He smiles. “Okay.”
There’s no technique. I take the opportunity to whack the hell out of him. It doesn’t hurt, just stings a little. The guys in the sauna heard us speaking English and realize I’m teasing a foreigner. They chuckle. John gets it, takes it in stride and laughs with them. He has problems, that’s apparent, but he also has a good side. I want to like him, but he’s done his best to make it hard for me.
We sit for a while until he gets too hot, then go outside and sit in the snow and cold air for a bit, go back to the sauna, repeat the process. An old man I know offers me a beer and asks me to play a game of speed chess at the table in the dressing room. He and I pass a Koskenkorva bottle back and forth a couple times. The sauna and vodka dull my headache. John looks at the bottle but knows better than to ask for a drink. Despite John, I’m enjoying myself.
We go back to the sauna a third time. John says he would like to try it hotter and asks how to do it. I say the valve on the stove releases water and creates more steam. Before I can instruct him further, John hops up and moves toward it.
This sauna is holy ground, a place for aficionados. Many are older men who’ve practiced the art of sauna for a lifetime. The rules of Kotiharjun sauna are as sacrosanct as those of a church service. A major rule is that only men sitting in the hottest area of the sauna may throw water without asking permission. Too much steam turns the hot corner into an oven.
Exuberant John yanks the valve open and lets water fly. Way too much. Even in our cool corner, the steam burns my lungs and the inside of my nose. The guys in the hot seats get scalded and turn furious, start screaming at John and calling him names. He doesn’t know what he’s done wrong. They come out of their corner after him. The floor is slick. He can’t move fast enough to get away from them. Plus he’s naked and has nowhere to escape to. Four men grab him and force him across the room.
“Kari!” he yells. “Help me!”
I might if I could, for Kate’s sake, but I can’t. I consider that John has come halfway around the world and, within a day, has managed to almost get himself thrown in jail, and now finds himself attacked by four naked men. I can’t help but laugh. Welcome to Finland. Three men force him to sit down. Another comes back and throws the valve open. He yells at John, “Let’s see how you like it, you stupid cunt.”
“Just sit still for a minute,” I say. “You won’t die. Try not to breathe too deep.”
The four men stand in the middle of the room with their arms folded and stare at John while he cooks. They don’t want to hurt him, just teach him a lesson. They go outside to cool off. He creeps out of the hot seat over to me. “Can we go now?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I say, “let’s get something to eat.”
I get a Taxi and take John to Juttutupa, a favorite restaurant. I figure if I have to babysit Kate’s brother, I might as well enjoy myself as best I can. The building sits opposite the water and resembles a small castle constructed from granite blocks. It’s been around for better than a century. Juttutupa is next door to the offices of SDP, the Social Democratic Party, and has a reputation for politicos hanging out and making deals over food and drink.