Read Online The Core of the Sun by Johanna Sinisalo - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Johanna Sinisalo
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about the plant, but itâs too late for that. The maintenance man comes into the main room with his toolbox and is clearly curious, in a slightly malevolent way.
âYour plumbing seems to be working fine. Watering plants and everything.â He looks pointedly in the direction of the windowsill.
Oh God. I canât tell him itâs a houseplant. Thatâs a minus manâs hobby.
âBasil. Excellent seasoning.â
I whip off a leaf, shove it into my mouth, and chomp on it, practically drooling over the thing. I pluck another leaf and hold it out to him, even though my heartâs beating a mile a minute. âHave a taste!â
Luckily heâs an old-fashioned guy, the kind who thinks dill and parsley are too exotic. âThatâs not really my . . . Whatâs a young guy like you doing messing around with seasonings?â
Easy. I tell him that itâs for work, that the Food Bureau is researching the possibility of producing Finnish herbs for export. This explanation suffices.
The chili leaf tastes surprisingly good. I thought it would just taste like grass, but itâs tough and fibrous.
Tough like my failure.
My failure to help V.
The net is tightening.
I thought I would be earning money a lot faster than this.
I thought I would be able to get out of the country before Harri Nissilä got out on parole. He might get out any day. Sentences like his are always getting shortened for good behavior or some other reason. Nissiläâs had time sitting in a cell to think, to put two and two together. He had time to figure out too many things before he went to jail. When they release him heâll do whatever he can to even the score. And if we come under investigation weâre sure to get caught. Just like Harri did.
It doesnât matter that much for me. But V.
I canât tell V about it. I canât add to her burdens.
VANNA/VERA
November 2016
As if to torture me, theyâre presenting a special unit on dangerous substances at school.
Iâm already shaking.
NATIONAL INSTITUTE OF HOME ECONOMICS INSTRUCTIONAL FILM
Social Responsibility 102
A middle-aged masco sits at a table. Heâs pale, hollow cheeked, sweating. His hair is mussed and poorly cut. Heâs wearing a suit that looks as though it doesnât belong to him; the collarâs too big and the shoulders are baggy. Someone off camera gives him a signal and he nods, licks his lips, and begins.
Masco: In the beginning it was just innocent curiosity. And besides, there was so much false or incomplete information going around. People said chili was just a spice, a kind of food. They said that enjoying it in potent concentrations was just a harmless competition between men, testing your limits. Like seeing who could jump off a high rock into the water or who could climb the highest tree. I didnât know how insidious it was.
The masco lowers his eyes for a second, takes a deep breath, and lifts his head again.
Masco: Back then there was still quite a bit of chili, all kinds of it, coming into the country. It was like alcohol before prohibition. You could get various kinds, various strengths, if you just knew where to look. A friend of mine whoâd been to one of the decadent democraciesâto Spainâhad played a game there called âSpanish roulette.â You played it with green Padrón chilis. You roasted them quickly in a pan with oil to give them a little color, then you rolled them in salt and put them on a plate. Each player took turns picking one up and eating it in just a couple of bites. They called it roulette because the heat in Padrón chilis varies a lot. One might be no hotter than a pea pod and the next one might be so incredibly strong that it was painful to eat it and it left you panting and burning for a long time afterward. And of course dozens of kinds in between, from just a tiny bit of spice to unbearably hot. About one in eight was very strong. You
âYour plumbing seems to be working fine. Watering plants and everything.â He looks pointedly in the direction of the windowsill.
Oh God. I canât tell him itâs a houseplant. Thatâs a minus manâs hobby.
âBasil. Excellent seasoning.â
I whip off a leaf, shove it into my mouth, and chomp on it, practically drooling over the thing. I pluck another leaf and hold it out to him, even though my heartâs beating a mile a minute. âHave a taste!â
Luckily heâs an old-fashioned guy, the kind who thinks dill and parsley are too exotic. âThatâs not really my . . . Whatâs a young guy like you doing messing around with seasonings?â
Easy. I tell him that itâs for work, that the Food Bureau is researching the possibility of producing Finnish herbs for export. This explanation suffices.
The chili leaf tastes surprisingly good. I thought it would just taste like grass, but itâs tough and fibrous.
Tough like my failure.
My failure to help V.
The net is tightening.
I thought I would be earning money a lot faster than this.
I thought I would be able to get out of the country before Harri Nissilä got out on parole. He might get out any day. Sentences like his are always getting shortened for good behavior or some other reason. Nissiläâs had time sitting in a cell to think, to put two and two together. He had time to figure out too many things before he went to jail. When they release him heâll do whatever he can to even the score. And if we come under investigation weâre sure to get caught. Just like Harri did.
It doesnât matter that much for me. But V.
I canât tell V about it. I canât add to her burdens.
VANNA/VERA
November 2016
As if to torture me, theyâre presenting a special unit on dangerous substances at school.
Iâm already shaking.
NATIONAL INSTITUTE OF HOME ECONOMICS INSTRUCTIONAL FILM
Social Responsibility 102
A middle-aged masco sits at a table. Heâs pale, hollow cheeked, sweating. His hair is mussed and poorly cut. Heâs wearing a suit that looks as though it doesnât belong to him; the collarâs too big and the shoulders are baggy. Someone off camera gives him a signal and he nods, licks his lips, and begins.
Masco: In the beginning it was just innocent curiosity. And besides, there was so much false or incomplete information going around. People said chili was just a spice, a kind of food. They said that enjoying it in potent concentrations was just a harmless competition between men, testing your limits. Like seeing who could jump off a high rock into the water or who could climb the highest tree. I didnât know how insidious it was.
The masco lowers his eyes for a second, takes a deep breath, and lifts his head again.
Masco: Back then there was still quite a bit of chili, all kinds of it, coming into the country. It was like alcohol before prohibition. You could get various kinds, various strengths, if you just knew where to look. A friend of mine whoâd been to one of the decadent democraciesâto Spainâhad played a game there called âSpanish roulette.â You played it with green Padrón chilis. You roasted them quickly in a pan with oil to give them a little color, then you rolled them in salt and put them on a plate. Each player took turns picking one up and eating it in just a couple of bites. They called it roulette because the heat in Padrón chilis varies a lot. One might be no hotter than a pea pod and the next one might be so incredibly strong that it was painful to eat it and it left you panting and burning for a long time afterward. And of course dozens of kinds in between, from just a tiny bit of spice to unbearably hot. About one in eight was very strong. You
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