The Woman Who Borrowed Memories: Selected Stories

  Maila was silent.

  “I’ve got the night shift at the factory,” Johanna said. “You’ll have to tell me what time she comes home and where she’s been. I need to know what’s going on. I’ve mended your clothes and put them in the bottom drawer. Have you rubbed butter on your hands?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. The skin will crack from all that scrubbing, and then they won’t be of any use to anyone.”

  I know that, Maila thought. After doing the dishes, she lay down on her bed.

  “Take a blanket,” said her sister. “You shouldn’t sleep without something over you.”

  “I’m not sleeping,” Maila said.

  Johanna sat by the window and worried about Siiri. If only it hadn’t been an Italian. Americans were foreign enough, but she had to go and find herself an Italian, a dark-skinned little good-for-nothing who was shorter than she was. Johanna had seen them down on the street saying good night. Siiri would never have dared bring him up to the room. He had the wrong religion, too. Everything about him was wrong. And when asked, she was snappish and gave flippant, evasive answers and then went and lay on her bed and pretended to sleep. And now Maila lay there the same way, with her face to the wall though it was still early. Suddenly Johanna felt very tired. How am I to cope with them? she thought. I can’t even talk to them, they just crawl into their shells. How am I supposed to help them if they don’t even hear what I say?

  She said, “I’ve got our folk costumes ready for the Finnish Festival. Now, this time, don’t leave the apron at home. Are you asleep?” She waited a moment and said, “We’ll have a good time at the Society. Are you asleep or are you awake?”

  But Maila didn’t answer.

  When Johanna came home towards morning, Siiri lay in bed, but she’d thrown her clothes in a pile and her blanket lay on the floor. Johanna picked it up and covered her, and when she bent down over the bed she smelled wine. Siiri lay with her arms thrown over her head like a child, and her round face with its half-open mouth was also that of a child, now, as she slept.

  Johanna sat down on the edge of the bed and looked at her sister. She’s not pretty, she thought. She has a perfectly ordinary face that no one would look at twice back home. Her legs are too short, and her eyes are very small. But she’s young and round and laughs a lot. What am I to do with Siiri, who’s throwing herself away without a thought for her future?

  She went for a glass of water to put beside the bed and found flowers in the sink, a bouquet in the process of wilting. When she came back with the water, Siiri had turned and her hand lay across her breast. Two wedding rings shone on her finger. God have mercy, Johanna thought. She hasn’t been to work today, she’s run off and married her Italian. As quietly as she could, Johanna opened her cot, made it up, and lay down, but she couldn’t sleep. She could only think about the future. She knew that the Italian lived with his three brothers in a room somewhere near the harbor and that he wasn’t worth having. She knew Siiri had acted out of spite and that she would be unhappy. And she was immeasurably hurt at not having been allowed to help with the arrangements. If misfortune had to occur, they could at least have dressed it up, a party at the Society with coffee and music. Somehow the marriage could have been explained away and given an honorable if pitiful place. Now it was all wrong from beginning to end. Siiri had had no faith in her sister and had not asked for her advice. They could have talked about it. They could have made plans together, and Johanna would have decided what was best for each of them without doing any of them the least harm. For the first time since the hard journey from the old country, Johanna began to cry. Maila no doubt heard her, but she was a coward and pretended to sleep.

  When Johanna woke up the next morning, her sisters were up getting ready for work. She got out of bed and sat on the edge of her cot for a while. She was terribly tired.

  “Go back to sleep,” Siiri said. “You had the night shift. We’ll put your coffee under the cozy.” Johanna could hear in her voice that she was afraid.

  “You’re not getting off that easy,” Johanna said. “I need to talk to you. But first I’m going to wash my face.” She went to the sink and there was complete silence behind her. They’re frightened, she thought. They’re afraid of me. It was a difficult thought, a thing she had not understood. You take care of people and tend to everything, you’re considerate, you struggle and plan, you think you’re giving them a good life, and suddenly they turn away from you and are afraid. She washed her face and turned towards the room and said, “I congratulate you on your marriage. We could have had a party at the Society and sent out invitations.”

  “That’s nice of you,” Siiri said, looking as if she were hunted by dogs. She had her work satchel and was ready to go.

  “Are you leaving right now, this minute?”

  “Yes. It’s late.”

  “I think we’d better be off,” said Maila, already at the door.

  And so they left and nothing further was said. I know, Johanna thought. I know how they run down the stairs. They’re relieved, as if they’d gotten away with something, I know how they feel. What is it that’s wrong? Why is it like this? They make me so tired, and we have our whole lives ahead of us.

  It was a beautiful March day with a sharpness in the air. Spring had come at last.

  That evening, Johanna asked, “Aren’t you going to invite him home?”

  “He doesn’t want to come,” Siiri said.

  “If he doesn’t want to come, it’s because you’ve made him scared of me. What did you tell him?”

  “Nothing.”

  “What does he know about our life?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know,” Johanna repeated. “You know nothing, you and Maila. You creep away from everything and say you don’t know. It’s so easy. And you go and get married, you who thinks everything is easy. You enter into matrimony. Do you know what it means? Do you know what it means to take care of another human being?”

  Siiri’s answer was cheeky. “Lucio’s going to take care of me!”

  “Lucio’s going to take care of you! That’s lovely. He earns nothing, and he’ll never be able to give you a home. You can’t even consummate your marriage because you don’t even own a bed.”

  Siiri screamed. “Oh! Really! Is that right!? Well, then, give us a bed! Hang up another blanket in some corner and leave us in peace! You’ve got blankets hung up all over the house anyway, so no one will see the dishpan and the washbowl and everything else you want to hide! You fix everything so fine, so give us our own blanket so we don’t have to look at you!”

  Johanna didn’t answer, but sat very still. Siiri had never before turned on her as if she hated her. It was dreadful to feel this stifled animosity pouring forth in rash words. It was like a powerful blow below the belt. She made no answer. Siiri stood staring at the floor, then suddenly she sprang into action and ran to the door.

  “Take your coat,” Johanna said. “It’s still cold.”

  Siiri was out almost every evening, and when she came home she was surly and silent and went to bed at once.

  “Do you talk American to each other?” Maila wondered.

  “Yes. What else?”

  “But you hardly know any.”

  “Neither does he.”

  Siiri was in the habit of not saying Lucio’s name at home, not a single time since that first evening. Johanna supposed it was some kind of punishment. “Does he work down at the harbor?” she asked. “Or what does he do?”

  “A little of everything. He helps his brother.”

  “And what does his brother do?”

  “I don’t know exactly. Business.”

  “Business,” Johanna repeated. “You know what Papa thought about business, and all the trouble he had with the people who do business. And you ought to understand that a person who doesn’t dare talk about his work isn’t proud of what he does.”

  “Are you?” Siiri blurted out.

  “
Yes. I do a good job that I’m not ashamed of.” Slowly, Johanna blushed. She looked at her sister and said, “I know I’m red in the face, but if it’s a blush of shame, it’s not for me but for you. I haven’t written to Papa about your marriage, because I can’t make things sound better than they are. You’ll have to write to him yourself, but show me the letter so I can check your spelling. And the next time you see your Italian, I would ask you to find out what kind of business he’s in. Otherwise I’ll find out for myself.”

  Johanna didn’t know where Lucio Marandino lived, and she didn’t care. She went to the Italian consulate. With the help of her dictionary, she’d composed several questions that required answers, but all they could tell her was that he did odd jobs. On the day they counted their money, Siiri had almost none of her wages left and couldn’t contribute to the household pool.

  “What did you buy yourself?” Johanna asked her. “You haven’t brought home anything new, and you’ve eaten at home. Don’t tell me. I know. You’ve given your wages to him. He’s not earning any money right now. When will it get better?”

  “Next week,” Siiri said. “He’s got something big coming up next week.”

  And the following week, Siiri came home with new stockings and a red dress and a necklace that was certainly not made of glass beads. Johanna said nothing. She let Siiri be happy with her presents and asked no questions. If the Italian had found an honorable job, Siiri would have said so herself. But the next day, when the sisters were at work, Johanna took the necklace to a jewelry shop and asked what it was worth. The man behind the counter went into another room, and when he came back he was brusque and wanted to know where she’d got it.

  “That’s none of your affair,” she said. “I want to know what it’s worth.”

  “Is it an heirloom?”

  “I don’t understand. Is it genuine?”

  “The stones are real. Do you want to sell it?”

  “No, I just want to know.”

  He shrugged his shoulders and told her there would be a charge for an appraisal. She didn’t understand the words, put the necklace in her purse, and went away. But what Johanna had understood—very clearly—was the man’s suspicions and the respect in his hands when he touched Siiri’s necklace. She was greatly distressed and didn’t know what she should do. All through work that day she could think of nothing but the necklace. Mysterious words like “diamonds” and “gemstones” floated through her thoughts. She couldn’t tell Siiri that her Italian was a thief. She couldn’t tell Siiri she was wearing a fortune around her neck. She couldn’t sell the necklace to make life easier for them. She couldn’t do a thing. And saying nothing was the same as lying.

  By and by, hard times came again for Lucio Marandino, Siiri’s wages disappeared, and Johanna was forced to dip into their savings. They never spoke of him. For Siiri, home had become a place where she ate and slept, and she was never happy. She wore the necklace when she went out in the evenings. But one fine day it was gone. Johanna noticed at once. Because Siiri and Maila never told her anything, she was forced to go through their drawers. Belongings reveal a great deal. The necklace was not there. The Italian had taken it back, had sold his gift. Siiri’s behavior would have been different if she had gone and lost it. Now she was merely distant and nonchalant, as if nothing had happened at all.

  “Maila,” Johanna said, “what has she told you?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Don’t you talk to each other? What do you talk about when I’m not home?”

  “Oh, nothing much.”

  Johanna got angry and shouted, “You’re like a cow! What do you want? What is it? Do you have a good life or don’t you?”

  “Why are you making such a fuss?” Maila said. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Living together grew very difficult. Sometimes Johanna thought she should give them a little gaiety, but she had no idea how to go about it. Back home, when you felt bad, you went out on the hillside for a while or into the woods, and then you came home again and no one noticed. In a city, you go out and slam the door, or close it terribly quietly, and everyone knows that now she’s walking the streets because she’s so sick of it all. They know. And, when she comes back, everyone tries to act normal but can’t.

  Somehow I have to help Siiri, Johanna thought. It can’t go on like this. She just sits there and says nothing.

  Now the Finnish Society’s annual Festival was coming. It was an important event. People made a show of all they’d accomplished during the previous year; everything was noticed and discussed. How could she deliver up her little sister to such judgment? Siiri would arrive with her Italian and they would sit there together, the one with her pale white hair and the other dark and much too small and there would be all those questions about his work and where they lived, all those friendly, stubborn questions that were not meant to help—they were just talk, but dangerous talk that could do much damage. And they had to go to the Society’s Festival all three of them—Johanna was on the board.

  And so the big day came, the way all things do in time. Siiri wanted to wear the red dress the Italian had given her.

  “But this is a Finnish celebration,” Johanna said. “The most important one of the year. We wear our folk costumes to honor the old country. Remembering the old country is the only thing of real value we have left.”

  Suddenly Siiri was beside herself. “You and your memories!” she screamed. “You make all the decisions!” She lost her temper completely and shrieked at her sister. “You can keep your old country! I want to live in the new country and I want to wear my red dress!” And she threw herself on the floor and wept.

  Johanna got her onto the bed and put wet towels on her temples. When Siiri had calmed down enough to listen, Johanna said the red dress would be all right. Everything would work out, but Siiri was not to cry and make her face swollen and ugly. After all, she wanted to look pretty for her Italian.

  “I don’t want to see him,” Siiri whispered and began to cry again.

  “Maila,” said Johanna, “go to the pharmacy and get something soothing. Take the dictionary.”

  In the evening, they went to the Society. Siiri’s face was flushed, and her eyes looked even smaller than usual. Her manner was almost defiant. She spoke quickly and thoughtlessly to everyone they met in the hallway, looking around the whole time, but he hadn’t yet arrived. The Society had a space in a school in the eastern part of the city and members were sitting at school desks two by two. The platform was decorated in blue and white, with spruce branches and candles. He came in at the last minute and sat down beside Siiri, who had saved a place for him. Johanna sat behind them with Maila. She looked at his fat little neck with its black locks and thought, This is a bad man. How can he seem so round and childish? The orchestra struck up the national anthem and everyone stood, Lucio Marandino a bit later than the others. Funny, Johanna thought, they’re actually round and childish both of them. If they had a child, it would be fat as a piglet. Everyone sat down again. Siiri glanced right and left to see what kind of an impression her Italian was making, and she rested her left hand on the back of the desk in front of her so her wedding rings would show. This was his first time at the Society. From time to time she pressed up against him to show that this man was hers.

  “Maila, do you see the way she’s carrying on?” Johanna whispered. “Don’t speak to her this evening. I’ve made up my mind for all of us.”

  Maila stared at her sister Johanna for a long moment, then she looked away and sat quietly as before.

  After the lecture and the choir, they all went out into the corridor where coffee and juice were being served. Siiri and her husband did not approach the serving table but stood quietly by the boot rack.

  “Wouldn’t you like some coffee?” Johanna asked in Finnish. “Shall I get you a cup?”

  “No, thank you. I don’t care for any.”

  “If you hide here by the coats, you won’t be able to talk to pe
ople. It’s not often you get to speak your own language outside the four walls of your home.”

  “I’ll talk to Lucio,” said Siiri, and she said it as a challenge, loudly, as if she wanted to start an argument.

  “You’ll be all alone,” Johanna replied. “They don’t like him.” And so it was said and couldn’t be taken back.

  “It is a very Finnish party,” said Lucio Marandino. He spoke bad American. His eyes were like knives. He knew well enough what they were talking about.

  “He means it’s no fun,” Siiri said. “And he’s absolutely right. I think your old Society is awful!”

  “Now, you’re not to disgrace yourself,” Johanna said. “You mustn’t cry. Here’s a handkerchief—go to the lavatory and wait there until you’re calm.” Siiri took the handkerchief and went. So that’s what things had come to, Siiri mocking the Society, the only thing that still bound them to the home they’d left behind. It meant nothing to her that once every month she had the great good fortune to spend an evening in a place where she could speak her own language to any person she met and be understood and be able to say, “Do you remember . . . ?” or “What province are you from and how has life treated you here in the new world . . . ?” No, she had withdrawn from all of them with her Italian, whom she couldn’t even talk to, a thief who understood nothing. Johanna turned to him and said in American, “Go away. Leave my sister. You don’t have the money for a home. You can’t live in our home. No one likes you. It’s all wrong.”

  He answered, “I don’t like you. You are an awful person from Finland.”

  The orchestra began playing folk songs, and people went back and sat down in their places. Siiri sat stiff and straight beside her Italian. Her red dress stood out like a sore thumb in the room. They heard a new lecture, but Johanna had a hard time listening. She was thinking only of the money she had brought with her to buy Siiri’s freedom from a life of misery. It was everything they had saved and set aside, a thick purse of black leather, and she had it in her apron pocket. The purse was perfectly safe in her pocket, but her hand kept creeping down to check that it was really still there.