This is more a state of mind than a place but a few things can be said for sure. The first one being the fact that, quite undoubtedly, there is a river. The mist lays upon the waves, the dark water moves lazily from wherever it comes to wherever it goes. Another fact which can't be denied is actually the presence of somebody; this somebody being a light-haired, grumpy-looking lady leaning on the side of a small, wooden boat. Her arms are crossed.
"I knew you would come today,'' she says with absolutely no hesitance. Her voice sounds a little bit hoarse as if she hasn't used it for a far too long time.
"You always say that,'' replies the man who just a second or two seconds ago wasn't even there. His face deadly pale, his eyes dull, his chest stained red. He looks as if something bad has just happened to him and he would not get better anytime soon. Not ever, in fact, judging by the hole in his chest. People with such injuries don't just drink some cough syrup and walk away. Oh no, this guy is dead, definitely and absolutely.
''And I'm always right.'' She doesn't exactly look at him, her eyes are fixed on the blood dripping on the ground. "Don't be so dramatic. You had it worse." Maybe not many people come these days to the silent banks of the River of Tuoni but the ferrywoman will certainly not allow her workplace getting all messy that easily.
He smiles, the smile of the dead man should be more disturbing but somehow it isn't. He smiles like all of it is not a big deal. At all.
"I guess you're right," he admits and then he just… flickers. There is a small moment of uncertainty as if the universe got hiccup. A second later the hole in the man's chest disappears as well as blood. The women nods satisfied, she reaches inside the boat for a book.
"No clothes washing this time?" asks the dead man, sitting on the stony bank. He looks into milky mist and up into the non-visible, not-entirely-there sky.
"No need for it. I can do it if you ever die for real, not wasting my time without a reason." She opens the book but probably not for reading as she keeps on talking. The man thinks she can't be blamed as she must be bored beyond belief. "I promise, if you will ever manage this: I will greet you properly, take you through the river on my boat and leave on the other side, thankful that all of it is finally over. But not today." To emphasize she points a finger at him. He doesn't seem to mind. This is an old game they play to make the waiting more bearable. He supposes she enjoys it in some way as from time to time she glances at him checking what impact her words have on him.
"Yeah, I remember, I think I will get it right one day. This whole staying dead, I mean." He smiles again as if he said a good joke.
"I don't think so," the ferrywoman says with bored certainty. She remembers how it was at the beginning when everything was young and the spirits of the land weren't such rarity. The old believes were very much alive and the Death's maid had much work to do as the dead were coming to cross the river and go further into the calm land of Tuonela.
Then this kid happened: the young guardian spirit born out of some sense of community. The union of people and land personified, embodied in the child's body. He was certainly dead when he was taken on the boat. No breath, no pulse, no warmth. They were half-way to the other side of the river when the child suddenly became very much alive and disappeared. All the effort and work for nothing. The living were not allowed in the land of the dead.
It happened twice and the ferrywoman decided it wouldn't happen in the future. Not on her watch.
He died and came many times since then. He changed his names, he grew, he never was entirely the same every time he appeared. But that was just his nature. The people changed, the land changed with them. She, on the other hand, was the Death's maid, the ferrywoman, the guide to the other side, the stable one. She spend years and years waiting for the souls of the dead and helping them to cross the water. As the ancient believes were disappearing, less and less people were coming here. Her existence was reduced to pointless waiting.
But from time to time he was back there. Sometimes the woman was wondering if he knew that his visits became the only moments when she could really feel and see how people have changed within these years. She could do it solely by looking at him, his entire presence reflecting the current moment.
She wonders if he knows all of it. There is a chance. It is so, so easy to forget that even this form of him she sees is another mask he puts on and never dares to take off in her presence. She keeps forgetting about it when he bubbles, smiles, even stutters sometimes. She doesn't understand it as she is always herself, nothing less, nothing more. She doesn't hide her nature.
So, today, today he's a young man and has two names: Suomi and Finland. If nothing has changed since the last time they have seen each other. But she doesn't really need to know these names, there is no other who she could mistake him with right now.
"We made a bet on it." His words bring her back to the present. He looks at her, his eyes still dull and foggy. He has a boring face, she thinks. Easy to omit. No dashing beauty as well as no striking ugliness. But his eyes, his eyes are violet and she thinks that makes no sense if somebody wants to blend in. He tries to say something more but she interrupts him with another question because their time is running out and she is absolutely aware of it.
"What was it this time? Have somebody stabbed you with a shovel?"
He finds it funny and it still amuses her from time to time.
"I had an accident, I suppose. I don't remember that well, I will have to ask somebody when I come back. It is always so… well, I think answering the questions is the worst part." He doesn't say that but if she was to guess, she would say that he is not a clever liar. "I will have to explain it somehow, usually something about looking worse than it actually was does the trick." He sounds concern right now.
"I remember when you broke your neck stepping on a potato peel."
"Well, I remember it too. Partially, at least." He doesn't seem very moved by it. She is not sure if he is the same person when he is alive. The body does make the difference. It gives a certain perspective. But the ferrywoman of the River of Tuoni will never know the other one. The one who breaths and walks the earth not aware of their meetings between life and death. He doesn't remember many things when he's alive, he said one day. And it is nothing unusual, really, she can't blame him. That's also the matter of the perspective and the eyes you decide to look through.
He waits in silence, spirits know for what.
"Everything changes faster right now," he finally begins the part she was waiting for. She never asks for it but there is the silent agreement between them, the unspoken pact. Death doesn't change but the Life… Life changes all the time and the ferrywoman wants to know it all. "I don't mean that's bad or something. It really isn't but I… I just don't know where to begin…"
"Begin where you finished," she responses, the book in her hand long forgotten.
"Seventeen years ago or something?"
"I think it was sixteen years two months and twelve days ago. Impressively long, as for you, of course." She knows how much time has passed for sure, she doesn't have to even think about it. She knows the exact day everybody comes to her. Even if it's more than once.
So he speaks and he does put his heart in the story. There've been many better tale-tellers than him, certainly, he tends to correct himself often. Sometimes he picks up too many plots at the same time, half of them get lost in the process. And, as he speaks, the colors come back on his face – his skin is no longer pale-white. Light appears in his eyes. There is no much time left. The ferrywoman wants to point it out but somehow he is faster.
"Oh," he says suddenly like he wasn't expecting it this time. Maybe he has just felt his blood warming up again, "I'm sorry, I think I might be going…"
"Go, I can't hear anything over the beat of your heart." Possibly she didn't want it to sound so harsh but it just turned out like that. He shouldn't pay too much attention to it, she thinks, he knows how she is.
The water flows in Tuoni, the mist silently moves above it. The woman waits, gazes at the river, sees the swan emerging from the milky, wet air and she wonders if maybe her guest will die irrevocably one day as he claims it. And if he would be the last person she would lead to the land of Dead behind the cold, dark water.
Maybe, just maybe, she muses, maybe it is the only reason she still has to wait.
