Finally, Ilmarinen and his assistant boarded their coach. Deciding to seek solace in the company of an old friend, Ilmarinen directed his chauffeur towards the outskirts of the city. Upon arrival, a sense of trepidation crept over him, only the cold but reassuring hands of Annikki could calm his shaking hands.
Getting off the coach, Ilmarinen bid his chauffeur farewell. Then Annikki's voice cut through the silence. "What if he is not here?" she questioned, her brows furrowed.
"He will be," Ilmarinen replied as they waited at the threshold.
After what seemed like an eternity, a man in his fifties opened the door. His disheveled grayish hair and the dark bags on his weary green eyes betrayed many sleepless nights. With a frown marring his features and a twisted smile, the man grunted.
"Ilmarinen?" the man asked.
“Hey, Väino, long time no see” Ilmarinen cleared his throat. “How long has it been?”
"Ttwelve years," Väino grunted. Ilmarinen felt the cold weight of Väino's gaze upon him, a reminder that time had etched a great distance between them. "To what do I owe your visit?"
Ilmarinen felt a knot tighten in his stomach as he prepared to lay bare his request. "I need you to help me repair Annikki. The cage's gears are rusted, and the melting snow damaged the neck mechanisms," he said, keeping his voice steady.
With a resigned sigh, Väino gestured for them to enter. The door creaked as it swung open, revealing a cluttered interior filled with the scent of aged wood and metallic tang. "Do you want something to drink?" Väino asked though the offer felt more like an obligation than genuine hospitality.
Ilmarinen shook his head. He could not stomach anything at the moment, the air thick with tension from both the years that had passed and the lingering animosity crackling between them.
A young woman descended the creaking wooden stairs, her broom sweeping the floor with deliberate strokes, the rhythm echoing through the otherwise silent room. A flicker of nostalgia hit Ilmarinen as he observed her, her doll-like figure embodying the innocence of a young child.
"Isn’t that Ilmatar? Didn't she have green eyes and blue hair?" Ilmarinen inquired, the question tumbling from his lips.
Väino paused, a faint smile ghosting his lips as he replied, "That was the original color my wife gave her, but I never liked it, and Ilmatar did not like it either, so I changed it." He served himself a cup of coffee and took a sip.
Ilmatar's voice broke the quiet not with sweetness but sharpness. "Is the baby broken?" she asked, her words dripping with a mocking tone that reflected both playfulness and malice as she approached to inspect Annikki.
With a swift motion, Ilmatar slapped Annikki's doll-like face, the sound sharp and startling in the enclosed space. Annikki’s head got stuck in place, so she turned her whole body to face the other doll. "Well... I think she's broken," Ilmatar taunted with a feigned cheerfulness that only amplified the tension in the room.
“Stop it!” Väino's authority resurfaced as he barked orders. "Annikki, come over here!"
“As you wish,” Annikki murmured as solemn as ever.
“Is she the same doll you were crafting twelve years ago?” Väino asked, attempting to bridge the gap between them with a hint of praise. "So, you managed to complete her... good work I think!"
"Thank you very much."
"Don't thank me; you know that doll will bring us damnation—both you and me for teaching you. I only help you because my job depended on it, take it as mere clientelism." The words fell from Väino's lips with a resigned disdain.
Ilmarinen lowered his head, conscious of the hurt that lay coiled beneath the surface of their exchange. The memories— flooded in without warning. They walked towards a door in the room adjacent to the kitchen as the dim light from the workshop welcomed them.
"We're heading downstairs," Väino declared, his tone firm as they descended into the depths of the house, reaching into his workshop. The fragrant scent of oil and wood mingled with the coldness of the earth, wrapping around Ilmarinen like a blanket.
"I need you to prepare Annikki. Lay her down on the table!" Väino ordered Ilmatar. Ilmatar nodded, acquiescing to the task with an alarming eagerness.
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As Annikki undressed completely, her body shone under the harsh light of the lamp in the middle of the room. Her seamless, flat form bore no imperfections, yet a long, fine rust stain marred her otherwise immaculate appearance, stretching from her chest to her left thigh.
"Well, she's just a little girl. She has not even menstruated... We are damned perverts. I feel like a pedophile!" Ilmatar's mockery mingled with sarcasm, her words a twisted reflection of the discomfort that filled the room.
"Shut up!" Väino's shout cut through the banter like a blade, startling Ilmatar into a silence that echoed against the workshop walls. In that instant, the tension thickened, becoming a tangible force that pressed down on them. Despite his uneasiness, Ilmarinen did not reproach Ilmatar for her jests, which often crossed lines of decency. But this was different; tampering with Annikki’s delicate state only deepened the unrest swirling within his mind.
Ilmarinen stared at Annikki’s unclothed form on the table, feeling the weight of both his present and past surviving in the fragile air. How had fate brought him here, to witness a reunion marked by bitterness and laughter stained with cruelty? His heart ached for Annikki, an innocent caught in a world of twisted emotions and shattered connections.
"Bring toolset number 5," Väino commanded, his voice steady and sharp as he navigated the clutter of his workshop. Ilmatar, quick and obedient, offered up the tools, her hands moving with a grace that belied the situation's gravity. She extended a spatula, a screwdriver, tweezers, a magnifying glass, and a pair of gloves—each item vital for the task ahead.
With a deep breath, Ilmarinen stared at Väino as the artisan prepared himself for what lay before him. Väino grasped the spatula, feeling its cool metal against his palm. Following the established procedure, he pressed against the small lid nestled between Annikki's porcelain breasts. A satisfying click resonated in the air as he opened it, a tiny sound that marked the gateway into her inside mechanism. He separated Annikki’s head from her neck, then detached the neck from her body. The soft laughter that escaped Annikki's lips, as Väino disassembled her, tugged at Ilmarinen’s heart, it reminded him of his daughter's laughter.
As Väino opened her body in half, it unveiled an elaborate and awe-inspiring network of internal mechanisms. Gears spun and clicked together, a series of exquisitely crafted parts tied together with cranks and hard metal threads that executed her every movement. At that moment, as he examined the intricate design, Ilmarinen gained insight into what had hampered Annikki's ability to turn her head, the key to her liberation hidden amongst the glimmering machinery.
"Give me thread number 3," Väino instructed with unwavering certainty, his tone brooking no negation. Without hesitation, Ilmatar obeyed, her hands swiftly fetching the specified material, a fine aluminum thread—rigid but flexible enough for delicate adjustments.
Ilmarinen changed the corroded threads, feeling the smooth metal slip through his fingers. He inspected the mechanisms, recognizing how the corrosion had corrupted their functionality.
"You've never touched me like that!" Ilmatar exclaimed, her voice bursting with a teasing tone that was half-jovial, half-serious. The words hovered between them like a charged atmosphere, but her humor was quickly stifled upon observing Väino's disapproving gaze. She extended scissors toward Väino, a prompt to cut the thread with the urgency that came with the moment.
As Väino diligently engaged within Annikki's intricate anatomy, the next four hours unfolded like a tapestry. He replaced several of her gears with those crafted from superior materials, meticulously inserting two new pins to hold the threads taut.
He applied oil to the cranks carefully, the warm scent filling the air, bringing a hint of life back to Annikki's mechanisms. Then, with steady hands, he painted the corrodible parts with a special protective coat, ensuring they would withstand the test of time.
The heart—an exquisite small translucent bottle measuring three inches tall—captivated Väino's attention. Inside dwelled a flickering flame, an ephemeral dance of colors shifting from pink to aquamarine and back to fuchsia, giving the bottle an ethereal glow. It pulsated gently, a tiny heartbeat that echoed the lifeblood of creativity and lost love. Ilmarinen, who had crafted Annikki’s heart, stared at it for the first time in more than a decade, as Väino opened the small blue Nebieski chest where the heart rested in.
“Did you make this heart?” Ilmatar asked Ilmarinen. This is decent work.” Ilmarinen nodded not saying a word as he noted Väino’s disapproving frown.
After carefully checking the inner workings of each limb, Ilmarinen could not help but notice the oddity of the situation. Each time Väino cleaned or poured a few drops of oil, Annikki’s disembodied head giggled in response, adding an unsettling yet surreal atmosphere to the workshop. Väino coated her skin and hair with a special gel, a tender touch that contrasted the ruggedness of his calloused hands. He painstakingly repainted Annikki's eyes and lips, restoring her façade to its original beauty, replacing the rusty parts with fresh ones that shimmered in the light. Väino even replaced a few of Annikki’s teeth that had lost their coating.
“Thank you very much,” Annikki said once finished, her voice resounding with artificial cheer, her smile painted onto her face yet absent of genuine warmth.
Väino remained silent while Ilmatar helped Annikki to get dressed.
Ilmarinen, feeling the weight of regret and nostalgia pressing against his chest, made the final payment without another word. The tightness around his throat made it challenging to articulate the myriad of emotions he felt.
As he stepped into the icy air of the outside world, the sharp contrast from the warmth of the workshop only served to heighten his detachment. The city's pulse thrummed beneath his feet; each step echoed his internal struggle as he turned away from the past, haunted by the faces and memories that lingered like ghosts in the corners of his mind. The laughter he had once known—the once vibrant and full Annikki had reminded him—felt more like a shadow, a fleeting moment lost in time.
He walked down the cobblestone street, the chill gnawing at him, and glanced back at his friend’s house, now shrinking in the distance.