White Hunger (Chance Encounter Series) by Aki Ollikainen Page B

whore?’
    The man shoves his fingers between Marja’s legs, pulls them out, spits on them, forces them back inside. Panting, he gets to work on Marja, who is pressed underwater by the cold hand of terror, which will not let go. No air. Then the man pushes himself into her.
    ‘Fucking dry mare,’ he grunts.
    The moment feels endless, but it does end, when the man lets out a spluttering noise. Then he gives a cry and seems to float off Marja.
    His wife has pulled him up by the hair. He puts on his shirt and disappears back into the bedroom, swearing at the boy whose face looms above the ledge.
    Finally, Marja’s voice is released from her throat. She gulps it back down when she sees the woman’s hand, raised ready to strike, though still trembling in the air.
    ‘Whore, whore, whore,’ the woman hisses through her teeth.
    She grabs Marja by the hair and swings her head around. Juho clings to his mother’s neck.
    ‘You can go into the cowshed for the night, along with all the other cows, though there’s no bull for you there,’ the woman says, finally releasing her grip.
    Marja gathers together her torn clothes, dresses Juho hastily, goes to the door and opens it. It is dark outside and cold. The woman stands in the main room, in the glow of the spill, and tears now at her own hair. The head of the blind boy sticks out from the ledge, seeking the light, moving to and fro like a pendulum.
    The woman lets go of her hair and her anguished expression instantly becomes a haughty one. She takes a lantern off a hook by the door, lights it and hands it to Marja.
    ‘Go. And in the morning you’ll be gone, whore.’
     
    Darkness rises from the snow, along with the whirling flakes. The wind rustles in the trees; beyond, the muteness of the night is endless. The cowshed door resists Marja’s attempts at pulling, then the wind blasts it wide open and at the same time snow pours in, taking Marja with it. She hears the meek lowing of cows.
    There are embers in the cowshed stove, radiating the same faint light as in the mill. Marja hangs the lantern on a hook and adds some twigs to the embers. They ignite with a small crackle, like ice on a puddle breaking underfoot. She finds a horse blanket next to the stove and wraps it round Juho.
    There are three thin cows in the shed. Marja spots a pair of shears that have been pushed into the gap between the wall and the door frame. She takes them out, chooses thehealthiest-looking of the animals and cuts a small wound in its neck. The cow lets out a subdued cry. Marja licks the wound and starts sucking blood. The cow lows again and butts Marja so she falls over. She lies on the floor and tries to lick tears from her cheeks, but there are no tears.
    ‘Mother, make me warm,’ Juho pleads.
    Marja drags herself to the boy, curls up inside the blanket next to him and falls asleep. She has a dream in which she does not exist. A dream that contains no dream, only boundless, colourless darkness.
     
    Finally, Marja is reborn in the middle of the darkness. At first, she is just a reflection on the surface of the water, then her senses fill the image mercilessly. The darkness around Marja slowly changes into a space she recognizes as a cowshed. Pallid light streams in through the doorway, then condenses into a woman, who bends to pick up a pair of bloodied shears, which hurtle towards Marja.
    ‘Were you sent by the Devil?’
    The woman’s eyes glint with cold anger. Marja struggles to get free of the blanket and stumbles out of the cowshed, pulling Juho after her. The woman follows, holding a pail. Out in the yard, the farmer is calling the dog, which is nowhere to be seen.
    ‘The whore’s let blood from the cow!’
    The man jumps on Marja, fells her so she lies beneath him and rubs snow in her face. ‘I’ll kill you, I’ll kill you!’
    The man presses his cold palm against her face. Marja hears Juho’s cry. Between the man’s fingers, she sees the woman raising her pail with the aim of