Punished

36. Else-Maj

ELSE-MAJ

1985

Little Ol-ánte came running down the road, flushed and out of breath. Else-Maj was at the kitchen window and saw his agile leap across the ditch. He was heading straight for their house. Her heart raced—this didn’t bode well.

“Gustu, I think you should come here,” she called in a low, tense voice to her husband, who was in the bathroom.

The boy yanked open the door and stomped from the front hall into the kitchen. “I think Stella’s dead! áhkku says Gustu needs to come!”

“Who is Stella?”

“Marge’s daughter!” He was snot-faced and scared.

Gustu was already at the door, stuffing his feet into his snowmobile boots and pulling on his coat simultaneously.

“Where’s the girl?” Else-Maj kept her voice calm; though she wanted to comfort the boy, her arms hung slack.

“By áhkku and áddjá’s house. She fell out of a tree and landed on a rock we couldn’t see under all the snow. There’s so much blood!”

Gustu shot a glance at Else-Maj and placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder, the one she should have offered. “Let’s go, Ol-ánte. It’s a good thing you got here so fast.”

Else-Maj stood on the front steps, watching them run off side by side. Gustu had forgotten his hat and gloves, and she decided to follow them. This sort of thing was his business—he was the village’s gunsttar, their healer. But she was sure they were in a state of panic over there, Marge wasn’t strong enough, nor was her enná, Mariana. They would need Else-Maj to take control. Gustu would have his hands full with the girl; he would stanch the blood and see to her injuries.

She put on her coat and went out, told the dog to stop barking. It had a sixth sense, that pup, could always tell when something was wrong.

Had anyone thought to call the ambulance? She sped up, walking faster the closer she got to the house.

They were all gathered around the tree. Hadn’t they even taken the little girl inside?

Now she was running. What was wrong with people?

Marge was wandering around like a lost soul, crying loudly as Mariana stood still, her eyes on Gustu’s back.

The child’s eyes were closed. She didn’t have a hat on, and she had been bleeding from a gash near her eyebrow, rivulets of red over her eye and cheek, disappearing under the collar of her jacket. The blood had frozen in the cold; later it could be scraped away in red flakes.

Gustu had stopped the bleeding. Mariana’s hands were clasped in prayer.

“Why won’t she wake up?” Marge whimpered.

“Did you call an ambulance?” Else-Maj spoke from her diaphragm, and her voice came out stern and authoritative.

“There’s none available,” Gustu said through gritted teeth. “But there might be soon.”

“Might be?!” she exclaimed. “Call again! Where is Biera?”

She looked around for Marge’s isá.

“He…” Mariana seemed confused. “Maybe he’s calling again. He must be in the house.”

Else-Maj scoffed. Men were like that, always fleeing the scene. She had seen it far too often. Out with the reindeer they were manly men, but as soon as anything else went sideways they were just pitiful. So few of them were like her Gustu; she knew he would have been a steady presence even without his ability.

“We’ll have to start driving and hope they can send an ambulance to meet us along the way,” she said. “The bleeding has stopped, right?”

Gustu nodded.

“She can’t just lie here on the cold ground. Let’s get her up.” Else-Maj fell to her knees and got her hands under the girl’s shoulders.

“They said we should be careful with her neck,” Marge said.

Else-Maj glared. Why was she running around like an idiot instead of picking the little girl up?

“There’s nothing wrong with her neck.” Else-Maj left no room for doubt. She looked at Gustu and realized that he wasn’t so sure. “Let’s carry her to the car,” she said anyway.

Else-Maj moved her fingertips under the small body. The lashes of the girl’s unbloodied eye fluttered. A piteous whimper. Gustu had his hands on her all the while. Else-Maj had seen his lips moving.

“Mama,” a tiny voice croaked.

Marge threw herself to the ground between Else-Maj and Gustu. Her hands hovered a few centimeters over her daughter, as though she were afraid to touch her. “Estela! Mama is right here, you’re going to be just fine!”

The little girl gurgled.

“She’s going to throw up,” Else-Maj said, and with her hands under the girl’s shoulders she rolled her cautiously but quickly onto her side.

Stella vomited and couldn’t breathe as it came out of her nose.

“Concussion,” said Else-Maj. She picked the child up; she was just about as much of a featherweight as her own Ella had been at that age. Gustu took over and carried her to the car. Marge staggered along beside them, fumbling for a hand to hold, crying so loudly that Else-Maj wanted to snap at her. The poor girl was already scared enough.

“We’ll take Marge’s car and head for the hospital. But they have to send an ambulance—they have to. They can meet us along the way. You call and tell them what kind of car to look out for,” Else-Maj said to Mariana, who nodded and went into the house.

She glimpsed Biera through the living room window and wished she could dash inside to tell him off. Hiding like that, such a big man. She looked at Gustu and thanked God he was hers.

“Get some barf bags,” she said to Ol-ánte and áili, who everyone had forgotten. The children were pale, their eyes red. “She’s going to be okay,” she forced herself to say in a gentle voice. “Now go get a Konsum sack.”

The children ran inside and came back with two bags. Gustu had placed Stella in the back seat and Marge sat with her daughter’s head in her lap. Gustu got behind the wheel and adjusted the seat as Else-Maj hopped in beside him.

She looked at the girl’s forehead; the edges of the wound had drawn together as though stitched. It would do until the hospital could take over.

“Are you okay to drive?”

“Oh, yes.” Gustu had already started the car. “We’ll meet the ambulance before Vazá?.”

“Are you sure?” Marge asked, and Else-Maj fixed her eyes on her and nodded. If Gustu said so, that’s what would happen.

The girl stared blankly at the roof of the car.

“Got dat manná, Stella?” Else-Maj asked, but had she gotten the name right? Everyone but Marge had called her Stella.

“She doesn’t know Sámi,” Marge said, and stroked the cheek that wasn’t streaked with blood. “How are you feeling, sweetie?”

“My head hurts.”

“We’ll be to the ambulance soon.”

“You mustn’t fall asleep, now,” said Else-Maj.

Gustu put the car in first gear and headed out of the yard. He sped through the village, which made Else-Maj nervous, but he placed a hand on her knee and squeezed. He’d always found it easy to offer her a simple touch, while she just sat there with slack arms.

They soon passed Vuolle Sohppar and Silkemuotki and Else-Maj waited to spot the blue lights.

“You must think I’m a terrible mother,” Marge said in Sámi, sniffling. “I had no idea what to do.”

“What are you nattering on about?”

“I am a terrible mother.”

“Stop that crying. You’re scaring your little girl. This is just a new experience for you. I’ve seen any number of accidents, you know. Nils Johan has taken more trips in the ambulance than just about any other kid in the village. It’s going to be fine.”

“But I see the way you all look at me and think it was strange of me to take on such a big girl.”

Else-Maj turned around and aimed a stern look at Marge. “I promise you, I never thought any such thing. Neither did anyone else, Marge. You’re imagining things.”

Gustu sighed. No, she was no good at this stuff. She turned back around to keep an eye out for the ambulance.

“Do you ever think about what it was like for us, at school? Because ever since I got Estela, I can’t stop thinking about it.”

Else-Maj stiffened in her seat and wished she could ask Gustu to stop the car and let her out. She wrung her hands, pressing fists into her belly.

Marge had stopped sniffling and her voice sounded clearer. “It’s like I never quite became whole, or something. Maybe that’s why I never managed to find a husband. But I wanted a child so badly, and adoption was the only way.”

Else-Maj’s fingers were now digging in her coat pockets, feeling tiny shards of gravel poke under her nails. “Stop this, you’ve just had a shock.”

“But what right did I have to take Estela from her homeland?” She was sobbing again. “Do you remember when Housemother said joiking was a sin, that it was calling for the devil? Maybe that’s why my life turned out the way it did.”

Else-Maj glanced at Gustu’s hands, which were clenched on the wheel. That did it, he would just have to stop the car and let her out. She couldn’t take any more of this.

“Because, you know, I joiked sometimes, like Isá, there at the school, when I felt really homesick. Only in secret, of course. It scared the hell out of me when she said it was sinful.”

“How is Stella doing?” Gustu interrupted.

“She’s almost asleep.”

“Keep her awake.”

“She doesn’t like it when I hug her. I don’t know what to do. I’m not as strong as you are, Else-Maj.”

“That’s enough!” Else-Maj raised her voice. “You can’t keep talking like that. It doesn’t help. Right now you just work on keeping her awake, and everything will be fine.”

“Rita Olsson lives in town. I saw her.”

Else-Maj stopped mid-breath. Her heart pounded beneath the fragile skin of her throat. Ever since the day she saw that woman at the Laestadian meeting, she had tried not to think about her, had decided she didn’t want to know what she was up to or where she lived.

They’d been driving fast for about fifteen minutes when they spotted the ambulance.

Gustu flashed the brights and slowed down. They couldn’t stop quite yet but they knew the road well; there was a parking pull-out just ahead. Gustu raised a hand at the ambulance driver as they passed, and they were finally able to stop a few hundred meters on.

Else-Maj got out of the car and let Gustu handle everything. The ambulance pulled up behind them. She said hello to the paramedics but didn’t recognize them and kept her distance as they spoke with Gustu and examined Stella. She heard her husband say that he had stopped the bleeding and let them know what to expect when they arrived at the hospital. The gash was deep, it would open when she got to Giron, but then there would be doctors who could stitch it up. The paramedics didn’t raise any eyebrows; they were used to taking over from a gunsttar. They listened and were grateful. The girl was transferred into the ambulance. Marge climbed in after her, avoiding their eyes. Else-Maj wondered if she should tell the paramedics that the mother was in shock, but she let it go. They would probably notice. Although they didn’t know, of course, that Marge was typically a quiet person and that her chattering itself was a sign of shock. Then again, Else-Maj didn’t know her well anymore; maybe she’d become more talkative over the years.

The ambulance ran with flashing lights but no siren, just as it had when they’d encountered it. She and Gustu got back in the car. Neither of them would mention what Marge had talked about, and that was perfectly fine with Else-Maj. But she didn’t like the fact that Marge had put a wedge between them, a reminder that they never talked about the nomad school. It felt uncomfortable and a little awkward to sit there pretending nothing was wrong. But she just wanted to be here in the moment, safe and sound with her Gustu. She’d never wanted to know if his years at the school had caused him pain, and she certainly wasn’t going to talk about her own feelings. And never about Sara. He’d asked once, early on, and she had waved it off, said it was so long ago and she had been a child when it happened, didn’t remember much about it.

There were some Christians who claimed that what Gustu did called on the help of dark powers. They said these things within earshot of her, but she pretended not to hear. She had never asked him where his ability came from; there was no need. Of course it was God’s help he had, when he cured others.

There was a Tornedalian song on the radio and Gustu hummed along, smiling her way, aware that she had opinions about his singing voice. But did he know how fond she was of him? They never said “I love you”—had they ever? It was something they simply understood. Gustu would laugh and say there was no need for words when you knew you belonged together. They complemented each other, each with their own tasks. She spent a lot of time on her own when he was off with the reindeer, but she had learned to take care of herself from a very young age.

Else-Maj wanted to say he had done a good job with Stella. But even such simple words of praise were a challenge. So how on earth could she say she loved someone?