In the last two and a half days, Laura Helanto has worked harder and more quickly than I’ve seen anyone work before. I count myself here too, even during the period when I was able to dedicate myself solely to conundrums of the actuarial variety.
Now she is working on all of her new pieces at once. They are growing in size and their exterior and appearance are gradually starting to take shape, and once again I have to admit that I very much like what I see, though I don’t necessarily understand why. Laura Helanto gives me a carefree smile and says that’s what art is all about, that’s its nature. I’m still not entirely convinced by this argument. I am sure there must be a rational, logical explanation for this. The gigantic steel petal built alongside the O’Keeffe mural is a startling, violet optical illusion, which is at its best when seen from two different perspectives: the viewer can see his friend disappearing inside the O’Keeffe mural then reappearing as the petal turns. The whole structure is so beautiful that it almost forces me to stand there looking at it. And I do, until Laura asks if I could help her for a moment. I follow her from the Georgia O’Keeffe to the Tove Jansson.
Laura’s reimagining of Jansson’s seaside landscapes has a melancholy beauty of its own, but the cosy-looking fisherman’s hut now standing next to it, complete with fishing nets hung along the walls, makes its somehow more real and alive, though the entire hut and everything around it is merely a three-dimensional extension of the mural itself.
I hold on to the fishing nets and admire the hut. Laura Helanto is working with her back to me, so she can’t see what is happening behind my back either. Both of us hear Osmala’s voice at the same time.
‘I think I can say these are going to be even greater than I’d imagined.’
I turn my head.
‘These have the same kind of skill, optical illusion, the element of revelation, and that certain serious playfulness you find in the works of, say, Markus Kåhre,’ says Osmala, and I notice both from the angle of his face and his tone of voice that he is directing his words exclusively at Laura. ‘And I say this with the utmost respect for both of you.’
‘Thank you,’ says Laura, and smiles.
They both smile. I’m still clutching the fishing nets. Then Osmala turns his attention to me. He’s not smiling anymore.
‘I hear you’re taking a back seat,’ he says. ‘Stepping back from the front line, as it were.’
I confirm this is the case, but I say nothing else.
‘Everything going to plan?’ he asks.
The question takes me by surprise. It is said in the kind of only half-interested voice you might use to ask about the weather.
‘Overall, yes,’ I say, honestly.
Osmala looks as though he is trying to say something but doesn’t say it. This is a rare occurrence; one might say, unique. Osmala has never hesitated before. The moment passes quickly, then he returns his attention to Laura and Tove Jansson.
‘Best not stand here admiring your unfinished work,’ he says. ‘I’ll be back when it’s all done and dusted.’ Then he glances at me, and adds: ‘I want the surprise to be perfect.’
He wishes Laura good luck with the rest of her tasks and looks as though he really has come to the park for no other reason but to admire this work in progress. But given my calculations and past experiences, I find that hard to believe. Once Osmala has disappeared behind the Trombone Cannons, Laura tugs one end of the net.
‘Let’s bring up the nets,’ she says. ‘Then we can have a break. Looks like you could do with a little walk.’
Laura Helanto is, of course, absolutely right. Except in thinking I want to walk. It took us several minutes to attach the nets to the walls of the fisherman’s hut, and now all I want to do is run. But I don’t. I walk briskly through the park, trying to avoid a group of oncoming customers moving in a most unpredictable fashion. I slow my step as I approach the start of the corridor, at the other end of which is what is now Juhani’s office. The corridor is empty. I step silently. The door to Minttu K’s office stands open; I can’t hear any sounds coming from inside, but I’ll have to walk past that door. There are no points for artistic merit here; what’s most important is getting to within earshot of Juhani’s office. Whatever Juhani and Osmala are talking about, and very possibly agreeing between themselves, will have direct consequences both for my timetable and my future plans. I make sure to place my feet very softly and carefully on the floor, ensuring that my steps are as long as possible, which will shorten the number of steps I need to take, thereby reducing the risk of being caught. I’m just approaching the last bend in the corridor when…
‘Honey,’ I hear a rough voice from my side. ‘Hey, Batman, triple-jumper…’
I look to the side. I’ve just placed a long step past Minttu K’s doorway, but from her sofa she has a direct sightline into the corridor.
‘There’s no one there,’ she says and takes a drag on her cigarette. ‘Hasn’t been for ages. They just had a little chat.’
‘Chat?’ I ask and straighten myself up. Once I have reached my normal position and height again, my physical wellbeing improves by a factor of around one hundred percent. ‘Did you hear what they were talking about?’
‘No, but when they left I heard what Juhani said to the tall, stiff guy,’ Minttu K croaks. ‘That this is the last time.’
‘The last time?’
‘Yeah, like in the movies,’ she says, takes a long sip from her can of lonkero then wipes the corner of her mouth. ‘Which always means it isn’t really. The last time, I mean.’
Minttu K’s common sense and clarity of thought have left an impression on me in the past. Which obviously stands in stark contrast to what I can see with my own eyes and smell with my own nostrils here in the low-lit room. I decide to dismiss the most acute of my sensory observations and tell myself that, right now, every single crumb of information is a tool I can use to solve the equation.
‘What makes you think this isn’t really the last time?’
Minttu K looks at me from across the room, crosses her right leg over her left, drags on her cigarette and blows the smoke right out in front of her.
‘This morning, Juhani suggested I sell my apartment and invest the money in the adventure park,’ she says after a beat. ‘According to him, in a year’s time I’ll have enough money to buy two apartments, or one that’s twice as big. He insisted that in only twelve months my investment would increase by over a hundred percent. Of course, he admitted there’s a certain amount of risk to this kind of investment and maybe the amount of appreciation won’t be quite that high, but in all probability that’s the general direction of travel, if we all invest, and that we all need to think of the bigger picture. I told him that’s exactly what I’m doing and that’s why I won’t be selling my flat or investing my money in the adventure park. Juhani asked why I even need a flat when I sleep here on the sofa or spend my nights elsewhere. I threw the question back at him and asked why he needs an adventure park if he doesn’t know how to run it. Then he asked what’s wrong with all the staff round here, as only a moment ago we were all gunning for French bistros, warships and therapy groups. I asked whether he’d already asked everybody else, and he said yes, and apparently everybody said no. He came to me last because he assumed I’d have drunk all my money anyway. That really offended me. I’m a moderate drinker, I have way less than thirty-six units a day.’
I’m standing in the doorway, thinking several thoughts all at once. Juhani has likely reached the end of the road. He’s used up all his opportunities, pulled every string. Osmala has him in his grip. And, paradoxically, Minttu K has just admitted to having a drinking problem: I remember reading that the definition of a heavy drinker is thirty-six units per week.
‘So,’ Minttu K continues before I have the chance to thank her or do anything else, ‘I think it looks like Juhani has got himself in a situation where he’s going to find it really difficult to say no to someone who might be blackmailing him.’
Yet again, the clarity of Minttu K’s thought is bewildering. All this she deduced from overhearing a single sentence. She knocks back the rest of whatever is in her can.
‘And I know all this,’ she says as she lights another cigarette, ‘because the tall, stiff guy told Juhani he has twenty-four hours to sort it out.’