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  Sort of Books gratefully acknowledges the financial assistance of FILI – Finnish Literature Exchange.

  Contents

  Title Page

  Acknowledgements

  PART ONE

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  PART TWO

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  PART THREE

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Copyright

  PART ONE

  Chapter One

  No one who’s seen the way a landscape changes when a boat appears can ever agree that any individual human life lacks meaning. The land and the bay are at peace. People gaze out across the water, rest their eyes, then look away. Things are what they are. In every breast there is a longing for something else, and everything we long for comes by boat. It’s enough that what comes is me, Anton, with the mail, for I might have anyone at all in the cabin. Expectation sweeps across heaven and earth when they first catch sight of me. The landscape is no longer quiet, there’s movement everywhere when the news goes round. Some are already running, shouting, “Here they come!”

  It’s the same with those who, ancient and invisible, exist beyond our range of vision. When a human being approaches, the air grows tighter, you feel how they crowd forward and want to know something about you, though you suspect that they no longer understand what it means to be human, that they are no longer human, that the shapes you sense no longer resemble us. All the same, you feel their insistent desire to find out who you are.

  Even though I have the throttle at full speed, we move slowly. Restlessness everywhere, as I can see from the way people move. I know they’re waiting and trying to stand still while they do, and I come as I come, steady ahead, cut the engine when I should and glide in towards the dock. Kalle stands there with the hawser, his foot out just in case he has to fend us off, but as usual I barely graze the edge, and so we land. The passengers have left the cabin, people call out and talk from boat to land, and the world looks very different than it did when we were out in the bay by ourselves and the people ashore were unaware.

  Today, for a change, I am landing at the church dock, because we have the new priest aboard. Which is why they’ve been watching for us a little more keenly and why they came running as soon as we were spotted in the bay. It’s the verger who kept watch and the organist who saw to it that the boats they and the others came in were all pulled up on the rocks so that we could reach the dock. There is warm smoke rising from the parsonage chimneys, for the women have made fires and have food on the stove. The wind is perfectly calm at this hour of the morning, in coldest May, but oh how glances and thoughts fly through the air. What’s he like? How will it go? But no doubts are visible, for they must receive him heartily and without fear, as if getting used to a new pastor was the easiest thing in the world.

  The priest has stood out on deck for quite a while, though his wife has tried several times to pull him in and told him he’ll catch cold. But he stays outside, and when he sees his church climb the hill, signalling to him with its red roof, he grows solemn but wears a broad smile, and when we finally pull into the cove he looks so happy that everyone decides it will all go well. He waves from a long way out, and they wave back and shout “Welcome!” He shouts, “Thank you!” and “Here we are!” and “You good people, you’ve had to get up in the middle of the night to welcome us!”

  He has been here once before, so he knows the organist and the verger and Adele Bergman, who is on the vestry and is mightily supportive of the church and the priest. But it’s different now that he is the acting pastor and is going to settle down here with his wife and child. He’s made a good first impression. But when he’s about to step ashore, the boat glides out a bit as if the sea wanted to take him back, and a cold breeze draws across the bay. What that might mean I don’t know.

  Adele Bergman knows very well that guests out here are always easy to please. If they’re coming from Åbo, they’ve been travelling for at least twelve hours, not counting the time it took them to get to Åbo in the first place. They’ve been thrown about in all sorts of weather and covered with spray. And when they finally stagger ashore, they have sand in their eyes and cold, damp clothing twined about their bodies. They’re hungry but seasick, shivering but sweaty. They snap at each other and wish they’d never come.

  This is the basis of the widespread reputation for hospitality that the Örland Islands enjoy. Human beings are put together in such a way that it takes them only half a day to grow hungry, bored, and tired, so when they finally get a roof over their heads and are presented with a hot stove and warm food, they truly believe they have been snatched from the brink and cannot adequately thank those who have taken them in. Of course the people of the Örlands have been showered with gratitude many times over, but the feeling is always sweet, and they have enjoyed firing up the kitchen range and tiled stoves even though it shortened their night.

  They stand there looking pleased—Adele Bergman and her Elis, the organist, the verger and the verger’s Signe—for rarely are people so much appreciated for such a relatively modest effort. It is always a pleasure to observe new arrivals, and now, moreover, these five people constitute an official ecclesiastical reception committee with every reason to stand on the dock and inspect the newcomers and take them under their wing and guide them up to the parsonage.

  And guide them into the parish, because it might not be such a bad idea to give the pastor a hint or two about certain tensions within the congregation. This fellow is young, and his wife is even younger, and for the sake of his future success, one can hope that they’re smart enough to learn from others.

  The priest is happy. For young people, the trip feels endless because they can’t move and there’s so little to do, and now he’s happy because he’s arrived and can go ashore and shake hands and see to the baggage and shake hands with the mail carrier and thank him for landing at the church dock with all their things. But he’s happy in another way as well, because it’s in his nature, and because there’s a fire burning in his breast, fed by everything he wants to experience and accomplish in his life.

  How nice it would be, Adele Bergman often thinks, in her heart of hearts, to have a Catholic priest who would come by himself and belong more to us alone. In our Lutheran church there has to be a wife and children and furniture tying him down and making demands on his time. People almost think there’s something wrong with a priest who doesn’t have all that, and so the wife gets terrifically friendly looks from everyone as she steps ashore and sets down a child so small it’s a wonder it can stand on its own two feet. It’s a girl, in a cap and coat slit up the back. “A real little parsonage lassie,” says the organist, who is gallant and loves children and who greets her personally. “Welcome to the Örlands,” he says, and the child doesn’t start crying but gravely returns his gaze.

  The pastor’s wife is small and quick. She doesn’t realize that the boat will stay at the dock until it’s been unloaded but glances angrily at the priest who stands there talking, with the
child on his arm, while she scurries about carrying ashore valises and boxes and rolls of bedding and asks what they intend to do about all the furniture lashed to the deck. “Petter, come here!” she finally shouts.

  The priest hands the child to Signe, as if he understood how she longs for children. He hurries over to the railing and the others follow. The skipper and Kalle are on their side of the railing, talking, and then they quickly heave ashore the large and the small sideboards and chests and tables and chairs, which now stand newly awakened on the dock.

  “Ready to move right in,” says the organist. “Sea view and high ceilings.”

  Two beds and a crib follow, then a kitchen table and benches and a dresser and a commode and two bicycles, and finally the household appears to be complete. The pastor’s wife counts and checks while the pastor dandles the child, who squirms in his arms and wants down. Adele looks into the cargo space and wonders how much merchandise the skipper has brought from Åbo for the Co-op, the islands’ only store. “Not so bad,” he assures her. “Things are starting to get back to normal, bit by bit.” Which in truth they all have a right to expect, a year and a half after the war.

  The skipper and Kalle will take the boat over to the Co-op’s dock to unload its goods before they can head home, and now they look at the pastor’s wife and wonder if they’ve got everything off. She thinks they have, and the skipper looks to the engine and Kalle loosens the moorings and the priest thanks them once again. The boat starts to leave, but on the dock they all stand around talking, though they ought to go inside where it’s warm and get something to eat. As usual, it’s all up to Adele. “Can’t you all see these people are done in?” she says. “Now let’s put the most important stuff in the cart and go up to the parsonage.”

  They amble through the morning dew up towards the big red parsonage, the air above the chimneys quivering with warm air from the tile stoves where the reception committee have built roaring fires. In the kitchen, there are saucepans and a teakettle dancing on the stove. The porridge is warm in its pot, and there is bread, buttered and waiting, covered, by the milk pitcher.

  Just as they should, they stop to catch their breath. “My goodness, such lovely warmth! And we thought we’d be coming to a cold, damp house and wondered where we’d find the key!” And, “Is it possible? Is this for us? My dear friends, you’re too good!”

  “Do sit down and help yourselves,” say the reception committee in various voices at practically the same moment, taking their own advice and sitting down. Adele has brought cups in a basket, along with enough ersatz coffee for everyone. Bread too, though the idea was that some should be left over for the pastor’s family.

  “Oh, oh, oh, so good,” they say. “What bread! And butter! Look, Sanna, Papa’s putting a pat of butter on your porridge. Now a big spoonful! Wasn’t that good? Now show us how you can drink milk from a cup. And what wonderful coffee! Hot enough to warm my toes. I don’t know how we can ever thank you or pay you back!”

  And much, much more. It’s lovely to hear, the kind of reward everyone deserves for a job well done. The reception committee sit and talk, though they know that the newcomers need to get themselves organized and get some rest. Such a long way they’ve come and how nice it is to be here at last and get such a warm, hearty welcome. Here they mean to stay, for they’ll never find a better place.

  The priest asks what villages they’re from and wants to know if these are distant. The organist, with whom he’ll work most closely, comes from farthest away, but he waves that aside—what does it matter when he has a boat? The pastor has only to call on the telephone and he’ll come. The verger lives close by and has only a narrow channel to row across to get to the church, so he’ll be glad to come and help out. As will Signe, who now thinks she’ll head for the barn and milk the cows.

  The pastor’s wife pricks up her ears, for she and Petter have taken over the former priest’s two cows. She brightens with interest and wonders if she can come along but then changes her mind when she stops to think of everything she has to deal with this morning. It will have to be this evening. “Signe, if you would be so kind as to do the milking today too, then maybe we can go together this evening. Starting tomorrow, I’ll take over.”

  They look at her. Pastors’ wives don’t usually enter the cow barn, but this one says she comes from a farm and has a special interest in animal husbandry. “So it will be a lot of fun to have my own cows, even though there are only two of them,” she says, and the priest looks at her proudly. “She’s good at all sorts of things, my Mona,” he says. “We’ve certainly come to the right place, because we’re going to like all the farm work, in addition to the church work, I mean.”

  He turns again to the organist, who is chairman of the vestry, and smiles and says they’re going to have a lot to discuss. He hopes it won’t intrude too much on his time if he suggests that they get together informally this week and go over the parish routines, and the organist readily agrees. Adele can see that he likes this priest already, likes him even more than expected. He would have been equally obliging, though somewhat more guarded, towards a priest he liked less, but now he’s looking forward to adopting the new man and supporting him. As he’s done with a number of people he’s close to, whether or not it served him well. As he did with Adele, although, to her quiet sorrow, he was already married when she came to the Örlands.

  The priest’s wife says she thinks she’ll send Petter to the store this very day, when he’s rested a little, and so he is given directions. He can put his bicycle in the skiff and row across the little inlet, and from there it’s only five kilometres to the store. “It’s nice you’ve got roots in Åland,” says Adele. “It’s been a great source of amusement to watch some of the priests from the city try to row a boat.”

  Petter laughs heartily and says how fortunate he is to have already made the acquaintance of the Co-op’s manager, who looks like she might become a friend in need. Adele tells him he’ll be very welcome at the store, and she’ll look forward to his visit. He sits there at the table as if he had all the time in the world, but his wife has grown restless and gets up with her wilting daughter in her arms and looks for a place to put the child down. We ought to get our things into the house, she thinks, and get the essentials in place as quickly as we can.

  Adele watches her restrain her irritation at them for not having the good sense to go home, filled to bursting as she is with all the things she wants to do, and she notices quite unexpectedly that she likes the pastor’s wife too, and quite a lot. Because they’re both cut from the same cloth, industrious types, called to step in if anything is going to get done. They look at each other and smile. Mona has also taken the measure of Adele Bergman. Adele stands up and says, “All right, my friends, I think we should let the pastor and his wife put their house in order! Thank you so much. And, once again, welcome to the parish. The men can carry up your furniture from the dock, and then we’ll say thank you for today and hope to see you soon again.”

  People in the villages like to say that Adele is bossy, but for many it’s a relief that someone takes charge. The organist and the verger and Elis deliver their thank-yous and head happily for the dock, and Petter runs after them and says for heaven’s sake he can help to carry his own belongings. Four men take care of it all in no time, and soon enough everything is assembled in the parsonage parlour.

  Goodbye and thank you and thanks again. The verger and Signe head off to the cow barn and Adele and the organist and Elis walk down to the church dock, happy as children, true friends of the church. Light at heart, for this has gone well.

  Chapter Two

  IT IS PLEASING TO IMAGINE that the young priest and his wife turn to each other and embrace, now that they’re alone and about to begin a new life in their own parsonage. But it is hardly certain. There is much to do in a life, and unless they get a move on they won’t have time for more than a fraction of it all.

  There will be little rest, for where will they f
ind the time? To begin with, Sanna, who’s fallen asleep on the floor in her good coat, must be put to bed, but first the bedclothes must be unrolled, and the child’s mattress and blankets must be warmed against the tile stove before the crib can be made up and the child tucked in. And as long as they’re at it, they might just as well carry in the other beds and unroll the bedclothes and get that out of the way. And now that everything is so inviting, why not take a little nap themselves, since it’s only eight o’clock and they have the whole day ahead of them? It is the priest’s wife who makes this wise suggestion, considering they’ve been travelling day after day and have had far too little sleep. But the priest is wound up and says he’s too restless, there’s so much to see and do.

  “We’ll get plenty of sleep in the grave,” he says brightly, but a laughing voice replies, “That’s no way for a priest to talk!”

  It’s Brage Söderberg, from the Coast Guard, who in keeping with local custom has walked right in, especially since the door stood open. He has promptly demonstrated the proposition that Mona Kummel will repeat bitterly and triumphantly again and again in the years to come. “If you even think of lying down for half a second, for once in your life, for the first time in months, someone will walk in.”

  He has undeniably walked in, smiling benignly, radiating a geniality and good humour that both Petter and his wife find indescribably captivating. Unembarrassed, he stands there in the midst of the crates and boxes, grinning. Also in keeping with local custom, Brage Söderberg has not introduced himself. They get his name later from the verger. He greets both of them heartily and welcomes them to the Örlands and says he has the Coast Guard cutter at the church dock and if they’re thinking of going to the Co-op for all the stuff they surely must need, then it would be no trouble to take them because he’s headed there himself to take on fuel.