The most interesting cinematic kisses are always alive, and can contain the contextual contrasts of detachment and desire, faith and betrayal, love and hate, approach and separation. What could be more cinematic in feeling than a goodbye kiss, combining sensual joy and pleasure with the pain of renunciation?
(Kissing stills on following page: Robert Taylor and Vivien Leigh in Waterloo Bridge. Humphrey Bogart and Mary Astor in The Maltese Falcon. Errol Flynn and Olivia de Havilland in They Died with Their Boots On. Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman in Casablanca. Gary Cooper and Ingrid Bergman in For Whom the Bell Tolls. Nino Castelnuovo and Catherine Deneuve in The Umbrellas of Cherbourg. Gregory Peck and Jennifer Jones in Duel in the Sun. John Garfield and Lana Turner in The Postman Always Rings Twice. Heath Ledger and Jake Gyllenhaal in Brokeback Mountain.)
When they finish their kiss, Greta wipes the tears away, first from Olli’s face, then from her own, and smiles, and whispers, “Well, that certainly won’t kill me, now will it? And darling, I’m so glad that I still turn you on. And you do me, too. Now lie on top of me, Olli. Make love to me.”
Olli hesitates.
“I can’t.”
Greta scowls and slaps his face.
He yelps, rubs his cheek and looks at her in amazement.
“I’m sorry, darling, but don’t be an idiot. I don’t have time for it,” Greta pants, taking him in her limp arms. “It won’t hurt me. Can’t you see I’m still alive? I love you now more than I will when I’m dead. Take me now, so I can feel it… And hold me, hold me so tight that I scream… You see, there’s one thought that comforts me: that when I’m dead and cold and they come to take my body away, it will have your smell on it, and the traces of your love.”
52
AFTER THEY MAKE LOVE they are overcome with a weariness as big as the universe. Greta is falling asleep. Olli’s still awake.
At some point Greta lets go of his neck, turns and sighs. She is pale but calm. Her breath is fairly steady now, though shallow and quick. The marks of Olli’s teeth are distinct on her pale skin, just as she wanted. Olli, too, has deep, bloody scratches on his back and sides. I hope that at my funeral the marks of my fingernails will remind you of one thing: the most important part of our love story won’t be that I died, but that I lived, through you, and for you…
Greta smiles in her sleep. Olli smiles at the sleeping woman. For a little while everything is all right.
After a moment’s hesitation, he puts on his slippers and goes downstairs. He uses the toilet, drinks a glass of mineral water, eats a pear, sits down at the dining-room table and turns on the computer. He can spend a few minutes on Facebook while Greta gets some rest.
Aino’s profile has a new travel photo. Aino and the boy look straight into the camera, sunburnt and exhausted. Their eyes ask: Why can’t we come home?
The M-particles ease Olli’s guilt. They show him in a filmic light. Enthralled to the mission he’s been given by the kidnappers, Olli Suominen may be a selfish cinematic character, in some sense even a traitor, but it’s all for the sake of a larger-than-life love, and there’s nothing a cinematic person can do about a sequence of dramatic events once it’s set in motion. All’s fair in love and war.
Then he notices that he has a new Facebook alert:
Karri has confirmed you as a friend on Facebook.
A chill goes through him. His hands feel numb and he sits there for a moment. He goes to light a cigarette, takes a drag and goes back to the computer to look at Karri Kultanen’s profile.
The profile photo is a sculpture of a naked youth. Olli remembers seeing it in person when he was at the Louvre. It’s called Sleeping Hermaphroditus. It was sculpted by Bernini sometime in the 1600s, on a commission from a cardinal. The sculpted figure had a woman’s breasts and a penis. When Olli noticed this at the Louvre it gave him a start, which made the French publishers and the Swedish literary agent he was with burst into laughter.
Olli looks at Karri’s information, which doesn’t mention his birthday, gender or hometown. All that’s there is his favourite quote, which Olli recognizes. It’s from Ovid’s Metamorphoses:
Karri’s profile has a few status updates, though not many comments. But then he only has five Facebook friends: Olli, Aino and the Blomrooses. The most recent post is from a week ago, written at night:
Karri Kultanen just woke up and is trying not to wake the man beside him and his little nymph.
Underneath it says:
Anne Blomroos likes this.
The next most recent post is from more than a year earlier, in the spring:
Karri Kultanen took two jacks out of the game, but spared the blonde Queen of Spades.
Under that one it says:
Anne Blomroos and 2 others like this.
The two others are Riku and Leo Blomroos.
There’s also a comment from Anne:
I don’t think my dear brothers would mind my bringing them along on this little cinematic project of ours (which I think of as a romantic comedy, although it does perhaps have hints of black). It’ll make them look a little less small-minded than they really were, in at least one person’s eyes.
Olli’s cigarette has fallen on the table. He picks it up, brushes the ashes onto the floor and takes a long drag, trying to comprehend it all.
Now a little chat window with a tiny image of the sleeping Hermaphroditus and Karri Kultanen’s name opens up at the bottom of the screen; Olli is so frightened that he shouts a curse.
Of course, he’s aware that it’s possible to chat through Facebook. He’s just never had any reason to try it. Email is modern enough for him.
The message in the box says: Hello, friend.
Olli feels like screaming. And turning off the computer. But instead he writes: Karri?
Answer: Yes. We should talk.
Olli shakes his head. No, no, no, he really doesn’t want to talk; he doesn’t want to know anything about Karri. With trembling fingers, however, he writes: Where are you?
Then, answering his own question, he mutters aloud, “Where do you think, Sherlock?”