He didn’t hear much talk about the races at the publishing office, although Maiju, in particular, secretly followed them with enthusiastic interest and was thrilled at the success of the Finnish drivers.
The trance-like passion that rally cars evoked in people had always baffled Olli. Even when they showed American Graffiti at the film club, it didn’t give him an urge to buy a car of his own or lessen his scepticism about the pleasures of driving.
This year Olli had been planning to stay completely away from the central city for the duration of the races, but when his family was kidnapped he had to compromise many of his principles. So there he was, following the Facebook instructions and heading to the park, where he had orders to wait for Greta.
At your last meeting you gave her hope. Continue in the same manner. Walk with her through town hand in hand. Kiss her lightly so that you leave her dreaming, but without being too blatant. You have to leave her in suspense about your next meeting.
Olli’s blood pressure was probably dangerously high, so he didn’t measure it. He had eaten and slept poorly. His stomach was in knots. His back ached. His thoughts were muddled. He dressed his suffering body in the clothes of a casually stylish gentleman, examined the result in the mirror, took a taxi to the park, and sat at an empty table on the kiosk terrace.
As he had expected, people milled around him in a noisy mob. He stared at the table top and tried to shut the stress out of his mind. He was hot in his jacket but he couldn’t bring himself to take it off. Time passed. He waited. People left. Other people took their places. Then they too left. Olli continued to sit. Someone sang a song in drunken German. The air was filled with the smell of beer and cigarettes. Taxis were lined up at the kerb like big, sleepy dogs. Now and then one of them awoke and crept away.
Olli drank three cups of coffee and a bottle of yellow Jaffa soda. The people at the next table were talking about the races the way soldiers in a movie talk about the war. Olli felt like punching them.
He started thinking about remodelling. There was a lot that needed to be fixed: the sloping floors, the ceiling panels in the bedroom, the slanting walls, the wallpaper. He made mental calculations of the labour, materials and expenses. His brow furrowed.
Then he remembered his wife and son, kidnapped and taken on a forced holiday by the Blomrooses, and he sank into a gloom.
When a ripple of wind brushed against his face, gently probing it, sounds began to enter his ears. He looked around and noticed that the colours had brightened. It was as if someone had opened a hatch inside him.
It was hard not to worry about his kidnapped family, even if it was a beautiful summer day. But even the worst problems couldn’t touch the creature that he was beneath his titles, tastes, obligations, responsibilities and memories. It smiled at him, carefree as a child.
It liked this spot.
The Magic City Guide describes the old church park thus:
This one-block park in central Jyväskylä contains a Gothic-style church built in 1880, a kiosk building, an old electrical switching station and a variety of monuments. The kiosk, built in 1954, radiates a particularly dense concentration of M-particles, which enrich the life feeling of people in its vicinity. The park is also a popular meeting place for lovers.
The scent of floral perfume awakens Olli from his thoughts. Someone is sitting beside him.
He hesitates a moment, then looks.
Greta Kara is drinking pink lemonade through a straw and smiling mischievously.
“If it isn’t Mr Suominen,” she says. “Taking some time out from the workday to enjoy the international ambience of rally week, I presume? I was walking by and saw you and called your name, but you didn’t respond, although half the people in the park waved back at me. I’ve been sitting next to you for fifteen minutes waiting for you to notice me. Silly thing. A couple of minutes longer and I would have lit your trousers on fire. Now, don’t you dare get angry with me, you little devil. You look as if you could bite my nose off.”
Olli stifles a smile, looks at Greta blankly, and hears himself repeating a Burt Lancaster line from Sweet Smell of Success: “Bite you? I’d hate to take a bite outta you. You’re a cookie full of arsenic.”
For a moment Greta looks as if he’s slapped her in the face. Then she recognizes the quote.
“Fiddle-dee-dee,” she answers cheekily. “That’s a quote from Scarlett O’Hara.”
They look at each other. Olli’s suppressed smile escapes and spreads to Greta, and it’s very becoming on her.
They chat.
Greta talks about her happy life in Paris and the intoxication that came with the success of A Guide to the Cinematic Life. Her anecdotes reflect the charm, sharp wit and sensibility of their teller, her sometimes almost naive quality.
Olli talks of his own life in a vague way, avoiding any mention of his wife or son. When the conversation drifts too near to his family, Greta becomes uncomfortable and her face turns sad. Then Olli changes the subject and they settle on pondering life, art and other safe, abstract matters, but soon slip into talking about their own lives again when a good story or incident comes to mind.
The whole while they are both pretending. Greta pretends that Olli doesn’t have a family waiting for him in Mäki-Matti. And Olli acts the part of a man whose family is indeed waiting for him at home, as they are both aware, but pretends that they aren’t, for reasons of convenience.
In spite of the difficulties this entails, the conversation progresses like a spring brook, branching and meandering in its search for a route, but never stopping.
Olli almost succeeds in forgetting that he’s there as a victim of extortion. He allows himself to enjoy the conversation, and at the same time a part of him remains an observer, assessing the developing situation relative to his objective.
You and Greta had a beautiful love story; we understand that now. It’s time your story had a beautiful ending.
A beautiful ending. But what sort? An ending like the one in Emma Bunny? “Do you like me? I like you. When we grow up, we can get married and have children together.”
One thing Olli knows is that these meetings are just the beginning of the beautiful ending that Anne is demanding. Today they have orders to walk hand in hand and share a kiss. Next time they’ll have to go further. The Blomrooses have decided to sacrifice Olli’s marital fidelity and give Greta the gift of his love in compensation for the crime they committed as children.
Olli smiles at Greta’s remarks, answers with his own, and tries to keep the conversation light, and his own grim thoughts hidden. It apparently isn’t working because Greta reaches out and touches Olli’s brow with the back of her hand.
“Do you feel all right? You don’t seem to have a fever, at least. You look quite pale.”
Olli remembers something he read in A Guide to the Cinematic Life:
A person’s life doesn’t consist of just one story but of many, some of them consecutive and others overlapping. While one story is a comedy, another may be a melodrama, or a thriller. It’s important to recognize every incipient story’s genre and let the deep cinematic self develop the right state of mind to supersede the slow continuum.