Grandmother was taking fresh underwear for the menfolk out of the drawer. They were getting ready for the sauna bath. Each time she handed out a piece she explained what it was. So everybody knew exactly what his outfit consisted of.

Suddenly Father turned to Jorma and asked,

"Are you coming with us?"

"Yes, I am," answered Jorma. The miserable moments on the beach were forgotten. And why remember such things at all? He might rather remember that Father had just instructed him a little and he was able to swim at once. "Yes, I'm coming," he assured.

"Then take a towel for him too," said Mother.

"He'll take it himself," said Father.

So Jorma got a towel all to himself. He pushed it under his arm with a careless gesture like his Father.

"But can you stand the real hot steam for menfolk?" inquired Grandfather.

Jorma had no clear idea of the hot steam of sauna, nor did he know what the real steam for menfolk was. But he was afraid to admit it—he might be left out of their company—therefore he said airily,

"Sure I can stand the real hot steam for menfolk." And he added, to be on the safe side, "And I can stand whisking too."

"Okay, let's go," Father said.

Grandfather led the way, Father and Jorma followed him. All the three men carried their underwear under their arms. In the yard Ints joined them. But the cat accompanied them only as far as the sauna door, he didn't care to enter. Apparently he was afraid of the hot steam for menfolk.

Having entered, Jorma found the sauna to be quite different from what he expected. The dressing-room was so small that the three of them could hardly squeeze in.

"Shut the door, son!" said Father.

Jorma hastened to close the door. Father sounded more imperious than usual. Jorma had noticed even before that in Mother's absence Father spoke to him in a more businesslike manner. He made no allowances for Jorma's age. They got undressed.

"Take a bucket of hot water from the tub to the sweating-room," Grandfather said to Father. "The little fellow may be cold."

The tub was very large, like a bath. At first Jorma really thought it to be a bath, wondering at its strange round shape.

"Come along!" Father ordered.

The boy followed his Father to the sweating-room through a narrow door. It wasn't much larger than the dressing-room, and it was quite dry.

"Sit down here, beside the tub."

The tub was a big wooden vessel. It was large enough for Jorma to bathe in it. The tub had legs, but for some reason, it had three legs only.

Above the bench there was a window in the wall. Jorma had never seen such a small window. It was under that small window that he sat down.

In the sweating-room there was also a platform and a black square hole in the opposite wall. Father took a scoopful of water out of the bucket and sent it into the black hole. Then there was heard a clap of hiss and swiss and a cloud of grey steam shot out. Next moment Jorma was embraced by a wave of warm air and a very special smell.

"This must be the steam of the sauna," he guessed, and asked Father,

"Daddy, is this the steam for menfolk?"

"This is only the beginning," Father laughed.

Now Grandfather appeared from the dressing-room. He was so big that he filled the whole of the doorway. He had two washbasins in his hands and green whisks of leafy birch switches under his arm. He handed one of them to Father, the other was laid beside his own basin on the platform.

"I ought to have made a small whisk for you too," he said to Jorma regretfully and then, addressing Father: "Is the steam all right?"

"It's quite all right," said Father and sent another scoopful of water into the black hole.

Out shot another cloud of steam, a great deal hotter than the previous one.

Father prepared water for Jorma in a washbasin, instructed him how he should wash himself and clambered onto the platform beside Grandfather. There he sighed with a blissful air,

"What a marvellous feeling!"

"So this must be the steam for menfolk," Jorma reflected.

"We're sure to stand it."

It was hot indeed! His body got covered with sweat, his nose dripped like a tap when it is not closed properly. He felt a slight faintness but he was determined to stick it out and, following his Father's instructions, he soaped the sponge and rubbed himself with it.

"Now, how are you, little chap?" Grandfather asked. "Is it too hot? Does it hurt you?"

"No, it doesn't hurt me," Jorma shouted in answer. He was able to stand the steam for menfolk!

"Perhaps, then, we might add a bit," Grandfather said.

Father splashed more water. Then both seized their whisks and started beating themselves with them. From time to time they exchanged some words and laughed—they surely enjoyed it.

The little fellow by the tub, however, didn't feel like laughing at all. Heat pinched him everywhere: he felt it in his fingernails and toenails, on the tip of his nose and his ears, it made his eyes water and threatened to take his breath away. He felt dazed as after falling off the ladder in the morning, and his heart filled with regret.

"Oh-oh-oh, why was I so keen on the sauna! Why did I say I'd stand the steam for menfolk... and whisking too! What if they want to whisk me too, what shall I do then? Oh-oh-oh, had I come with Mummy she'd have noticed at once when I felt sick. But Father wouldn't suffer complaining, he'd say what kind of a man I'd grow up to be if I complained... Oh-oh-oh!"

What hurt the boy most was to hear his Father and Grandfather laugh merrily. Of course it must feel more comfortable up there, they, the grown-ups, occupied the better place, leaving the little fellow on the floor to suffer the intolerable heat. It was awfully unkind of them.

"I'm going to join them," Jorma decided. He rose and staggered towards the platform.

Grandfather was the first to notice him climbing up. He said to Father,

"What a brave little boy you have! He's not afraid of the steam for menfolk, comes climbing up onto the platform."

"Don't do that, Jorma, it won't do you good!" Father said.

Feeling quite dazed Jorma was standing on the lowest step. It was scalding hot there! The hot steam jumped into his nose and bit it. He caught his breath. So that was what real steam for menfolk was like!

Like a crawfish Jorma backed away to the floor and flopped on the bench.

"Son, do you feel sick?" Father asked anxiously.

Jorma stirred again. The daze was dispelled, he was able to distinguish all objects about him now, the washbasin, the sponge that had dropped to the floor not far from his hand.

"No, I don't," Jorma denied his momentary faintness. "I've dropped my sponge." He picked it up, seated himself comfortably and began soaping his sponge. And to prove his words he added, pursing his lips, "And I'd like to whisk myself too."

When he said this, he thought with a fright: what did I boast like that for? What if they really make me climb onto the platform?

But no, luckily Father wouldn't allow it.

"You just wash yourself now," he said. "Let it get cooler a bit, then I may whisk you if you're so keen on it."

The cold water tub gave off a pleasant cool. He didn't feel bad at all now. It was even quite pleasant.

Father and Grandfather started a fresh round of whisking. How incredibly big and strong they were: in that terrible heat that took his breath away they only laughed and grunted with pleasure.

How nice of them to treat Jorma as their equal!

Jason Ladock

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