The Big Dipper was gleaming like a brand-new mirror, and the first customers of the morning were already hurtling down its slides. I took a deep breath, inhaled the cool air inside the hall, and concluded that it smelt fresh.
I looked around.
There was a good number of customers, though the doors had only just opened. What’s more, the customers seemed to be behaving much more tidily than yesterday. I rubbed my eyes, which were dry with fatigue, and was about to head to my office when I stopped. At first, I didn’t know what had made me stop. I allowed my eyes to pan across the hall. Customers, machines and rides working impeccably, a modest volume level. I waited for a moment, but nothing changed. Then I walked into the middle of the hall to see a bit better, or at least to see things from a slightly different perspective, and I saw everything I had seen a moment ago, nothing more, nothing less. Still, I had an inkling there was something I simply hadn’t noticed yet. But what? Then, as though an overhead projector had switched from one slide to another, I saw the difference. I shouldn’t have tried to note what I could see, but what I couldn’t see.
The staff.
I realised I had walked past the ticket desk, seen the sign in which a photograph of Kristian – in a typically smiley pose – said he would be back in a jiffy. I’d noticed that the door to Esa’s monitor room was closed; recently he had taken to keeping the door open, which I’d assumed must be because even he couldn’t cope with the sulphuric sauna in there. Samppa wasn’t in his usual spot behind the Turtle Trucks, situated in front of Laura Helanto’s mural painted in the style of Helen Frankenthaler, holding the first psycho-developmental playgroup session of the day. And when I looked towards the administration wing, even Minttu K’s office looked dark, though the marketing manager’s lights usually shone round the clock and on most days the aroma of cigarettes and lonkero wafted all the way out into the park. Now there wasn’t the faintest glimmer of light, the slightest pong of alcopop. There wasn’t even the usual whiff of menthol cigarettes and the curious sensory dissonance they caused, a fine balance between Polos and a pulmonary aneurysm.
Something had happened.
I spun around just as a herd of short customers sprinted past me. I almost lost my balance, but regained it at the last moment.
I saw the light.
The Curly Cake Café was open. I could smell the first aromas of coffee, porridge and today’s special offer, stuffed baked potatoes named Fire and Grimstone. That meant Johanna must be here.
Johanna was level-headed, I thought as I paced towards the café. She would never do anything irresponsible, she wouldn’t leave the park unstaffed … And immediately afterwards, I was reminded of the way Johanna had behaved on the morning I discovered Juhani alive in my office. She had offered me a second bun, which was completely unprecedented. Only now did I realise what I had in fact witnessed. By her own standards, she was beside herself.
I walked up the steps, arrived at the entrance to the café and stopped at the door.
They were all sitting around a table, listening to Juhani. I heard his voice but couldn’t make out the words. He was gesturing wildly and seemed very enthusiastic about something or another. Every member of my staff was watching him and listening intently: Kristian nodding keenly, his mouth slightly open; Samppa constantly adjusting the position of his scarf and ponytail; Esa expressionless, his arms folded rigidly across his US Marine Corps sweatshirt; Minttu K spluttering and sipping something from her large coffee mug; and Johanna – Johanna! – perhaps betraying a hint of a smile.
Esa was the first to notice me. I don’t know how he did it, but word got round the table in an instant. I wondered if he might know some secret communication technique that only special forces knew how to use. The others quickly turned, looked towards me, then just as quickly turned their attention back to Juhani. Only Juhani looked right at me. I reached their table and was about to ask why they were all sitting in the café during their shifts, but I didn’t get the chance.
‘Nice job, isn’t it?’
It took a second or two to work out what Juhani was referring to.
‘Yes…’
‘Sparkling like a diamond.’
‘Yes…’
‘Sparkling like these good people here.’ Juhani raised a hand as if to introduce the employees to me. Still, not one of them so much as glanced in my direction.
‘That’s what I mean,’ I said. ‘We need someone in the foyer, and the main hall too. All the other jobs are at a standstill. You should all get back to work.’
Nobody moved. Juhani’s blue eyes looked up at me.
‘You heard the boss,’ he said after a beat, looking each of the employees round the table in the eye. ‘Let’s make this the best adventure park ever. Keep up the good spirits, guys. Vamos.’
The employees stood up. Nobody said anything. The group silently dispersed around the park, all with the exception of Johanna. With a swing of the swinging doors, she slipped into the kitchen and appeared to be looking disheartened daggers at me. I couldn’t be entirely sure because there was a vitrine full of sandwiches between us, and part of Johanna’s face was obscured behind a row of feta-and-pesto baguettes. Juhani stood up.
‘I really like these people,’ he said. ‘They’ve got a great energy going. I inspire them, and they inspire me back. The more we talk and share things, the more ideas we’ll have. I love being park manager. Thank you, Henri. What do you say about the Big Dipper?’
‘It’s clean…’
‘Just as we agreed,’ Juhani added quickly, and walked around the table. I caught the smell of his aftershave from a distance. ‘It feels like I’m starting a new life. And I suppose I am. I was dead, to all intents and purposes. It’s unbelievable, the effect that can have on you.’
Juhani was about to walk past me, then he stopped.
‘A little extra budget…’ he began. ‘It might come in handy. The crew that came in to tidy the place up last night, they usually clean operating theatres. They’re good, and they’re all about the hygiene, but they certainly know their own worth. As they should. Anyway, I’m needed in the hall.’
I’m not sure whether I was about to say something, but by the time I had regained my powers of speech, Juhani had already disappeared and I was left standing by myself in the middle of the café. Johanna was busying herself in the kitchen, and a dozen or so children and adults were enjoying snacks and refreshments. I strode off towards my office. Just then, my telephone rang. I didn’t recognise the number.
‘Afternoon. Otto Härkä from Toy of Finland here,’ came the man’s voice.
An image of the fifty-something man with the imposing moustache like a damp, yellowed garden brush on his upper lip flashed through my mind. I said good afternoon and waited, then turned into the corridor leading to my office.
‘Just calling to ask how I might get hold of you, that’s all.’
‘Get hold of me?’ I turned and stepped into my office.
‘Yes, I mean, where does the CEO of the adventure park spend his afternoons when he’s not…’
I saw him sitting at my desk with his back to me, his phone at his ear.
‘…in his own office?’ I heard these last words in stereo, from the phone and right in front of me.
Otto Härkä was alone. He was dressed in the same way as at our last meeting: black blazer, blue shirt, loose corduroys and a pair of laced, black winter shoes. I couldn’t decide whether he looked more like a regular at the betting shop or something else altogether, something more threatening.
‘I thought we could have a look at our catalogue one more time, right here at your desk,’ he said once I had reached my chair and sat down. He leant down to his briefcase and took out the same meagre catalogue that I’d already seen.
‘Does this mean the Moose Chute is available after all?’ I asked.
‘It doesn’t quite mean that,’ said Otto Härkä, and opened the catalogue and slid it across the desk. I saw the one thing I didn’t want to see.
‘I am still not interested in the Crocodile Canyon,’ I said.
‘Well, interest isn’t really how we measure these things now, is it?’ he said. ‘I think you and I should come at this from a slightly different perspective, don’t you?’
I looked Otto Härkä in the eyes. They didn’t reveal anything. His manner of speaking didn’t bring me any clarity either. His sentences were both cryptic and deceptive: at face value, you might get the impression of a jovial salesman, but listening more closely and stripping away the bumbling and the obfuscation to reveal the heart of the matter, you realised the conversation was ultimately very straightforward.
Otto Härkä had come here to repeat his threats.
At the same time, the fact remained that the adventure park’s budget couldn’t withstand an acquisition like the Crocodile Canyon, let alone the financial repercussions – one of which would be that we wouldn’t be able to acquire any new equipment for a long time. Not to mention that we would miss out on the Moose Chute. Then, almost simultaneously, the equation inverted itself. After a quick calculation, I realised that Toy of Finland might be in the same situation, only the other way around. I don’t know why I hadn’t thought of this earlier, and yet, I did know: I’d had other things on my mind.
‘Is Toy of Finland in trouble?’ I asked.
For the first time, I saw something happen in Otto Härkä’s eyes. A fleeting flicker.
‘We’re here to talk about your park now, and how magnificently the Crocodile Canyon will fit in, and of course it’ll fit because this is where it belongs, am I right?’ he said. ‘And because it belongs here, then you and I ought to agree on a delivery date right here and now, and that’s exactly what we’re going to do. No point mulling it over when there’s nothing to mull, right?’ Otto Härkä was speaking a little faster than before. And, if possible, he was bumbling more too. ‘I tell you what, I’ll put a note in here to get the Crocodile Canyon delivered extra quick because I know you want it so badly, and the customer’s always right,’ he continued. ‘Let’s have a look at the calendar, shall we?’
Otto Härkä stared at the white-painted office wall to my right. There was nothing on the wall, let alone a calendar.
‘That’s what we’ll do. Now, if we take a look at Friday…’ he continued, and looked up at me. ‘Well, what do you know? Friday is a very good choice, if I may say so, so we’ll take that. Friday it is, then. One Crocodile Canyon will be coming your way on Friday, and the price is the same one we discussed when we showed you the catalogue the other day. Well, that’s that sorted. Nice doing business with you. It’s been a real pleasure.’
I said nothing. Otto Härkä took the catalogue from the table and returned it to his briefcase. He stood up. With the briefcase in his hand, he looked like a civil servant on his way to the office, but at the same time it looked as though someone had played a prank on him and glued the handle to his hand and now he was wondering how to get his own back.
‘What happens if I refuse?’
Otto Härkä stepped towards the door.
‘What’s there to refuse,’ he answered without turning, ‘when this is the final offer?’