Raid and the Blackest Sheep Read Online Free

clinic was light and healthy. For lunch, they had had cabbage soup, and the dinner menu included steamed rainbow trout and vegetable stew. Jansson was sure he would suffer from withdrawal if he didn’t get a proper steak dinner soon, but the nurses had imposed a strict diet and monitored it aggressively.
         At half-past three, Jansson called his wife at work to complain about the conditions and slow passage of time, but he didn’t get the sympathy he was looking for. As she was just on her way to a meeting, she cut the conversation short. Jansson promised to call back in the evening.
         Feeling vaguely restless, Jansson got dressed and went to look for something to do.
         Half a dozen war veterans were sitting at a table near the window in the lobby, clinking coffee cups and sipping lemonade.
         The recreation area featured a billiards table, ping-pong and a small library and reading room. Jansson picked up a copy of Technology Today and tried to focus on reading, but when he realized he had been staring at the same paragraph without reading a single word, he tossed it aside.
         Jansson felt abandoned. His wife didn’t care to talk to him and Huusko spent his time chasing his physical therapist. He felt alone, as if in the middle of a dark forest, useless and forgotten.
         Jansson was in search of a suitable scapegoat for all his recent troubles.
         “You’re not getting any younger.”
         Jansson clung to his wife’s every word.
         He was fifty-four. Did she think he was too old? She was only four years his junior, after all.
         Jansson was slowly coming to terms with the fact that his despondency had stemmed from his wife’s comment. Ordinarily, he wouldn’t have given it a second thought, but at that moment, it had struck a nerve and lingered, gnawing at his mind.
         He had strained his back while slaving away at the compost pile, despite his wife’s warnings. Her sarcastic reminders about it hurt more than she realized. Jansson himself had noticed how heavy his breathing had been while climbing the stairs. His wife described his gait as a crawl. Even the suggestion of any slightly more complicated sexual positions had made her laugh in his face.

     That laugh had sent both his prowess and passion reeling.
         Jansson had convinced himself that he was just out of shape, but after her remarks, he had had to admit to himself that his age was as much to blame.
         The previous week, a colleague—two years his junior—had undergone bypass surgery. Jansson and Huusko had been to see him at the hospital.
         As they left the hospital, Jansson had heard Huusko whispering to himself: Good luck with retirement, Gramps.
         Though the comment had grated on Jansson, he hadn’t said a word, but Huusko had noticed.
         “Did I say something wrong?”
         “I’ll let you know when you don’t.”
         “You know I got a good heart. I only hurt people by accident.”
         “Huusko, you really think Leppä’s a gramps?”
         “He didn’t hear that.”
         “ I did. He’s a year and a half younger than I am.”
         “He looks a lot older,” was Huusko’s slippery response.
         “I don’t buy it.”
         “You wanna know what I think?”
         “No.”
         “I think you’re one of those ‘forever-young’ types.”
         “I don’t want to be young.”
         “And not old either?”
         “Not yet.”
         That’s when Huusko had started to coax Jansson into coming along to the rehab center. People would see Jansson as a new man, he promised.
         Jansson walked into the lobby where the patients were gathering for dinner. The trout smelled fishy, and in the worst way.
         It crossed Jansson’s mind that his wife and his colleagues might be conspiring against him.
         Huusko entered the lobby swinging a