Louise woke up to someone pounding on the door. Fumbling into a robe, half-awake as usual first thing in the morning, she went to the door and asked who was there.
“Natalya.” The answer was curt and cold.
Louise opened the door. Natalya thrust a copy of Helsingin Sanomat, Finland’s largest daily, directly in her face. “How could you? How could you?” Natalya was shaking with anger. “You lied to me!”
Confused, Louise took a small step back so she could read the headline. It was in Finnish, but the headline had one word she understood well: AMERIKKALAINEN. Shocked, she rapidly searched through the rest of the article. Even with her rudimentary Finnish she could see that it was all about the raffle and Arnie’s race.
“Honestly, I didn’t do it. I …” Her confusion cleared. “Oh, my God, Natalya. Kaarina must have taken the press release to the papers. I asked her to translate it. I told her I would come back with any changes before the two of us took it to the papers. She wasn’t there. I never in the world thought she’d do it on her own.”
“Of course, a great puzzle,” Natalya said sarcastically. “She gets money for her orphanage, and she hates Russians.”
Natalya shook the paper in her face. “This is a capitalist newspaper,” she hissed. “In the papers that are on our side my Misha will be the hero. Your Arnie will be portrayed as a fat, out-of-shape, stooge of capitalism. Our side will have no problem representing it that way, unlike your side, which has to keep in our good graces or risk Stalin’s anger.”
“My side? Natalya, I’m not taking sides here.”
“You are so stupid. There is no such thing as neutrality, just cowardice about choosing sides.” Natalya turned her back on Louise and threw the paper down on the table. “If Misha loses, you’ve as good as killed us.”
She sat on the couch, her eyes buried in her hands.
Louise looked at the newspaper, lying there, like a summons to judgment.
“We’ll stop it,” Louise said. “We’ll get them to pull the story.”
“Too late.” Natalya looked up at Louise, tears forming, trembling with fear.
“Natalya, I didn’t do it.”
“You wrote it!”
Natalya picked up the paper, crumpling it together in a rage, and threw it on the floor. She turned her back on Louise and walked out the door.
Half an hour later, Louise was at the orphanage. She confronted Kaarina with the newspaper. “How could you go behind my back like this?” she asked.
Kaarina blinked. Then totally impassive said, “I didn’t go behind your back. You yourself said it was important to get to the papers for the morning editions. I waited. It got late.”
“I thought I made it clear I would come back if Natalya made changes.”
“You didn’t come back.”
“I never thought you’d take it to the papers without me.”
In the face of Louise’s criticism, Kaarina had now gone completely cold. “So, the director of the orphanage who is putting on the raffle shouldn’t try to make it succeed?”
“If Mikhail loses, the Russians will imprison him, maybe his whole family. They could even kill him.”
“And I’m supposed to worry about what the Russians do to their own people?” Kaarina asked.
“Yes, you should. These people are Natalya’s husband—and her family!”
“Hmmph.” Kaarina dismissed Louise’s comment. “Are you quite finished?”
Louise was surprised at how flat her appeal had fallen.
“No!” Louise said. “Did you take the release to other papers?”
“Yoh.”
“How many?”
“All of them.”
“Oh, my God. If Arnie wins … Oh, my God.”
Louise rushed back to her flat for fresh clothes, some makeup, and hair repair. Half an hour later, she was waiting outside the office of the managing editor of Helsingin Sanomat, Finland’s largest daily.
The editor’s secretary spoke only rudimentary English. However, by showing her Arnie’s card with the fancy American legation heading and the press release, Louise got an understanding smile and the woman had disappeared into an inner office.
She returned holding up five fingers. Louise acknowledged the five-minute wait with a smile. She put the press release in her purse, straightened herself, and put her purse on her lap.
Soon, a distinguished-looking man of around fifty emerged. He smiled as he walked toward her with an awkward limp and indicated she should enter his office. “I am managing editor Aapo Kari.” The man spoke English. Louise breathed an inward sigh of relief. Once in his office, he held a chair for her in front of his desk, all without any further speaking. Louise could just make out the evidence of a crude prosthesis beneath his crisply creased trousers. His right leg had been amputated below the knee.
When she’d settled in front of his desk, she blurted out, “There’s been a terrible mistake.”
Kari waited. “A mistake?” he prompted.
Louise brought out a copy of her English version of the press release. “I assume you or someone received the Finnish translation of this and printed the story.”
Kari motioned for her to give him the release. He glanced at it, then said. “It was me. Kaarina Varila brought it by, along with several hundred tickets. Good story. Good idea. A person can buy a ticket for two markka and that allows them one prediction of the time between the winner and the loser. Whoever guesses the closest to the actual time difference will win one thousand markka. That’s around three hundred American dollars.” He pursed his lips in a silent whistle. “That’s a lot of money. Over a month’s wages for most.”
“Yes. But we must stop the raffle.”
Kari was silent for a moment. “Why?”
“The way your article reads, it will be interpreted as a symbol of the rivalry between Communism and democracy, not two friends who are just doing it for sport.”
“Yes, very likely. And why is this a problem? One would think it would sell a lot of raffle tickets.”
“It’s a problem, because I have it on good authority that if Colonel Bobrov, the Soviet skier, loses the race publicly, it will embarrass the Soviet Union and they will,” she paused, searching for the right words, “take punitive actions.”
“Yes, they probably will. Siberia if he’s lucky. More likely, they’ll accuse him of colluding in an attempt to embarrass the Soviet Union and execute him.”
“So, you’ll pull the story? I mean, not cover the race?”
Kari, however, was looking at the press release again. He looked up at her. “You say we must stop the raffle. So, does Kaarina know about pulling the story?”
“She doesn’t.” Louise looked down at her lap.
“At least you’re honest,” Kari said, “as well as a little impetuous.” He smiled, letting her know he held nothing against her. Then he said, “You realize that I run a newspaper, not a charity.”
“Yes. Of course, but—”
He stopped her short. “We will still want to cover this race as news, particularly since you’ve already gone to some of our rivals. Then there’s the issue of all the lottery tickets already at our newsstands.”
He was looking at her with unblinking eyes. She sat, silently feeling the floor dropping from beneath her.
“Mrs. Koski, if I may explain.”
“Of course.”
“Personally, I am not a fan of the Soviet Union. Or Communists.” He reached down and knocked on his artificial leg.
“I’m sorry,” Louise mumbled. “Of course, I understand.”
“I would like nothing better than to write explicit articles every day extolling the virtues of democracy and attacking the horrors of the Soviet system. However, we Finns unfortunately find ourselves in the middle of a battle between the East and the West for Finland’s loyalty. If we go with the Americans, the Soviet Union will invade, and we will lose our freedom. If we go with the Soviet Union, we will forgo all American aid and investment, and still lose our freedom.”
Louise said nothing.
Kari watched her for a moment, making her feel a bit uncomfortable under his clear and unemotional gaze. “Perhaps I can explain better. My newspaper must be as nonaligned as my country, so we will cover this story evenly, strictly a race between friends, probably in the sports section. How the story is interpreted I’m afraid is beyond our powers.”
“But surely, if you just don’t publish anything, the race will be forgotten and Mikhail—Colonel Bobrov—will be in less danger.”
“You have forgotten. This story is already with other papers.”
“Of course.”
“My nation is divided, Mrs. Koski. As, I am afraid, the world will also be divided in too short a time. As you must know, Finland had a bloody civil war between Communists and non-Communists less than thirty years ago. Terrible atrocities were committed by both sides. That’s within living memory of about half of this country. Many of my countrymen are still ardent Communists. Many of them went over to the Soviet side during the war. Many of those returned from the Soviet Union and, with its backing, have taken positions of power in our government. Others in our government have been trying to remove them, but that is a very delicate and dangerous game. There are always Russians, hovering in the wings shall we say.”
“But … I know there’s tension, but surely you can let the story die. It’s not news. It’s a race between friends—just sport, not politics.”
“One could say the same about the Olympics,” Kari said.
Louise nodded, conceding his point. “Pardon me, Mrs. Koski, I am a Finn. As you must be aware, we are somewhat disposed toward bluntness.”
Louise nodded. “I’m married to one.”
Kari smiled, then went on.
“As a result of your press release, I can assure you that there are several newspapers at this moment thinking about how to cover this race to extol the virtues of Communism. As for this newspaper, your press release provides us a perfect opportunity to get at the Russians without saying a word about this struggle for Finland’s loyalty, perhaps you might even say, its soul. Our readers certainly will see it that way.” He let that sink in. Then he added, “And so will the Russians.”
Louise had no answer. She considered getting down on her knees but instead leaned toward him across the desk and said, “I understand everything you’re saying. What you’re saying is true, but it is irrelevant to the lives of the Bobrovs. Will you please, please stop covering it?”
“I’m sorry, but no. The story is with rival papers. We’ve probably already sold quite a few tickets. We have already promised money to several, what is the word, people who work for us but not full-time?”
“Stringers.”
“Yes. We have committed to several stringers up north who live near the probable race route. I’ve asked them to see if they can determine who is winning.”
“Can’t you just choose not to do the story they turn in?”
“Yoh.” Kari looked at her face solemnly. “I could, but I won’t.”
Louise was dismayed by his unsympathetic demeanor. “Don’t you feel any moral responsibility for this woman and her family?”
There followed one of those silences that to Americans are awkward but that to Finns are a part of normal conversation. Kari’s face had become as cold and fierce as Arctic night.
“Mrs. Koski,” he said very quietly, making sure she’d have to hang on his every word. “My newspaper must be careful not to offend the Russians. Personally, I have no such restriction. I hate Russians. They killed my brother.” He gently pounded his fist on his right thigh. “They took my leg. They bombed us. They took eleven percent of our land and are raping the other eighty-nine percent to squeeze us out of three hundred million dollars of what they call ‘war reparations.’ We must pay reparations for a war they started. You think I care how these bastards interpret this ski race?”
The stereotype of Finnish emotional control was briefly shown to be just that, a stereotype.
After a moment, Kari did regain control. “I apologize.”
“But Mr. Kari, these bastards are a husband and wife with two small children.”
“Did they think about Finnish husbands, wives, and small children when they invaded us?”
“But the Bobrovs are just four people. They didn’t invade Finland.”
“Colonel Bobrov fought in Karelia, on the Lake Ladoga front with their Eighth Army in 1939 and 1940. I asked around. Colonel Bobrov did invade us.”