The Princess of Burundi - Kjell Eriksson [110]
“We’ll see,” he had said, and Justus had heard from his voice that he wasn’t sure what to do about her. “She’s old,” he had added. Maybe John was going to wait until she had died?
Justus passed Erki Karjalainen’s house a second time. An old car was parked in the driveway. There was a decal of the Finnish flag in the back window. He glimpsed a woman in the window, behind some Christmas stars. She looked out and Justus picked up the pace. The street ended about one hundred meters away and beyond that lay a patch of forest. Justus stopped where the trees started. The snow-laden spruce trees reminded him of a walk he had taken with John a few years ago. He felt empty and tired, but the memory of his father’s happiness made him smile briefly. Then came the tears. They had set out to find their own Christmas tree. “We’ll save a couple of hundred, at least,” John said. Justus didn’t know if it was the cheap Christmas tree or the fun of being with his son in the forest that made John so elated, but it didn’t matter. Not then and not now. He had laughed, taken Justus by the hand, and together they had examined more than twenty spruce trees before they found the one they wanted.
A car came by and Justus drew into the side of the road. The car skidded a little on the ice as it turned around. It had a Finnish license plate and it turned into the Karjalainens’ garage.
Justus walked straight into the forest. Snow was falling and even though it was the middle of the day it was already getting dark. At the edge of the forest there were footprints, but after only ten meters the surface of the snow lay undisturbed. He trudged on. The backpack bounced up and down on his back. He was aware of its weight but it didn’t bother him. When he had been walking for a few minutes he came to a clearing and saw an old-fashioned red cottage. There was a light on inside and in the garden there was a straw goat, a traditional Christmas ornament. He walked up to the goat. It was bound with red satin ribbon. He patted it, dusting off some of the snow that had gathered on its back. He started to cry again, although he tried hard to keep the tears back.
The cottage looked like it was straight out of a fairy tale. He thought how strange it was that a cottage like this could be so close to town. Who lives here? he had time to think before an older woman opened the door and put her head out.
“Merry Christmas,” she said, and if it hadn’t been for the weight on his chest he would have laughed.
“Merry Christmas,” he mumbled. “I think I took a wrong turn,” he added, hastening to explain why he was standing in her garden.
“That depends on where you were headed,” she said and stepped out onto the little porch.
“You have a fairy-tale house,” he said. His hand was still touching the goat’s head.
“Yes, it’s nice, isn’t it?” she said. “Are you on your way to the Christmas meeting?”
He nodded although he had no idea what she was talking about.
“Go out to the road and take a right,” she said. “After a while you’ll get to a sign that says UKS. Go in there. It won’t take you long.”
Justus started walking in the direction she had indicated.
“Merry Christmas,” she said again.
He walked a few meters, then turned. The woman was still there.
“You’re not on your way to the meeting, are you?”
He shook his head. For a few seconds all was still. The snow had stopped.
“You’re welcome to come in, if you want to,” she said. “Maybe you’d like something warm to drink.”
Justus looked at her and after a second’s thought he shook his head.
“I have to keep going,” he said.
“It looks like you’ve been crying.”
He almost broke down and told her everything. Her kind voice, the cottage tucked into the snow, a toy house with cotton wool on the roof, and his longing for warmth made him hesitate.
“I thought I was lost,” he said and swallowed.
“Come in and warm yourself for a while.”
He shook his head, managed to get out a “thank you,” and turned. He walked with a long, determined stride. After