Aki Ollikainen: White Hunger

The thief has attracted curious onlookers. Muffled laughter rings out from the crowd. Marja sees a young boy throwing horse shit at the thief. An icy turd hits the man’s cheek. Marja stumbles, as if her own cheek had been struck. But the thief feels nothing; he breathes only blood now.

‘Let that be a lesson to you. That’s what happens to thieves. Times like these, no one looks kindly on people who steal food. We’ve all got the same hunger. If beggars come, we give what we can, if we can,’ Gustafsson says. ‘Take note, don’t be tempted.’

Marja cannot see the man’s face; she is being addressed by a lifeless wolf fur. She cannot work out if the voice is friendly or hostile. She tries to force out a reply, so that the man will go on talking. It does her good to hear another person speak. When she has to exert herself and concentrate on listening, she momentarily forgets the cold and the hunger. No matter what the other person is saying, as long as he is addressing her. Then she remembers that there are other people in the world, and that people still talk to each other. And one day, maybe, there will be talk of things other than bread, the lack of it, or hunger and diseases.

People would talk about the coming of spring, the melting of the ice. About the swans someone spotted on the Holy Lake. About the neighbouring fields being flooded, and the floodwater taking Verneri Lenkola’s sledge, and Lenkola’s dog Musti sitting on the sledge like the captain of an ocean liner bound for distant shores. About Juhani taking Mataleena to the edge of the marsh to watch the cranes perform their spring dance.

‘We’re here. You can ask Hakmanni, the church warden, for a piece of bread, though he’s not likely to have any. But he will have water for you to drink. He lives over there; the almshouse is further down, towards the fields.’

Gustafsson lowers Juho to the ground and starts back in the direction of the river without saying goodbye. A young man emerges from the woodshed and comes over to Marja. He is holding firewood in his arms tightly, as if it were a child. He welcomes Marja and Juho in the name of the Lord. This is Hakmanni. He tries to smile, and a stupid, albeit gentle, expression crosses his face.

‘I have no bread, unfortunately, or maybe a small piece for the child. But you can stay the night in the outhouse. Or perhaps I can let you have my own… bread, I mean — I can’t have you in the main house. It’s forbidden, because of epidemics. But that’s just my house — you can go to the almshouse, naturally, as I just said. These logs, I’ll take them later. Or no: wait here, I will take the logs, we’ll find some bread afterwards. That way, there won’t be a fight. Because everyone should have some, but there isn’t enough.’

Half-running, Hakmanni makes for the almshouse. The logs seem ready to spill from his arms, and he has to contort himself so his gait becomes awkward.

The sky is the colour of a snake’s eye. The first star lights up and Marja feels the snake watching her and Juho. She looks back at the snake, eye to eye, but she cannot fool it.

At last, Hakmanni’s figure slowly comes into view on the snowy slope, bent and black. Marja hopes the man will banish the snake, but she realizes that Hakmanni is not up to it. The snake smiles.

Marja stands on the step. Hakmanni starts upon seeing her, wakes from his stupor and puts the key in the lock.

‘Is this where I left you, outside the door in the freezing cold? The vicar tells me to keep the door locked as a precaution. These days, there are all sorts of folk wandering about. I should have let you inside, where it’s warm. Although I don’t see what I’ve got that’s worth stealing. Bread, maybe, but then we must give to those in need, you can’t call it theft. You must be frozen stiff.’

Indoors, Marja sits down on the edge of the couch. Hakmanni shoves small pieces of wood into the stove. In the warmth, Juho falls asleep on his mother’s lap. Hakmanni wipes his hands on his coat-tails and disappears into another room. Marja lifts Juho on to the couch and goes to drink some water from a pot. Hakmanni returns with half a loaf and a crate not quite full of small potatoes, bitten black by frost.

‘I shouldn’t really give these to almshouse residents… Aren’t they small these days?’ Hakmanni lets out a mirthless laugh.

‘You can’t tell them apart from blueberries.’ Marja remembers the comparison.

‘They’re what I eat myself; there isn’t anything else, we’ve got to make do with what there is,’ Hakmanni mumbles apologetically.

‘That’s a lot — I can’t remember when I last saw a potato,’ Marja hastens to say.

Hakmanni sighs, as if with relief. He turns the crate this way and that, and watches the small, black marbles rolling from one side to the other.

‘They’re a little like these years. Black and modest… Though you can’t really call this time modest. It’s taking a heavy toll. Hardest hit are those who’ve already been given the least. The harvests are meagre; these are like the harvests these days, small and black…’

I’m glad he’s talking, at least, Marja thinks. Hakmanni’s words float in the small room like great snowflakes. They fall gently on Mataleena and Juhani, tenderly covering the memories of them, and Mataleena smiles under the veil of snow.

‘The child sleeps so blissfully. It’s a pity to wake him.’

The flakes vanish. Marja wakes up to the twilight of the room and looks at Hakmanni wonderingly. He has stopped moving the crate around and poured the potatoes into a small saucepan.

‘But he’s got be woken up to eat — I can’t let you take any food with you. Everyone is hungry in the outhouse, and hunger makes people desperate. I’ve seen bread taken from the mouth of a child,’ Hakmanni continues. He points at Juho, resting on the couch.

‘They killed a thief at the crossroads on the other side of the bridge,’ Marja tells him.

Juho chews a potato for a long time, until it dissolves and trickles out as saliva from the corners of his mouth. Hakmanni says nothing, merely stares at Juho, whose jaws continue their endless movement.

‘Well, I don’t know if he was dead, but he was as good as,’ Marja goes on.

‘We should try to understand,’ Hakmanni whispers finally. ‘Given there’s a shortage of food everywhere. People will chase a lump of meat like a pack of wolves and tear each other to pieces.’

‘It was a lump of meat he stole, in fact.’

The snake has disappeared. The stars shine, bright and dead, in the darkened sky. Marja walks, holding a lantern, along a path in the snow towards the almshouse. Hakmanni comes after her, carrying the sleeping Juho.

From inside the cabin, a heavy, smoky blast of air hits them. Marja discerns an oven made of blackened stones, and reddish firelight shimmering and rippling feebly towards the dirty floor, to withdraw again behind the stones after hitting the ragged people lying there. ‘God bless you,’ Hakmanni says, and shuts the door. Marja picks up Juho and seeks a vacant spot. She settles down on a bench under the window and lays Juho on the floor, as close to the oven as possible.

The small windowpanes are covered with soot on the inside and frost on the outside, but Marja sees the stars through them, still staring cruelly. Then bony fingers curl round her neck and tear her to the floor. A repugnant panting penetrates Marja’s hunger and exhaustion, terrifying her. She tries to shout, but cannot breathe. Finally, the hands let go of her throat, only to begin tearing at her clothes. The cold fingers grope her, seeking either bread concealed about her person, or flesh, wizened with hunger. Desperate, Marja tries to clutch at Juho’s sleeve, but the fingers squeeze her wrist and wrench her hand loose.