The crew had taken up the habit of speaking English in Kate’s presence, out of politeness.
“They’re right, you know,” Kate said, and I saw it dawn on them that she must be privy to everything. She looked at Sulo. “Sweetness,” she said, “would you be a dear and bring me a cup of coffee, with a little milk in it?” Sulo translates to “sweet,” and so it seemed natural to her to call him that. She had no idea what she’d done.
Milo hee-hawed. “Sweetness, that’s great! Sweetness, could I have a cup, too?” And thus, Sulo became Sweetness forevermore. He maintained his dignity and pretended as if nothing had happened. He asked me if I would care for a cup. He served us all, even Milo.
“Thank you, Sweetness,” Milo said.
Sweetness stood up, walked over to peruse my CD collection, kept his back to us so we couldn’t see his face turn red. “Pomo, do you mind if I put on some music?”
I told him to go ahead, and we all sat without speaking and listened to Charlie Parker blow saxophone. The group had a strange dynamic. Milo and Sweetness both emulated me, vied for my attention, and I got the feeling I had taken on some kind of father figure role for them. They spent far more time in our home than necessary, stopped by under any pretense. They were just in the neighborhood and popped in. Did we need anything from the grocery?
Their demeanor toward Kate carried something with it that suggested motherhood, and her quiet dignity and bearing, especially when she held Anu, reinforced it. Despite Kate lacking the lush figure commonly portrayed during the period, she and Anu together often called to my mind Renaissance images of Madonna and Child. Milo and Sweetness bickered and insulted each other constantly, but then Milo took Sweetness out and helped him shop for clothes, reminiscent of the behavior of brothers. And finally, Arvid Lahtinen called me every couple days, and the tone of our conversations were much like grandfather and grandson.
I’d only known Arvid a few weeks, and our relationship was forged by criminal activity and murder. Among other things, his wife had cancer, he helped her to die, and I covered it up for him. Plus, he knew my grandpa during the Second World War. They were friends and killed many men together.
And now we were phone friends. I’d never had a phone friend before, but I enjoyed his calls.
My relationship with Sweetness also began with an act of violence. Two bouncers accidentally killed his brother. He repaid them by stabbing them with a box cutter and hitting them repeatedly in the face with a key ring, the keys protruding from between his fingers, causing awful puncture wounds and disfiguring them. I gave him a chance and offered him a job on a drunken whim, because he had a shitty upbringing and I felt sorry for him, and because I thought his capacity for violence would be of use to me.
I picked up my phone and called my neurologist brother, Jari. He picked up. “Hello, big brother,” I said to him, even though he’s half my size, because he’s four years older than me.
It was two days until brain surgery, his voice radiated concern. “You OK?” he asked.
“Yeah, I’m fine, but I made a decision. I’m going to be out of action anyway. I want to take care of all my problems at once.”
“Such as?”
“I want to check into the hospital early. Tomorrow. I want the scar on my face removed, and surgery on my knee to repair it as best as they’re able.”
He laughed at me. “Hospitals and surgeons don’t offer one-day service, and you need tests on your knee to find out how to best repair the damage, how much of the damage can be repaired, or even if it can be repaired at all.”