True by Riikka Pulkkinen Read Free Book Online Page B

of true statements. For some reason, here, where a heart is a heart and a liver is a liver, and plans are plans, and titles are as weightless as rumors, you spoke only in sentences that were absolutely true.
    â€œMy wife is dying, too,” he said, as if that were a reply.
    Suddenly saying it was easy. He had feared the grief the sentence would cause, but now it sounded simply factual.
    â€œHow much time does she have?” the woman asked calmly.
    â€œThey won’t tell us. But through midsummer, the end of July if all goes well.”
    The woman looked out the window. “Have the two of you been happy?”
    He didn’t have to hesitate with his answer. “Yes, we have. Lately I’ve felt that we’ve been very happy.”
    â€œYou only realize it fully afterward,” the woman said.
    Her wrist bones were like two thin sticks. Her eyebrows were perhaps drawn on with a pencil. Her eyes were strongly delineated. Suddenly Martti felt like he was talking to a circus artist—a tightrope walker or a wise clown.
    â€œSo,” she asked. “What’s the hardest part?”
    He thought for a moment.
    â€œThe hardest part is to see the other person change. To learn them again. And to see in them that you’ve changed, too.”
    The woman nodded, satisfied with his answer; it was eternal and true.
    â€œWhat else?”
    He heard himself say it. For some reason it wasn’t hard to say at all: “It was hardest when I loved someone else.”
    The woman didn’t look surprised; she just nodded.
    â€œWhat was her name, this other one?”
    â€œEeva.”
    There it was. He’d said the name for the first time in decades. It brought a few memories closer. They were individual images. Eeva in the sauna washing her hair. Eeva tired, her eyes swollen with sleep. Eeva angry, pale and flushed at the same time. He let the memories come, although they were painful.
    More words came. He talked, although it felt more like someone inside him was talking.
    â€œI’ve never loved anyone so much, although nowadays it feels like it was all a dream. Or maybe I’ve loved my wife just as much, but in a different way. It’s different when it’s true.”
    â€œDon’t say that,” the woman said, suddenly ferocious, spilling her coffee on the table in her excitement. “Love is always true.”
    He found himself nodding, as if taking orders.
    â€œMy only regret is that I wasn’t braver,” the woman said. “I don’t regret what I’ve done. Unless you’ve committed an actual crime, regretting what you’ve done is the same thing as regretting your life.”
    Martti stepped out of himself for a moment to take note of the oddness of the situation. But who else could he tell? No one he knew.
    â€œBut your wife still wants?” the woman asked.
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œWhat does she want?”
    â€œShe wants to look at the sea every day. Yesterday she talked about swimming, although I doubt she’d be able to. She wants to see mornings and evenings. Maybe she wants to drive to our summer cabin one more time.”
    â€œThen you should take her to look at the sea, let her swim in spite of the risk, show her mornings and evenings. You should take her to the summer cabin. It will be enough.” She smiled.
    â€œAnd you? What do you want to do?”
    She didn’t pause in her answer.
    â€œI want to make crepes with my daughter at our lake cabin in Saimaa. Over the fire. I want to eat one with sugar and jam. Then I want to sit there and knit and look at the lake.”
    â€œMaybe you will, then. Go there and make crepes. Knit.”
    â€œYes,” the woman said. “I will when I’m done with this.”
    They got up as if by common agreement, looked at each other like people who had by some caprice revealed everything to one another. The woman’s smile asked for forgiveness,