In early afternoon, Kate went grocery shopping. Anu slept. I had promised to cook that evening, was going to make linguini carbonara. Nothing quite like salty American bacon was available in Finland until recent years, and so carbonara is a relatively new dish for me. Bacon. I love the stuff.
I was gimping across the floor on crutches, a newspaper tucked under my arm, on my way to the couch to sit down and read it. Then I lost it, went incoherent, got dizzy and light-headed. My chest got tight. The world went slow motion. I felt myself going down. A few minutes later, I came to, sprawled on the floor. It scared me.
I followed my first instinct and called Jari. He said I’d suffered a seizure, but told me to stay calm. Especially in the first week after surgery, this could be a onetime event. To be on the safe side, though, I should start on anti-seizure medication and, depending on how things went, stay out from behind the wheel of a car for three to six months instead of just the standard one month following non-problematic brain tumor removal.
I nixed that idea automatic. I wanted my freedom, wanted my car back. I told him if it wasn’t an anomaly, I’d take the medication, but wanted to wait and see first. He said that was OK.
But I was afraid to pick up Anu, in case I had a seizure while I was carrying her. Kate would be home soon, I had to think fast.
Mobility was difficult enough already. I had a baby carrier that fit in the front, against my chest. I put her in it and then walked around on crutches. I couldn’t believe this was happening to me. First, I lost feeling for my own child, and now I was afraid to pick her up.
I went with my first idea, called Arvid and explained the situation, omitting the lack of emotions part, and told him I didn’t want Kate to find out about the seizure because she would try to insist that I take the medication. This total truth thing with Kate didn’t seem to be working out for me.
“Can you come here and stay for a few days?” I asked.
“What will it help, and on what pretext?”
“It will help because I don’t want to fall with the baby. You carry her for me. The pretext is you say you were in Helsinki and just decided to drop by and visit. You seem dispirited, so I invite you to dinner. You accept, and then later, old man that you are, pretend to nod off on the couch.”
“I doubt I’ll have to pretend,” he said. “I’m two days older than dirt. I nod off frequently.”
“I’ll suggest putting you up in the spare bed for the night. Then, in the morning, you just don’t leave. You help out with the baby, carry her to me or for me, and I point out how much easier this makes life for me. I say you’re probably just lonely, that you just lost your wife after fifty years of marriage.”
I waited for a response, but none was forthcoming. I shouldn’t have said that, it cut too close to the bone. He was so lonely and sad that it was unbearable for him. That’s why he called me so often.
“I can spare a few days,” Arvid said. “What am I supposed to do about bringing clothes, though? I can’t exactly show up with a suitcase.”
“When it becomes apparent that you’ll be staying, I’ll send one of the boys to pick some things up for you.”
“All right. I won’t be long. I’m coming by taxi.”
“Why? A taxi is a hundred euros.”
“I’ve been meaning to visit anyway. I’ve got a couple things for the baby and can’t carry them to the bus stop.”
“That’s nice of you to think of her. I’ll pick up the tab.”
“No, you won’t.” He rang off.
Kate came home loaded down with groceries. After she put them away, I said, “I’ve got a Valentine’s Day gift for you.”
She smiled. “I have one for you too, but I thought we would wait until after dinner to exchange them.”
I’d planned in advance, bought them weeks ago, and I wanted to give them to her while we had a private moment, before Arvid arrived. I put on my practiced smile. “I want to do it now.” I hobbled off to the bedroom to take it from its hiding place in the closet and came back with a small, gift-wrapped box.
She had a dozen white roses in her hands. “Just a small expression of love,” she said. “I have something else for you too, but it’s physical in nature. You have to wait, though, to let the anticipation build.”
A blow job. About the most thoughtful gift she could give me at the moment. The way I’d felt since surgery, if I couldn’t eat it, drink it or fuck it, I didn’t want it.
My knee hurt. We sat on the sofa. She opened her gift. A Kalevala necklace with a silver oak leaf, and matching earrings.
I put the necklace on her. She stood in front of the foyer mirror and tried on the earrings. “They’re lovely,” she said. “Delicate and feminine but with a Viking air about them.”
“They’re about as traditional Finnish as you can get,” I said. “Kalevala jewelry is based on ancient Nordic combined with modern designs.”
The door buzzer rang. Kate answered. Arvid stood there with the taxi driver, who had helped him carry the mountain of packages up the stairs. The driver left. Arvid extended his hand to Kate. “I’m Arvid Lahtinen,” he said. “I’ve heard so much about you, it’s a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance.”
“And yours,” Kate said. “Kari has said nothing but good things about you.” She gestured at the piles of gift-wrapped packages. “What is all this?”
His smile was shy. “Some odds and ends for baby Anu.”
I was unable to help them. Arvid and Kate moved the boxes into the middle of the living room floor.
“Good to see you, Kari,” Arvid said. “You look well. And younger. Without that scar, you look like somewhat less of a thug.”
“Kind of you to say so.”
Kate also said it makes me look younger. It wasn’t entirely gone, but almost. The skin was smooth, but there was a slight red discoloration, barely noticeable. The surgeon said the results are seldom this good. Also, I hadn’t been to the gym since well before the beginning of the year. I was slimmer as well.
“Please,” Arvid said, “open the boxes.”
Kate and I were both awestruck. There were clothes of different sizes to last Anu for a year. An antique musical mobile decorated with wooden fantasy animals. A jumperoo. A variety of stuffed animals. Everything designer brands. The best money could buy. After the last package was open, Arvid took one more from his coat pocket and handed it to Kate. Inside was a silver box with Anu’s name and birth date engraved on it. It’s to keep Anu’s baby teeth in. Arvid had spent a grand, maybe two, on all this. I was taken aback. Kate was moved to tears. The old man knew how to make an impression.
He was actually eighty-nine, not ninety as he habitually stated. I knew, from reading his secret police dossier while investigating him for murder, that he would turn ninety on March third. His appearance and movements, though, suggested a well-kept man in his seventies. Despite his advanced age, mentally he was sharp as a tack, and he had a good sense of humor. The three of us sat down for coffee and pulla, sweet rolls flavored with cardamom. He asked to hold Anu, and bounced her on his knee while we talked. He told stories from his life and travels. He had the social knack, spoke neither too much nor too little. He was charming the pants off Kate. If he were fifty years younger, I wouldn’t have left him alone in the same room with her.
With a powerful blat, followed by a giggle, Anu announced that she needed her diaper changed.
When we were alone, I asked about feeding Arvid’s four cats while he stayed here.
“That won’t be necessary,” he said.
It was hard to imagine that he gave them away after his wife, Ritva, died only weeks ago. They were all the company he had left, and they had been with him and Ritva for many years.
“How come?” I asked.
“They mourned Ritva and meowed non-stop. You ever read the Edgar Allan Poe story ‘The Tell-Tale Heart’?”
“Yeah.”
“It felt like that. They never stopped crying for her. I felt like I was going out of my mind. I couldn’t give them away. They belonged to Ritva. So finally, I put them in a burlap bag and drowned them in the bathtub. Next to helping Ritva die, it was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”