The Healer by Antti Tuomainen Page A

their way to work, on an ordinary day, getting on with their lives. The tram thudded to a stop and I continued walking, the cold wind, the smell of burned meat, and the angry stench of ethanol elbowing me in the back as I went.
    I arrived at Ahti and Elina’s building, pressed the buzzer, and waited a moment. The camera moved under its hood like an insect’s antenna as it made its little circuit of the entrance. When it had assured itself that I wasn’t a threat, it stopped, the lock on the door opened, and I went inside. Although the elevator was waiting in the lobby, I took the stairs. My footsteps on the stone staircase rang like drumbeats in the quiet building.
    The smell of a sickroom hit me as soon as I walked into the apartment. Elina’s face was small and pale in the electric light of the entryway. She nodded in greeting, turned, and walked into the living room. I pulled the door closed behind me, took off my coat and shoes, and followed her, pausing at the door to the bedroom to hear Ahti’s snores and see his feet under the covers at the foot of the bed. I was about to take a step into the room but decided against it.
    Elina sat on the sofa with her feet tucked under her, her long hair lying all in a clump on her left shoulder. Once again the soft light gave the room a feeling that it had been forcibly frozen in time, an overly homey feeling. That was what bothered me about it. It felt like a fantasy, an attempt to return to the past.
    I sat down in an imposing armchair that was covered in rough black fabric. It instantly warmed and relaxed my tired frame. I became aware of how exhausted and hungry I was, and of how little I felt like eating anything or making myself comfortable.
    â€œLuckily he’s sleeping again,” Elina said. “Since he’s not really awake when he’s awake. He was so mixed up when he was talking just a while ago that it scared me.”
    â€œI’m sorry Ahti’s sick. I’m sorry your trip’s been delayed.”
    Elina gave a yelping laugh, but there was no joy in it. She took a breath, exhaled quickly, and lifted her left hand to her forehead, like she’d just remembered something.
    â€œI’m sorry. I’m a little tired,” she said. “Tired of everything.”
    â€œThat’s all right,” I said. “It’s just a temporary setback. We’ll think of something.”
    Elina didn’t say anything but glanced toward the bedroom and looked for a moment like she was listening very carefully to something that my ears, at least, couldn’t hear.
    â€œElina, we have to talk,” I said.
    She looked at me again, her gaze sharper, colder.
    â€œAbout Pasi Tarkiainen?”
    I nodded. About Pasi Tarkiainen.
    â€œWhat does he have to do with anything?” Elina asked. “With finding Johanna or anything else? It was all years ago, fifteen years or so. What does it matter?”
    â€œI have a theory that Tarkiainen does have something to do with it.”
    She stroked her hair with one hand and tugged at the hem of her sweater with the other.
    â€œJohanna and Pasi lived together in Kivinokka, didn’t they?” I asked.
    Elina nodded—not right away, but she nodded nevertheless.
    â€œI find it hard to believe that digging up the past will help you find Johanna,” Elina said. “But go ahead. Do what you like.”
    She sighed and tucked her feet tighter beneath her.
    â€œWe lived a different kind of life then,” she said. “We were young and naive. Students. We did everything together. Some things we shouldn’t have done.”
    â€œLike what?”
    â€œLike things Pasi thought of.” Elina glanced at me, saw the expression on my face, and laughed again. This laugh was noticeably more genuine than the previous one. “It’s not what you’re thinking. Pasi Tarkiainen was a radical environmentalist back then. That’s the kind of thing I’m