‘This is all I can do,’ she whispers.
Juhani grabs Marja’s shoulder and tries to lever himself up without success. He manages to grunt something incomprehensible before collapsing on to his back. Marja lifts Juhani’s hand off her shoulder and places it on her husband’s chest. She presses her lips to Juhani’s forehead and then, unexpectedly, to his lips, lets them linger, breathes in unison with her husband for the last time.
Outside, Marja wonders why they did not burn the skis, given the lack of firewood, but she is grateful they did not. A light wind rises and sweeps snow on to the grey logs of the house walls. The snow drifts slowly over the threshold, as if seeking something to eat inside. Clouds move past the sun but do not stop to conceal it.
Juho hangs on to his mother’s back, Mataleena steps on to the ends of the skis. The poles are a little taller than Marja. The door is wide open, gaping like Juhani’s mouth. Marja forbids Mataleena from going back and closing it.
‘It’s more merciful that way.’
A strong wind sweeps along Willow Ditch.
Ledges of snow have softened the steep banks of the brook. The willows are virtually buried under drifts; only a few dark twigs push out from under the suffocating blanket of white. Marja skis cautiously down the bank.
At the bottom, Mataleena stumbles and falls on her face into the snow. She struggles to get up but keels over on to her back. Marja does not dare bend to lift the girl up because she is afraid of Juho falling. The boy dangles limply on his mother’s back, arms wound round her neck. Marja stretches out a ski pole to Mataleena for the girl to use as support.
The child is shattered. If it were anyone else — Juhani, say — you would better off hitting them with the pole on the forehead in an act of mercy, Marja thinks. Mataleena gets to her feet and staggers back on to the ends of the skis.
‘Another one spared. Only to suffer more pain.’ The words escape Marja’s mouth.
Mataleena presses herself against her mother’s back and for a moment the three of them stand in the blizzard on the icy ditch, unable to move. Marja feels like giving up and falling into the snow. Then she gathers her strength and forces herself to press on.
She thinks angrily of Juhani refusing to eat and giving everything he could lay his hands on to her and the children. It was stupid: the man should have looked after himself so that he could take responsibility for his family. She and the children would have stayed alive on less, but now, without Juhani, they would not survive the winter in Korpela.
It was not generosity that motivated Juhani’s decision, but cowardice.
Soon after leaving the brook, they spot Lehtovaara. The Lehtos’ smallholding lies on the other side of this hill. From the top, they see, on the horizon, a church tower sticking out of the white landscape like a lone willow branch on the bank of the ditch.
A large barrel stands in the middle of the main room of Lehto’s cottage. The farmer sits at the table, hands clasped, and looks at the arrivals with suspicion.
‘So you had to leave Korpela to go begging?’
‘If we could just stay the night, we’ll carry on in the morning.’
‘How’s Juhani?’
‘He’s not.’
Lehto lowers his gaze to his hands. His eyes water, he looks out of the window, then at the fire blazing in the grate. His wife comes out of the bedroom and rushes to hug Marja. The children creep shyly towards the barrel.
‘It’s got tar in it, so illness doesn’t come in the house — tar keeps sickness at bay,’ Lehto says.
His wife starts taking off the children’s coats. On seeing Mataleena’s face, she lets out a cry.
‘Father in Heaven! I’ll make some gruel this minute.’
The farmer cautions against overeating; a hungry stomach cannot take it. Marja looks round the Lehtos’ main room. Everything looks clean and tidy compared to Korpela. The open fire radiates a warm, cosy light.
‘So the spirit has left Juhani?’
‘He lost his spirit a long time ago. He stayed behind, dying.’
‘You left him behind?’
‘He could no more leave than he could live. Should I have finished him off?’
‘They say corpses have been eaten in some places.’ The farmer’s wife joins in the conversation.
Lehto shoots her an angry glance. ‘Old wives’ tales.’
‘Father’s not going to be eaten, is he?’ Juho whispers.
‘Of course not. Father will go to Heaven.’
‘What if someone goes in and eats him?’
‘The old woman’s just telling scary stories,’ Lehto soothes Juho.
*
Soon after eating their gruel, Juho and Mataleena fall asleep on the bench. Lehto sits in the rocking chair, looking at the flames. Marja stares out of the window into the darkness. On the other side of the table, the farmer’s wife gazes at Marja.
‘These are lean times, you can hardly tell a potato from a blueberry,’ Lehto says.
‘Have you got a place to go to…? Relatives somewhere?’ his wife asks.
‘I’m just hoping to go somewhere with bread, if nothing else.’
‘Soon you’ll need to go as far as St Petersburg for that. And I don’t know if there’s any bread there either.’ The farmer sighs.
‘You could let us have one of the children to rear. Not that we’ve got that much bread ourselves, but we could add another one to our brood. The girl could be a big help,’ his wife suggests.
‘I won’t give up Mataleena,’ Marja blurts out, beginning to sob softly. ‘I don’t… don’t know how I… without Mataleena. Alone with Juho,’ she manages to say between hiccups.
‘Leave the boy,’ the farmer suggests.
‘Juho?’
‘Let’s think of Korpela as a place Juho can have later. Or, of course, you could come back. It’s not a given that you won’t…’
‘I don’t think we’ll ever come back to Korpela,’ Marja declares.
‘Sleep on it. We’d take good care of the boy,’ Lehto says.
The farmer’s wife says she is certain that Marja and the children will spend next Christmas together at Korpela. Marja senses from her exaggerated enthusiasm that the Lehtos do not believe they will survive their begging expedition. She bids goodnight to the couple, walks to the bench next to the door and lies down on her side. Outside, the gale howls like a hungry pack of wolves. Marja stares at the barrel of tar in the middle of the room; sleep rises out of it and swallows her up.
It is spring. Juhani has burned the tar off the skis, which he carries into the cottage in a barrel. He is asleep on the bench. Marja stands on the doorstep and watches the children picking flowers. Mataleena is wearing the black widow’s weeds of Lehto’s wife. Juho sports the same boots and cap as the farmer. Suddenly, Juho points at some swans, flying in the sky.
‘Look, it’s Father.’
It cannot be. Marja looks up and realizes that the first swan is indeed Juhani. She turns to look in the cottage. It is Juho lying on the bench, stretching his hand out towards his mother. Both of Juho’s eyes are covered with cataracts. His face is ashen. Whirling snow rises from the barrel.
Marja turns to look outside. The leaves have vanished from the trees, the grass is withering. Mataleena stands alone in the middle of the yard, speaking in Juho’s voice. Marja tries to rush into the cottage to rescue Juho, but the distance to the door keeps growing and growing. Marja senses winter pounding out of the dark forest towards the cabin. It is no longer far away.
Marja tries to shout but no sound comes out. A gale blows out of her mouth, covering the windows with frost. Suddenly, the door begins screaming. First there is shrill, animal terror, then shouting in Mataleena’s voice:
‘Mother, mother…!’