BY THE TIME THE MARKET TRAVELLERS RETURN, autumn has taken a great leap forward. They have done well. Post-war Finland cries for salt herring, hazelnuts, wool yarn, everything. Lovely wads of cash warm their breasts, the men are dressed like gangster bosses, with padded shoulders and, here and there, the gleam of a new gold tooth. The children’s cheeks are puffed with goodies, the women have dress fabrics spread across their kitchen tables, scissors poised hesitantly above the patterns pinned to the material. There are new oilcloths, cooking pots, two or three battery-driven radios, shiny shoes, winter coats, nylon stockings. Solvency soothes them, the fishing is over, there is no rush.
He sees new sides of his beloved parish constantly, so many expressions on their graphic faces, so many words in their mouths, the pastor takes joy in every reunion. People stay ashore and are sociable and content and go happily to parties and Bible study in the villages. The Public Health Association holds a members meeting about the Health Care Centre, which will be built partly with donated money, partly with the labour of the Örlanders themselves. The membership consists of the pastor (chairman) and Irina Gyllen (secretary) plus thirty members, most of whom are also members of the local council and the vestry. Among them are the organist and Lydia Manström and a carefully balanced selection of worthy persons from the two halves of the community. Plus the manager of the Co-op, Adele Bergman, a key figure as the person who requisitions building materials and furnishings.
The organist has told him that the two blocks are equal in strength. The priest himself and Doctor Gyllen are the wild cards. Before the meeting starts, the villages count their troops and a noticeable unrest is discernible. The east villages have fifteen members present, the west villages the same. Doctor Gyllen will vote strictly in accordance with the best interests of the Health Care Centre, not specified in advance, while the pastor is thought to lean towards the west on account of his close friendship with the organist. If both he and Doctor Gyllen vote on the west side, things will go badly for the east villagers. Gustaf Sörling is seen to stride to the telephone, turn the crank and ask to be connected to Erik Johansson, the only member of the steering committee not present. Something that sounds like an order is discharged into the receiver. Gustaf Sörling rings off and walks to the rostrum, leans forward and wonders if the meeting might be delayed for a short time so that Erik, who’s had some trouble with his horse, can get to the meeting.
“Yes of course, by all means,” the pastor says, knowing that everyone will welcome the opportunity for further intrigue. It takes a good long time for Erik Johansson to appear, wearing a suit jacket thrown over everyday clothes, and with a bad cold. He slinks in on the east side and gets his instructions from Gustaf Sörling, who then nods to the pastor.
He looks out over the assembly. They are all of them older than he, and they know how everything is to be done, but they look at him with friendly faces when he sits down at the table and thanks them for their trust. “We are all friends here,” he says, “so just tell me if I make a mistake or miss something important.” He turns to Doctor Gyllen. “The key person sits right here. We can count ourselves fortunate to have our real expert on hand. Doctor Gyllen knows better than anyone what the Health Care Centre should include in order to serve its purpose as effectively as possible.”
“It is a great help that our foremost donator is also doctor,” Doctor Gyllen says. “He has sent a drawing. I send it around. We see here thoughtful plans. Practical. First floor—hallway, two small patient rooms. One examination room. Small operations can be done. Larger if crisis. School health care, vaccinations, doctor. Little kitchen for sterilizing, maybe cup of coffee to pep up. WC. Upper storey—office space. Small kitchen, WC. Flat for nurse. Cellar—furnace room, large kitchen for cooking food. Dressing room. Storage room. WC, sauna, laundry. Well planned. I recommend.”
The drawing is passed around. Like a whole little hospital, unbelievably well equipped. What a fantastic thing for the whole community! Everyone agrees on this, and it is a happy thought that a part of the cost will be borne by the Örlands’ own successful son.
Adele Bergman studies the drawings with particular interest. The financing is all arranged! she thinks triumphantly. Cooperative Central in Åbo will now get an order that will shut their mouths. Calmly, slowly, methodically, she will call in her order, then complement it with a neatly typed list, sent by post, detailing each item. The largest order ever to come from the Örlands. Yes, we’re building a Health Care Centre out here. Cement mixer, cement, bricks, sheet metal, lumber—for starters. “Yes, a cargo boat will be hired and sent to collect the materials when they’re ready. Thank you! Goodbye.” Sweet.
“I venture to say”, she says solemnly, unable nevertheless to suppress a smile, “that as far as the Co-op is concerned we will manage the requisitions and deliveries. We can handle most of it through the Co-op Central Office. We have contacts for the remainder. The most important thing right now is to form a building committee to find a contractor in Åbo or Mariehamn who can estimate our materials requirements and oversee construction. That we can do with our own labour, with the exception of a plumbing contractor who knows central heating and can lay water lines and water closets.”
The members look at each other in wonderment. Central heating! Water closets! Uttered calmly by Adele Bergman as if they were the most ordinary things in the world. She ought to be chairman, the pastor thinks. What a woman!
“Thank you,” he says. “It is reassuring that we have Mrs Bergman’s expertise and business contacts to fall back on. The next step is to establish a building committee. You, my friends, know much better than I who among you has the necessary experience and is best suited to be on the committee. I call for suggestions. Or, ah, perhaps we should have an informal discussion first.”
He has noticed a meaningful glance from the organist. He and Adele Bergman are in a huddle—the two of them have long been in general agreement on communal issues. The organist has a seat on the Co-op’s steering committee and both of them are members of the vestry. The organist is also on the local council. They confer quietly for a moment. A certain uneasiness spreads through what the pastor now knows to be the block representing the east villages. Sörling clears his throat. “Mr Chairman!” Petter nods.
”I would like to point out that in this community we strive for a fair distribution of representatives from the two halves of the parish.” The east block nods and murmurs its agreement.
“A commendable goal. You need only make nominations. The usual thing is a committee with four members. And in cases where the vote is two against two, the chairman has the deciding vote.” He looks around. His friend the organist looks pained and asks for the floor.
“Mr Chairman. In this case we need to think first and foremost about competence. On the western side we have Fridolf Söderström who has worked as a carpenter in America. He’s just the man. As is Brynolf from Udden, who has built houses and fishing boats. Anyone who wants can go out to Udden and look at the house he built there last year.”
“That’s two,” says Petter in his innocence.
“Mr Chairman!” says Adele Bergman. She looks the way she looks when she takes Holy Communion—someone has to. “Most of all we need a chairman for the building committee. Our excellent organist has been foreman for the construction of both the Co-op store and the Coast Guard station. I nominate him.”
The organist looks pained. “I understand the viewpoint of the east side. Let us first hear their nominations. They have good candidates.”
The pastor notes that the east villagers are not impressed by the organist’s magnanimity. The word “tactic” is perhaps included in their muttered discussion. “Mr Chairman!” It is Lydia Manström, their designated spokesperson. “I nominate Gustaf Sörling and Håkan Ström. Sörling has been active in local government for many years and is very experienced. Ström is known as a good builder and shipper. We have here an excellent candidate for chairman and a committee member with a strong practical bent.”
“Second,” says the whole east block and the organist. The pastor looks at him furtively. “Are there other nominations? … No? … Yes? Please go ahead.”
It is Gustaf Sörling himself. “I nominate Viking Holm. A relatively new force on the council who has already demonstrated his abilities.”
The entire east side says “Second!” A certain unease is visible on the west side, which puts its heads together. The pastor has a sense of the situation. If the west side splits its votes among three candidates and gives too many votes to one of them without calculating in advance how many votes each candidate should get, the east side, with disciplined voting, has a chance of electing three candidates. Coup! A dilemma. The pastor proposes a recess and then a vote by secret ballot. Everyone agrees. The west side gathers quickly at one end of the schoolroom and the east side at the other while the pastor and Doctor Gyllen prepare the ballots at the speaker’s podium.
They smile at one another. “You know what will happen?” Doctor Gyllen asks.
“Two–two,” the pastor mutters. “In this case, the best solution. All the candidates are qualified.”
“I hope. Was worse when they chose the site. Then was war.”
The pastor sniffs. “The east side won, so that’s where we’ll build. The organist seems to think it best that the chairman of the building committee should come from there.”
“He is right. We shall see. We’re ready.”
The pastor looks out across the gathering. Both camps still lively, but there is more structure on the east, where Gustaf Sörling looks to be giving directives. The pastor clears his throat, taps gently with the gavel. “Hello, everyone, we’re ready to get started. Each person will get a blank ballot on which to write the name of your candidate. Then fold it and give it to Doctor Gyllen, who will put them in the basket. As you can see, it’s empty.”
Everything properly done. The names are written, placed in the basket, which the pastor then empties demonstrably, showing it to be empty. He and Doctor Gyllen put the ballots in two piles and count them. Eastern discipline is exemplary— of their fifteen votes, six are for Sörling, five for Ström, and four for Holm. The western ballots are less carefully thought out—seven for Fridolf, four for Brynolf, four for the organist. Sörling, Fridolf Söderström and Ström are elected. A second round of voting for Holm, Brynolf, and the organist. The easterners sense victory, since Holm will get fifteen votes and beat Brynolf and the organist, who will divide the votes on the western side. But the organist asks for a recess and whispers an urgent appeal to the westerners. There are visible protests, even anger, and the pastor’s young ears pick up Adele Bergman threatening to turn in a blank ballot. But when the votes are counted, the east side is silenced. Fifteen for Brynolf, zero for the organist.
Now the chairman’s vote will decide. The pastor would love to object that he is too young and no match for this clever gathering, but he does not dare to show the slightest uncertainty. Above all, he must not look at the organist to seek confirmation. If he does that, he’ll have the east side against him forever. He smiles, sunnily he hopes. “Here I need the help of King Solomon. We have two good candidates with practical experience. If we view the thing positively, we get a good outcome however we decide. On the negative side, a good candidate will be eliminated whichever way we vote.”
A whisper of goodwill is heard through the room, and Doctor Gyllen, who has been sitting straight and attentive, smiles a little. He goes on. “In this case, we should perhaps consider the balance between the villages, since both will provide labour.” He smiles. “And Brynolf really did receive massive support in the second vote. So I will award the chairman’s vote in favour of Brynolf Udd. Let me congratulate the elected members of the Health Care Centre’s building committee—Gustaf Sörling, Fridolf Söderström, Håkan Ström, and Brynolf Udd. They may now choose their own chairman among themselves.”
The assembly erupts into life and clamour. If there is anything they love it’s strategic voting. Even though the committee is going to select their own chairman, everyone gets involved body and soul in speculation. The organist, who arranged to get no votes for himself, is now heard speaking out for Sörling, which upsets several people on the west side. “Fridolf possesses enormous practical knowledge that he ought to be allowed to use,” the organist explains. “Sörling is a politician. Let him struggle with the paperwork. A world of accounts and disbursements that Fridolf won’t have to deal with. Sörling likes being chairman. And the east villages win a prestige victory, which we can turn to our credit at some later date.”
The pastor and Doctor Gyllen listen discreetly and exchange a quick glance. The pastor waits until he can catch the organist’s eye and nods imperceptibly. If it is possible for Doctor Gyllen to have roses in her cheeks, they appear as tiny pink suggestions above her cheekbones. The pastor himself is noticeably amused and interested. He turns to Doctor Gyllen and says out of the corner of his mouth, “We’ll vote for Sörling?” She nods. Done. Then they remember at the same time that the voting will be internal, limited to the newly elected building committee members, and they both burst out laughing. Quite suddenly they are as deeply engaged as the villagers, in a matter they have no say in. Still, everyone hopes that the members of the committee have listened to the arguments on both sides.
“Now then,” the pastor says. “Has the building committee reached a decision about a chairman?”
“Yes. Sörling has had three votes, Fridolf one. Sörling is elected.” There is a buzz in the gathering. Before heading out into the night and the darkness, Fridolf feels compelled to make a statement. “Sörling knows this stuff,” he begins generously, but it’s too painful, and he continues: “And if he’s occupied with his papers at least I can work in peace!” Everyone laughs, even Sörling chooses to laugh. Fridolf glances around triumphantly.
“Excellent,” the pastor says. “My friends, I think we’ve done good work today. We’ve studied the plans and been inspired by them. And we’ve elected a competent and effective building committee. At Doctor Gyllen’s suggestion, I propose that the steering committee should meet in the near future with the building committee and Mrs Bergman and make some decisions about the next steps to take. According to the bylaws, special meetings of the entire membership can be called when necessary, which I will bear in mind. So I herewith declare the business portion of this meeting concluded.”
In cities, everyone rushes for the doors when a meeting is over, but on the Örlands, people stay and talk. And today there is plenty to talk about—their own Health Care Centre and their own share of the construction work. Even Adele Bergman, who otherwise always winds up at the pastor’s side, has other things to think about, and for a while Petter and Doctor Gyllen stand by themselves at the speaker’s stand, gathering up their papers. Sörling is to have the plans, but for the moment they lie on the table like a bond between them. Over the course of the evening, they have developed an understanding, and now they both look at the plans and smile.
“Another experience richer,” the pastor says. “It all went rather well, don’t you think? I have to admit that even though I try to be neutral, I got really caught up. One of these days I’ll stand here conspiring with all the other politicians.”
“Yes,” says Doctor Gyllen. “It pleases me greatly to see freedom of speech used so well.” She speaks more fluently now. “And their tactics work well. They chose good people, and a good chairman. Sörling needs to be chairman, otherwise he’s difficult. As chairman, good.”
“You’ve come to know them well.”
“Yes. And I think they know us better than we think.”
The pastor gives an appreciative laugh. “Well put. I’m glad we’ve had a chance to talk. I know you’re very busy with work and studying, but we’ll be seeing each other quite often, I think. My wife will be coming to see you soon. We’re expecting an addition.” He looks a little embarrassed.
“Congratulations,” says Doctor Gyllen, neutral but not unfriendly. “I will be happy to see Mrs Kummel your wife.”
“Thank you,” the pastor says. “She’s convinced that it will all go well. I worry more.”
The doctor nods. “Many times it is the man who more needs the doctor’s help. It is reassuring that Mrs Kummel is not worried. She is young. The second child is easy.”
They both look down at the plans. “Just think if the Centre was already built!” the pastor says. “With a delivery room and everything. Now it will be at the parsonage, and that’s a long way for you to come.”
“I’m sure I’ll have ample warning,” the doctor says. But she too looks longingly at the plans. “It is difficult in many homes. Small spaces. Hygiene. But healthy surroundings, strong people. I believe you like them very much?”
“Yes,” says the pastor, drawing a deep breath to continue, but then Sörling walks up and he switches gears and sticks out his hand. “Congratulations. They made a good choice.”
Sörling is in good spirits. “Thank you, thank you. I think we can make this thing work.” He too looks down at the plans and smiles.
“We stand here staring at these drawings and can’t drag ourselves away,” the pastor says. “I’m looking forward to the next meeting when we take the first steps towards concrete action. Mrs Bergman can hardly control herself she’s so eager to start ordering. We’re all enthusiastic.”
“And getting such a big donation! But he knows us and wants us to do the work ourselves so we’ll feel the Health Care Centre is really ours.”
“He” is the Örlands’ famous son, chief physician and professor, member of the Nobel-committee-otherwise-he-would-have-won-the-prize-himself for his epoch-making work on heparin, which is used to treat blood clots and has saved innumerable lives. “Even for a man in his position, that’s a very large gift,” the pastor says. “I doubt there are many people who remember their native places in such a grand manner.”
“He had help,” Sörling says, a little barb in his voice. “The teacher took him under her wing, went to Åbo and arranged for a scholarship to the lyceum. Then a scholarship to the University and medical school. He had help the whole way. Others have to make do without.”
One of the others is apparently Gustaf Sörling. The pastor chimes in. “Yes, my guess is that there’s more talent here than most places. And it’s true that all too few get the help they need. Maybe he feels the same way and wants to show his gratitude.”
Fridolf has heard the end of this conversation and walks over. “We’re from the same family by way of my mother’s father’s father,” he says. “I can tell you from the time he was a little kid you could see he was a different calibre. So there aren’t so many of us here who could have done what he’s done.” His wears his family tree well, and he gives Sörling a kindly look. “We’ve done well this evening. You can put on a suit and go to Mariehamn and talk to builders. You’re good at talking.”
“And let’s hope you’re good at building,” Sörling says. “Seeing you’ve been in America and built things for Rockefeller.”
“Yes indeed,” says Fridolf. “There have been no complaints about those buildings.”
The pastor and Doctor Gyllen gather up their papers and walk towards the western group, where Adele Bergman’s voice rings out more sonorously than the pastor has ever heard it, and where the organist can be heard in the background, still under pressure, explaining why he didn’t want to be elected. “These are new times, and at some point we have to start thinking more about the individuals than about the relative balance of power between the villages. As it is, we’ve got the most qualified people, and I’ve been spared yet another job.”
“Well said,” the pastor says as he joins the group. “And isn’t it fun to spend other people’s money for a change. This evening really warmed my heart.”
Politely, they turn to him and Doctor Gyllen, who remains a little in the background. No one really wants to go home, not even the pastor, who has the farthest to go. He had to ride his bicycle around the whole island in the pitch dark. Longingly he looks out the window. “If I had my own motorboat it would save me a lot of time.”
“Wait till it freezes over,” Sörling says. “You’ll see what a short trip you have. If it’s clear ice, you can skate. Otherwise a kicksled.”
“But I don’t have time to wait for that now. Brr, it’s really cold tonight. Now what did I do with my scarf?” He says good night to those around him and out to the whole room in general, wraps himself up as best he can and goes outside. It is November fifteenth, cloudy, only a couple of degrees above freezing, so dark that he has to stand still for a moment before he can see his bicycle where he leaned it against the corner of the building. The Petromax lamp shines brightly inside the school, but he can’t see a thing outdoors. He has to walk his bike through the gate so he won’t ride into it. Out on the road, he swings up and starts to pedal, and then the dynamo whirs into life, a scraping sound like a locust. Now he can see enough to stay on the road at least, and thank God everyone has taken in their cattle, so the gates are open and he doesn’t have to worry about riding into a cow lying in the road. When he picks up speed and pedals down the east village hills, his own dynamo also kicks in. It spreads warmth and builds a fire under his bass voice so that it starts to sing. He is a vehicle with a motor, central heating, and the radio’s evening concert. So equipped, he travels through the night, pleased to be alone, pleased at the thought of arriving home soon to warmth and light.