
The brusque question was presented in the English language. Tapio looked up.
”Jim! Please, do join us. Sisko, this is Jim, ah, James, he's an American news correspondent. Jim, Sisko is a friend of mine from the University.”
The American smiled.
”Just a friend, not a fiancé?”, he said, raising an eyebrow, ”nice to meet you, Sisko. Tapio, Sisko, do meet my friend as well. Martha is a colleague of mine from the States, she's here as the correspondent for Collier's.”
The two women shook hands.
”Sisko Vaara.”
”Martha Gellhorn, happy to make your acquintance. You're a university student, then, Sisko? What will you be when you grow-up?”
”A doctor, if possible”, Sisko answered, feeling awkward with her clunky English.
”It's the modern times, dear”, the American journalist said and smiled a slightly crooked smile, ”if I can be a foreign correspondent for a major US paper, then you can certainly be a doctor.”
She glanced out towards the bar.
”Jim, be a good boy and get us a drink, will you? My throat's parched.”
Gellhorn told Tapio and Sisko that she had come to Finland expecting a war to break out. She had to admit that the deal made between Finland and the USSR was a bit of a let-down for her, even if the Finns might not feel the same way.
”Tomorrow, though, I get to travel to Karelia to cover the evacuations. Should find something to write about there, at least.”
....
View attachment 438961
Notices about air raid exercises and advertisements for musical events, dancing and movies.
Helsingin Sanomat, October 21st, 1939.
....
Urho
There were responsibilities, and they were not always easy. But if one had asked Urho Kekkonen, he might have said that at this time responsibilities were not divided evenly among the Finnish cabinet. At the moment, the First Minister of the Interior, Mauno Pekkala, was about to travel to North Karelia to attend the ceremony where Porajärvi and the sourthern part of Repola [3] would officially annexed to the Republic of Finland, and receive a parade of infantry and cavalry with the Kuopio provincial governor, Ignatius, and General Laatikainen to represent the military.
And here was Urho Kaleva Kekkonen, overseeing the evacuation of Terijoki and the other areas on the Isthmus to be given over to the USSR in a bit over week's time. The original stipulation had been two weeks from the signing of the Moscow Agreement, and the attitude of the angry, hostile and all-around recalcitrant Karelians was not helping with organizing the handover at all.
Urho could not blame them. He'd be furious if he had to give up his home to the Bolsheviks as well. But why did he have to be the man to receive the wrath of the evacuees and the local politicians when he, personally, had opposed giving up to the Soviet demands all the way? Why wasn't the president here to face up to what, ultimately, was his decision? The deal with the Soviets was creating rifts among Finns, and it was not enough that the opposition to the Agreement could be seen here in Karelia – even in Helsinki, people had taken to flying the flag at half mast due to the ”capitulation”. The Patriotic People's Movement was capitalizing on the issue in the Eduskunta, and it had required a huge amount of desperate horse-trading by the cabinet to push the Agreement through the Finnish parliament.
Urho stood by the side of the road, just a mile from the parish border between Terijoki and Uusikirkko on the coast. A seemingly uninterrupted line of evacuees passed him towards the west. The evacuation of the areas to be given over was of course voluntary: people were free to stay and become citizens of the USSR if they so chose. Practically, only very few people, and those few convinced Communists, were staying put. The vast majority of the locals were pulling up roots.
The irony for many was that they had just in the previous weeks been part of the voluntary evacuations west, and had already returned back home during the last part of the negotiations, believing that the worst was over and that Finland could keep its borders intact. For these people, leaving their homes again after a few days was all the more bitter.
Urho looked at a man in his fifties, leading on a horse pulling a heavy wagon overflowing with bags and furniture. His wife and children were following him on foot. The minister tried to offer an encouraging nod at the man. He had none of it, turning his head away in protest and spitting on the muddy road.
From the west, a unit of infantry made its way on foot, with difficulty passing the line of evacuees going west. Roughly where Kekkonen and his State Police escort were standing, the NCO leading the group decided to give the men a bit of rest, calling a break for cigarettes and water.
”Keep hydrated, youse numbskulls”, the senior sergeant said with a snarling command voice”, I won't have you passing out on me on such a short march”.
Kekkonen smiled at the words, despite his otherwise gloomy thoughts. He could recognize a North Savonian accent anywhere. Interested, he approached the men, spotting a vaguely familiar-looking corporal among the men.
”Corporal”, he said, nodding to the man in lieu of a greeting, ”it's good to hear a familiar pattern of speech, where are you boys from?”
The corporal looked at him wearily.
”We're from Kuopio and surroundings, minister Kekkonen”, he said, ”reservists all. Sent here to help with the evacuation.”
Urho nodded. The man seemed sharp, knowing him by looks alone, but there was a gloomy note to his voice as well.
”Call me Urho”, he said, offering his hand, ”we're probably practically related, anyway...”
The man took his hand and shook it, the look on his face melting into a slight smile.
”Veli Vaara. As a matter of fact, my second cousin married a Kekkonen last year. The girl is from Lapinlahti.”
Kekkonen nodded.
”Just goes to show. We Savo boys need to stick together.”
A State Police agent approached Kekkonen, tapping his watch.
”Minister, we need to be going to make the parish centre in time. I think we can take the smaller roads to avoid the congestion.”
”Alright, Myyrä, get the car ready. I'll be there in a moment.”
He turned back to the reservist, wondering how his face was so familiar. Maybe they were relatives after all?
”Good luck then, Vaara, with your work. And take my regards to your family when you get home. Your second cousin and his young wife, first of all.”
The two shook hands and Urho started walking through the mud towards the state car and his agents.
The senior sergeant looked at the corporal and shook his head.
”The company you keep, Vaara...”
….
....
Veli
Veli Vaara was feeling a slight chill. Maybe he was coming down with the flu? His nose was runny, and the night before his throat had been sort of sore.
Meeting with the Second Minister of the Interior had given him something to think about. It wasn't easy to be a minister at the moment. The government's decision to cave in to the Soviet demands was hugely unpopular among a large swathe of the Finnish people. Even if Paasikivi and the other negotiators had managed to whittle down Stalin's original shopping list a great deal. Paasikivi definitely was not starting his presidency under lucky stars, to hear what people were talking about him.
Having heard from the senior sergeant that there was some minutes to spare before the unit would move on, Veli started walking along a side road leaving away from the main highway running east. He wanted some privacy for his thoughts, and a private place to relieve himself. After two hundred meters or so, though, he arrived to a small farmhouse. It struck him how much it was similar to Heikki Hyvärinen's farm back home in Hirvilahti.
On the yard stood a wagon, and a man and a woman were loading up their belongings in it. A girl of maybe seven or eight was helping them. Not a word was spoken, though Veli could hear the woman sobbing slightly. Not knowing what to do, Veli just stood there, watching.
In a minute, the man noticed him, and then beckoned him to come over.
”Good day, corporal”, he said, his face a little red from the exertion of putting heavy parcels up on the wagon, ”would you mind helping us a little?”
Well – we're here to assist with the evacuation, anyway, he thought and nodded.
”Sure. My unit's just down the road, I can go fetch a couple guys more if you need us to...”
The man shook his head.
”One man's quite enough for this job. Hold on...”
He went to the barn to the left and arrived with a canister of kerosene in his hand, and a stick of matches.
”Take these and put the house on fire.”
Veli recoiled at the thought. He remembered what the officer briefing them had told the reserve unit in Lappeenranta.
”We're strictly prohibited from sabotaging the buildings and infrastructure in the evacuated area”, he said to the man, ”as per the Moscow Agreement...”
The man raised his hand and interrupted him.
”I don't care a whit what the so-called Agreement says. I am not leaving my house to Stalin and his Bolshevik scum. I want it made sure that they can't use it for their purposes. Please, help me. I want the house gone.”
He looked at the little farmhouse. Veli could see a tear rising into his eye.
”But I can't do it myself, I can't bear it. I built it with my own hands, two decades ago now. My daughter was born here. Please.”
Veli nodded, grimly, and took the kerosene and the matches from the man.
When he walked into the house's foyer, he felt like he could still smell the scent of a freshly baked barley bread in the air.
Slowly, methodically, Veli Vaara doused the walls of the biggest room with the flammable liquid.
Then he withdrew to the door. After a little pause, like a moment's hesitation, he struck a match.
...
September 2009
The white-bearded man in his early sixties entered his apartment and closed the door with a thump.
He was kind of rattled after experiencing the terrorist bombing in Töölönlahti very close by. He had been questioned by the first Civil Guard patrol that arrived to the scene, and then by the Fennia Security goons in dark blue. They had taken down his information, and made it known that he might be called for follow-up questioning later.
Jyri Rantanen walked directly to his liquer cabinet and poured himself a big glass of Suomen Tähti.[4] Getting a bottle of soda water from the fridge to wash it down with was an afterthought.
He sat down in his chair in the middle of overflowing bookcases and piles of books and documents on the floor and downed his glass of ”national cognac”.
In a minute or three, he started feeling a bit better.
After someone had written him threats in the windscreen of his classic VAU convertible, he had pretty much made up his mind about what he would do with the American girl.
In maybe fifteen minutes he stood up and walked to the foyer. There he found some papers that had been dropped in through the letter slit. The first one was a glossy advertisement with a bespectacled woman in a white lab coat, mature but attractive, on the cover, flanked by that familiar jagged logo.
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Rantanen crumbled the ad and threw it on the floor.
The other thing in his hand was a plain white paper with simple block letters on it.
FORGET THE GIRL AND WALK AWAY.
IF YOU HELP HER, YOU BOTH WILL SUFFER.
DON'T BE STUPID.
That does it, Jyri Rantanen thought.
If there was any doubt before about what he would do with the girl, this removed all ambiguity.
Now the bearded man was sure he would help Nora Farrah in any way it was possible.
...
Notes:
[1] Georg von Wendt was a German-educated Finnish physician and the long time professor of veterinary sciences at Helsinki University, while the Swedish geneticist Gunnar Dahlberg was the director of the Statens institut för rasbiologi, the Swedish state's foremost research centre in the field of eugenics and human genetics.
[2] Literally ”The Opera Cellar”.
[3] Stalin had in the last minute cancelled the handover of the northern part of the parish, apparently as a response for smaller than expected Soviet gains on the Isthmus.
[4] ”The Star of Finland”.
…
To Be Continued
- DrakonFin
- Word Count: 3k