The Year of the Hare Read Online Free Page A

Vatanen,” the headwaiter said, looking at the hare as if he recognized it. “You’re expected.”
    At the other end of the restaurant sat the photographer and the chief editor. They were drinking beer together and hadn’t noticed Vatanen. The headwaiter explained that the gentlemen had asked him to direct a person looking like Mr. Vatanen to their table, and that he might have a hare with him.
    Again Vatanen had been trapped.
    He slipped out, sneaked back to his hotel, and tried to think. What had gone wrong with his arrangements? Of course, goddamned Yrjö was behind it.
    He phoned Yrjö—the nitwit had told Vatanen’s wife where he was sending the remainder of the money. The rest could be imagined: his wife had ganged up with the office, and they’d come to Heinola to grab him. She was sitting in the bank waiting for him to collect his cash.
    The money had been sent to the bank, but how could he get hold of it without a scene? This needed thinking through.
    He hit on what to do. He phoned down to the receptionist and asked her to make out his bill, but added that three people would soon be coming to meet him in his room, a woman and two men. Then he wrote a few words on a sheet of the hotel stationery and left the note on the table. This done, he looked up the number of the restaurant where he’d just been dancing like a cat on hot bricks, grabbed the telephone, and called; the headwaiter replied.
    “This is Vatanen. Could you get me one or the other of the two men who’re expecting me?”
    “Is that Vatanen?” came a voice shortly. It was the editor.
    “Speaking. Morning.”
    “You’ve had it. Guess what: your old woman’s sitting in the bank, and we’re right here. Get over here fast, and then we can all get back to Helsinki. Enough of this.”
    “Listen, I can’t get there this minute. Come here, all three of you, to my hotel room. It’s number 312. I’ve got to make these two long-distance calls. Pick up my wife from the bank, and we’ll sort the whole thing out together, the four of us.”
    “Right, okay. We’ll be there. Stay where you are, though!”
    “Of course. Bye.”
    This said, Vatanen rushed out to the elevator with the hare and paid the receptionist for the room and his calls. He told her, though, that he’d like her to let in three people who were coming to meet him. Still on the run, he slipped out into the street.
    He took a side-street route to the bank. Peeping through the glass doors, he saw that his wife had not gone, damnit! He retreated and lurked around the corner.
    Soon two men emerged from the tavern nearby, the editor and the photographer. They entered the bank. Shortly they appeared again, accompanied by Vatanen’s wife. All three set off in the direction of the hotel. Vatanen could hear his wife: “I told you this was the only way we’d get him, didn’t I?”
    When the three were out of sight, Vatanen went quietly into the bank, approached the cashier, and produced his identification. Looking at his name on the card, the cashier said: “Your wife was here a minute ago, looking for you. She’s just left.”
    “Yes, I know. I’ll catch up with her in a moment.”
    There had been quite a hefty express charge on Vatanen’s money, but he’d been left with the equivalent of just over three thousand dollars. He signed for it and collected the notes: quite a bit to count. The hare crouched on the glass-plated counter. The women of the bank had all dropped what they were doing and gathered around to admire the handsome creature; they were eager to stroke it.
    “But please don’t touch the hind paw, it’s broken,” Vatanen warned gently.
    “Oh, it’s adorable,” they said. The bank was filled with a heartwarming atmosphere of joy.
    When he finally managed to get away, Vatanen hastened to the taxi stand, climbed into a big black limousine, and said: “Mikkeli, please—and as fast as you can.”
    In Vatanen’s hotel room a vehement discussion was in progress,