Pasi Jääskeläinen - Secret Passages in a Hillside Town

As they drove off, Olli realized he was holding not only the manuscript but also the book of poetry.

In addition to the umbrella and the manuscript, Olli had his camera with him. The book needed illustrations. He thought he might handle it himself and take at least some preliminary pictures. He tried to capture the atmosphere of the places, but failed.

The camera seemed unable to record M-particle radiation.

In addition to roads and streets, cities have their own footpaths, and those in Jyväskylä should definitely be explored. The density of M-particles varies on different paths, and at different points on each path. Earlier I described the west bank of the Touru River with its nature trail, constructed in 1995, when the river valley, once considered dangerous, was tamed and made more audience-friendly. But there are also paths on the east bank of the river. One of them starts at the corner just before the bridge and ends near the fence around the paper mill.

In summer, when the leaves on the trees obscure the uncinematic aspects of the surroundings, this path offers a couple of forest views rich in atmosphere. The view of Jyväskylä is best at a precise point, and can diminish with just a couple of steps as something banal comes into view.

A deepening of the life experience can be found halfway along the path at a point surrounded by trees, looking down the steep bluff towards the river (see map). If you suffer from slow continuum attachment, I recommend looking for these sorts of charged places. The mental aesthetic disturbance of slow continuum attachment is discussed more thoroughly in A Guide to the Cinematic Life. It is a disorder that spoils life feeling and sensitivity to change and, if left unaddressed, can lead to complete numbness.

Farther on, the path passes through meadows buzzing with insects. At that point memories of childhood viewings of The Wizard of Oz and its fields of poppies may come to mind as the deep self charges itself with meaning fulness particles.

Along the path on the east bank of the river rises the steam chimney of the paper mill. It isn’t particularly romantic or pretty. But because the place combines natural and industrial elements in such a striking way, it has a certain dreamlike frisson, which I discuss in chapter 8.

It is also worth mentioning that there is an entrance to one of Jyväskylä’s numerous secret passages in the vicinity of the steam chimney. (More information in Appendix 3.) Entering the passages should be avoided due to danger of collapse or getting lost, as well as the high levels of M-particles.

After looking around for two hours Olli called his office and asked Maiju to check whether Greta Kara’s documents included an Appendix 3.

They didn’t.

Olli searched the woods around the steam chimney not knowing whether he thought he would really find anything or was just trying to identify with the experience of enthusiastic readers who might come to explore the area.

The place was strange to him and at the same time puzzlingly familiar. This was where the edge of the old neighbourhood of Tourula used to be, with its wooden houses and gardens. This was where he had spent his childhood summers with the Blomrooses and Karri. Somewhere nearby was where the old house had been, the one that looked out over the river, where he and Greta used to meet.

There was once an entire, living neighbourhood here. But the city preferred to let the old buildings of Tourula fall into decay, and then they were all torn down to make way for new ones.

As he walked along, Olli searched for signs of the vanished neighbourhood. The rifle-factory buildings on the other side of the road had been preserved. In the north-east section, the destruction was complete. The new Tourula wasn’t a neighbourhood. It was an undefined, characterless area, like so many others in Jyväskylä. In the old Tourula’s place a road had been built, a roundabout, asphalt, bus stops, shops, apartment houses, hamburger stands and extensions of the paper mill. All that was left of the old neighbourhood was a railing between the fenced-off nature park, the factory and the asphalted shopping area next to the road. There were also a couple of the old houses still hidden among the wooded meadows.

Olli looked up. Insects were gathering in swarms; it was going to rain soon. He walked along the path back to the bicycle trail, straightened his tie and opened his umbrella. Raindrops pattered on the taut fabric. A spike protruded from the edge of the umbrella. Olli touched it gingerly, like tending a wounded animal, and his face darkened.

He crossed the bridge. The Touru River ran muddy beneath it. The valley looked like it belonged on one of those travel posters: the trees reflected in the river, the delightful river road, the pleasing variety of elevation.

This view was mentioned in the guidebook. Its picturesqueness was unlike central Finland. It was easy to imagine he was in some foreign country, or even in a movie.

As he looked out over the landscape, Olli felt a longing that was difficult to define. It was the same feeling he had after a fascinating dream or a moving film. As if he had come close to something meaningful, but hadn’t quite reached it. No doubt Greta Kara’s meaningfulness particles were at this very moment whizzing through his brain and causing his restless feeling, Olli thought with amusement.

He walked down the wooden steps to the walking path, entering the landscape he had just seen from the bridge. In the winter wild ducks flocked near the bridge waiting to be fed. They were somewhere else now.

The road ran along the river, then rose up past the cemetery and arrived at the intersection with Puistokatu. The nature trail branched off the road and headed upstream.

Olli looked behind him. Someone was on the bridge looking down from where he had just been standing.

WHEN HE REACHED THE SCHOOL the rain stopped. Olli closed his umbrella. The fabric tore a little more. Then the metal parts of the contraption twisted and tangled together and the tensile strength essential to its umbrellaness vanished before his eyes. It looked more like the carcass of a mechanical bird.

Olli glumly dropped the dead umbrella in a litter bin at the hamburger stand and continued towards the nearest umbrella shop.

As he walked he pondered the Magical City Guide manuscript. They probably should cut the references to secret passages before it went to press. There was no point in confusing readers by bringing it up.

He did have a faint memory of the secret passage games the Tourula Five used to play, which must have put the idea of secret passages in Greta’s head. He and Karri and the Blomrooses had pretended to find entrances to secret passages in fittingly hidden spots around town and then spent days wandering in them. They had encouraged each other to invent everything a child’s imagination could think up and had been so caught up in their game that they saw and heard non-existent things. The secret passages had been enchanted and sometimes terrifying places.

The thought of the five of them excitedly rummaging through the bushes, ditches and hollows put a wry smile on Olli’s face. He had to admit that nothing he’d experienced in recent years, not even sex, had been as thrilling as the secret passages of his childhood.

He decided to discuss it with Greta as soon as he could log on to Facebook. He hadn’t asked for the author’s phone number, and she hadn’t offered it, since it was going so well on Facebook and email. That way they avoided those awkward moments that former lovers and childhood friends easily feel when they meet again and realize that they no longer see anything they recognize in each other.