Kohtalon tuulissa : $b Nykyajan romaani

On a cold April night Jan Pöyhtäri sits perched on the high seat of an old omnibus, the city around him cloaked in a thin, blue glow that makes the empty streets look like a funeral chamber. From his perch he watches the flickering lamps and hears the isolated drip of water from the clogged drains, a sound that pulls memories of a bright countryside stream into his mind. The contrast between the grim urban night and the lingering images of sun‑lit fields gives him a sudden, heavy ache that seems to settle in his chest.

For three years Jan has driven the night crowds—drunk gentlemen, desperate women, the occasional respectable passenger—collecting their raw confessions and witnessing the worst of human folly. The job has left him jaded, his ears tuned to the endless chorus of ugliness that rides beside the wagons. Now, on what he knows will be his final shift, he feels a rare spark of resolve; he is ready to step away from the darkness of the streets and search for a different kind of light.