The Defenceless (17 page)

Sari arrived on the scene.

‘What’s the matter?’ she asked.

‘Out of shape … Age … it’s nothing,’ he stammered between fits of breathlessness.

‘Is it your heart?’

‘No, it’s bloody not. I should cut back on the fags. My lungs can’t take running like that.’

‘Well cut back, then.’

‘What?’

‘Cut back on the fags, if that’s what you’ve got to do.’

‘For Christ’s sake, don’t you start,’ he scoffed and lit a cigarette, but couldn’t smoke it. He propped his arms against his thighs, tried to catch his breath and grimaced. The cigarette smouldered between his forefinger and middle finger. He had nearly caught the boy. Nearly. He’d screwed up, missed his chance. Big time. Fucking hell.

‘Esko, your lips are blue. I’m going to call an ambulance,’ said Sari, worried.

‘Don’t you bloody dare,’ said Esko. ‘I’m fine.’

‘Then go straight to the doctor at the station. I’ll tell the squad to give you a lift.’

‘No need, I can get there myself. I’ll be right as rain.’

Sari stared at him with a look of concern.

‘Are you fit to work? I mean, in general?’ she asked after a moment. ‘Maybe I should have a chat with Virkkunen.’

‘Have a smoke and relax, will you?’ said Esko, still trying to steady his breathing as he held out the packet of cigarettes. Sari glared at him angrily and walked off towards the flashing blue lights and the group of onlookers that had gathered at the scene.

Perhaps I really should go to the doctor, thought Esko and noticed that the chest pains still hadn’t subsided.

Once again there were only a few customers in Pizzeria Hazileklek. Sturdy white candles had been lit on the tables. The atmosphere was calm and beautiful, very unlike the average pizza parlour. Maalik was standing behind the counter and didn’t look at all surprised to see Anna, though she only rarely visited the place after lunchtime. They were expecting a visit from the police, she thought. I shouldn’t have come here; I don’t want to be at work when I’m here.

‘Hello Anna. How are you?’

‘Very well, thank you.’

‘And how is Sammy?’

‘Physically he’s better; mentally things are taking their toll.’

‘Will he be granted asylum?’

‘I really don’t know. I haven’t had time to look at the case. There are many things to sort out here, not only regarding Sammy.’

‘That’s why this man call here? Esko?’

‘Yes. Your telephone number was found in the pocket of one of our suspects. His name is Reza Jobrani.’

‘Never heard of him. Lots of people order by phone.’ Maalik’s voice sounded very worried.

‘I know that, and I know you’re good people. But you understand that the police have to look into this thoroughly?’

‘Who is this Reza?’

‘He’s associated with a very dangerous street gang from Sweden and Denmark that’s trying to set up in Finland. They’re called the Black Cobras. This is his picture.’

Maalik fell silent. He stared at the photograph, then turned to look towards the kitchen, where the sounds of clattering dishes and the rush of a tap could be heard.

‘I’ll get Farzad,’ he said eventually.

It took a moment before the men returned. Farzad dried his hands on a towel and greeted Anna, his expression tense and nervous. There’s something going on after all; Anna’s pulse started to rise. I can’t bear it if they are involved with the gang too, she thought. They can’t be.

‘We want to be honest with you, Anna,’ said Farzad. ‘But we are very frighten.’

Anna waited for him to continue.

‘A month ago two young men came in. Iranians. At first they were very kind, very friendly, they ask things, chat to us,’ said Maalik and looked at Farzad, as if to check for assurance. Farzad nodded.

‘But then they start to threaten us. They said if we don’t pay them, there will be trouble, but if we do, they will protect us.’

‘Protect you from what?’ asked Anna, though she knew the answer.

‘These men were Black Cobras, they said they protect us from Hell’s Angels.’

‘And, more to the point, from themselves,’ Anna surmised.

‘Well, yes. They tried to speak friendly, but they were very threatening. They said Hazileklek might catch fire or something might happen us, if we don’t pay them.’

‘How much are they asking for?’

‘One thousand euros a month.’

‘Did you pay them?’

‘At first we didn’t agree. We threw them out and said we call the police, but the same evening a car almost run into Farzad as he was leaving work.’

‘What kind of car was it?’

‘A black SUV. New and expensive. We didn’t see the make.’

‘What about the registration number?’

‘No, we were so shocked.’

‘What happened next?’

‘We think about it over night and decide to pay them.’

‘I’m glad you’re telling me this.’

‘They said if we talk to police, they kill us.’

‘I will have to consult my superior, to see how best to deal with these kinds of situations,’ said Anna. Protection rackets are new to me. I doubt anything like this has ever happened in this city before, she thought.

Maalik and Farzad looked at one another.

‘The motorbikers have done things before. Not to us, but we know a few people.’

Well, thought Anna. So the Cobras are stepping on the Angels’ toes in this matter too. Anna promised to contact the men as soon as she knew how to proceed and told them to be on their guard.

‘It might be best to shut the restaurant and go home,’ Anna suggested, but the men would not hear of it.

‘This is our livelihood. We cannot simply shut the door in the customers’ faces,’ Farzad said proudly.

‘Besides, it would look strange if we suddenly disappeared. They will guess we have talk to police.’

‘You’re right,’ said Anna. ‘But make sure you call us straight away if anything untoward happens. Okay?’

The men promised they would. Anna left the pizzeria, accepted that she would have to put in more overtime and strode briskly through the freezing city towards the police station and straight into Virkkunen’s office to discuss how best to protect Maalik and Farzad.

Ákos was excited. He picked T-shirts and hoodies from the clothes horse, folded them and packed them carefully into the suitcase Anna had brought. Anna sat on the unmade bed and watched her brother. She felt angry. Gabriella had called just as she was leaving for her brother’s flat and demanded to come with her. At first Anna had tried to refuse, but the girl went on and on, complaining about how lonely she was, until finally Anna relented. Now she wished she hadn’t. She didn’t need other people witnessing this moment. It felt bad enough that her brother was leaving, her grandmother was ill, and Anna had to stay here.

‘Should I take a coat?’ asked Ákos.

‘I didn’t think to ask Mum what the weather was like. It’s always warm there, isn’t it? I’ll check the weather in Budapest,’ said Anna and opened up the web browser on her phone.

The doorbell rang.

‘That’ll be your au pair,’ said Ákos and went to open the door. The hallway was filled with the happy sounds of Hungarian chit-chat; Gabriella didn’t seem remotely fazed by Ákos’s slightly dishevelled appearance, and the two seemed to get on right away. That was all she needed.

‘It was 18°C today in Budapest,’ she heard Gabriella say. Anna switched off her phone. She was annoyed at Gabriella’s intervention.

‘Your place is further south, so it could be even warmer.’ Gabriella appeared in the doorway and looked at Anna.
‘Szia. Te is akarsz menni?’

‘I want to go, but I can’t. I’ve got too much work on, it’s best to stay here.’

‘Shame. I’d go at the drop of a hat if my grandmother was ill.’

‘You’re not going anywhere while a certain investigation is still pending.’

Ákos stared at the women in disbelief but said nothing. Gabriella just smiled.

‘Do I need to pack all my liquids in a plastic bag?’ Ákos asked.

‘No. I paid for you to check a bag into the hold.’

‘Great.’

‘You can bring back some presents then, some
pálinka
maybe,’ Gabriella giggled. ‘They make really good
pálinka
down your way.’

‘Oh, Ákos knows all about that,’ Anna quipped bitterly.

‘What’s up with you?’ asked Gabriella.

‘Nothing,’ Anna replied and wondered what really
was
the matter with her.

‘We’re still allowed to distil it at home; that’s why it tastes so good. Our dad used to make hundreds of litres of peach and apricot
pálinka
every summer,’ Ákos explained.

‘But he doesn’t any more?’

‘No. Well, for all I know he might still make it, but not in this world. He passed away.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry. Still, I bet the
pálinka
was good.’

‘We weren’t allowed to taste it back then; we were too young. But Mum kept a few bottles, so we got to taste them later. It was good, especially the apricot.’

‘In Hungary you can only get mass-produced stuff. Sometimes it’s quite good. I like the plum-flavoured one.’

‘The factory stuff is shit; you can’t compare it to the real thing.’

‘You’ll have to bring back a few bottles. I want to taste it.’

‘We’ll see about that,’ said Ákos, somewhat embarrassed, as
though he’d suddenly remembered that his relationship with alcohol wasn’t entirely normal.

Ákos continued packing. His clothes didn’t even half fill the large suitcase. Gabriella chatted away unperturbed, telling them amusing stories about her student days and holidays with her family, paying not the slightest attention to Anna’s sulky mood. Ákos asked Gabriella about her life, about coming to Finland, how she liked it here, and cracked jokes that made Gabriella laugh like a bell. Anna had to admit that her brother was a smooth operator. She had utterly forgotten this side to Ákos, his quick sense of humour and his ability to chat with almost anybody. But, she supposed, good company is always best in your native language. That’s what it is. Ákos is withering away in Finland. It’s great that he gets to visit home again; it’ll do him good, she told herself

Anna closed her eyes and let the gentle hum of chit-chat flow inside her like a dram of apricot
pálinka
. She felt suddenly warm and cosy. Let Ákos go, she thought. I’ll get there in the summer. It’s not long now; only a few short months away.

Someone had etched a poem into the concrete wall. There was a lot of other graffiti too, initials, dates, genitals, tags, the word ‘Mum’, the same outbursts as on toilet doors, only more tragic. People defaced toilet doors as a drunken prank, then they opened the doors, had another drink and went home. Here nobody staggered around drunk and nobody left without permission. Is this my home now, Sammy wondered. Surely this too can be a home: a nest locked away from the outside, bars on the windows, a place where the residents don’t have a key. At least it felt safe here, especially when he contemplated what awaited him on the outside.

Sammy didn’t understand a word of the poem; it was in Finnish. Still, he read the text many times every day, tried to absorb the incomprehensible words and took a strange comfort from them. Why must everything have a meaning? he pondered. He didn’t need to understand the words for them to flow in and out of him, pure
and bright. Language is only an image of what is happening inside us, he thought, of what we observe around us, but those images are universal. The Tower of Babel hasn’t scattered them yet. I read that poem as though I’m looking at an image, he thought as he lay on the hard mattress of the police bunk. It has a rhythm, a shape; I just can’t understand the content – but that doesn’t matter at all.

The nurse would be coming in an hour. Sammy was already waiting for her. She was so beautiful. She brought him wonderful pills. He was finally starting to feel human again. In fact, for the first time in a while Sammy felt almost good. Only the continual fear of being sent home perturbed him. It gnawed at his insides like a rat, at times filling him with a terror that snatched his breath and almost choked him. He had no permits, no paperwork. He was illegal. What does it mean to be an illegal person? Did he have the right to build a life for himself, to work and start a family? Did he have the right to exist? At least he didn’t have children yet. Sammy knew of some illegal families whose children were at school in Finland, who had already learnt Finnish, made friends, integrated themselves in Finnish life while their parents were waiting for an answer from the authorities that would give them leave to remain. Then, after years of waiting, they were refused and deported. The fact of disrupting the children’s schooling or the stress caused to the whole family didn’t count for much in the decision-making. The Immigration Office simply stared at reports on the security situation in each country, and if someone somewhere had decided that the country was safe, then it was safe.

Just like Pakistan, Sammy scoffed. He knew all there was to know about the safety of his home country. Besides, safety was always relative. If you only looked from the perspective of the majority of the population, every country was safe. Insecurity was a problem for minorities and the poor. And what kind of madman would risk themselves and the lives of their children to escape their home country, usually by becoming indebted to unscrupulous smugglers? Who would want to spend years in a life of uncertainty, being sent
from one country to the next, unless the dangers at home were very real? It was all very well to deal out – like raffle tickets – apparently carefully considered judgements on an individual’s legality or illegality in a place like Finland, a country where the most pressing minority issue is whether learning Swedish at school should be compulsory. Sammy’s Finnish teacher had told him about this. He couldn’t believe his ears. Social inequality was so great that it made him feel ill. He tried not to think about it, but couldn’t do it. Though physically he felt better than he had for a long time, he was exhausted by the small cell, the lack of exercise, the interviews and the effect of the drugs.

That policewoman was strange. Her seemingly insignificant questions felt like a punch in the face. After their interviews Sammy always felt drained. The situation wasn’t helped by Ritva Siponen’s debriefings. His lawyer was intent on going through every detail of the case every time they met, and she always advised him what to say in the following interviews. It irritated him. He felt like nothing but Ritva’s marionette, the involuntary focus of a set of legal procedures. He tried to forget about Ritva and the interviews, the drugs and his past, everything that he had clung to far too tightly. He tried to forget his fears, let things progress as they were meant to.