TH02 - The Priest of Evil by Matti Joensuu Page B

prepared him for it, though at first he had not understood. The key to everything lay beneath his bedside table. He was not quite sure whether he was to carry out the plan himself, and thinking about it now he felt that he should not. Perhaps not, though this would take him straight into Maammo’s eternal embrace, for as the earth spirit he must not be selfish. Selfishness was an affront to Maammo. He was more important to her the way he was, a quiet pioneer clearing the road to the Truth.
    In order to carry out the sacrifice he required someone else, a disciple of sorts. And already he was almost sure who that disciple would be. The girl did however have rather a quick temper, and for this reason he still had doubts. He felt he would have to examine her in a new light and maybe test her in some way.
    ‘ Pica pica ecclesia ,’ he muttered, concentrating hard as he folded both little fingers into his palms, tucked them beneath his thumbs and crossed the rest of them. He then pressed the tips of his fingers against his forehead and closed his eyes. A moment passed and he could see the girl – her cheeks ruddy, how she walked somewhat awkwardly due to her excess weight. It was enough, and he whispered to himself: ‘Tonight, at the compass in the railway station…’
    He moved his head, somewhat bewildered, as if he had suddenly come to, crept towards his bedside table and knelt down beside it. He held it round the corners, gently lifted it and moved it to the side, so carefully that the storm lantern did not so much as flicker and the water in his mug did not splash. There lay his key: four sweet, ripe sticks of dynamite, like four phalluses, caps on each one of them; and a coil of yellow and green wires inside that looked like the spilled guts of an animal.
    As he beheld all this, for a brief moment he could see the coming of the Truth, the new Holy Big Bang. It would incinerate everything and make it pure, taking with it all sinners and infidels, all the wrongs and suffering endured by those who know the Truth.
    ‘Alea iacta est.’
12. Visitor
    ‘Jesus Christ,’ Harjunpää sighed quietly – perhaps he merely thought it. His lips didn’t move, but his mind sighed for the umpteenth time. He rested his left hand on his hip, rubbed his forehead with the other and marched over to the office door as if he were about to go outside. Restlessly he returned to his desk, made for the door, then back again to the desk. ‘Jesus Christ…’
    ‘Good morning to you too,’ said Tupala. He had silently stepped up to the doorway and now stood there on tiptoes, bobbing up and down, his hands crossed behind his back. His expression was serious, as always, but his eyes betrayed an amused little smile. ‘What happened to you?’
    ‘This underground business. I went over there and blurted out to the victim’s wife that her husband had died, and it turns out she’s about eight months pregnant…’
    ‘You weren’t to know. And someone would have had to tell her sooner or later.’
    ‘I know, I know… If only I’d thought to take Carita with me. But the woman lives just up the road in Merihaka. It seemed a bit pointless to drive through rush hour to the station and back.’
    ‘I doubt having a priest there would have softened the blow.’
    ‘I don’t know. It’s a good job she didn’t have a miscarriage. What do I know - they rushed her to the maternity clinic.’
    ‘I know how you feel,’ said Tupala after a moment’s silence, as if he had been wondering whether to go on or not. ‘Once, this woman was only half way through her pregnancy when her husband went and hooked up a vacuum hose to the exhaust pipe and stuck it through the car window. Money problems, apparently. And this woman made me tell her over and over that it wasn’t a painful death – you know the way people always want to know their loved ones haven’t suffered… So I assured her that it’s just like falling asleep. The next day I get a phone call