Read Online White Hunger (Chance Encounter Series) by Aki Ollikainen - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Aki Ollikainen
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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 disappearsinto 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
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 disappearsinto 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
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