ARTO PAASILINNA PDF

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Bonnet-grass it likes, and meadow vetchling. In fact, it likes all the vetches, and Alsike clover, too. A skillful drawer he was not. The lead dug deep into the paper, and a couple of times the lead snapped. After a long effort, an image began to form. Vatanen was peeping at the developing image with keen interest.

The color spreads. Those tendrils have come out a little thick. Vatanen thanked him for all his advice. The game warden smiled, slightly embarrassed but pleased. In the yard, the men shook hands warmly. The taxi driver had been waiting outside for half an hour. They found a suitable spot without too much trouble: a largish grove of birches, overgrown with dandelions on the roadside. After an hour, the men had each gathered an armful of suitable eatables.

The hare gobbled them eagerly. While he did, the driver went off to fetch some water from the hydrant. The hare took long drafts from the hubcap, and the taxi driver shared the rest with Vatanen. Vatanen paid the fare. Before leaving, he thanked the driver yet again. It was raining; he was cold. And here he was, on a rainy road, getting soaked, because of a snap decision.

Suddenly, around a corner, he came upon a house: a bungalow with attic space—a prosperous-looking setup.

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A woman in a raincoat was scraping away at the garden, hands black with soil: an older woman. Something in this woman reminded him of her. From near Heinola. The hare was hungry and started nibbling the plants in the garden. A man appeared at the front door, small, middle-aged, slightly balding.

On your way, now. The man repeated his injunction to beat it, looking slightly scared now. Vatanen went over to the front door to clear things up with him, but the man slipped inside and slammed the door in his face. Funny ones, Vatanen thought. Vatanen assumed they were phoning for a taxi. Get down here fast, quick as you can. Got a hare with him.

Vatanen tried the front door: locked. The rain was coming down. Hand over that basket. Vatanen was in the back, alone. The constable at the wheel craned around to look. He downshifted and slowed up to see better. A week or two ago he was still very small. Probably born in June. The basket lid was put on again. Vatanen was taken inside. The constable on duty was sitting there looking sleepy, his uniform shirt unbuttoned. He visibly perked up on seeing company.

He dug some cigarettes out of his pocket and offered them to the police. Oh, quiet enough, just one case this evening. Evidently attempted breaking and entering. Seems decent enough. Just brought in.

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Bye, now. May I see your papers? The others came over to see the contents. He whistled. Vatanen nodded. Some writing job, is it?

Where, he asked, could he spend the night? He was getting more than a bit tired. The local doctor claims you attempted to break in, coerced him to call for a taxi. Quite enough there to keep you in custody—though not implying any very big issue, of course. In the meantime, he was having a look around this part of the country.

A journalist, he is. Criminal charges were phoned in—been disturbing the peace, trying to force entry into a house for the night. He seems all there, though. He wants to leave. Yes, I can certainly put it in writing as well. Not drunk, either—no, decent enough looking. But it could cause a hassle. So thanks a lot. So long. So—do you accept all that? Kuopio advised not turning you loose under any circumstances.

Anyway, where would you go now, on a wet night like this? It could perish. Otherwise it could die of food poisoning. Ten sharp. And take that hare with you. And what do we know about this fellow? Look at that money. Is he really Vatanen, in fact? Have to think. Anyone got a cig? Again they smoked. Nothing was said for quite a while. Look at it from our point of view. For all we know, you might be a murderer. Could have bumped someone off before you left Helsinki.

In fact, you are wandering aimlessly—you might be a danger to the whole community. Stay here regardless—in this duty room if you like—till I can call up the superintendent. We can have some coffee if you want.

How does that sound? The hare, in its basket, was put on a night-duty bed at the back of the room. We do get people from Tahkovuori sometimes. The windows, frosted wired glass, had no bars. Screwed to the wall there was a tubular bed, a lidless toilet, and a chair, also fastened immovably.

A lamp without a lampshade dangled from the ceiling. Should put a steel frame around it—the tallest can jump that high. Vatanen went to lie down on the duty-room bed. Vatanen dozed off. The superintendent had been contacted and was on his way. Vatanen rubbed his eyes, looked at the basket by his feet, and saw it was empty. A little yellow car drove into the forecourt. The superintendent was a youngish man, probably a recent graduate in jurisprudence, in the sticks as a stage in his career.

I know Laurila. You have, I understand, brought criminal charges against a certain person. Yes, I see. However, the situation is this: your report has no foundation. Question him about this and that. Force him to think up suitable answers. Well, you know the form.

Yes, and, Vatanen, where are you going for the night? I put some nets out.

Why not come along with me for the night? You can bring that hare of yours. The hare can run wild there, and you can sleep in peace. They were a pile of old logs on quaking bogland, reached by boardwalk. Retired now, used to be the Kiuruvesi superintendent of police.

Name of Hannikainen. By now Vatanen was truly hungry. They gave the hare some fresh grass and water. The two others went out, and Vatanen collapsed onto a bunk. Sleepily, in the early hours, Vatanen heard the men returning from the lake and chatting outside in low tones before turning in.

The superintendent went into the sauna 43 T h e Ye ar of t h e H a re to bunk down on the boards; Hannikainen stretched out on a bunk in the cabin. The hare raised its head but soon went back to sleep. In the morning, Vatanen woke fresh and alert. Waders were crying from the shore.

A morning mist lay over the water, and a bright day was on the way. After coffee, the superintendent set off for the village to take up his duties.

The sound of his car faded down the forest road and drifted out of earshot. The fat sizzled, and he tipped a one-pound can of beef and pork into it. The food was soon ready. Hannikainen cut some long slices from a large loaf of rye bread, put the burning-hot fried meat on them, and presented some to Vatanen.

It was delicious. Probably they are there to this day. In the evening Hannikainen took a bottle of vodka from his rucksack, creaked the cork out, and poured them each a shot. Hannikainen was already getting on in years, pushing 44 T h e P re s id ent seventy, completely white haired, tall, talkative.

In the course of the day, the men got to know each other. He was well informed on world affairs and thoughtful by nature. What, Vatanen wondered, was so unusual about Hannikainen? The answer to this question was on its way. After the second shot of vodka, Hannikainen began to lead the conversation around to government politics in a more serious vein. I form comparisons, I sift, I make inferences. The result is extremely disturbing. Neither of them will reveal the results of my investigations.

His eyes froze. He screwed the vodka cork back in the bottle, pushed the bottle into some moss, and walked briskly to the cabin. Vatanen trailed after him. Hanging on the cabin wall, between the window and the table, was a large, battered brown suitcase. Vatanen 46 T h e P re s id ent had seen it the evening before but had paid no attention to it. Hannikainen lowered the case onto a bunk and snapped the catches open.

The documents included many graphics, which also, Vatanen saw, centered on Kekkonen. Hannikainen produced several drawings on graph paper, showing careful longitudinal sections of human crania. Then there is this one. It shows his cranium in For Kekkonen 47 T h e Ye ar of t h e H a re this procedure offers no complications, thanks to his complete baldness. The method is extremely painstaking and demands unusual precision, but I have, in my view, achieved exceptionally good results.

And here is the cranium of , again the same. Look at this: the cranium of ! What a difference! The difference is too marked, incontestably so. These old crania—from the time when Kekkonen was young, that is—are somewhat sharper on the crown, for example. And look at the jawbone. In these recent pictures the jaw juts several millimeters farther out than before, and at the same time the cheekbones are lower. Also, the occiput has clear divergences, even if not so marked.

Look at that! My studies indicate that President Kekkonen was invariably too busy, all his life, to be absent from public exposure for longer than two uninterrupted weeks. Warts, yes, but nothing indicating surgery in The numbers record his height since childhood. Here is a photocopy of his ID card. We come to the year the curve suddenly leaps a couple of centimeters. Kekkonen is in fact, all at once, nearly a hundred eighty-one centimeters.

From then on the curve continues unchanged till this point, , with no change in sight. Somewhat frenziedly, he sought out a new chart. He has persisted in a certain annual cycle. The ten-pound increase continues from to this day, absolutely steadily, apart from the seasonal cycle I referred to. Here, too, we see the same divergence after Quite clearly, his 51 T h e Ye ar of t h e H a re sense of humor was developing, and he was becoming, as it were, much more tolerant toward the people of his country.

There was no sign of his recent fervor. He seemed happy.

The two went out. For a long time they were completely silent. It grew longer, plumper, and stronger.

The hare looked up at the men from the bottom of the boat its head to one side. In this manner, the days went by on the forest lake, and no one felt a need to go anywhere else. One morning toward the end of July, the hare became restless. That same evening the men noticed a strong smell of smoke.

As the lake became still for the night, they could see, beyond the reeds of the farther shore, a blue cowl of smoke gathering. The next morning, the smoke was enough to make 53 T h e Ye ar of t h e H a re their eyes smart. There was a wind on the lake, but the smoke thickened.

It overlaid everything like a dense sea haze. Two thousand acres are up in smoke already. The woman editor of the Savo Daily Times was taking photographs; Vatanen himself got his picture in the paper. Canteens were providing soup for everyone. Trained orienteers were required. A party of similar volunteers were herded into a heavy army helicopter. Half of it may, in fact, have gone already. There are two houses as well. The glowing heat down below seemed to be reaching right up to the chopper.

The air was cloaked in a thick pall of smoke, the earth scarcely visible. The helicopter was buffeted about in the heat turbulence, and it seemed as if the long blades 55 T h e Ye ar of t h e H a re of the main rotor might crack and drop the chopper into the roaring furnace below. Its rotors churned; blue smoke jetted from the tail into the sweltering air. The lower the warplane got, the more the treetops swished. The men leaped from the aircraft and scurried out of range of the blades, bent double by the downdraft.

The men were left rubbing their watering eyes in the forest. Vatanen occupied a central place in the chain. The men dispersed into the forest, their shouts echoing out from the smoky trees. The terrain descended into a damp depression. A large brown hare was zigzagging about, not knowing which way to go. In a dense clump of birches beyond the depression, a cow was bellowing frantically. The cow stared at Vatanen with moist, fear-distended eyes, squeezing a stupid mooing from its swollen, panting throat.

He grabbed it by the horns, screwed its head around with all his might, pointing it northeast, and kicked its backside. Vatanen wiped his watering eyes. He came to a brook, a little river of clear water about four yards wide. Smoke hovered over the lush banks and the water: it had a fairy-tale beauty. Vatanen took off his sweaty clothes and slipped naked into the cool water, rinsing his bloodshot eyes and his mouth with fresh water. After his trudge through the smoke, a quiet dip in a brook was paradise.

It stretched out of the grass and rested in the water up to the elbow. He swam up to it and took hold of it. It was not unattached: it belonged to a large man lying back in the riverbank bushes with his mouth open.

He felt the pulse; it was beating normally. Vatanen shook the man, who slowly began to come to. He turned onto his back and stared at Vatanen a moment, as if trying to recognize him; then he offered his hand.

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