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 facade 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.
Then he was allowed into my room. They say you can do that once matters have been settled. Mother gave me some scent and told me to rinse under my arms and wash down below in the tub. He began stripping off his trousers with his back towards me, and I clenched my teeth and prepared myself for the pain. I hardly felt a thing. Come morning, after he had gone, Mother rushed to my bedside and began wailing. She asked if it had hurt badly. I said I had felt a bit of a tickle. Mother laughed, clacking her teeth. I could see her cavities shining.
Then he took me to town and bought me fripperies and I was like a lady. I did not care for the gentlewoman’s corset; it was suffocating, and I found it hard to undo at the back. But otherwise I liked it in town, where everything was fine and men stared at me like I was a really good heifer and where there was a place where you could sit daintily and eat lovely cream cakes. I asked him if we could not live in town instead. He said that with his money, we could run both the big house and another in town. And when he promised that I could eat cakes until I grew fat, I saw that I loved him ardently.
Then he began to coax me into it. At first I simply listened, not speaking, and he grew agitated and began harping on about it. I put him out of his misery, telling him there was no need to go on about something so simple. I promised that if I got the cakes and the houses, I would be prepared to be tickled by as many as ten men. We had done it several times by then and I had begun to like it. A roll in the hay is not bad as long as the man smells good.
So he took me to the house. There were other women there, all being ordered around by a madam with her face powdered white. And then the Bailiff arrived and I went upstairs with him. We frolicked a little and that was the end of it. Mauri was very pleased with me.
Then he sent Mother to talk to the Old Mistress of this house. I was to become a maid. It was not such a great sacrifice, I thought, especially since I knew it was temporary. Mauri told Mother what to say to the Old Mistress, and Mother did well because the old lady wanted to see me. The Old Mistress questioned and examined me; in the end I thought she would even check my teeth. I had the wits to lie and make out I could not bake. Kneading dough makes me think of men’s buttocks and then I grow damp.
I was supposed to listen to what they were all saying. I heard nothing special. At night I have had to creep into Mauri’s chamber except when it was that time of the month and I was left in peace for a change. And now I only need to sleep one night and I will be the Mistress. I just hope that Henrik will not let slip what we got up to in the stable not so long ago, before he heads off. Although I doubt Mauri would be cross. He does not really want me, at least not wholeheartedly and all the time. Sometimes, while toiling away with his back all covered in sweat, he forgets my name and calls me Anna.
I leave the drawing room and go into Father’s small study. This is where he used to sit, waiting for death: patient, modest and silent, his dry mouth working thoughtfully. Everything is as it was, nothing has been removed. Dust has been allowed to amass since his burial. There are fingerprints at the edge of the writing desk. Some of them are old, themselves dusted over, other are clearly fresh. They could have been left by anyone, but they make me recall Father’s gnarled hands.
I can now admit it to myself: I was afraid of those hands. Needlessly – he would not have broken a child’s nail.
The drawers are locked. I could easily force them open but that’s no longer necessary. This house is lost. How did the rat do it? I may yet be roused to kill him, but that does not prevent me from conceding his merits. One has to respect a man who first leads a sweet life in a nest belonging to others, a lavishly fed cuckoo chick, and then, at an opportune moment, proves to be the lawful owner not just of the nest but of the whole tree. If I do ever shove a knife into his kidneys, I will at least take my hat off to him beforehand.
Dusk sticks to the window. I was going to wait until night-time to leave, but it makes no difference now. I should go ahead with my plan, forget this place, shake it off. I just wanted to see this little corner once more. I do not know why. Perhaps I thought I would find the familiar smell of boot grease here. But I smell only dereliction and oblivion.
I hear sounds from the kitchen. There is no one in the yard. Although it is not completely dark yet, the oil lamps have been lit indoors. I go outside. To be on the safe side, I walk in the direction of the river. I climb down the bank, trampling the dry, rustling snow, and turn into the forest. I leave footprints but it cannot be helped. The wind has dropped and an overpowering silence comes out from the pines to thunder overhead. I begin hoping for some sound or other to break it – axe strokes, the scrabbling of wood grouse, even the howling of wolves. The sky has withdrawn behind a colourless cloud and the snow is vanishing among trees that match its grey hue. The forest is not as it used to be, the years have reshaped it, I have to find my way by following my instinct. I take care not to stumble on invisible roots. I begin panting, I feel the rush of blood in my ears. Am I afraid? No, but I do not wish to think about it, I just want to do it. The deed has been waiting for me patiently and I am hastening towards it. I will settle the old debt in my way and afterwards I will be far away.
I reach the edge of the field. A light glows in Jansson’s windows, piercing the thickening twilight. I am close, my blood has calmed, my lungs are fresh. I crouch as I creep across the field. I feel the frozen plough marks of
