Olli thinks about Greta’s story, how she planned to shoot the Blomrooses and instead ended up making wishes with the dying Anne Blomroos. At least now he knows what gave the Blomrooses the idea to make him a part of their insane plan for atonement and send his family on a perpetual, involuntary world tour. It’s obvious that they were watching them both over Facebook, and probably by other means as well, and once he and Greta found each other they saw to it that Olli’s attachment to the slow continuum didn’t prevent Greta’s wish from coming true. You and Greta had a beautiful love story; we understand that now. It’s time your story had a beautiful ending.
But of course Olli can’t blame Greta for what’s happened, nor does he want to. How could she have known what the wish she spoke aloud would lead to?
New photos from various parts of the world continue to appear on Aino’s profile. She and the boy are doing well, except that they look exhausted.
The most recent update is from the end of September: Aino Suominen would like to go home with her son before the first snowfall. When Olli sees it he rubs his temples and wonders anxiously if she might know about the deadline the Blomrooses have set for him, or whether the post was written by her captors, as a reminder to him. He writes in the comments: Aino Honey, I’m working as hard as I can so you can be home for the winter. You are in my thoughts. See you soon!
He feels like a coward, wants to add: P.S. Right now I’m living in the Wivi Lönn house with my lover and I want a divorce, but hey, there’ll be time to sign all the papers when you get back.
He remembers something he read in A Guide to the Cinematic Life:
A person who surrenders to cinematicness will inevitably experience shocks to reality from the change of perspective, and unfortunately those whose lot is to become less important in the scheme of things will be the casualties.
Greta’s profile is updated every day. Her prevailing mood is apparent in her posts:
Greta Kara and a lost summer reawakened (for a moment) under an umbrella in rainy Lounais Park.
Greta Kara with the summer of youth sleeping beside her. Once lost, long missed, newly found.
Greta Kara made love for breakfast. Now she’s combing the cornflakes out of her hair and secretly crying at all the beauty, because beauty fades.
Greta Kara wants to love! Ilsa’s lines: “Kiss me. Kiss me as if it were the last time.”
Greta Kara would like to be happy, but?… Oh, these awful premonitions…
Her most recent update was written a few hours earlier in the day. It says: Greta Kara would tell you a love story, but she doesn’t yet know the ending.
Olli writes a comment on the post: Here’s looking at you, kid. I’m coming back to bed. I’ll wake you up and kiss you and then we’ll write another erotic scene for your story…
When he walks up the perfect curve of the staircase, Greta is awake. She’s sitting on the edge of the bed, naked, examining her body as if she’s never seen it before.
Olli watches in wonder as she touches her breasts and thighs and arms. In the light of the garden lamps through the window she looks more ghost than human. As he touches the skin of her back, he feels the thin scars. The room is cool. Greta’s skin is cool as well.
Greta turns and looks at Olli as if she doesn’t know him, her eyes dark. Finally she breaks into a smile and whispers, “Olli… She’s asleep now, but I woke up and found myself here. I was just looking at her while I waited for you. She’s beautiful. I hope she pleases you. And this house. This is the one you wanted, isn’t it?”
There is a peculiar expression on her face as she pulls Olli’s pyjamas down, continuing to speak in such a low voice that he can just barely hear it. “She’s tired and worried, poor thing. Let’s not wake her. Let me do this now. I’ve waited so long. Don’t worry. I know how to do it.”
Olli doesn’t like this new game of hers. There’s something frightening about it, something repellent.
Then it occurs to him that it might not be a game. Greta doesn’t seem to be completely awake. She’s behaving like a sleepwalker.
But Olli doesn’t resist when she lays him down on the bed, touches his body everywhere, wondering at it like a child with a new toy, and finally takes him inside her with her face glowing in joyous surprise.
Since moving into the Wivi Lönn house with Greta, Olli hasn’t dreamt about the girl in the pear-print dress, or anything else. This seems natural to him—his life is like a dream now, so why would he have dreams?
Then, after making love to Greta in this strange state, he does have a dream that lingers troublingly in his mind.
In the dream, he wakes up to a humming sound and sits up in the bed at the Wivi Lönn house. Greta is sleeping beside him. He can see the dark autumn garden through the window. Everything is just as it is in reality, except that at the end of the bed there’s a spinning wheel, and the three umbrella vendors are sitting around it.
The large, dark woman from Jyväs-brella is naked. She’s sweating and milk is dripping from her breasts as she spins her wild, overgrown pubic hair into green yarn.
Maura with the golden hair is measuring out the yarn and checking its quality.
The woman from the Pukkala umbrella shop is smoking a cigarette, her hair in a bun, her face paler than before, her profile remarkably similar to that of the woman sleeping in the bed beside him. Olli is startled when the woman from the umbrella shop suddenly shoots him an icy stare and holds the glowing end of her cigarette near the green strand of yarn, which starts to smoulder.
Then the sleeping Greta stiffens, stops breathing and begins to go pale. The gold of her hair changes to the colour of hay after a frost.
Maura grabs the smoking woman’s hand and shakes her head. Not yet, she seems to say. The smoking woman gives in and leaves the yarn alone.
The colour returns to Greta’s face and hair and she sighs in her sleep.
The next day Greta is playing the piano again. A cold rain lashes the garden. No snow, at least not yet. Olli sits on the little sofa next to the piano reading Rossetti: Remember me when I am gone away, Gone far away into the silent land…
Then he puts the book aside, lights a cigarette, smokes for a while and asks: “What about today? Are you completely happy?”
Greta doesn’t answer. Her face tenses as she stretches for the notes.
“These hands,” she mutters.
“What about them?”
“The clumsy things don’t want to play Chopin today,” she says. “Maybe I should play ‘Chopsticks’. Dr Engel knew how to play it. I taught it to him. Although he knew it by the name Der Flohwalzer—the Flea’s Waltz.”
She’s trying to sound amused but when she stops playing and turns to look at Olli there’s panic in her eyes. “I think I’m sick. This has happened several times before. I just suddenly can’t control my own hands. I feel as if I’m falling into a deep, dark hole.”
Olli helps her to the sofa.
“Maybe it’s the flu,” Olli says, surprised at how unconcerned and sensible he manages to sound.
“Yeah,” Greta sighs. “Maybe I’m just coming down with something. Take me in your arms. Hold me tight. I feel cold and dizzy. Don’t let me fall. Please don’t let go.”
A cold sweat breaks out on her forehead. It’s clear that she’s about to faint.
“Wait a moment,” Olli says, laying her down on the sofa. “I’m going to call a taxi and get you to a doctor. Or maybe we should go straight to the hospital.”