‘I’m just trying to understand…’
‘She loves you.’
The road curves slightly uphill. The evening is dark and the sky is clear. A few stars are already visible. I walk faster and faster and make observations that, even as I register them, I know are only an attempt to distract myself from the matter at hand. As I turn onto the short, crescent-shaped road that leads to the right apartment block, I look at my surroundings and think that this really is a very well-chosen neighbourhood given its location, its proximity to the nature preservation area, the general quality of the housing – all built during the 1950s when functionality rather than fantasy was the main design principle – and the steadily rising market value of the properties.
Indeed, it’s a 1950s building I’m looking for, a very well-maintained one, beautifully situated on a slope giving marvellous views of the bay on the other side of the building, most likely with apartments ranging from one to three bedrooms with straightforward layouts that allow for maximum utility. Logical, sensible, beautiful…
And all of a sudden it’s as clear as the evening sky that I can’t distract myself any longer, not for a single moment. At the same time, it’s obvious that being logical and rational alone is no longer enough; now I will have to be something else too. What that something else might be, I don’t know exactly, but it feels as though I have to let go of something I’ve been holding on to, something I’ve been clinging to with frozen fingers.
I stop in a dimly lit doorway in eastern Helsinki and ring the downstairs doorbell. Sunday evening in the suburbs. The birds have flown south for the winter, there is no wind, and the hum of traffic is far away. I hear a voice in the intercom. A very young voice.
‘Who is it?’
‘My name is Henri Koskinen.’
There is a pause.
‘Who’s there?’ the young voice asks again.
‘Henri Koskinen,’ I repeat.
‘Why?’
‘Why is my name Henri Koskinen?’
‘What?’
I find myself at a loss. I’m about to ask who it is I’m negotiating with when the buzzer sounds and the door’s lock is released. I grab the handle and step inside. There is no lift, so I take the stairs to the fourth floor. The apartment door is open, and as I climb the final steps I see a small face disappear from view. That must be…
‘My daughter,’ says Laura Helanto. ‘Tuuli.’
Laura is standing in the hallway beneath a ceiling lamp that seems to set her wild hair on fire. Figuratively, of course. Tuuli is half hiding in the doorway to the right. I say hello and she disappears altogether.
‘Come in,’ says Laura.
I take a few steps and close the door behind me. I turn, and there we are, the two of us standing in Laura Helanto’s home. It is warm and cosily lit, and I catch the aroma of lasagne. I find myself thinking that this is what a home should feel and smell like. Laura stands looking at me, and it takes me a moment to realise that she seems to be waiting for me to say something.
‘I talked to Johanna today,’ I say. ‘She told me why you did it.’
Laura looks over her shoulder, then back at me. Light reflects from her glasses like a beam. But I’ve already understood the situation. I understood it long ago. With Tuuli still within earshot, I won’t say aloud that her mother did an excellent job on the bank-fraud front, that she managed to mislead both the police and myself, and to shelter me from further harm while I was involved in hiding a body, learning the ins and outs of hanging techniques, and otherwise dealing with a gallery of unscrupulous criminals with dangerously – and lethally – low levels of self-restraint. But that’s all water under the bridge. Now there is only one thing left to do.
‘And so,’ I continue, ‘I wanted to thank you.’
Laura seems unmoved, and I don’t know why it takes so long for her to speak.
‘You’re welcome,’ she says eventually.
‘That’s not all.’
‘No?’
‘No.’
We stand there for what seems like an eternity, the seconds feel longer than usual, until I manage to prise open the frozen fingers gripping me from the inside.
‘From the very first day we met, I’ve felt extremely uncomfortable in your presence,’ I begin. ‘It’s the best feeling I’ve ever experienced. I’ve concluded this is due to at least three separate factors. First, you are the smartest person I have ever met. You fooled me, and nobody has ever been able to fool me. Second, your art makes me feel things I’ve never felt before. I can’t explain it, and actually I don’t even want to explain it. Third, you make me forget about mathematics. Not all the time, of course, that wouldn’t benefit the business and would probably ruin the promising growth we’re experiencing. But you make me see things in a new light; you make me want to live my life differently. Or, at least, you make me want to try and live it with less of a focus on probability calculus. And now I’m starting to feel there was a fourth factor too, but as I said, you make me forget things, and I like that too.’
The words have come out very fast, and most of them are different from the ones I’d been planning to use. Just as surprisingly, I mean every single one of them. At first I think Laura is smiling, then I see a tear roll down her cheek. No. Yes. She is doing both – smiling and crying.
‘Henri, I can honestly say that nobody has ever said anything like that to me before.’
‘That’s not all,’ I say.
‘No?’
‘No.’
I step closer. Just then Tuuli comes out of hiding. She is short and looks very much like her mother.
‘You’re Henri Koskinen,’ she says.
‘And you’re Tuuli,’ I say.
This brings a smile to her face. I smile too. Then I look at Laura Helanto and remember that I still have two things to take care of. The first is something I’ve been waiting to do since my chat with Johanna.
‘I love you, Laura,’ I say.
And the second one…
‘I love you, Henr—’
I kiss her, she kisses me, we hold each other. And if I could speak, I would tell her what a perfect equation this makes.
SOURCES
The following works have helped and guided me in the process of writing this novel. One way or another, I have employed artistic freedom in interpreting the wisdom contained in these volumes. Thus, all possible mistakes and misunderstandings are solely my own responsibility. Just like the novel itself which, I should reveal right now, I have fabricated from beginning to end.
Gigerenzer, Gerd: Risk Savvy: How to Make Good Decisions (Penguin Books, 2014)
Holopainen, Martti: The Foundations of Mathematical Statistics (Otava, 1992)*
Laininen, Pertti: Probability and Its Statistical Application (Otatieto, 2001)*
Salomaa, J.E.: Arthur Schopenhauer. Life and Philosophy (WSOY, 1944)*
Schopenhauer, Arthur: A Pessimist’s Wisdom. Selected Essays from Schopenhauer’s Works (WSOY, 1944)*
Schopenhauer, Arthur: The Art of Being Right. 38 Ways to Win an Argument (1831)
Schopenhauer, Arthur: The World as Will and Representation (trans. R. B. Haldane & J. Kemp, 1844)
Taleb, Nassim Nicholas: Fooled by Randomness: The Hidden Role of Chance in Life and the Markets (Random House, 2001)
Taleb, Nassim Nicholas: The Black Swan: The Impact of the Highly Improbable (Random House, 2007)
Tilastokeskus: Finnish Statistical Yearbook 2017 (Tilastokeskus, 2017)*
* Only available in Finnish