CHAPTER 15 - AN INTERLUDE
They were married as soon as the formalities could be organised, leaving immediately on a honeymoon trip to the Lapland David had promised himself that he would see, a Lapland that wasn’t completely covered by snow.
The car rolled to a halt outside cabin number three. Two people got out, one opened the door to the cabin while the other began unpacking the car with fluid, practised movements. First a large washing basket full of food, then rolls of bedding followed by two small suitcases. Within minutes, the car was almost emptied and a delicious smell of freshly made coffee filled the air while the couple sat on the porch step deciding what they should eat. The family in the cabin opposite watched with undisguised curiosity and perhaps a tinge of admiration for such efficiency. Or perhaps their interest was due more to the fact that English registration plates were rarely seen in that area.
Just the same, curried chicken and rice is hardly conventional camping fare, and it is just possible that the frequent later glances given were in some way connected to hunger. The new arrivals lay in bed after eating and watched the sun dip towards the horizon, sinking with agonizing slowness beneath. A small herd of reindeer crossed the ridge opposite, their antlers gleaming gold in the reflected late evening light.
’I never knew you had been this far north, Laura,’ said the man. ’you always told me you liked guaranteed warmth on holiday.’
’I do,’ Laura replied. ’But it’s possible to find it in places few people ever dream about. Like here. See for yourself. Almost midnight, and the sun has only just set. Well, not too long ago, anyway.’
’Strange,’ said David wonderingly.
’Of course, it’s not guaranteed, but you will agree it’s pretty warm right now.’
’Warmer than I would ever have believed. I’m glad you suggested coming here,’ said David.
’As a matter of fact, I haven’t been quite as far north as this before. Never further than the middle of the country. I always promised myself I would come here on honeymoon, permission being granted of course. A woman has to think of somebody else when she’s married, you know,’
’So you’ve not been in the habit of taking married men away to Lapland, then?’
’Not before now,’ answered Laura. ’You’re the first. And, I might add, the only.’ She looked at him with a mischievous expression. ’I haven’t made a habit of taking unmarried men away, either.’
’I’m happy to hear it,’ said David. ’Though I guessed that already. I’m glad you waited. Well, it’s too light to sleep. Entertain me. I’m on holiday.’
’I could show you my mosquito bites if you like. There are some in very interesting places.’
’No thank you, I have plenty of my own,’ said the man with feeling. ’You’ve seen them already. What about telling me something about this part of the country. I don’t know it at all, though I like what I’ve seen so far. I didn’t come this far up when I took my winter holiday.’
’I like it too,’ said Laura, though she wasn’t looking at the landscape. ’Well, it’s much like the rest of Finland in a way, except there aren’t so many trees, at least there won’t be when we get further north still. And you know about that already, how it’s not really part of the Western world, yet not really at home in the East either, but manages to straddle both with only a minimum of discomfort. Somehow, it works. It’s had to work.’
’No politics, please. Tell me something about the language. I suppose I’ll have to make a real effort to learn that now. I’ve never seen anything like it. I still don’t understand a thing, apart from the odd restaurant foods and a polite greeting or two.’
Laura considered for a long moment. ’Finnish is an easy language,’ she laughed. ’It only took me a couple of years to learn it. Of course, it bears no resemblance to any other of the commonly known European languages, which makes it difficult for anybody else. I have been told that a young man in good health might even half learn it in half a lifetime if he was highly intelligent, had a gift for languages and was prepared to work extremely hard. Otherwise I can’t say I know too much about it, at least nothing I could explain to you.’
’What a pity. I really thought I had caught myself an intelligent, hard working young woman.’
’You did,’ said Laura. ’But maybe I’m not as young as you thought. Now that would make a difference. Anyway, Finnish isn’t the only language used here. We’re close enough to the Swedish border for Swedish to be used, and there are a sizeable number of people who speak one or other of the Lapp dialects.’
’My word, you are clever, Laura. How do you know all that?’
’I learned to read at an early age. Nothing to it, really. Mind you, it’s all the same how many languages are known here. Nobody ever actually speaks any of them.’
’There must be a reason for that,’ said David.
’I expect so. Shyness perhaps. Who knows? Only the Finns, and we’re not telling. It has been said, though not by a Finn, naturally, that we are the only people in the world who are silent in two languages. It might even be true.’
But Laura was talking to herself. Her husband was fast asleep, in spite of the lightness of the night, the mosquitoes and her fascinating stories.
The following day they moved on, stopping for refreshments at a roadside parking place, deep in a forested area, one of the many picnic sites, complete with tables and benches to be found throughout the country, and provided for the benefit of the long distance motorist. They had driven far and were ready for a break. They had seen little but trees for a long time and no other car for over an hour. It was one of those long, hot summer days so often dreamed about and so rarely found except in the faulty memories of the old. Driving was a pleasure under those circumstances, especially in conditions of light traffic, which gave plenty of time to look at the scenery. Probably there is no other scenery quite like it in the world, rolling, craggy hills, strewn with loose rocks and covered with scrubby trees in a bewildering variety of shades of green, now and then animals crossing the road in search of food, or simply to look for another place which might be freer from mosquitoes than the one they had just left.
Immediately opposite to where they had parked was a bus stop, apparently not much used. A small crowd was gathered.
’A crowd?’ said David in amazement. ’You can’t call so few people a crowd. I mean, your own town is hardly busy, but this...’
’I doubt if many more people live here,’ said Laura, amused. ’It’s pretty sparsely populated.’
There were only two people, as it happened, but as Laura pointed out, only two are required to make a crowd, at least in that area. One was a middle aged woman somewhat past her better years and wearing an expression of stolid patience couple with infinite toil. It was possible to see in her bearing that life in the far north was never easy. She carried a basket made of birch bark, a traditional type seen everywhere in the country, and it wasn’t difficult to guess that she was on a shopping trip to the nearest town, some twenty miles away.
The other was an elderly man who, seeing a strange car with a foreign registration, crossed the road and addressed David. He looked helplessly, first at the man, then at a laughing Laura. The accent was unfamiliar to her, and he spoke in a strong dialect, but by listening carefully she could understand what the old man was saying. Luckily he was talking extremely slowly, in tune with the pace of life in that area.
’Are you from Sweden?’ he asked.
’My husband is from England,’ Laura replied, not giving too much away.
A pause.
’It’s usually the Swedes who come this far. I thought the car was a bit small to be one of their’s.’
There was little doubt about that, as the car in question was one of the smaller products of the British motor industry, into which the average Swede could scarcely fit without being in the need of some prosthetic aid when leaving, though very suitable for the much smaller English bodies. David had left the Bentley in England, rightly thinking that a smaller car would be handier where they were going.
A long drawn out silence followed. The man was clearly intent on staying longer as his grip on the top of the open car door indicated, and equally intent on holding further conversation, just as soon as he could think of something to say.
At length, he spoke. ’Going far?’
’Hopefully to North Cape if we have time. We are just touring around with nothing special planned.’
Not unreasonably, Laura thought the fact that she was on honeymoon concerned nobody but herself and her husband.
’I haven’t been there. My own home is good enough for me. In fact, I haven’t been out of the area in the whole of my life.’
He didn’t seem especially proud of it, but stated it as a simple fact.
’You speak pretty good Finnish,’ he said.
’Well, I am a Finn,’ Laura replied. ’My husband doesn’t know any.’
’Ah yes. I thought he was a bit quiet. I suppose it’s not easy for a foreigner to learn.’
Another long silence ensued. It might have been uncomfortable under other, so-called civilised circumstances, but the old man was in no hurry, and it didn’t seem to matter whether he held a conversation or not. The North Cape, David thought, had been there a long time, and it would still be there when they arrived. They were in no hurry either. Nobody seemed to be in a hurry in this part of the world, and somehow it seemed just the right attitude to adopt. The old man rocked back and forth on his heels by the side of the car, looking into the far distance with unfocussed eyes. What he could see, if anything, was a matter for some conjecture. The young couple watched, fascinated, as the mosquitoes crawled around his hands, digging deep under the skin to draw his blood. He scarcely seemed to notice, brushing them off almost absent mindedly whenever he remembered. If that was me, David thought bitterly, I would be screaming. Those dratted mosquitoes obviously have a liking for English blood, and they’re not slow to let me know.
Laura prodded him gently. ’And you? Are you waiting for the bus?’
’Yes.’
You’ll be going to town?’
’No.’
’You’re meeting someone perhaps?’
’No. There’s only my sister, but she never comes here. It’s too far for her now.’
’So you are just waiting for the bus?’
’Yes.’
It seemed as though the mention of the bus had reminded him of just why he was waiting there, and he began to explain. At length. In detail. In full flow, even putting in the few English words he knew here and there. There weren’t many, but it was an indication that he recognised the need of a foreigner to take part in a conversation through the medium of his own language if at all possible. It was like witnessing the bursting of a dam. Clearly, they had met someone who may not have been too accustomed to lengthy conversation, but when the opportunity arose, was certainly willing and able to take advantage of a couple of ready listeners.
’I’m waiting for a brush head. The old one got worn out last week when I was cleaning around the sauna. Well, I’d had it for some years, and it had been left outside last winter, although I normally take it inside at the end of autumn, so it’s not surprising the bristles should start to fall out. It should be on this bus. I thought it may have come yesterday, but the bus driver said he hadn’t seen it then. Of course I could have gone into town myself, but it’s such a bother at my age. It means getting dressed up and it hardly seems worth it just for a brush head. It’s much simpler just to order what you want and let the bus bring it.’
His objection to getting dressed up was fairly obvious as he seemed to have clothed himself that morning in whatever came most readily to hand. He wore a strange mixture of fairly suitable summer clothing coupled with heavy, fur lined boots and a quilted winter hat. It didn’t seem likely that he was suffering from the cold as the thing covering his upper body was a thin shirt, and that was open to halfway down his chest. Besides, the temperature was somewhere in the upper twenties centigrade, and was really far too warm for comfort, even in the shade. His trouser zip was open, but was possibly due more to absent mindedness rather than the need to have some cooling ventilation. He continued, with hardly a pause for breath.
’They tell me you can get the bristles in different colours nowadays, red, green, orange. I don’t know that I care so much for that. I mean, what’s wrong with the traditional kind? I don’t suppose a red brush, or a green one gets the place any cleaner. It’s all hard work, just the same. The glue isn’t as strong as it used to be, you know, and the bristles fall out quite quickly.’
Mention of how things used to be brought on a strong attack of nostalgia. After listening to transport problems of the past, war experiences, various minor ailments of advancing age, how the new road had brought mixed blessings to the community, it was a relief to his listeners to see the long awaited bus appear. The old man crossed the road, entered the bus, spoke to the driver at some length, then reappeared, carrying his brush head along the path to his home, where presumably he would finish the long delayed job of cleaning around the area of the sauna.
’You told me that Finns were silent in two languages.’ David faced the girl with a look of make believe exasperation on his face. ’If that’s being quiet, I wouldn’t like to meet anyone who was really chatty.’
’Did you notice the bristles on his brush?’ asked Laura.
’Yes, they were bright green. What a horrible colour.’
’I hope they’ll be as efficient as the traditional type,’ said Laura. ’But from what he said, I doubt it.’
It had been a pleasant and memorable interlude, but all too soon it was time to return to another reality, to make plans for the future, keeping in mind the precious memories of a time when only the present was of importance.