Chapter 4

The park wasn"t quite as empty as Maija thought. Obviously, her father wasn"t the only one around who liked to get up early. People of all ages were jogging up and down the alleys, to the sounds of unbearably cheerful music. Old ladies were walking in pairs and gossiping, with an expression of incredible importance on their faces. Some were sitting on the benches and feeding crumbs of bread to hungry, cold little birds who didn"t fly away to the warm South to escape the cold winter.
   And Maija wanted to sing. A sweet, sentimental song was cooking in her mind, menacing to escape from her throat every moment. And she wanted to see the neighborhood from above and to count the grey-roofed houses and to do many things that only can be done alone. All she needed now was to find a place where she could be alone. She walked deeper into the old park, and walked on and on. The alley was getting narrower and narrower and less and less arranged. Closer to the end of it, it was obvious that nobody took care of this area of the park. The few benches that still remained, were turned over and there were graffiti writings on them, saying things of deep meaning, such as "Tommy and the Rippers were here" and "punk"s not dead". Still, it was a nice and quiet place, and there were no jogging middle-aged ladies there. Tommy, for the moment, wasn"t there either.
   She searched for a place to sit. Her choice has fallen on a large round stone, almost hidden by a big oak tree, at the roots of which it lay. The oak"s leaves were yellow, and at every slight movement of the air a couple of them would fall. The oak would soon remain bare and defensless.
   Maija sat on the cold stone and looked. Her father"s house could be seen clearly from here, and all the houses of the sleepy neighbours with the closed curtains as well. From here, everything looked so romantic and melancholic. The few noises of busy people that she heard at the more developed area of the park, were diminished here. "I know you"re cold and sad," - she turned to the oak tree at her thoughts - "I know you miss your pretty green leaves and the little birds that used to sing happy songs in your branches. Now the leaves have fallen off, and the birds are far away, looking for sunshine. But summer will come again, even if it"s a gloomy and rainy Northern summer. You will again be fresh and green and the happy choir of birds will be in the embrace of your branches. And meanwhile, I"m here. I"m just a bare and sad tree myself - I have no mother, no brother, no sister and no friend. I"m far away from my homeland. And here I"m sitting at your roots. Looking for shelter. I like you. I see that you are a good and kind tree. Would you like me to sing you a song?"
   She caressed the rusty surface of the tree with her cold, bare little hand. She didn"t have any gloves so she hid her numb fingers in the sleeves of her jumper. It felt so good to sit there quietly, at a place no one else visits. A sweet quiet song was pouring out of her throat. "In the green parks, listening silently
gentle winds carrying thy song" - she forgot all the rest of the words and was repeating the same line over and over again. Then she stopped singing and sat, her arms around her knees and her head resting on her arm. She didn"t know the time. It was still as dark and cold in the early morning. Maybe only an hour had passed since she left home, maybe it was well over lunchtime already. But time wasn"t important.
   In the stilness that was only broken by the soft whisper of falling leaves, she suddenly heard the cracking of a broken dry branch behind her. Surprised, almost scared, she turned around to find out that she wasn"t alone anymore. She got up to her feet and looked at the person who looked very much like another Tommy who came to this lonely place to find another bench for some more graffiti writings.
   "I"m sorry I scared you," - said the boy, with a soft accent of the Northern people. - "I shouldn"t have come from behind like this. But you were hidden by that tree. And besides I couldn"t imagine that someone else could come here."
   "Someone else?" - she repeated his words, eyeing him suspiciously.
   "I always come here when I want to be alone a bit. I thought I discovered this place. I didn"t think that someone else might have been coming here as well. Just never noticed anyone but myself around. Do you come here often?"
   "Actually, it"s the first time that I set foot in this park" - she said. - "I"ve never been here before. If you want to, I can leave. You were here before me. Are you Tommy?"
   "Tommy?" - he grinned, looking at the bench that held the author"s name proudly. - "No, that"s not me. Tommy is one guy from around that comes here sometimes to hang around with his buddies. Now that"s me," - he added, pointing at two letters that were cut by a pocket knife onto the surface of the oak tree. The letter said "MC". - "Martin Costello, I live nearby as well. And what about you?"
   "I"m Maija," - she replied, looking a little bit more cheerful. - "Why don"t you sit down? There"s plenty of room on that cold stone after all."
   Sitting on the stone, they looked together towards the grey rooftops. Martin was supporting his chin with his hand and looking at a yellow oak leaf in his hand as if it was something completely unfamiliar to him. Maija was looking aside, and from time to time looked at the clear and quiet lines of Martin"s face. There was something extremely peaceful at his straight eyebrows, kindly curved lips and high forehead. Summer has left some freckles on his nose that were already disappearing. There was plenty of space on the stone, but there wasn"t any point trying to be still alone while someone was sitting so near.
   "Tell me, where have you come from?" - asked Martin after a couple of silent minutes. - "you couldn"t possibly be from here. I would have known you at least by face, it"s a small neighborhood. And besides, you don"t look as if you were from here. You look different, and - and speak different."
   "You"re right, originally I am from the South" - she admitted, - "My father lives here and I came to live with him only yesterday. Now I live right there - see that street? In that house with the grey rooftop - well there are many, but anyway I mean that one. With the green fence around it. Yeah, that one."
   "No kidding!" - he was obviously surprised, - "we"re neighbors then. I live just across the street. In that house with the blue car parked beside it. That"s my mom"s car".
   "Neighbors, then," - said Maija, as if they were agreeing on some kind of a deal, and smiled as he shook her little hand. - "Tell me, do you have a watch? What time is it?"
   Martin pulled up his sleeve and let her look at the watch on his wrist. It was almost noon already - time to go and eat lunch with Papa.
   "I should go now," - she said, - "Time to go home - thank you" - she stood there, confused for an unknown reason - "and - I"ll let you be finally alone for a bit - I mean, I have been alone until you came and you still haven"t."
   "Who wants to be alone anyway now," - muttered the boy quietly under his nose, as he watched her walking down the narrow alley.