Visceral and permanent - part II

His children had settled down; it was quiet upstairs. He'd go for a short walk, around their peaceful suburb of Tapiola. The snow was falling in a more measured way; as he set off, Aarno didn't feel the cold, dressed in a windcheater he'd thrown on hurriedly before leaving the house.

He walked briskly thinking about the events that had unfolded last week. He had such hopes that the Hungarians, rising against the Red Star, would be able to wrest their freedom from the Soviet yoke. Now – with radio reports of hundreds of tanks pouring into Budapest since yesterday morning, he felt those same emotions that had stirred him to fight when he heard of the Red Army invading Finland. Aarno felt a different kind of rage this time, frustrated that he could do nothing. Nothing. His president was a Soviet apologist. Keeping Finland out of trouble by appeasing the Kremlin. What kind of posture was that? Sure, Finland was small, and had hardly any allies, but this was about truth, about honour, about national pride... Aarno had voted against President Kekkonen, but that fellow-traveller had sneaked in to office by just two electoral college votes. Where was that spirit of 1939? The USSR will end up ruling the world because of the cowardice of its neighbours, who will fall under its influence, one by one, until the brutal heel of communism will end up stamping down upon the face of every human being on earth... Where was NATO, where was the USA?

Aarno, beset by pessimism, considered calling in upon his colleague Tor, who used to work with him in the same law firm and now worked for the United Nations' office in Helsinki. Just the man to talk to at a time like this. He'll have some good insider information – and Tor, who lived a few blocks away, has a well-stocked drinks cabinet with excellent alcohols from all around the world. But no. That would not end well, of a Monday night... He thought about his daughters; turned smartly about face, like he used to do in army drills, and headed back home. Time to rest. His wife Alli would be back from Stockholm tomorrow evening; he'd meet her at the airport. She'd help him get over it; his beloved companion; so wise, so intelligent – no doubt the news from Budapest would be discussed by psychiatric doctors from all over Europe at the conference. He could talk it all through with her; the demons would leave him; he just needed her by his side.

His anger abated after the short walk; Aarno approached their house, fumbling in his pockets for his house key – in the aftermath of his rage, he walked out with neither wallet nor keys. He tried the back door but that was locked. Their eldest daughter Sylvi's bedroom looked out onto the street; he picked up a few small stones and began throwing them at the window. After a while, a little face appeared. However, she could not open the double-glazed windows, nor could she hear her father's exasperated shouts. Minutes later, a police patrol car turned into their street. Aarno, now shivering with cold, tried to be calm as he explained his predicament. As soon as he mentioned Budapest, a sympathetic glimmer appeared on the face of the senior officer. He too had fought in the Winter War. He understood Aarno's feelings.

Sylvi's face now showed up at a downstairs window to take a closer look at the flashing blue light of the police car. Aarno spoke to her, but realised that the five year-old probably couldn't reach for the door latch, and even if she could, she wasn't strong enough to turn it. In any case; she should be in bed, asleep; she'd be off to kindergarten in the morning.

The two police officers were good-natured enough and could understand that something needed to be done in this situation; another call was coming in on the short-wave radio. Aarno compared his situation to those Hungarians facing Soviet tanks 1,500 kilometres to the south. He pulled free a loose brick from his garden wall and, asking the older officer to come with him, he walked along the side of the house and smashed the small window to the larder, which he then carefully opened. With the policeman's help, Arno managed to wriggle through the opening, smashing several jars in the process, landing head-first in a mess of fruit preserves and shattered glass. Overnight he could put a piece of cardboard over the window, lock the larder door from the inside, call a glazier in the morning. No harm done, other than some minor cuts to his scalp and hands, jam in his hair and on his jacket. And earlier that evening, he'd been thinking of throwing rocks through the windows of the Soviet Embassy! Aarno put Silvi to bed for the second time that night, reassuring her that all would be well.

Another Scotch before he went to bed, he pondered? No. It won't help. Maybe a prayer to God will. That God may look after his nation, let them be free and live in peace. And may God look after the Hungarians. With that, Aarno went to bed, not entirely satisfied.

This time last year:
Autumn colours, locally

This time two years ago:
Edinburgh