“Moderately. My husband’s medical practice is quite successful.”
The migraine hums. My patience with Mary is wearing thin. “In this regard, a vast cultural gulf separates us. Your capitalist country exists in a constant state of flux, and throughout its history has been in an almost constant state of war. We in Europe have learned over the centuries that change and transformation bring war, hardship and chaos. We fear it. By and large, we prefer a middle-class existence-with the knowledge that when we’re sick, we can go to the doctor, that we won’t go hungry or be homeless, that we can receive educations-to the excitement of the remote possibility that we might make a billion dollars, which we don’t need anyway. So no, I feel no need to emigrate to your land of opportunity.”
John snickers, then laughs. “Damn,” he says, “that was great. You should be a politician. Or a television preacher.”
Mary’s young eyes age twenty years in an instant, and they aren’t dancing anymore. She folds her hands in front of her face and looks at Kate over her fingertips. “And how do you feel about the way your husband just denigrated our homeland?”
Kate takes a second before answering. “Mary, it wasn’t a denigration, it was an explanation of differing political philosophies. Kari has spent time in the States, but you haven’t been to Finland before, so if either of you has more right to an opinion, it’s him. I’ve lived in both places, and Kari’s viewpoint has some justification.” She looks at me. “But that was a little harsh,” she says.
“Well, Kari,” Mary says. “I must say, you’re quite well-spoken in English, considering that it’s not your language.”
“Thanks,” I say. “Your English is good, too.”
Under the table, Kate kicks my shin to get my attention. Her look asks me to stop.
My earlier feelings of goodwill toward John and Mary are gone. My fears about John and Mary being here for so long, during such a special time for Kate and me, are renewed. It’s too late now, though, and I resolve to try and make the best of it.
“Anybody up for dessert, coffee and cognac?” John asks.
We manage to make it through the rest of the evening without further incident.
12
The four of us go home. Both John and Mary remove their shoes in the foyer without being asked. That they know we don’t wear shoes in our houses speaks well of them. They made it a point to learn something about Finnish culture before coming here.
We make up the spare bed for Mary and the couch for John. His pick-me-up has worn off, and he and Mary are both exhausted from the long journey across the Atlantic. I’m dead in my tracks, too. I brush my teeth. John is waiting for me outside the bathroom.
“Hey, Kari,” he says. “Got a joint?”
“Excuse me?”
“A little pot would help me sleep.”
John just doesn’t know when to quit. “No, I don’t have a joint.”
“Oh, come on, everybody knows cops have the best dope.”
“Good night, John,” I say, and push past him.
Kate is waiting for me in bed. I turn out the lights. She lays her head on my shoulder. “I don’t know what to think about John and Mary,” she says.
I stroke her round belly. “Me, neither. I guess so much time has passed that all three of you have changed. Maybe you have to get to know them again.”
“You don’t like them, do you?” she asks.
There’s no point in lying. “I’m trying to like them, for your sake.”
“Mary never laughs,” she says. “And for John, everything is one big joke. When we were kids, it was the opposite. I don’t know what happened.”
She doesn’t mention how much John drank. I don’t mention his drug use.
“You were a little tough on them,” she says.
“I had a hard day.”