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cabin by the lake—just a fishing sauna. The hare can run wild there, and you can sleep in peace.”
    The constables accompanied Vatanen, the superintendent, and the hare to the station forecourt.
    The duty officer said to the superintendent: “Right from the start, sir, I saw this Mr. Vatanen was a respectable person.”

7
    The President
    T he superintendent’s little fishing cabin and sauna were a few yards from a lake in the forest. They were a pile of old logs on quaking bogland, reached by boardwalk.
    “Inside, you’ll find my fishing buddy, quite a character, rather special. Retired now, used to be the Kiuruvesi superintendent of police. Name of Hannikainen.”
    When they got to the cabin, Hannikainen was sitting with his back to the door: he was grilling fish on the heating stove in the corner, its iron doors open for the job. He pushed the gridiron to one side and shook hands, then offered the new arrivals hot fish on pieces of wax paper. By now Vatanen was truly hungry. They gave the hare some fresh grass and water.
    The two others went out, and Vatanen collapsed onto a bunk. Half asleep, he felt the hare hopping onto the bunk, by his feet, shuffling into a comfortable position, and settling down for the night, too.
    Sleepily, in the early hours, Vatanen heard the men returning from the lake and chatting outside in low tones before turning in. The superintendent went into the sauna to bunk down on the boards; Hannikainen stretched out on a bunk in the cabin. The hare raised its head but soon went back to sleep.
    In the morning, Vatanen woke fresh and alert. It was eight o’clock. Hannikainen’s bunk was empty. The fishermen had probably just risen and were starting a fire outside. A coffeepot dangled from the bar above the fire, and Hannikainen shook some butter pretzels out of a plastic bag. Waders were crying from the shore. A morning mist lay over the water, and a bright day was on the way.
    After coffee, the superintendent set off for the village to take up his duties. The sound of his car faded down the forest road and drifted out of earshot.
    Hannikainen went into the cabin and came out with some lard, which he sliced into the frying pan on the fire. The fat sizzled, and he tipped a one-pound can of beef and pork into it. The food was soon ready. Hannikainen cut some long slices from a large loaf of rye bread, put the burning-hot fried meat on them, and presented some to Vatanen. It was delicious. In Helsinki, Vatanen usually had difficulty coping with breakfast, but now the food tasted marvelous.
    Hannikainen lent Vatanen the superintendent’s fishing gear, rubber boots, and a fishing smock. Vatanen’s own shoes and suit were left hanging on a nail in the cabin. Probably they are there to this day.
    The men loafed around the cabin all day, fishing, making fish soup, lolling in the sun, looking at the grassy lake. In the evening Hannikainen took a bottle of vodka from his rucksack, creaked the cork out, and poured them each a shot.
    Hannikainen was already getting on in years, pushing seventy, completely white haired, tall, talkative. In the course of the day, the men got to know each other. Vatanen related the what and wherefore of his journey. Hannikainen presented himself as a lonely widower spending his summers as the young superintendent’s fishing companion. He was well informed on world affairs and thoughtful by nature.
    What, Vatanen wondered, was so unusual about Hannikainen? So far nothing to justify the superintendent’s remark of the previous evening had appeared in Hannikainen’s lifestyle, unless quiet summer fishing was coming to be considered unusual nowadays.
    The answer to this question was on its way.
    After the second shot of vodka, Hannikainen began to lead the conversation around to government politics in a more serious vein. He spoke of the responsibility of people in power, their influence and conduct, and revealed that, after retiring, he had begun to do some research into