Wild Song (5 page)

Those next few days, full of sky, sun and sea, were the best days ever. It was a hot summer and I felt like I was on holiday. Hannu was given the go-ahead to teach me to swim better too – that’s what he told me. He kept trying to bring up the topic of his leaving, like he was preparing me, but I didn’t want to hear. I zoned out when he went on about it. I just wanted to swim.

And Hannu was right – I did swim like a seal. The Wild School, Hannu kept saying, believed in giving their pupils space, and time. ‘They want the best for you,’ he kept telling me. I didn’t care what the Wild School wanted. I wanted to swim in the sea. And
I
wanted to swim further and further out. After three days, I left the orange baby float on the rocks, waded straight into the Baltic – and swam. On my own! Hannu said he wished work could always be like this. ‘This is the life, isn’t it, Niilo?’ Hannu, swimming on his back, splashed up water with his feet.

I did the same, swimming as easily on my back as on
my front. ‘Think I could swim to Sweden,’ I shouted, flicking a spray of water over Hannu. We were swimming way past the white buoy and I overtook him, then flipped over and yelled, ‘You trying to help me escape?’

Hannu dived deep and rose up through the water next to me. ‘That’s exactly what I’m trying to do. But not in the way you think.’

We swam on. By now the Wild School island was half a kilometre at our backs. The vast horizon lay shimmering ahead.

‘You don’t get it, Niilo,’ Hannu said as we swam, slowly now. ‘I told you. Freedom’s an inside thing.’

I kicked my feet back hard and felt a fist of anger surge through me. It was so easy for him to prattle on about freedom being an inside-yourself thing. What rubbish. ‘Try saying that when you hear your bedroom door click locked behind you at night.’ I treaded water and ranted, ‘Try saying that when you get no phone, no cigarettes, no Xbox, no nothing except boring old books from the library. Try saying that when you have to stay in the school and watch all the staff go off home on the ferry. Try saying that when you can’t choose what to do. Try saying that—’

‘Okay, Niilo. Okay. I’m sorry.’

I swam away fast and dipped my head under so Hannu wouldn’t see what was tears and what was sea water.

He switched to front crawl to keep up. ‘Niilo, I said I’m sorry. I’m just trying to do the right thing, that’s all.’

I swam without saying anything for a while, then
suddenly turned to him. ‘What do you mean – you lost your memory?’

We swam slowly. I could feel him dragging his story up, getting it ready for telling. I didn’t look at him – sometimes it’s easier like that. We were swimming further out to sea when he told me: how he’d had a car crash when he was twenty-three. He’d just left Lapland, where he lived. ‘I was heading south to Helsinki – to the big city. I’d bought my first car. I was so proud of that car. There was ice on the road. Black ice. And I was probably driving too fast. The car skidded. That’s the last thing I remembered.’ Hannu told me how he had been in a coma for four months, and when he came out of it he was fit and healthy, apart from the slash down his back where the edge of the car door had wedged into him … but he couldn’t remember a thing. If it wasn’t for his father, he said, sitting by his bedside with photo albums and telling him stories of his childhood, he wouldn’t know who he had been.

We were still swimming, slowly. The sea was glassy and warm. ‘Bits come back to me,’ Hannu said. ‘Sometimes I think I can remember, then I think what I remember are the stories my dad told me. Most of my memories now are made up from old photographs. But you see, Niilo, he gave me my story. I had lost it. It’s like I lost myself, and he gave me back to myself.’ He gave me that funny look again, like he was thinking of me and my lost story. ‘Anyway, we better head back now. Race you to the rock.’

He took off and I swam after him. But I couldn’t stop
thinking of Hannu losing his memory. And black ice on the road to Helsinki. Of the car he was so proud of, skidding. Swerving out of control. Of his dad telling him who he was.

Who was I? That’s what I wanted to know. Or maybe I didn’t. I thrashed my legs, forgot about everything and pushed forward through the water with all my might. Maybe Hannu slowed down deliberately, but we touched the craggy rock at the same moment. I was panting and gasping like mad. ‘I won!’ I shouted.

‘It was a draw,’ Hannu said, hoisting himself up to sit on a flat patch of rock. I saw the way he watched me clamber up after him and I swallowed hard. In the past I would have insisted I’d won. I might have grabbed the nearest thing and thrown it. I would have made a major fuss. On this rock in the sea there was nothing to throw. The car door had wedged into his back … I couldn’t get that image out of my head. Hannu kept staring at me, and I chewed my lip and pulled at my hair. Then I hoisted myself up and plonked myself down beside him.

‘Okay,’ I agreed, ‘it was a draw.’ I let my breathing slow down. ‘That’s one impressive scar,’ I said.

Hannu nodded. ‘I suppose so. I forget it’s there most of the time. I put it behind me.’ He laughed, like he had just made a joke. It wasn’t that funny, but I laughed too.

When the laughter died away we sat on that rock out at sea, saying nothing. Gulls wheeled above. I watched the Wild School island. From the rock it was just a huddle of
pine and birch trees and the top of a red-brick building. Beyond that island I could see bumps in the sea. Those were more of the jewels Hannu talked about. More of the archipelago. And here and there small yachts glided past.

‘I don’t get it.’ I turned to look at Hannu and frowned. ‘Like, I’ve learnt to swim, and, for God’s sake – make jam! I know about nettles, berries, weeding and planting seeds. I can cut the top off a strawberry and know the difference between a pine tree and a birch tree but, seriously, is that it? It’s supposed to be a school, isn’t it?’ I shrugged. ‘I mean, I’ve been here ages.’ I flicked my hand towards the island. Drops of sea water spun through the air. ‘I thought I was here to learn stuff.’

Hannu nodded. ‘I suppose that’s the idea.’

‘Like, maths and stuff,’ I went on when Hannu said nothing.

‘Yeah,’ Hannu nodded. ‘Maths and stuff.’ He laughed then, a soft kind of laugh. I laughed too. It all felt like a big joke.

‘What is the Wild School anyway, some education experiment in nature for the seriously disturbed?’

‘That’s one way of putting it.’

‘And are my parents actually paying for this? For me to make jam?’ I laughed again, suddenly picturing myself going back home with suitcases packed with jars of jam.

Hannu laughed too. ‘The government pays most. This kind of education isn’t cheap, Niilo. But yes, your dad pays towards it. He said he wanted to help you.’

I couldn’t believe that. He wanted
rid
of me, but with the sea all around me, and my muscles feeling alive with all the swimming, I didn’t care. ‘I keep wondering when the proper lessons are going to start.’ I didn’t look at Hannu when I said that, I just gazed out to the sea.

‘Personally,’ Hannu said, ‘I think maths is overrated.’ He laughed again. ‘I find shamanic singing more interesting than maths.’ He turned and looked at me. ‘Ever heard of it?’

I shrugged. ‘Sounds weird.’

‘It is. Anyway, I hadn’t heard of it,’ Hannu went on, ‘until about a year ago. I met this man from the north, from Lapland. I’ve already told you that’s where I’m from. Originally, I mean – I’ve been away a while. And, so my dad told me, I was one of the modern Laplanders, not into Santa Claus and chasing reindeers and stuff. Certainly not into singing and magic. That’s why I wanted to go to Helsinki, I guess, to live in the modern world. Anyway, I was lucky. For this job at the Wild School they send you on these expeditions. So there I was, back in Lapland doing this training course. We were often going on hikes in nature. There was a big group of us, but me and this old Laplander usually walked at the same pace. Slow. Maybe it was the car crash did that to me, but I like to go slow now. Anyway, me and him were on a long hike through parts of Lapland – huge lakes, dark forests, bear and elk and reindeer. You should go there if you can, Niilo. It’s magical.’

‘I’m a prisoner, remember?’ I said, but for once it didn’t
come out bitterly, more like a joke. I clamped my wrists together, like they were handcuffed.

‘Oh, yeah,’ Hannu said with a laugh. ‘I forgot. Anyway, me and him got talking, and one night we shared smoked salmon and rye bread under the midnight sun. That’s when he told me about the shamanic singing. They call it “yoiks”, or wild songs. It’s a kind of singing. It’s like, everything and everyone has their song. But some people don’t know their song. Or they lose it. And it isn’t only people who need a song. It’s animals too. Even trees and stars and everything. So me and this Nils – that was the man’s name, a bit like yours – we finished off the bread and then he said:
Hannu, my brother, I give you your wild song!
See, I’d told him my story, of losing my memory. It was like I had lost part of myself. And something told me this Nils was about to give the lost part back to me. Like my dad had done with his stories and photos, only more.’

I didn’t say anything. After that big speech Hannu didn’t either. He fell quiet, like he was trying to remember his wild song.

‘So?’ I said finally.

‘Well, it was strange. The old culture, they have a different language, so I didn’t understand the words. Like I said, after I lost my memory it was like my past vanished. The old man looked at me for ages, then he closed his eyes and next thing he started chanting. It sure wasn’t your average pop song. But when he sang in this strange voice I could feel his song putting me together.’ Hannu gazed
out to sea, like he was remembering it all, way up there in the far north. Then he looked at me. ‘It felt as though I had been kind of broken before.’

‘Sounds pretty weird,’ I said. Except it didn’t. Not deep down. People could get broken, and random stuff like songs could put them together again.

‘It
was
weird. But in my bones I understood it, and in my heart. Maybe this sounds mad to you, Niilo, but it was magical. Because afterwards, after he had chanted this song, all the time in this strange language, and sometimes making movements with his arms, I felt better. A whole lot better. Better than I’d felt for years. I was pretty lost, you know. Yes, my dad had helped. Sure he helped. But there were still missing bits. A kind of emptiness. The wild song filled that.’ Hannu paused, like he was hearing that strange wild song again. ‘And it wasn’t long after that trip I met Saara.’

Next thing he was going to tell me when he was leaving. I had heard enough. I stood up, gripped my toes over the jutting edge of the rock and jumped into the sea.

‘Before the trip to Lapland I was so afraid of getting close to someone.’ Hannu was standing on the rock, shouting. ‘Do you know what that means, Niilo?’

I heard him, but I didn’t turn round. I kept swimming back to the island. Hannu dived in after me. In the distance the bell in the main school building rang for lunch time and I was already dressed and running through the woods by the time Hannu waded ashore. He pounded after me.
I glanced back and saw him, his T-shirt flapping out in the breeze, his flip-flops in his other hand.

Halfway along the nature trail he caught up with me. He flung his T-shirt on the ground, grasped me by the shoulder and swung me round. ‘I don’t tell everyone what I just told you. Listen to me, Niilo. I told you because I had this feeling, when you get out of here, head north. Find your wild song. You and me, Niilo, we have the north in our blood. I told you that already. And you’re not bad. You’ve just lost your story. And your song. We’re similar, you and me. We’ve been brought together for a reason. And like I say, I won’t be always here.’

I broke away and ran on, through the garden and into the courtyard of the school.

Hannu caught up with me again. ‘Niilo, listen.’ He tugged at the sleeve of my shirt. ‘There’s something I need to tell you. About me leaving …’

Just then a swarm of boys spilled out after a gym class. The courtyard, that moments earlier had been empty and silent, was now a hub of noise and chatter. One of the older boys saw us and wolf-whistled. I tugged away from Hannu and slipped into the building.

In moments I had shut myself in my room. Whatever he wanted to tell me, I didn’t want to hear it. I slumped down on my bed with my hands over my ears. I had this sudden memory of Mum and all the times she had been trying to tell me something, and I had never wanted to hear.

Five minutes later Hannu was knocking at my door. ‘Niilo,’ he called, ‘it’s me. It’s Hannu.’ He knocked again. ‘What was that sudden disappearance about? That was important stuff I was telling you. We were doing so well. You swam fantastically in the sea. Niilo?’

I pressed my ear against the door, but I didn’t speak. Then I heard footsteps, heavy footsteps. ‘Leave him, Hannu.’ It was Stubble, the head teacher. I knew his voice. ‘You know by now what our boys are like. They need time in their cave.’

Next thing, I heard footsteps growing faint. They were leaving. I gave them a few seconds, then opened my door and stepped out into the corridor. My door wasn’t locked during the day and I closed it without a sound. I could see the head teacher sweeping Hannu along, so I used my skill and crept behind them, keeping in the shadows and not making a sound.

‘And you understand, don’t you?’ the head teacher went
on. By this time they had reached his office. They were standing at the door of the office. I slunk right in against the wall. ‘In this line of work it doesn’t do to get too close. Yes, you’ve done wonders for poor Niilo. I think you’ve really made a breakthrough. He looks less miserable, that’s for sure. And he even smiles now. He’s like a different boy. That’s great. Being outdoors has really helped. And being able to swim will give him a sense of achievement. But while you’re still here we’d like you to concentrate on the older boys. We’re changing your timetable.’ Then Stubble disappeared into the staffroom, leaving Hannu standing in the hallway.

At the other end of the long corridor I pressed my back against the wall. Just then the bell rang for supper and a swarm of boys filled the corridors. One of them snuck his arm in under my arm. I didn’t know who it was. But he pulled me away, pretty much the way Stubble had swept Hannu along. Normally the other boys left me alone, but now here was one tall, stupid-looking guy, acting like we were the best of chums. I tried to pull my arm away, but whoever had a hold of me was strong. ‘It’s Samuel’s birthday,’ this guy said, still pulling me along. ‘You want cake, don’t you? And there’s going to be ice cream.’

I frantically looked round for Hannu, but he was gone. Next moment we were in the canteen. It was bright and noisy. The boy gripping me steered me up to a table, already crowded with boys, and plumped me down on a bench then slipped in next to me.

I had special one-to-one treatment. Apart from the crazy breakfast times I didn’t even eat with the others. I only ever spoke to Riku – Scarface – and was never so close up to the other boys. Scarface wasn’t at this table, and I could feel my heart kick in my ribs. ‘Hey, see who I got to come to the party,’ this boy was yelling and boasting to the boys around the table. They just stared at me.

We were all considered bad, but I guess, apart from Scarface, I was the worst. I had homemade tattoos and a pierced eyebrow and I think they thought I couldn’t speak. I could stare anybody down. I was the one who punched, kicked, spat and doled out the evil eye. I never mingled with the others. I knew no one. I trusted no one. Right now, I hated sitting at the table with these boys squashed all around me, but I wasn’t going to show I was scared. Anybody dared look at me and I glared at them. I could see how freaked some of them were. Good. The staff member at the table didn’t look too comfortable either.

‘Great to have you join us,’ the staff member said unconvincingly. ‘Isn’t it?’ he added, looking round at the other boys who too quickly, too eagerly, nodded their heads.

I glowered at them all and said nothing. But the older boy by my side, the one who had grabbed me in the first place, kept it up. I looked around for Riku, but couldn’t see him. ‘Yeah, really good to have you join us. I mean, you’re going to have to put up with us for company now. No special—’

‘Jaakko, that’s enough,’ the staff member cut in. A tremor
of tension ran round the table. ‘Right, who’s for chicken soup?’ he piped up. ‘Hey, Niilo, how about you?’

I was starving after all the swimming, but hemmed in like this my appetite had gone. I squirmed on the wooden bench. I had Jaakko on one side and the staff member on the other. The young boy opposite started making clucking sounds and was told to shut up. I pushed my empty bowl away and shook my head. Inside, I was working really hard not to start screaming, stand up, push the table back and run out.

‘You sure?’ the staff member went on, dangling a soup ladle in the air.

I nodded. There was a basket of crusty bread in front of me so I reached out, grabbed a chunk of bread and bit into it. A zing of tension ran round the table.

‘Hey! We haven’t started yet,’ the clucking boy said. ‘We start together. Look at him! Look!’

‘It’s okay,’ the staff member said. ‘We’ll let it go this time. Niilo doesn’t know how we do things. We haven’t had the pleasure of his company much.’

‘Will soon.’ Jaakko grinned.

I crammed the bread into my mouth, my brain working feverishly. What did this Jaakko fool mean? I was going to have to put up with them for company now? It pounded in my head like a war drum. What on earth did he
mean
?

‘Soup, Jaakko?’ the staff member asked, a bright strain to his voice. I swallowed the chunk of bread and grabbed another piece.

‘Yeah, sure, I’ll have chicken soup.’ Jaakko flashed a look round at me and his nostrils flared. His blue eyes had that shine of triumph about them, or madness. With my mouth crammed with bread I gripped my hands into tight fists under the table and watched the man next to me dish out soup. It slopped into Jaakko’s bowl and looked like puke. The staff member pushed the bowl in front of me. I felt sick. I shook my head, then pushed the bowl away and brown liquid sloshed over the rim and onto the tablecloth.

‘Hey, you’re messing the table up,’ the clucking boy said. ‘I don’t like mess. I hate mess. Mess really gets me upset.’

‘Chickens died for us,’ another boy said, and giggled. The boy clucked again. The staff member told him again to be quiet. He was counting to five. Voices flew back and forth, and the voices grew louder.

The staff member reached five. He got more and more anxious-looking. His eyes flickered around the room, like he was expecting someone with more authority than he had to save the day. No one came. His face flushed red. ‘That’s enough,’ he said, first under his breath, then louder. ‘That is enough!’ Nobody took any notice.

‘I can’t s-s-stand mess,’ the boy stammered. ‘I mean, it does s-serious stuff to me. Mess.’

Jaakko, who seemed to be the gang leader, pulled at his soup bowl and clattered his spoon on the table. ‘Ooops! Sorreeeee,’ he said, looking around the whole canteen and grinning. There were eight or nine dining tables and it
looked like they all had their own dramas going on, but our table was centre stage. The prima donnas of the dinner time. The serious nutcases! The ones everybody was looking at. The noise of the canteen racketed in my brain like screeching gulls.

There was a lull in the noise. That’s when Jaakko sighed. ‘Jesus, it’s too bad,’ he said. Everyone around the table looked at him expectantly. He waited, like an actor milking the pause. ‘Big shame Hannu’s leaving so soon.’

‘Leave it out, Jaakko,’ the staff member snapped.

‘What?’ That was the first word I spoke. A knot tightened in my gut. ‘What did you say?’ Of course I knew –Hannu had been telling me for ages – but I had never truly believed it.

A silence fell over the whole table. Spoons dribbled brown chicken soup. The staff member beckoned to a colleague across the room, and two burly men came over. The next few seconds happened like a slow-motion action scene in a movie.

‘Hannu is leaving,’ the staff member said stiffly, getting to his feet. ‘He’s getting married next month, then they’re going north to live.’ He nodded to the man who had come to stand by his side. He looked back at me. ‘He told you. He said you knew, Niilo.’

I felt the smooth table edge in my hands. I gripped it tight – then
pushed
it. Bowls, spoons, bread, glasses of water, napkins, salt cellars, even the small vase of flowers in the middle of the table rolled slowly downwards. It was
like a keeling boat. Soup spilled onto boys’ laps. They screamed. The table leg reared in front of my face.

The three men had a hold of me in a second. One pinned my arms back and others lifted me into the air, as if I was a doll. With my feet off the ground I watched the table crash to the ground and everyone fall down, or stagger to their feet – all in slow motion. A napkin floated in the air. The boy who hated mess howled as the table slammed down on his legs. Another boy punched the boy next to him and the whole dining room erupted like a bar-room brawl. I watched the scene of chaos as I was carried out. It was as if I was watching a film. None of it was real. I was outside of it, looking in and watching, and none of it was real.

Just before they carried me out of the canteen I saw him: Scarface. He was leaning against the wall, sucking juice out of an orange, the only one not fighting. He looked at me, and winked.

Later I sat gazing out of the window in the nurse’s room. I could see the branches of an oak tree, and on a branch a squirrel was feasting on an acorn. That squirrel was free to go where it liked. Sunlight spilled through the branches of the tree, lighting up its red bushy tail. If I could just concentrate on the squirrel, everything would be all right …

Behind me, people came in and out. The door creaked open and shut. A spoon tinkled in a coffee cup. Murmured voices spoke about what to do. Hannu burst into the room. Still I didn’t turn around.

‘I am sorry,’ Hannu said. He was right behind me. Still I sat and stared at the squirrel. ‘I did tell you, Niilo, several times,’ he went on. ‘I got the feeling you weren’t listening. But I never made it a secret. I’m leaving, Niilo. And it doesn’t matter. This is about you, not me. And you’re doing well.’

The squirrel turned the acorn around in its paws, gnawing away and swishing its bushy tail back and forth.

‘He’ll be fine in a day or two,’ the nurse at her desk piped up, sounding none too pleased with Hannu. ‘He’s had a bit of a shock. This is the Wild School. It happens. You should leave now.’

Hannu ignored her and moved round to stand in front of me. I watched the scene like it had nothing to do with me. ‘Look at me, Niilo,’ Hannu said. ‘For God’s sake,
look
at me.’

I moved my head to the side so that I could see the squirrel. It was still there. The acorn was getting smaller.

‘Well, if you won’t look, at least listen.’

I put my hands over my ears. The squirrel dropped the acorn and scurried up the branch. I could still hear Hannu.

‘I worked hard with you. And I did that because I wanted to. Not because it was my job. And we’ve done well, Niilo. You’ve made great steps. Strokes too!’ He laughed then, but the laughter quickly faded. ‘But Saara, remember, I told you about her. We’re getting married, and Saara has a job up north. The wedding is in one month’s time. Then
I’ll be gone from here. This Wild School job, it was always temporary – I told you that. I know you’re finding this hard, but it’ll work out fine. You are a good strong person, Niilo. You are going to make it.’

‘I am going to insist you go now, Hannu,’ the nurse said. She tapped her pen on the desk. ‘He’s very tired. And I think you are upsetting him again.’

‘Yeah, maybe I should go, but right now I’m sick of what I should and shouldn’t do.’ Hannu glared at the nurse. ‘Just give me more time. We know each other well.’ He swung back to face me. ‘Listen to me, Niilo. We’re getting married on the tenth of August and I want you to come to the wedding. It’s on the island of Suomenlinna. I’ve told Saara lots about you. She asked for you to be there too. Come with your family.’

‘Really, Hannu, I am going to ask you to leave now. Please!’ The nurse stood up and opened the door.

I didn’t blink, didn’t show any sign of having heard a word, or even having seen Hannu. Of course I’d heard every word, but it didn’t mean anything. I went into The Capsule and turned the music up loud.

Hannu squeezed my shoulder then drew back as I stared at my knees, my hands floppy on the chair. He walked to the door, his steps heavy and slow, stopped halfway across the room and looked back. ‘I’m here three more weeks.’ I could hear the nurse pick up the phone. ‘Goodbye then, Niilo,’ Hannu said. ‘I believe in you, remember that.’

I heard the nurse get up and open the door. I heard Hannu’s footsteps move away, heavy and slow. Then the door closed.

When I looked up the squirrel had gone.