Bergfors Family Forces

       "So," Antti Tuinen, police inspector in Taivaankoski municipality, said in a carefully dosed, stern voice while staring at the wall with Christmas decorations. It was an unofficial conversation in the break area of the police station, not an interrogation, as the inspector had no right to interrogate a minor without a guardian. And Constable Maria Bergfors, mother and thus guardian of fifteen-year-old Jonne, was absent as usual. The offender sulked. It looked fun in the round childish face with flaxen-white eyebrows, and Antti needed all his willpower not to snicker or pat Jonne on the head. But that wouldn't get him past the file filling. "When exactly did you... commit your crime?" "At night," the boy scowled. “That is not exact, you know. This time, anything from two in the afternoon to ten in the morning can be called night. I need to put time in the form.” “Dunno. I don’t have a watch or handy to tell time, y’know. Write any time you want, who cares.” “Nope,” Antti sighed and rotated his cup of coffee. “At least tell if it was before or after midnight. Midnight changes everything this year.” “But I don’t know,” Jonne twitched on the sofa. “It was after I brought the twins from after-school hours, after I had them have dinner, after they watched cartoons and ran themselves to dropping dead, after Mother returned, had dinner, and dropped sleeping, that wasn’t long. Maybe after ten. Or eleven. I don’t trust our wall clock, it’s Hannu’s duty to wind it up, and he always forgets it.” Inspector Tuinen leaned back. Jonne did loosen up and start talking, and that word flow needed some guidance. “Right, right, I know, and also you snatched a minute to drop to the supermarket to buy the tool of crime. It was a very distinctive carrot, and the cashier remembered you. You can start from 22:17 when you passed by the cameras at the ABS petrol station. Try to remember anything time-related. Maybe some dog started barking as you passed by, or you discerned a radio program on air from any house, or an aeroplane light above, or…” “And what’s better, before or after midnight?” The boy grew timid from all that scrupulosity. “I don’t tell you so that you don’t have a motivation to lie, okay? So?” Antti repeated and held a pen ready. Jonne shut down for heavy thinking, then shook his head. “Anything?” Antti was just short of imploring. “Any changes in the environment? Aurora borealis maybe?" The boy lit up like the said aurora. “Yes! The shop’s twinkle lights were on, flickering so fun like a disco bar and playing the freaking Jingle Bells melody, it’s all over the town already, I start hating it, and when I was done and went home, it all went dark and silent, and I nearly tripped on an ice bump with surprise—" Inspector Tuinen was half listening while he clicked the number of the auto repair shop owner who had filed a complaint for vandalism. When the call was picked up, he waved Jonne to pause for a while. “Hi, Mr. Paaveli. Inspector Tuinen is bothering. Just one question. The electric lights on your façade, are they programmed to go on and off?... Okay, and when… Ah, excellent… Yes, the case is basically closed, the guilty party is a minor, so I can't disclose their name, but I assure you they will be reprimanded, and their parents will be duly informed and fuming… Well, that’s life, sorry.” And he tapped the call off before it got too loud for his liking. “Thank you!” Jonne beamed at him. “But you won’t really tell Mother, right?” “I shall, and I will.” Antti felt a bit bad to squash the boy’s hopes, especially on such a day, but… Okay, it’s not like Maria Bergfors would do anything other than give a small admonitory talk. “But it’s such a nothing, really! A carrot, not the real thing! It was fun, and no one suffered! Antti shared his opinion, but the law said different. “Because it’s indecent AND public. You could make your own snowman in your backyard in whatever shape you like, but you attacked the snowman in front of Paaveli’s repair shop—“ “That was not a snowman before I made it into one,” Jonne protested. “It had been a snow dummy. Paaveli must be jealous that his snowman had a larger carrot than he.” “Alright,” Antti managed to swallow a snicker and drank his long-cold coffee to the end. “Then why a snowman, not a snowwoman? You’re in the age to get interested in girls.” Jonne blushed and wiped his nose with the back of his hand before confessing in a lowered voice, “At first I wanted to make a snow woman. But it was too cold, the freaking snow just wouldn’t stick together,” and he shaped quite opulent forms with his hands, “and the carrot fit just fine, so I ran home to snatch it… Mr. Tuinen, and why was it so important about the midnight? It was not New Year's Eve.” “Can’t you guess yourself? Your mother’s files say your birthday is January third, that is, today, and that means now you bear a criminal liability and can be tried or punished. But you managed to slap that goddamned carrot while you were fourteen. Congratulations.” Jonne made a small noise of surprise. “Oh, I forgot it. Mother celebrates my birthday on Christmas and all the brothers’ birthdays on Juhannus in gross to save on festive treats.” It sounded very much like Maria Bergfors as Antti knew her, so he was not surprised but felt a little bit bad for the little guy. To have to share his personal holiday with such a much more popular figure like Jesus didn’t seem cool. “’Kay,” Antti stood up, “you may go home. Oh, wait a second.” And he unclasped his wristwatch and handed it over to Jonne. “Happy birthday. Now you can keep your time better if you don’t forget to wind it up. And let it remind you that it’s time to use your head before any pranks. I hope we won’t meet in this place—oh, at least, not in the current roles. And now hurry to your nice and naughty siblings.” Jonne still stared at the watch in his hands and blinked, then jumped off the sofa and dashed out of the station building. “Young people these days,” the constable on duty grumbled behind the reception desk. “They don’t even know—“ The outer door opened with a jerk. Jonne, still bareheaded and dishevelled, peeked in, and a “thank you” rang in the hall until another door slam. Tuinen and the constable exchanged glances and smiles.