In winter, however, his demeanour and appearance changed. He had learnt to lose. His collar began to droop, his eyes goggled feverishly, he kept licking his lips in a tortured manner and twisting about in his chair. He no longer despised the liquor but drank it down like all the others. Often, after we had left the house, he did not want to seek out the cheap quarters where we had been in the habit of spending the night, or what was left of the night. Perhaps he felt that fleeing the town distanced him from his losses. So we sped through the moonlit landscape, ignoring the frost and the blizzard. I was chilled by the frost but a mysterious source of warmth had lit up inside me. Although I did not yet know about the future, although I had no inkling of it, I was close to bursting into a song as I held the reins in my numb hands. I felt much more than mere joy at his misfortune. I felt as if I had died and were about to be brought back to life.
He did not always lose. Sometimes he won and paid his debts in order to have the opportunity to lose again. I noticed his increasing restlessness in between the trips to town. The house with its outbuildings, the surrounding forests and fields, were no longer enough for him. He was constantly on the move, stamping hither and thither aimlessly. His face was etched with premature lines, and his eyes stared hard, as if out of the mouths of caves.
Winter turned into spring and we were given the war. Erik gambled, lost, won, lost again. The lilacs began to blossom once more. I did not know I would shortly enlist in the army when we made one more journey to town and the luxurious white-painted house that had become Erik’s private Sodom. I sat in the porch, as always, and this time I understood that it was not fate kicking Erik but human inventiveness. I saw through a chink in the doorway that the other gamblers – the master with his relaxed demeanour, two porky-faced burghers and a tall man with a permanent, ghastly grin – were giving each other signals. Both Erik and I should have realized a long time ago. They were rubbing their necks, scratching their noses, or tugging at their whiskers so frequently that you would have thought they were victims of an attack by a swarm of angry fleas. Tortured by his anxiety, Erik didn’t notice anything, and I lacked the courage or the will to burst into the drawing room and tell him.
As we were leaving, the master followed Erik to the steps. He did not address Erik with the same playful brotherliness he had adopted in the summer, and even into autumn. His voice took on a rough, earnest tone as he said, ‘I’ll give you a few weeks. After that, the matter will have to be arranged.’
‘There’s a war on,’ Erik said. His voice wheezed, as if it were being squeezed through a narrow tube. ‘It’s difficult to arrange anything.’
The master gave it some thought. ‘All right. Until the hostilities have ended. But not beyond that.’
So Erik was granted time by the Emperor and the King. Soon I understood that the war suited him. Of course, he did not really like war itself, but it kept him at a remove from the inevitable march of events that awaited him once battle ceased. After we had finally retreated into the miserable winter camp at Tornio, I realized that he did not miss home at all. He would rather lie around, hungry and cold, amid the stench of congealed blood and rotting flesh. When we received the order to depart, he walked the long journey virtually wordless, day after day only opening his mouth when forced to. Not until we were walking along the familiar village road did he come out with, ‘Might be worth your while starting to look for work.’
‘What for?’ I asked.
‘You just never know. Could be I’ll lose the house.’
At that moment, I was too tired to think about it. I put the matter to one side. I expect I would have done so even if I had known about the letter waiting for me at home.
Once I had read it, I sat in my room for a long while without moving. You could hear the emotional voices of the womenfolk, who were mobbing Erik in another room. Meanwhile, I stared at the unpapered wall with watery eyes and tried to digest the fact that I had been liberated. I had not even known that I had an uncle living in the New World, let alone one with a fortune to leave me. The news was almost too massive to absorb, but absorb it I did. Fortunately, I had also learnt patience, for I needed it now, along with resourcefulness. First I had to invent a pretext for travelling to the capital to arrange my affairs, and then another for going to Vaasa to speak to the Crown Bailiff. I needed to be long-suffering and cunning in persuading the Bailiff to carry out his official duties, but before that, I had to pay a visit to the manor house, a Gomorrah erected for Erik’s personal use but the Promised Land to me.
For once, I went there in broad daylight. It was still a handsome house by day, but a little smaller, more modest. And the proprietor, who received me in a smoking jacket, did not seem as overpowering as he had on the dark gambling nights. But he did not let me inside the house this time, instead scrutinizing me haughtily from the front door before asking, ‘What do you want? Your master must have sent you because he didn’t have the nerve to come himself.’
‘I don’t have a master,’ I said. ‘But if you’re referring to Erik, I’ve come to talk about him.’
He wrinkled his nose, with its wide nostrils. ‘Go ahead, then. But I haven’t got all day.’
‘Erik’s got these IOUs? And he’s pawned his house?’
His gaze sharpened. ‘It’s no secret as far as I’m concerned.’
‘Good. I was thinking I’d buy them.’
When I saw how fast greed can follow realization in a man’s eyes, I felt like slapping my thighs. ‘Buy? Buy what?’ he said.
‘The debts, I’d like to buy the debts.’
After which I was invited in and seated in the best chair in the drawing room. That was done, no doubt, to ensure that I did not keel over onto the floor after emptying all the chalices served by the master. The offerings of liquor did not make me like the man; on the contrary, I saw through him and thought I could never stoop as low as he had, by practising deceit behind a façade of respectability. I did, however, have to compromise that principle when the Crown Bailiff unexpectedly showed little inclination to cooperate.
What I have done is not strictly in the spirit of the catechism. Never mind. Tomorrow I will be moving into the big chamber upstairs, I will address the servants and begin to delve into the finances of the house. Then I will sit in the drawing room and chew steak, so that fat drips down my chin.
I will begin to live like a lord.
Mother saw him first. He was standing by the gate, staring. One night then the next. He was small, immobile, inscrutable. Mother said he would have to be chased away because he was bound to have impure intentions. I was tempted to reply that it was high time I got to know that side of life. I bit the words back, though, and then one day, when I came back from the shop, he was sitting inside and Mother had made real coffee for him. They were talking confidentially and laughing, and Mother’s cheeks were red like after sauna.
I did not think much of him. That beard made me sick. I knew I could get a much more imposing man if I wanted. I had not failed to notice how the shoemaker’s apprentice looked at me when I was out and about, and the tinker who moved here from the neighbouring village. But after Mother began talking about the biggest house in the village, and what it would be like to be the mistress there, something inside me melted. I did not at first understand how such a tramp could become a master, but then I saw the money. A bundle of notes lay on the kitchen table and Mother’s lips trembled. Later, Mother said it was God’s gracious treasure. That I understood. We had not eaten pork fat for a long time since Father’s death.