by Mari Saat
It was all stupid, this way of thinking. The reason, it appeared, was that Sofia was pretty much wasted: the rat was not in any danger from anything, no one was paying it the least attention. High time to fetch her coat from the pile of clothes in the kitchen corner and set off home. The time it took from here, at least half an hour in the cold, would be enough to sober her up. And perhaps blow away the stink of smoke too…
But Tolik and Venya and Zhanna herself had settled down at the kitchen table together with others from their class.
Tolik was knocking something up, turning a roll-up between his spidery, nervous fingers…
“Shut the door,” whispered Zhanna to Sofia, as if something very secret was going on here.
“Shut the door, yeah,” growled Venya in a low voice – that was the first time he’d spoken at all. “There won’t be enough good stuff for everyone…”
There was a telltale bittersweet scent in the kitchen.
“Doesn’t matter, seeing as she’s come in, let her have a drag too!” said Tolik brusquely – as if giving an order.
“No, I don’t want one,” said Sofia quickly, “I just came to get my coat…” and she hurried over to the pile of clothes in the kitchen corner.
“Where are you off to?” shouted Zhanna, grabbing her by the arm and pulling her towards the table. “It’s still really early! Come on, try it, it’s really groovy – it makes everything so clear. Everything is so funny. When will you get another chance?”
“I don’t want to,” objected Sofia, but she didn’t know why not – was it that she really didn’t want to or was it just because she was afraid, because she actually liked the scent and would like to try it, but was afraid because she was always so blindly cautious…
Suddenly Venya took the matter into his own hands: he forced her to sit down, her head under his arm, his fingers holding her nose, and with his other hand forced the roll-up between her lips… Sofia had never thought that she could be so enraged. At school no one had ever touched her, instead she herself had once hit Vitya on the head, well his ear and his smooth cheek, because he’d pinched Anna under her arm in what to Sofia’s mind was a completely indecent manner, and Sofia had been genuinely furious with him and had slapped him on the cheek, but later it was she who felt embarrassed about it all because Vitya had been so horrified, and he was such a fatty and sometimes he screamed like a girl… All that was now several years in the past… Vitya didn’t scream any more… But now Sofia was unexpectedly so stupefied by outrage, or rather stupefied by the rage rising inside her, that she became almost paralysed, stiff, held her breath – she felt she couldn’t breathe any more, that breathing was completely impossible… and then she collapsed as if into the soft depths of somewhere…
Then suddenly everything was so fantastically clear, and on two levels: she knew that she was lying on the floor and the others were around her and asking if she was dead or what, and Tolik was having a drag on the joint and holding it, smoking, under her nose and berating Venya – you’re an animal, you mustn’t do that to women, what if you’ve broken her neck… It was all so vivid, but so unreal, just like a vivid sharply drawn picture. But behind the picture was something completely different, a different, real yet highly shaded world and from there, as if from behind a curtain, ran a peculiar, spidery-legged, pointy-nosed green little man, tiny, barely knee-high; he ran giggling over the kitchen floor and disappeared into the wall…
Sofia began to cough and moved towards a chair.
“Look, she’s alive! She’s still alive!” everyone shouted happily.
“What did you think she was?” grumbled Tolik knowledgeably. “If anything like that happens, weed’s always a help – and it’s not a narcotic, it’s legal in Holland… It’s a medicinal herb…”
“I have to go home now,” said Sofia.
“Are you sure you’re all right to get yourself home?” asked Zhanna in concern, although actually, she looked like she would be pleased if Sofia actually left anyhow…
Sofia had no doubt whatever that she could get home on her own two feet without any mishap. But if she didn’t make it, it wouldn’t matter anyhow. Everything was so clear, still so clear. The lights in the apartment windows had mostly gone out, the buildings now stood like large boulders; the odd car swished past – with a susurration of cold air. She knew they were cars, yet they were like some kind of foreign object. She knew what they were called only by mere chance. They weren’t real.
The street lights cast sharply defined spheres of light; a few stars had punctured the dark sky and the occasional feathery speck of snow floated softly down. It was even more like a vividly drawn picture; she walked on into the picture and became part of it. How could anything happen to a plaything like this here in this play world, and even if something did happen? Even if it did, it wouldn’t be real… She didn’t know whether the little green man had been inside the picture or part of the next picture. And what was beyond it? Perhaps another picture? She began to feel afraid: if there was no reality, then was it all just one picture after another, each inside another bigger picture? So what was this? That was how it felt: it felt as if she wasn’t walking along the road, but in the air and there was nothing to grasp hold of if you fell…
But something or someone was real. Johnny Depp! The small, brown and white piebald cage-bound Johnny with his little pink fingers and sharp claws. So what if he died in a year’s time? Right now he was real simply because he didn’t know anything about not being real. Because his ignorance was reflected in his eyes. Cage-bound Johnny now felt much more real than the real Johnny Depp, he felt like the only real thing… And Sofia realised that if she managed to hold firmly on to that small, real, reality, then everything would be all right…
Rael’s dad was a big help anyhow: it transpired that he had connections at a factory; quite how, Rael was not exactly sure, she wasn’t interested, perhaps he was a shareholder or something… The factory was very small, nothing like the one where Natalya Filippovna had worked before, but they made more or less the same kind of things, although not for mobile phones, more for cars – Rael thought they were for cars, or other bigger machines. These days every moving thing, every actual machine, even washing machines, contained circuit boards for electrons to flow through, as if directed by a person unseen… And now Natalya Filippovna could resume soldering specks for the electrons on to boards…
Notice how the life of Natalya Filippovna, a grown woman on the large side, some might even say portly, had been guided by her young daughter, who was able to earn herself some money honourably and even found a job for her mum, a decent job. Natalya Filippovna hugged her daughter, in tears, because she was so sorry that she had berated her so severely only the previous weekend when she had sailed in after midnight from the she-knew-not-where party (although Sofia had said it was at Zhanna’s), her clothes stinking of smoke and the smell of drink on her still. All right if she was with one of the girls from school, but the thing that capped it all, capped having a drink and a smoke and doing who knows what else – although she’d never have thought Sofia capable of doing that – was getting drunk. Had she understood nothing? If truth be told she had scolded Sofia only out of fear – she’d always had the feeling that Sofia might disappear somewhere, that suddenly she would cease to be and then she would no longer have anything here in the world, nothing, everything would be empty, even Dmitri Dmitrievich would be nothing… That meant that the only thing she had been able to do while waiting for Sofia to come home was to pray soberly, without really realising it, just repeating the familiar words “Lord, have mercy, Lord, have mercy, Lord, have mercy…” without taking in their meaning, in sheer panic and with a heavy painful stone in place of her heart, all the while expecting that when Sofia came through the door she’d feel great happiness and joy and peace, but when Sofia had actually finally arrived, she’d suddenly felt empty inside and then distressed, as if her controlled distress had to find an instant outlet, and as soon as she
could breathe between whimperings she began to read Sofia the Riot Act – unable really to measure the words she was saying, both hugging and tearing into her daughter, so that ultimately she too burst into tears, sobbing with her head in her hands…
Quite frankly, she hadn’t wanted to allow Sofia to go anywhere in the evenings, not even to Rael’s grandma’s because she’d be coming home in the dark now that it was winter. Not that it was late – small primary schoolchildren, the ones who did the evening lessons, were making their way home from school by themselves at the same time… Although Sofia still had studying to do for the next day… things were definitely much easier now that her daughter had some money of her own. She was afraid, of course, that Sofia would glimpse the type of life they would never be able to afford themselves. Could that maybe be a good thing? Who could say? Perhaps it was? Who could say what Sofia might one day become or what good it might do her in the future to catch a glimpse of it? Perhaps it was a good thing for her to practise reading Estonian and especially English clearly, after all she apparently had to read to the old lady in all those languages…
The last time they’d sat in the kitchen with Lyuda, Lyuda had explained in aggrieved tones how her language exam had gone. She wanted to pass it so she could apply for citizenship – she didn’t need to do it for work, she just thought that she should have everything straight, and as she had been born here and already had grandchildren who had been born here, and her children had citizenship, why shouldn’t she be a citizen too? The fact that her children were citizens and she wasn’t made it feel as if she didn’t belong with her children. Anyhow, she just about had the exam in the bag, she had everything straight, when at the last minute they asked her what the names of Kalevipoeg’s dogs were – you know, Kalevipoeg, the one who the Estonians’ national epic is about.
“You tell me,” she complained to Natalya. “Am I really supposed to know what his dogs were called? Pet dogs that have been dead for yonks and people are still supposed to know their names.”
Sofia, who was drinking tea with them because she always liked drinking tea with Lyuda, spluttered.
“What are you spluttering for? What is it you’re giggling at, you cheeky little brat?” scolded Lyuda – she always chastised people that way, but no one was actually afraid of her because she never got really angry. “You’re laughing at your elders and betters. You tell me their names.”
“Irmi, Armi and Killer Blackie,” shouted Sofia, laughing.
“Is that so?” drawled Lyuda, sceptically. “And just how do you know that?”
“We did it at school!”
“Is that so… They teach all sorts at school these days. They actually teach something practical. Kisser Blackie.”
Sofia was now roaring with laughter.
“What are you laughing at your elders for?” Lyuda was still trying to tell her off.
“This is a kiss,” laughed Sofia, and kissed Lyuda on her smooth, soft cheek, “but a killer kills. The dog was the Black Killer, Killer Blackie! With a coat that bristled and eyes that glowed – like the hound of the Baskervilles!”
“Who on earth are the Baskervilles?” murmured Lyuda sceptically and sighed, “You see, if I’d have known that, I’d be a citizen now… Killer Blackie! Kids are getting cleverer all the time…”
Natalya thought so too, and the fact that she didn’t say so out loud didn’t stop her thinking to herself, “You never know, Sofia could be a teacher.” Never mind that teachers’ pay was very low, it was a dignified job… It flashed into her head that perhaps she might even become a professor, but the thought seemed indecently arrogant…
Suddenly Sofia burst into tears – so suddenly, that even Lyuda was alarmed.
“What is it, what’s up, I’ve not said the wrong thing, have I?” she asked.
“No, no,” said Sofia almost calmly, only hiccupping, “it’s just the rat… the rat…” and it was as she sobbed the word “rat” that she started to cry again.
It turned out that the rat, the one belonging to her classmate Zhanna, whose birthday she’d gone to celebrate, the one that she’d got into trouble with Mum about, the rat had disappeared. Zhanna had woken in the morning to find the cage door open and the rat nowhere to be found. She was dreadfully cold and the window open, as well as the cage door… Had someone thrown him out of the window? But there was no rat in the street – it was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps the street cleaner had already been and brushed him away. And nobody had thrown him out because Zhanna had interrogated everyone who was still there, and no one knew anything. Perhaps the rat had just hopped it?
“Well you know,” said Lyuda, “rats are devious creatures. They’re intelligent, they don’t get into any trouble.”
But Sofia had the feeling that something had befallen the rat – and it wasn’t just that she felt really sorry for it. No, there was something else – as if there were no longer a something or a someone to rely on… And there was a heaviness in her heart, deep within her breast…
Dmitri Dmitrievich hurried along the long, curved street on the fringes of Lasnamäe. It’s not that he was lost, he’d just got off the bus one stop sooner than he’d needed to. And there was no point now waiting for the next one. Actually, he knew full well where he had to go – he knew Lasnamäe almost like the back of his hand. He didn’t need to follow the curve from here, just go over the wasteland along the path as far as the dark apartment buildings (in daylight they were actually red – the colour of their red bricks). They rose up against the background of the sparkling snow like a dark battlement – which was why the apartment block had been dubbed Dvigatel’s fortress since the Soviet time… After cutting through there he should be on the right street… It was still fairly early, before eight o’clock, but now in midwinter, that meant deep darkness – unless the moon was up. On the city streets you didn’t notice the moon, but here it illuminated the snow-trampled path as efficiently as street lights… In the field the wind swished and whirled in gusts; it bit acerbically into your cheeks and then subsided again, as if mulling something over for a moment.
It was no better between the buildings. The blocks were tall; the wind whistled nervously as it gathered momentum, assaulted you, broke cover from the wall of the building and faded again as if building up its momentum anew – or as if having doubts… Just like Dmitri Dmitrievich himself – he still wasn’t fully sure whether he’d done the right thing by calling Natalya Filippovna, and now he was actually on the way… But there was no other way for him to see Natalya Filippovna again because she’d found a new job, a proper job, and had told Vova categorically that she would not be helping them out any more even though Vova’s wife would have liked a couple more weeks to convalesce, perhaps even longer… But Dmitri Dmitrievich could not so much as countenance Vova’s wife any more, or any woman other than Natalya Filippovna for that matter; he’d even dreamt he’d slept with Natalya a couple of times and woken up relieved, happy, only to sink back immediately into deep despair… Could this turn out any better though? Would it be better if he explained just the pictures in the book?
Hurrying towards him almost at a run on the long empty street were two men, more accurately two young men, two boys huddling from the cold: one short and thin, the other tall and heavyset; when they were almost in front of him they suddenly dodged sideways – one as if he wanted to pass him on the right, the other on the left. In his left hand he held the briefcase containing the book. Hold on to the briefcase – he managed to think and gripped the handle firmly in his fist. The thin one tried to tear the briefcase from him; the tall one shoved him brusquely so that he lost his balance and fell, head first to the ground because he was clenching the handle of the briefcase in one hand and holding the case itself under his other arm…
“You bastard! You shit!” said the boys and kicked him in the head, the back… He thought he’d be able to overcome them if he only let go of the briefcase, but he mustn’t because it contained the book and without the book he’d
have no reason to go to Natalya Filippovna’s… Thinking that thought he began to sink as if into soft cotton. He felt the boys turning him over, rummaging through his breast pockets. “Just like doctors do…” he thought, perceiving even through thick clothes how wonderful, clever, human hands were, all the things they could do… He could feel how he was distending, stretching out in every direction, swelling into a great blain that held everything within it, the whole of this world… It was the very feeling he had always yearned for – that he could embrace the earth, encompass its lovely blue globe, as lovely as Natalya Filippovna?
Sofia hurried home – over the snowy wasteland. She could have stayed on the bus until the next stop – although the bus would have taken her on round the curve, it would still have brought her back more quickly than she could have managed on foot – but she wanted to walk, and she wanted specifically to cross the broad snowy field that both enticed and horrified her. Especially now, in the dark, when only the moon lit the snow-trampled path. Cold, pallid light as if everything was not real, just a dream… And the moon itself was no smooth shining disc, it bulged as if a shadow had been cast on it, as if Zhanna’s rat were holding it in the sky with its little paws… As soon as she remembered the rat though she felt a grip tightening round her throat, as if she were guilty of something. Why did she always feel guilty? As she did when Rael’s grandma talked about the earth people worry themselves to death about… Or when the papers reported that the Estonians would die out because of falling numbers… She had once asked Rael’s grandma why people should worry about a small nation like the Estonians, if the whole world was going to perdition and turning into deserts… And she’d had the feeling that Grandma had looked at her reprovingly.
She might have been wrong though, because Grandma had replied, “Well, my dear, I’m an old lady but see, my children are still looking after me, they haven’t bundled me off, even Rael comes to visit – but what’s the point of it? Is there even a point?” This answer made the topic so intricate that it seemed to have flummoxed even Grandma.