James Thompson - Lucifer's tears

“I’m sorry, Kari,” Mary says. “I wanted to be polite and I tried, but I can’t make myself eat animal organs. I keep thinking about their functions.”

“Me too,” John says. “I did okay with the liver the other night, but I have to draw the line at kidneys. Especially after you told the story about drinking reindeer piss.”

Fair enough. They’re entitled to their likes and dislikes. I clear the table, bring vanilla ice cream with cloudberry jam for dessert. Hannu and Martti are excited. They’re good kids, have sat quiet while the grown-ups spoke in a language they don’t understand.

Jari says, “Kate, did you get the aitiyspakkaus…” he looks at me.

I translate. “Maternity package.”

He finishes the question. “Did you get the maternity package from the government?” For John’s and Mary’s benefit, he explains: “Every mother in Finland has the option of either taking the maternity package from the government or four hundred euros to buy things for the baby herself.”

Kate beams. “I did and it’s wonderful. Such a great tradition. Kari, would you get the box? I want to show it to John and Mary.”

I fetch it from the closet, lay it on the table and open it. John, Mary and Kate stand and rifle through the box. Kate shows off a nice selection of pretty much everything you need to embark on parenthood. A snowsuit and sleeping bag. Hats, mittens and socks. Bodysuits and rompers. Leggings and overalls. A mattress and sheets. Bibs and diapers. A picture book and rattle. Nail scissors. Hairbrush. Toothbrush. Bath thermometer. Cream. If we had to buy all this stuff, it would cost a hell of a lot of money.

“Look,” Kate says. “There’s even condoms and lubricant for Mom and Dad. And the neatest part is that the box itself is designed to be used as a crib.”

“You would keep your infant in a cardboard box?” Mary asks.

“Actually,” Kate says, “Kari and I thought it would be practical while you and John are here, because it doesn’t take up much space. We’ll get a proper crib after you leave.”

“I see. What are you going to name your baby?”

“We usually don’t choose a baby’s name until a few weeks after it’s born,” I say. “There’s no need before the christening.”

“You don’t name your children for weeks?” Mary asks.

“Sometimes.”

She rolls her eyes.

John rifles through the box. “This stuff is cool. They must go to a lot of work to choose different clothes for so many newborns.”

“No,” I say. “Everybody gets the same package. They change the clothing styles every year or three.”

“So every kid in Finland wears the same clothes for their first year?” he asks.

“I don’t think they much care what they wear.”

“That sounds like something Chairman Mao would have thought of,” John says.

Mary nods agreement.

“It was only a few decades ago,” I say, “that this nation was impoverished. This kind of help saved people a lot of hardship.”

Mary sits back down, spoons ice cream, looks thoughtful. “Speaking of poverty and history, do you know that after the war, the United States gave Finland a great deal of aid under the Marshall Plan? I find it odd that Finland accepted U.S. aid but kept such close ties with the Soviet Union, our enemy.”

Kate smacks the table with the flat of her hand. “Now, wait just a minute,” she says.

I know Kate and her temper. Mary embarrassed her in front of my family. She just reached her limit.

I make a last effort at conciliation. “Mary is right in part. Finland was forced to decline Marshall Plan aid to avoid confrontation with the Soviets. The USSR had its own economic aid plan, called Comecon. However, Finland wasn’t included in it. We would have gotten nothing, but the U.S. government sent aid in secret. Clothes. Food. It saved lives. As an example of how desperate we were and how much it helped, after the war, my father and his brother shared a pair of shoes. They had to take turns going to school every day. U.S. aid helped us recover from that kind of poverty.”

My attempt at appeasement fails. Kate looks irked because I veered her away from a burst of anger she deserved to vent. Mary looks vindicated. “Thank you, Kari,” she says.

Jari looks vexed. Taina stares down into her ice cream bowl. Her face goes red. The boys don’t understand but poke each other and giggle. They know something is up. My migraine starts to whisper to me. I can’t think straight, want to bang my head off the table.

Taina overreacts, points her spoon at Mary like a weapon. “You come here and pass judgment on us. You live in a country that has never been invaded by a foreign nation, have never had your people’s blood spilled on your own soil. You make it clear that you think I’m immoral. I take it you’ve never been faced with the decision of whether to terminate your child’s life or bring it into a world of pain and horror, yet you dare judge me.”

Mary remains calm. “The Bible is clear in its message. And if you may recall, our country was subjected to a vicious attack. That day of infamy is called 9/11.”

“Nine-eleven was a single goddamned event,” Taina says. “How dare you compare an event with the prolonged devastation of a nation by war. Three thousand people died in 9/11, and that’s a tragedy, but your country used it as an excuse to colonize Iraq, a sovereign nation, when it was really about oil and money. Your country caused hundreds of thousands of Iraqi deaths out of greed. Your country sent thousands of its own children to their deaths in Iraq for the sake of the almighty dollar.”

“My country is the standard-bearer for the world…” Mary says and stops, I guess for once uncertain what to say.

Taina cuts her off. “And more is the fucking pity.” She switches to Finnish, tells Jari and the boys they’re leaving. Now.

Jari pulls me aside, tells me that Taina got so upset because the decision to terminate her pregnancy broke her heart. She never got over it, and Mary hurt her feelings. He tells me he’s sorry, that maybe we can get together again after John and Mary are gone. Within five minutes, they’re out the door.

Kate, John, Mary and I Sit in silence at the kitchen table. I can’t read Kate’s face. John is amused. His eyes dance. Mary glowers. The migraine booms.

John breaks the ice. “I think this calls for a drink.”

I tell him what he already knows. “The kossu is in the freezer.”

He brings the bottle and two glasses.

“Sure,” Mary says. “Start boozing. That’s what you two are good at.”

I pour us shots. We shoot them down, I pour us another round.

Kate says, “Kari, you don’t look well.”

Their voices reverberate like my head is in a steel drum. I’m afraid I’ll pass out again, as I did at Arvid’s. I need to take painkillers, but I don’t want to leave Kate alone to deal with this mess, even for a minute. “The headache,” I say. “I need to go to bed soon. Kate, will you come with me?”

Kate turns to Mary. “I’m proud of you and John. I wanted to show you off to Kari’s family. I had never met them before and wanted to make a good impression. You humiliated me. Why?”

“That wasn’t my intention,” Mary says. “You know my feelings about abortion, but I said nothing, even though I have a Christian duty to speak out.”

Kate glares at Mary and raises her voice. “You insulted nice people. You insinuated that Americans are somehow better than them.”

“I pointed out that America’s generosity helped make Finland what it is today. I see nothing wrong with that.” Mary points at me. “You let your family insult me and my country. That was wrong.”

Now it’s my fault. Un-fucking-believable. I consider how much shit I should eat to maintain good relations and keep the peace. I think about Kate and the stress this is causing her, and the possibility of losing our child. I would eat all the shit Mary can dish out, but Kate took a stand. I have to back her up.