Mari

“MARI, CAN YOU stay behind for a minute?” Kanerva says.

Class is over, and Mari is standing at her desk, gathering up her things deliberately slowly. The rest of the students clatter off to lunch. Tinka looks at Mari in amazement and then at the teacher. Mari’s embarrassed.

“I have those books for you,” Kanerva says, without seeming to sense Tinka’s surprise or Mari’s embarrassment.

“Oh, yeah,” Mari says.

“I’ll wait for you at the cafeteria entrance,” Tinka says, and leaves, looking behind her once more as she goes out the door.

Kanerva smiles at Mari. That smile again — curious, open. Mari feels like a mystery woman under her teacher’s gaze: he looks as if he wants to find out her secrets. The October afternoon is spilling its soft light into the quiet classroom and two people stand facing each other. A bridge between their eyes. Mari wants to reach outside herself and dive into those eyes. She knows there’s no turning back.

“I brought you a few of the classics. It never hurts to know the thoughts of those who came before us,” he says, playful.

He hands her two books: Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina and Dumas’s Camille. The books have a stale smell, the smell of the thoughts of the past.

“Yeah,” Mari manages to say, hanging her head to hide her embarrassment.

She turns to leave and the teacher says bye and Mari says bye. Bye, they say. It’s the fifteenth of October, Mari thinks as she walks down the hallway to the cafeteria. The trees outside are shedding their leaves and the sap is flowing through the hollows of her warm body. In the cafeteria, she squeezes her thighs together. The wet between her legs feels slippery, pulsing, and she feels like she’s been named, a woman, whole.

“Did you screw right there, or what?” Tinka asks teasingly, but there’s a bruised tone to her words.

“Idiot. Of course not,” Mari says, but she’s unable to conceal her pleasure.

Mari eats her frankfurt gravy and potatoes but she doesn’t taste her food — she just keeps thinking about Kanerva, the dimples when he smiles, his clear gaze.

“Hey!” Tinka says. “You could start going out and then you could tell me all the filthy bits. Tell me what kind of a dick he has.”

“Stop it.” Mari giggles, blushing.

Tinka’s fork stops mid-motion. She gives Mari an appraising look. “So, what does he want from you?”

“Well, we talked about philosophy and literature,” Mari says, smiling mysteriously.

“And bullshit,” Tinka says, biting into her rye crisp and crunching it loudly. She picks up a paper napkin with a roguish grin and dips it in her water glass. “How about a demonstration, so you’ll be ready when the time comes. Watch closely: here goes Mari’s virginity.”

“Stop it.” Mari giggles again.

Tinka stretches the wet napkin over the water glass.

“This is the hymen,” Tinka mutters. “And here comes Kanerva’s throbbing cock,” she roars, picking up a knife and pointing it at the glass. “Oh! I want you inside me! Oh!” she continues, piercing the napkin-hymen with the knife and babbling theatrically. “Oh, yes! Thank you! Now I am a woman.”

Mari is blushing. The cafeteria cook approaches with the drinks cart and shoots a poisonous glance at Tinka, who continues her tomfoolery.

“Girls, if you’re finished eating, go outside. You should be ashamed of yourselves, playing with your food like that. Big girls like you.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Tinka sighs and puts down her knife.

“The old hag’s just jealous. She’s such a dried-up old pine cone that she doesn’t have any market value anymore,” Tinka whispers once the cook has passed. “By the way,” she continues, “how’d it go on Saturday night, with that guy I set you up with?”

Mari gives Tinka a sly look. Tinka smiles. Mari has already learned; she knows how this game is played. You have to smile. A lot. And never reveal failure.

“Well?” Tinka presses.

“Well, of course, I put it in my mouth. And then …”

“And then?”

Mari remembers the Cosmopolitan article on sex positions: “Give Your Man Pleasure Beyond His Wildest Dreams.” From behind? Definitely too ordinary for Tinka. Standing up against the wall?

“And then we screwed standing up, leaning against the wall,” Mari says, looking her straight in the eye.

“You didn’t!”

“Yes, we did.”

Admiration shines in Tinka’s eyes. Mari is startled by the power of her own lie, the ease with which it slipped out of her mouth, and the impression it makes on Tinka. A thing that came out of nowhere and somehow became part of reality. She plucks nervously at her napkin and hopes that Tinka won’t ask for any details.