The Beggar and the Hare by Tuomas Kyrö

berths in the four-berth sleeping compartment. The berth had been intended for Oili Tymäkkä, who had not received her parents’ permission to go and work in a mine for a year because they had already paid for her to take a cramming course in legal studies.
    Vatanescu looked at the ceiling and listened to the delight of the teenagers as they fondled and fed the rabbit.
    Just before the train arrived in Seinäjoki, Jonttu dug from his wallet a brown lump, which he crumbled onto cigarette paper with some powdered tobacco.
    ‘Feel like a smoke?’
    I don’t smoke.
    ‘Just a puff or two.’
    I must be worthy of their trust. They mean well.
    I mustn’t be arrogant.
     
    At first the joint made Vatanescu smile. Then he felt as though he had floated in through the door, along the corridors into the sleeping compartment and lain down on a bed. Then he felt terribly hungry. Then Jonttu went off to the restaurant car to buy something that would stave off the hunger. Then Vatanescu’s tongue began to loosen.
    The biggest problems in the labour market are caused by management structure and working conditions. There’s a need for the workforce to feel that they are wanted and secure. That’s how a spirit of solidarity is built. There must be barbecues now and then. We need to feel that we’re important, that’s all. That we can have an influence on the way things are run, and that we’re taken notice of and listened to. These are things that don’t have much to do with the world of finance, but the problem is that no one ever asks any questions. Think. We need to think about things and not just chase the money. Yet that is what I do, and what you do. I don’t know. It’s something that needs to be given thought.
    Minttu, who was taking notes with her Stabilo pen, underlined the word ‘barbecue’ in three different colours.
    Profit-sharing is essential, twenty-five per cent is not enough. Those who make the greatest physical effort must receive adequate remuneration for putting the strength of their bodies at the company’s disposal. Prostitution and human trafficking are combated, but no one objects to the fact that building workers also sell their bodies. The management swindles its subordinates, lines its own pockets and cuts back on toilet breaks. Think about it.
    Jonttu returned with eight bags of potato crisps, which they mixed with the delicacies Vatanescu had brought from Ming’s restaurant. They ate like pigs and played the board game ‘Star of Africa’ like children. Vatanescu amassed the biggest fortune in emeralds and rubies, but lost it to a robber in Madagascar.
    How can one person take from another the money he has earned with his labour and then enjoy an untroubled night’s sleep?
    They drank Coca-Cola and the cider the teenagers had brought with them, and in the next game Vatanescu made do with being the banker.
    In this game all the players start off with three hundred pounds. In real life many people start off with little more than hunger and a pair of leaky shoes. Should it be like that? Must think about it. Could it be different? Is money the solution?
    I’m going to lie here and think.
    Vatanescu’s mind and body were mellow, gentle, floating. He looked out of the window; the view out there was still the same, little stations, housing estates and industrial parks shortly before and after the main stops. Forest and more forest, becoming less and less tall the further north they went.
    With a start, on the border between sleeping and waking, Vatanescu once again saw the eve of his departure from Romania. His son had dozed off between the wall and his grandmother, whose lungs were as ravaged by damp as the wallpaper. He could still save his son; an eight-year-old boy could recover from almost anything as long as he had fruit juice and football boots. His son’s joy in life was still strong, despite the attempts of older boys to get him to sniff glue with them. Vatanescu had lit the stove, fetched