THE GULF OF FINLAND, Christine Pakkala's first novel, is the story of two sisters, Annie and Greta Ahvonen; it follows Greta, the younger one, as she searches for Annie, the elder, in Finland. When their father dies the day after Greta graduates from college in Idaho, Greta buries him alone and finds, in an old desk in his house, four years of unopened letters from Annie, who had disappeared and was presumed dead. The letters are all from Finland, the land of their grandparents, so Greta boards a plane for Helsinki. Once there she has no idea where to begin, but stumbles on a job at Berlitz while attempting to track her sister down. As the story unfolds, we experience the two sisters' harrowing childhood through flashbacks in the form of letters the child Greta wrote to Ann Marie (aka "That Girl"), and we observe Greta's discovery of her self as she finds her sister - and ultimately comes to her rescue. Below is the prologue to THE GULF OF FINLAND.

    
   Prologue: Another Country

    The morning of our getaway was more like night: Annie and I wore matching shortie pajamas, Mom her big Under Construction T-shirt. The dead brown mountains hid the sun, and the Snake's dammed silver water lit our way. We drove eighty miles an hour down the river road. The headlights behind lit us suddenly, like the flash of a camera. Mom drew her breath in and shook her head, as if she wanted to wake up. Ping! One taillight was out. Ping! There went the other. Wayne was a good shot.
    Annie pulled me down on the couch seat of the Impala, her body covering mine, and I lay there, staring up at Mom's torn earlobe, globbed with red-brown blood. Her bottom lip was split and one eye squinted. Mom's hands gripped the steering wheel, but her eyes kept flying to the rear-view mirror, as if a curve would fling Wayne off the road or a boulder flatten the orange and red snakes on his black Trans-Am. But Wayne was still in charge. He let us get ahead but then caught up, just as he'd been doing all down the road, like a fisherman letting out line and reeling it in.
    We finally made it to Clarkston, and there the night retreated. I hurt with thirst; I needed water so bad and I told her that. But Annie said not now, Maggie. She stroked my head; it was burning, whispering. I sat up and looked out the back window. Wayne was close: his yellow head stuck out the window, a big smile on his gappy teeth, the shotgun slung out. The pretty flower he made of our windshield bloomed before I heard the crack of it. Annie pulled me back down. Dummy, she said, words to go with the singing in my head. We lurched forward as Mom hit the gas, and I laughed 'cause I was scared. Knock it off, Annie said. I swiped at her arm. Mom flew through the Bridge Street and Main intersection, almost hitting a station wagon. Its driver slammed on the brakes, and the tires screeched. Then came the sound of a car horn blasting, and a siren. Annie and I both sat back up, even though Mom didn't say we could. Don't cry Mom, Annie said. It'll be okay. I looked to the sky for rain, anything to wet my tongue.
    That sky was like another country, a land of streaking pink roads and grey fields. If we drove fast enough, we would get there.

Download the prologue and the first chapter.

© 2003 by Christine Pakkala

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