Northern Hellas, Easter Friday, 2009
Hamalainen The Finn went the first out of the sauna, barefoot in the melting snow. Then came Vladimir The Russian, more skinny but as white as us other two elderly gentlemen. At last myself, The Shivering Swede.
They had cut out a square hole in the ice, and Hamalainen went down without hesitation. Then Vladimir, then myself. Back up on the little bridge, Hamalainen hauled the thermometer out of the water. Temperature had gone up.
"Four Centigrades!" he shouted. The echo answered from all around the little lake: "+4C! 4C!! 4C!!!" He sat down on the icy planks, sour. "Boys, he said: Bathing season is over..."
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This is one of the reasons why I have not made myself heard for a certain time. The other is that the wellknown glass-globe of film cutting has been lowered over Maja & Me. We shall be out around the end of April. Until then, let me quote a favourite line about the mood of these here days:
"April is the cruellest month, breeding. Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing. Memory and desire, stirring. Dull roots with spring rain..."
1922. T.S.Eliot, The Waste Land
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