Read Online As White as Snow by Salla Simukka - Free Book Online

interviewees retreat into their shells.
    “Do we have an agreement now that you’ll come for the video interview?” Jiři asked. “Tomorrow?”
    The man didn’t reply immediately. He hesitated.
    Shit.
Jiři tried not to let his impatience show. If he applied too much pressure, he might lose everything. The man would bolt and never come back, leaving Jiři with no story at all.
    “Twelve o’clock, same place. From here, we’ll move to the studio, where no one but me will see the filming.”
    Jiři kept his voice matter-of-fact. He tried to sound reassuring. He wasn’t asking or suggesting, he was just stating what would happen. He saw how his words and voice calmed the man. The man nodded. Slowly, but still, he nodded. Jiři extended his hand. The man looked at it for a long time, but then he took it. Jiři had to suppress his impulse to flinch at the touch of the man’s rough, dry skin. They shook firmly, sealing their agreement.
    The man left first, as agreed. Jiři waited five minutes before following. When Jiři stepped out into the hot, bright sunshine, he felt as if he was in another world. He felt like doing a victory dance right there in the street, surrounded by all the cheerful people in their summer clothes. He had his interview. And Jiři was certain that this man had something real to tell.
    The woman dabbed the sweat from her brow with a tissue. The oppressive heat had been portending thunder for daysnow. The tabloid headlines screamed about a historic heat wave and drought, although in reality, the weather wasn’t especially out of the ordinary. Things were just slow on the news front. Usually it bothered her when things were too quiet, but not this time. A long silence would make the scream that broke it that much louder.
    The woman looked at the cloudless blue sky. She had just received a phone call asking for confirmation of her instructions. The woman had assured the caller that he had understood correctly. They had plenty of information for now. The source was no longer necessary.
    A hero story required danger and death.
    The woman looked at the ornate chess board she kept on her table, despite not actually playing the game. She stroked the head of a pawn with a finger and then knocked it over with a gentle push. Keeping the game moving in the right direction often required sacrificing pawns.
    Sunlight caressed the surface of the Vltava, making the river shimmer and shine. It was a beautiful day to die.
    A stooped man walked quickly down the street, glancing around and over his shoulder so methodically it seemed as if no one and nothing could ever sneak up on him. He was crossing a small side street when a gray car sped around the corner out of nowhere. He had time to see the car, but not to get out of its way.
    Many thoughts and feelings raced through his head at once. It felt unfair that this was happening right now, just ashe had finally found the courage to speak. He felt sorrow for everyone who would mourn for him.
    Afterward, eyewitnesses gave conflicting accounts. Some of them thought the car braked, some didn’t. In any case, it hit him in the ribs with such force that he arced several yards through the air before slamming down on the cobblestone street. The man’s skull slammed against the pavement and, within moments, a dark red pool of blood began forming under his head. The first Good Samaritan to reach him recognized that the man had died instantly.
    The gray car fled the scene and no one got the plate number. One person thought it didn’t even have a license plate. No one had any memory of the driver’s appearance or even whether it was a man or a woman.

Lenka walked to the window and looked out on the same landscape she’d known for the past five years. The linden trees, whose leaves changed color and then fell with the autumn winds, with bare branches that frosted over in the winter, where buds swelled in the spring, erupting and growing into leaves. Now the trees were