I reached for the bible and opened it at random but when I tried to start reading my voice wouldn’t obey.

I don’t want to I said. Won’t you come back with me to kippofarm instead. We’ll celebrate christmas with bror and angelika. I’ll drive you back here tomorrow. 312

Is it what you really want she asked.

Yes I said. I thought no. But now it was too late. I hadn’t expected her to react so quickly but she straightaway wheeled her chair over to the wardrobe and pulled out a suitcase. We hadn’t even touched the coffee.

Will you pack my toothbrush and nightdress and the book she said with her back turned to me.

I helped her on with her coat and hat pulling her dead arm through its sleeve. Her skin was as cold as a grass snake’s. When I pushed her wheelchair through the dining room her manner was queenly as she waved goodbye to the other inmates taking afternoon coffee and cake. Their eyes followed us with their thoughts wafting around and above us.

Poor souls mother said. They can hardly remember their own names.

It was tough pushing the wheelchair along against the snow. Doubt made my arms ache.

Can you stand I asked and she nodded. Heaved herself upright. Teetered and slumped against me. She smelled the way she always did. It was a mixture of luxsoap and byre. In the end I had to lift her into the high passenger seat of the jeep.

It had stopped snowing. Is this your car she asked.

No I said. It’s bror’s. It’s very impractical she said.

I turned on the radio to programme two. Afternoon news in finnish.

Herran jestas mother said. I asked what she had just said. Herran jestas she repeated. Puhas kurjuus.

Do you know finnish I asked. I had never heard her speak it. As far as I could remember she spoke like the rest of us. Except when she said my name. 313

That is meänkielä she said. Our language. Your language too.

How do you mean our language.

Finnish as they speak it in tornedalen. I come from tornedalen didn’t you know that.

No I said. I thought you. (had hatched from an egg out on the longmoor).

You two came with me to visit once. You and bror. You were only little. Maybe six.

I sneaked a look at the woman who was rocking in time to an accordion tune.

She wasn’t even that old. Around seventy. Her skin was still smooth on the healthy side of her face. Once a long time ago we called her äiti. Not mother.

Listen jaana she said. That man’s playing is very fine. Do you remember how we used to dance. I taught you to dance the polka. Säkkijärvenpolkka.