Only the sound of Mamma’s steps reached her as she walked past the closet’s heavy door. It must be late because Leini’s stomach grumbled and hurt from hunger. She only had some slimy gruel with a dab of carrot jam and a cup of chamomile tea for breakfast. At the market, a lady behind one of the stalls gave her a raw carrot, a little stick of licorice and a mug of warm tea. And the lady had smiled and patted her head.
A tear trickled down Leini’s cheek. If only Papi were here. He was away fighting the Russians. When he had last come home on leave, it was still so cold she had to wear those long, scratchy brown stockings. She had lots of fun with him. He took her to the playground and pushed her in the swing so high it tickled her stomach, and she’d screamed with laughter. They went to see a movie at his office where he used to work before the war. The movie was about a cat and a mouse. Leini didn’t like it very much because the cat was mean to the mouse, always chasing him, but she liked the music the cat played very fast on the piano. When Papi read to her, she sat on his lap, and it was like a nest, snug and comforting. Then Papi had to go back to fight the war, and she was sad, as if somebody took away the sun. Often, when she closed her eyes she couldn’t see his face very well, but she remembered he was big and had a booming voice. She could still feel him holding her face between his warm hands. Then a wave of good feelings came from inside, and she was so glad, it hurt inside her breast.
The door to the closet burst opened. Leini’s arm flew up to shield her eyes from the sting of bright light. Peeking over her arm, she saw everything as a blur because her glasses had fallen off when Mamma pushed her inside.
“Come out of there, now,” Mamma said. “Think you’ve learned your lesson?”
Leini didn’t quite know what lesson Mamma wanted her to learn, but she nodded with vigor. “Yes, Mamma.”
Mamma helped her find her glasses on the floor, polished them with the handkerchief she always kept in the sleeve of her dress and put them on Leini. She brushed Leini’s hair off her face and, with an arm around her shoulders, gave her a quick squeeze. Glancing at Mamma, who looked straight ahead not at her, Leini pressed her body close, but Mamma snatched away her arm. Leini shivered; it was cold when Mamma took away her arm.
“You must be hungry. Let’s wash your hands. Then we’ll eat.” While she talked, Mamma led her to the bathroom, turned on the water tap and took the towel off the hook, which was too high for Leini to reach. Mamma left her to wash and dry her hands. On tiptoe, as quietly as she could, Leini sneaked into the closet, found her panties where she’d stuffed them in a shoe. She dashed into the bathroom and flushed them down the toilet. A rush of relief washed over her as she followed Mamma into the kitchen. Now Mamma couldn’t find the panties.
Glancing across the long and narrow kitchen at the window, Leini was disappointed—there were no pigeons on the window sill like there used to be. Maybe they know I have no food to give them, so they don’t come anymore. Mamma was busy by the gas stove next to the sink. She had set the table for two on the white wax cloth with red dots.
Before Papi went away, their apartment was much bigger than the two rooms and kitchen that Mamma and she now used. The other rooms they had to keep closed, because Mamma said they couldn’t heat all of the apartment. There wasn’t enough charcoal, and the two of them didn’t need all that space anyway, Mamma said. At the end of the corridor there was a sitting room, bedroom and bath. When the war was over and Papi came home, they would open them, and those would be Leini’s rooms. Mamma and Papi’s bedroom was much larger than the maid’s room Leini now shared with Mamma. Next to the big bedroom was Papi’s den. After the big living room was the dining room.
Mamma sat. Leini wiggled onto the wooden chair until her feet were under the table. She didn’t like this chair. The seat was hard and the slats poked her in the back when she leaned against them. Mamma pointed at the soup tureen in the middle of the table. “This is a treat. I queued for this stringy piece of meat for an hour. It cost me five coupons and a lot of money.” She broke small pieces of dark rye bread into Leini’s portion of meat soup, to stretch the meager meal.
“Eat and don’t waste a morsel.” Mamma swallowed a spoonful and sighed. “Now I’m all out of coupons.”
Leini knew coupons were important. If they didn’t have any, they couldn’t get butter or bread or sugar. Even with coupons they couldn’t get much. Mamma called it rationing and said it was because of the Russians, who wanted to take away their country.
Mamma was listening to the man on the radio. Leini heard him say everybody had to make an effort to save the Homeland.
“Will the Russians take away our home?” Leini asked. She twirled a strand of hair around her fingers.
“They will if they can.”
Mamma’s voice was sharp; it made Leini shiver.
“Who knows what they’ll do.”
The food warmed her. Leini spooned the soup and bread into her mouth, careful not to spill even a drop, which would make Mamma angry. She wanted to say she was sorry for being a bad girl, but the words caught in her throat. She didn’t understand if she’d been bad because she sang in the market or because she didn’t disappear as Mamma wanted. With watchful eyes Leini looked at her across the table. Mamma’s head was bent over the plate. She seemed far away, stirring the spoon in a small helping of soup and vegetables, mumbling under her breath, as Leini heard her do so many times. Around and around she stirred with the spoon. Leini didn’t see her eat anything after the first mouthful.
Mamma stopped moving the spoon and took a sip of water.
Leini swung her legs back and forth under the table. The heel of her shoe caught the leg of her chair with a noisy bang. It broke the heavy silence in the kitchen.
Mamma dropped the spoon, which made a loud clang against the plate. She shoved the dish to the side, gazing at Leini, eyes half-closed, the corners of her mouth turned down.
“We’re leaving Helsinki tomorrow morning.”
Leini stared at her. “Mamma?” She didn’t understand this. They never went anywhere.
“Yes. We have to leave Helsinki. It’s no longer safe. The bombings happen all the time, night and day. We could be killed.” Mamma sighed, a loud whoosh. “I only found out when Grandpa called this afternoon to tell me he got tickets for the last train out of Helsinki.”
“We are leaving Helsinki?” Leini asked.
“Yes! I just said so.”
Leini jumped at Mamma’s loud voice and blinked to hold back the tears.
“Hurry and finish your soup. I want you in bed early. I’ve got packing to do and I don’t want you underfoot. We have to leave first thing in the morning.”
“This is our home,” Leini said, a tremor in her voice. “Where are we going?”
“Ask your grandpa. He’s made all the arrangements.”
“Is Grandpa coming with us?”
“Yes,” Mamma said. “He and Grandma Britta,” she added in a low voice.
“And Grandma Britta?” Leini beamed.
“Yes. Yes. Yes!” Mamma shouted. “Grandma Britta, too.” Her hand shook as she held a lit match to the cigarette between her lips.
“And Karl? I want him to come, too.”
“Karl can’t come. He’s in the military, doing desk work at the hospital here in Helsinki. You know that.”
“I forget.” Leini’s throat grew tight that Karl wasn’t coming.
After she helped Mamma do the few dishes, Leini undressed alone in the bathroom. She washed with water so cold her teeth ached when she brushed them. The chill air in the bedroom made her shiver, so she hurried to put on her white flannel pajamas with the tiny pink roses. She buttoned each button on the top, careful to get each in the right hole. Then she pulled on the pajama bottom, tucking the top inside the elastic band for warmth. She hated the pajamas. They were stiff and made her skin itch. For her fourth birthday, Grandma Britta gave her a nightgown in fine cotton, so soft and light like air, and it was yellow—Leini’s favorite color
. Mamma said she wasn’t old enough to wear nightgowns. She hoped Mamma would let her wear it after she turned five.
Leini knelt by her bed and crossed her hands in prayer, whispering the words of “Our Father,” like Grandpa had taught her.
“God, keep my papi safe. Make me a good girl so Mamma loves me. Thank you. Amen.” She longed for a little sister or brother, but she no longer asked God to make the stork bring one. Mamma said the storks didn’t come to Finland because of the war. Leini decided she must wait until the war was over before she asked again.
Leini wished Mamma would come to hear her prayers, but tonight, as on so many other nights, she was alone. Mamma didn’t tuck her in or wish her good night. After she took off her glasses, she laid them carefully on the table, which was between Mamma’s bed and her own.
It was light outside when Leini crawled under the covers. She wriggled without disturbing the top sheet or blanket, liking to feel them hold her tight. With Maia, her rag doll, clutched against her breast she curled up in a ball, her back to the room. Her throat was tight; it ached from strange feelings she didn’t understand. Hugging Maia, she cried without making a sound.
What if Papi couldn’t find her once she left home?
Chapter 3
Helsinki, May 1943
“Wake up, Leini.” Her voice harsh, Mamma shook her by the shoulder. “Hurry and get dressed.”
Leini came instantly awake and sat in bed. She fumbled on the side table for her glasses and put them on. Mamma stood close, not in her usual housecoat, but wore a dress the color of sand. Her hair was combed off her forehead and twisted into a bun at the back of her head. Leini left her bed, whimpering from the chill in the room. The floor was so icy-cold she hopped from one foot to the other as she unbuttoned the pajama top.
“We’ve got a train to catch so don’t diddle.” Mamma pointed at the clothes she’d laid out on her own bed for Leini to wear. “Get ready, then come have your breakfast.”
Leini poked at the clothes, mouth puckered as if she’d swallowed a nasty pill. “Oh no, Mamma. Not long stockings. They scratch.”
“Don’t ‘No, Mamma’ me. It may not be warm in the north where we’re going, so do as you’re told. And make it snappy.” In the doorway, she turned. “If we miss this train, there won’t be another. This is our last chance out of Helsinki.”
Leini pulled at the elastic bands sewn on her undershirt, fastening them to buttons high on the thigh, back and front on each stocking. Most of the time the stockings puckered at the ankles and knees. And they made her skin itch.
“Where are we going?”
“To a godforsaken place called Veteli.”
“Where’s that?” Leini thought if she knew where they were going it would help Papi find her.
Mamma shrugged, turned her back and left the bedroom.
Fully dressed, Leini entered the kitchen and sat at the table with Maia squeezed under her arm. She stared at the gruel in front of her that Mamma had spooned into the bowl before she woke Leini. The slithery-slimy film covering it made her want to gag. The milk in the glass was so skimmed of cream it was bluish.
“Eat,” Mamma grunted over her shoulder. She stood by the kitchen counter, a ray of early morning sunshine playing on her hands. With her back to the room, she wrapped pieces of bread, radishes and turnips in wax paper. “God only knows when and where we’ll eat again.” She poured yesterday’s leftover soup into two thermos flasks.
Leini nibbled with stiff lips at a spoonful of gruel. “Mamma, where’s Vete…where we’re going?”
Mamma lit a cigarette. “Your grandpa’s rented rooms for us in a farmhouse in Veteli.” She spoke through a cloud of smoke as she put the wrapped food together with the flasks in a black-and-brown leather patchwork shopping bag. “It’s somewhere north, is all I know. You want to know more, ask your grandpa. He found this place and is paying for the train and our rent.”
Leini gazed at Mamma’s back. She often said that if Grandpa didn’t pay for all they needed they wouldn’t have anything now that Papi was in the war. “Everybody’s gone.” Mamma’s lips trembled. She dried her eyes on a hankie. “First Papi is taken to the front, then only days later Karl, my only brother, is in the military, too. Now I have nobody.”
Leini wanted to take Mamma’s sadness away. “But you have me.”
Mamma’s mouth was like a trumpet as she snorted.
Much as Leini tried to swallow the stale gruel, it stuck like paste to her palate. She took a sip of the thin milk. About to put down the glass, something funny happened to her eyes. She saw two edges of the table, missed, and the glass went crushing to the floor.
Mira whirled on her. “Leini! You miserable brat! Why did you do that?”
Leini recoiled, her whole body shaking from her Mamma’s angry voice. She hugged Maia hard and buried her face against the doll’s body, hiding her fear in its softness.
“I didn’t mean to do it, Mamma. I put it on the table, but it just dropped.”
“Don’t move.” Mamma shoved the chair to the side so violently it almost tipped over with Leini in it. Her mother bent and swept up the shards and mopped the spilled milk with a rag. While working, she mumbled to herself.
Leini caught snippets of her monologue. “Ungrateful brat” and “Kid’s my daily punishment.”
Leini concentrated on the food not to hear Mamma. She’d taught herself a trick. If she thought of something else when Mamma was very angry, she wasn’t so scared of her.
Mamma rinsed the rag and left it to dry on the sink. She pulled on her black gloves.
“I’ll go look and see if the transportation your grandpa arranged for has arrived to take us to the railway station. When you’re through with breakfast, wash up and stay inside. Do you hear?”
Leini nodded.
Mamma turned and walked through the living room. “I won’t be long,” she said before the door closed.
The minute the front door shut, Leini rushed into the bedroom. Lying on her belly on the floor, she wiggled under her bed. If they were going away, she must have her toys. She pulled out Björn, her teddy bear she loved to cuddle. Mamma said it was dirty and stank of sour milk and threatened to burn it, but Leini hid it under the bed. She wanted her baby doll Katie, the one with real hair—well, almost real. When she squeezed its tummy, it said “Mamma,” like a mewl. Katie had to have all her clothes, which Leini had arranged in a cardboard suitcase, each piece neatly folded, because she liked to see the tidy piles of clothing.
Leini crawled from under the bed and picked up Maia. To make sure they didn’t forget a thing, she brought her treasures into the hall next to the front door. She made one more trip to the bedroom and returned with the doll’s pram. Maybe they would never come back, so she must take everything with her.
When Mamma returned home, she threw a fiery glance at Leini’s preparations. Her grip on Leini’s neck was like a steel claw.
“What’s this?” Her voice sizzled as she forced Leini’s head down so close to the toys she was doubled over. “Where do you think you’re going with this stuff?”
“To Vete…Vete…”
“Not on your life.” Mamma pointed at the pile. “You can take one thing, no more.”
Leini looked at her mother’s face. It was closed and mean, eyes black, the painted mouth like a red slash.
Tears trickled down Leini’s face. Her glasses became blurry from crying, and she sniveled.
“Please, Mamma, just Björn and Katie. Please.” She wiped her nose with the sleeve of her cardigan.
“The answer is no! There’s no room.”
Leini cried out in pain as Mama wrenched her arm away from her face.
“Haven’t I told you to use a hankie?” Mamma gave her the one from her sleeve. “Here, take this.” She thrust Maia at Leini and pointed at the bedroom. “You can take the doll, but you return the rest where you got it. Immediately, you hear?”
Leini blew her nose and tried to wipe her glasses, but only s
mudged them more. Why doesn’t Mamma understand I can’t leave Björn and Katie? Without me they’ll be lonely and sad, just like me.
Mamma’s lips she squeezed together told Leini there was no point in begging. She trekked to the bedroom to put away the toys she must leave behind. Every now and then she sniveled, but if Mamma noticed she didn’t say anything.
As she followed Mamma into the street, Leini saw their carrier, a flat cart without railings, drawn by a horse. Mamma loaded their luggage on the cart. She lifted Leini on board before she grabbed the hand of the old driver to hoist herself up.
“I’m surprised Grandpa, with all his money, could find nothing better than this old fool and a half-dead nag to take us to the station.” Mamma sat on top of a suitcase and heaved a deep sigh. “Ah, well, I guess this is better than nothing.”
“Where to, Miss?” asked the driver.
“The railway station, and try to make it fast. We have a train to catch.”
Turning, he scowled at Mamma, showed a few stubs of teeth in his grinning mouth and muttered something Leini didn’t understand. Clicking his tongue, he snapped the reins against the horse’s back. With a jerk, the wagon rolled along the cobblestone streets. Leini hadn’t thought about how long they’d be gone, but when she saw the number of suitcases and cartons on the wagon, she thought they might never return. Maybe she would never see her home again. It made her stomach feel like it was full of stones.
“Good heavens,” Mamma said when they reached the station. “How are we going to find your grandparents in this crowd?”
The station square was packed with people. Mamma stood on the cart and looked over the sea of women and children of all ages, who held on to their belongings packed in suitcases, cartons and crates. Most of the civilian population of Helsinki was being evacuated. Those unable to go to Sweden—because they didn’t have the means or knew nobody to take them in—crowded at the station in the hope of catching one of the last trains out of the capital. They brought with them all the belongings they could carry.
The Wooden Chair Page 2