The Wooden Chair

by Rayne E. Golay

  “Samy.” Tasting the name. “Nice name, Samy.”

  Together with Grandma Britta, Leini visited Mamma and the newborn baby. When she first saw him through the window of the nursery, Leini gaped, amazed that he was so small, not much bigger than her doll. His head was covered with jet-black curly hair, and his mouth was like a rosebud. His tiny ears, flat against his skull, were pink, like the pictures of seashells Grandpa had shown her in a magazine.

  She squeezed Grandma Britta’s hand. “His face is like Mamma’s.”

  “You’re right; he looks very much like Mamma. Same big, coal-dark eyes, and almost blue-black hair.” With the back of her hand she caressed Leini’s cheek. “You take after Papi, tall, olive skin, while Mamma’s is like cream, and she’s short.”

  Leini could hardly wait for Mamma to bring Samy home so she could play with him. She was so glad to have a baby brother she thought her heart was going to burst.

  The first night Mamma was home with Samy, she bathed him in the small aluminum tub. Leini stood by her side watching his little body, legs kicking, arms flailing, mouth stretched into a wide grin. She stared in fascination at the thumb-like fleshy outgrowth between his legs. Her breath caught in her throat, scared that there was something wrong with him as she reached a prudent finger to touch it.

  The back of her hand smarted from the fierce slap Mamma dealt her. “Don’t you dare touch him there.” She spat the words at Leini.

  Tears streamed along her cheeks. “But…but what is that…thing? Is Samy sick?”

  Mamma gave her a shove, causing Leini to stumble against the bathroom door. Catching the heel of her slipper on the threshold, she lost her balance and fell, hitting her head a blinding blow on the floor. With her foot, Mamma pushed her out of the way and closed the door, leaving her in the hall. Stunned, she lay still. Then she adjusted her glasses and crept silently into the bedroom. Hugging Maia to her, she sat huddled in a corner. Why is Mamma angry? What have I done? What’s wrong with Samy?

  Leini often stood over Samy’s crib, taking in dark eyes, long lashes and the little nub of a nose. At first, Mamma wouldn’t leave her alone with him, but when Leini only stared at him, never touching, she let up her guard. Mamma spent a lot of time with Samy, changing and bathing and feeding him, singing softly to him when he cried. As weeks passed Leini became less enchanted with her little brother. Before they had Samy, Mamma never spent a lot of time with her, but now it was as if Leini didn’t exist at all. Mamma crooned and talked to Samy. She held him all the time, smiled at him. She never did these things with Leini.

  The first time Mamma allowed her to give Samy his formula bottle, Leini held her breath from fear she would do something wrong and damage the tiny bundle in her lap. She didn’t dare move although her arm was going to sleep. Mamma hovered over them, watching.

  When Samy spit up on Leini, soiling the front of her dress, Mamma’s face turned red. “You’re so useless, a real no-good. Don’t you ever touch Samy again. I can’t trust you to do the smallest thing right.” Mamma snatched the squealing baby from Leini’s lap, crooning tender words in a sweet voice she only used when she talked to him.

  Samy was a good baby. Fed and clean, he slept most of the time, but there were nights when his crying woke Leini. After a time, she thought he was more a nuisance than the source of happiness she’d expected. He was too small to play with and no fun at all. She overheard Mamma complain over the phone to one of her friends that Samy’s crying kept her up most nights. The phone conversation over, Leini took Mamma’s hand to press it to her cheek.

  “Why don’t you take him back to the hospital and leave him there? You have me; I’ll always be your good girl.”

  Mamma yanked her hand from Leini’s and pushed her away. “Shame on you, girl, for even thinking such a thing. You should be the one to go back to where you came from. Samy is an adorable little baby. He looks so much like me. I love him very much.” Mamma’s smile was happy.

  Fighting tears, Leini stared at Mamma. “But you love me, too, Mamma?”

  As she glanced at Leini, Mamma’s joyous smile disappeared. “You…you’re a copy of your father and your grandpa, nothing like me at all.” With a swift movement, she turned her back, leaving Leini alone in the middle of the floor twining a strand of hair around her fingers.

  * * *

  At the sharp ring on the doorbell, Leini, on her belly on the living room floor, glanced from her picture book as Mamma rushed to open. Curious to see who came calling, Leini followed her to the entry hall.

  “Come in. Pleased to see you.” Mamma stepped aside to let the caller enter. Spotting Leini next to her, Mamma wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Say hello to Mrs. Miller.”

  As she’d been taught, Leini gave a little curtsey as she gazed at Mrs. Miller, her shiny black hair curling against her neck, brown eyes with long lashes, a kind smile on her dark red lips.

  Mrs. Miller brushed a hand against Leini’s head. “Look at you, little Leini, how tall you’ve grown.”

  Leini stared at her, wondering who she was.

  “You don’t remember me or my daughter Anne?”

  Leini shook her head.

  She bent away as Mamma’s hand gripped her shoulder, hard like a claw. “What’s with you, girl? Cat got your tongue? Answer Mrs. Miller?”

  “N-no, I don’t remember.”

  “Of course not. You were just a tiny girl when Anne and I evacuated to Sweden. I live in the apartment one floor up from you.”

  Leini followed Mamma and Mrs. Miller into the kitchen.

  While Mamma set the table with cups and plates, she kept talking. “You were lucky to get to Sweden, not like us who had to stay here.”

  Mrs. Miller crossed hands in her lap. “I would have stayed in Finland if it had saved my husband Abe from getting killed.” She brought a dainty handkerchief to her eyes.

  Puzzled, Leini took in first Mrs. Miller then Mamma. If Anne had lost her father, she didn’t quite understand why Mamma thought it was lucky to be in Sweden, even if there was no war there, as it was neu-neut…as Sweden wasn’t in the war.

  Mamma served ersatz-coffee, for Leini a mug of warm water with milk and sugar—silver tea, Mamma called it—and little pastries Mamma made from breadcrumbs, saccharine and a glob of carrot jam as decoration.

  Mrs. Miller turned to Leini. “Are you happy to have a baby brother?”

  Leini swung her legs under the table, not knowing how to respond. She wasn’t sure if she was happy about Samy—she knew that since he arrived nothing was the same and she didn’t like that.

  With a glance at Leini, Mamma lit a cigarette. “She’s so good with him, the best babysitter there is, and she’s so gentle.” Looking at Leini, she creased her forehead, a smile fixed on her lips. “I wouldn’t know how to manage without her.”

  Mrs. Miller smiled and stroked Leini’s hair. “You’re such a good girl.”

  Leini sat in stunned silence and wondered if she heard right. Did Mamma say something nice about her? Only a couple of days ago, she’d said Leini was a no-good. Now Mamma told Mrs. Miller something entirely different, that she was the best babysitter. Was there one truth for Leini alone, a different one for other people? Leini didn’t understand this. Mamma showed her little attention before Samy arrived, and now she focused entirely on him. Leini counted even less than before.

  If only she hadn’t asked God for a baby brother or sister.

  * * *

  Leini learned about Papi’s return when she heard Mamma talking on the phone. Mamma said to the person she talked to that Papi was ill. He was relieved from duty and was now in the military hospital in Helsinki.

  “Can we visit him, Mamma?” She remembered she visited the hospital when the stork brought Samy.

  Mamma shook her head. “No, we can’t. Papi has hepatitis. It’s an illness we all could catch from him. Then we’d be sick, too.”

  Plump tears fell from Leini’s eyes. “Will Papi die, Mamma?”

  “Y
ou crazy girl. What makes you think he’s going to die?”

  “Well, if he’s very sick, in hospital…”

  Leini knew about dying. The news on the radio always told who had been hurt and who had died.

  “That’s right,” Mamma said. “He’s very sick, but he’s being treated. He’ll be home as soon as he’s well and can’t make us sick. You have to be a patient.”

  Leini didn’t understand about being patient, she only wanted her Papi to hurry home.

  Chapter 9

  Helsinki, Early Winter 1944

  The sun was a pale light low in the sky. It was only noon, but so dark Mamma lit lamps to brighten the gloomy room. On her stomach on the floor, Leini drew pictures in her coloring book. She heard a key turn in the front door. As she glanced over her shoulder, she saw a man on the threshold. Gazing up at him, he was so big, like the picture of a giant in one of her story books. She wondered who he was. Why did he have a key to their home? The man came closer. He leaned over her and spoke in a soft and warm voice.

  “Leini! Papi’s little girl.”

  At the sound of the familiar voice, she turned to sit. He sounded like Papi, but she wasn’t sure. He didn’t look the way she remembered. Her papi used to be big, but not so tall, and his eyes sat deep in their holes. And her papi didn’t have a full red beard like this man; at least she didn’t remember he had one.

  “Papi?”

  “Yes, Leini girl. I haven’t been home in close to a year. Do you still remember me?”

  He wrapped her in his arms. Leaning away from him, she stared at his face, the mild gray eyes, the wide smiling mouth. She couldn’t quite believe he was her papi. He hugged her close.

  She took a deep lungful of air. Then she remembered—he smelled of pipe smoke and something else, she didn’t know what, but it was nice because he smelled like her papi.

  Although she recognized him, she was a wee bit afraid of him. His voice boomed when he talked. Papi sat in his easy chair with her on his lap. With his arms around her, she was a little stiff at first.

  “Leini, my little Leini.” Papi sighed. “It feels so good to be home!”

  Her papi used to talk to her like that. Now she was sure he was her papi, home from the war and hospital. Comfy and warm she played with his beard, liking the way it tickled her palm when she ruffled it, like Björn’s fur, but softer. She took his face between her hands and rubbed noses with him. Papi hugged her to him, and she loved him so fiercely she had tears in her eyes. She buried her face in his neck, inhaling the smell she remembered.

  Safe and happy she repeated after him, “My Papi, my little Papi.”

  “Oh my God. Oh my…Robert. You’re home. I can’t believe it.” Mamma’s voice was low, her eyes wide as she kept gazing at Papi. “You didn’t tell me you were coming home today.” She took a few steps into the living room. “Oh, Robert!” She rushed to him, leaned past Leini to take his face between her hands, kissing him, his cheeks, his eyes.

  Papi rose, sat Leini on the floor and enfolded Mamma in his arms. Leini watched as they stood with arms wrapped around each other, cheek pressed against cheek. Mamma’s fingers twined in his hair, while she moaned low in her throat. Papi caressed her back, cupping her face in his hands as he kissed her over and over. And Leini had never seen Papi cry, but now there were tears in his eyes, and he opened his mouth to speak but no words came. Clinging to Mamma’s and Papi’s legs, Leini laughed as she swayed with them, feeling happiness too big for her heart to hold.

  During his first days at home, Papi slept a lot.

  “I’ve been very sick, my Leini. I need to rest. But soon I’ll be well again.”

  He often sat in his easy chair by the window in his den, off the living room. Leini was content to be in the same room with him when he read or just sat quiet, staring out the window. She had her own two rooms and a bath all to herself now at the end of the long corridor, but she liked Papi’s den the best. It smelled of Bay Rum and his pipe.

  “Do you still like music?” Papi asked.

  Cross-legged at his feet, finger combing Maia’s hair, she nodded while he rifled through the pile of records. She smiled when Papi placed one on the player.

  “Do you remember this piece of music?” he asked.

  Head cocked to the side, she listened. She gazed at Papi, sad that she didn’t recognize it.

  “No wonder, it’s been a long time. This is Jean Sibelius’ ‘Valse Triste.’” In his chair, Papi opened his arms to her. “Come sit with me. While I was away, I used to dream of listening to music. More than clean clothes or a warm bed, I missed you and music.” Papi closed his eyes.

  Leaning against his chest, his heart beat against hers. She closed her eyes, too, so very glad she wanted to cry and laugh at the same time.

  A sharp burst of the doorbell interrupted their private moment. Leini sat straight on Papi’s knee.

  “Who’s coming, Papi?”

  He winked at her. “Why don’t you open the door and find out.”

  She studied his face. “Papi?”

  “Go ahead, sweetheart. Open the door.”

  Leini slid off his lap and rushed to the door. Remembering Mamma’s warning never to open without knowing who the caller was she put her mouth close, lips almost touching the wood. “Who is it, please?”

  Two rapid bursts of the bell. “Surprise, my Leini.”

  “Karl! Oh, Karl!” And she turned the lock as fast as her slim fingers let and opened the door wide. “Karl!” And she leaped up, wrapping arms around his neck, legs around his waist, cheek pressed against his cold face.

  Catching her in his arms, he hugged her to him. “How’s my best girl?”

  “I’m good. You’re here.”

  He set her down, adjusting her glasses that had been pushed sideways, and he hung his fur-lined overcoat on the clothes rack before he entered the living room.

  Karl bent over Samy’s crib by the window. He glanced at Leini. “Does he wake you up nights?”

  She made a face. “Often.”

  “And I bet you don’t like it?”

  Leini hesitated. Then she lowered her voice so only Karl could hear. “I don’t like him.”

  “Hmm. That’s a big problem.”

  She nodded energetically. “Yes. I wish Mamma would give him back.”

  “I’m afraid it’s a bit too late for that. You’re stuck with him. He’ll grow, and things will get better.” Smiling, he stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. “Where’s Mamma, by the way?”

  “At the hairdresser.”

  Her hand found his and slipped inside the warm nest.

  He was so tall she had to bend her head back to see his face. “Are you Papi’s brother?”

  The sound he made was between a snort and a chuckle. “Heavens, what gave you that idea?”

  “I thought so because you and Papi always talk together. And you laugh, and Papi loves antiques, just like you.”

  “Well, these are good reasons for being brothers, but the answer is no. I’m Mamma’s brother. I thought you knew it, or did you forget?”

  Her breath caught. “I remember now.”

  “Papi and I are close friends.” He gazed into her face for a moment. “You’re almost right. I love your father; we’re so alike we could well be brothers.”

  Leini pressed her cheek against the back of his hand. “And I love you almost as much as I love Papi. I don’t have to be afraid of you or Papi.”

  Karl sighed. From a pocket, he pulled a showy white handkerchief and blew his nose, sounding like a horn. “A precious little girl like you shouldn’t have to be afraid at all.”

  Leini wanted to ask him something, but wasn’t quite sure it was polite or maybe Karl would be hurt. In the end curiosity won and on an exhalation she blurted the words. “Why aren’t you married?”

  The corners of his mouth pulled down. “Ah, Leini, the questions you ask. Before the war, there was this girl I loved very much. God took her from me.” Gently, he unwound the
strand of hair that she was busy twining around her fingers.

  Why does Karl sound as if he has a cold?

  In the den, Leini watched as Karl and Papi hugged and backslapped. She noticed both their faces were a bit red, their eyes shiny. Karl blew his nose again, and Papi rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands.

  “I’m glad things are returning to normal,” Karl said. Picking up the matches on the table, he lit his pipe. “You look healthy. Leini has grown up to a pretty young girl. And Harry’s on duty downstairs since this morning, he told me.”

  Papi tilted his head forward, eyebrows raised. “Oh, so Harry’s in the saddle again. That’s great news. Little by little, things get back to normal.”

  “Harry?” Leini interrupted. “Who’s Harry?”

  Papi leaned to touch her cheek. “That’s right, my pet, you can’t remember Harry, our doorman. When Karl leaves, we’ll accompany him downstairs so you’ll meet Harry. I’m sure you two will hit it off.”

  Papi was right. The minute she saw Harry in his black doorman’s uniform, white shirt and shiny shoes, she was struck. His eyes were as blue as the summer sky. A bit shy, she hid behind Papi’s leg, peering at Harry’s freckled face, a lock of carroty red hair falling over his high forehead. When he smiled, he didn’t only stretch his lips, his entire face crinkled.

  I think he’s nice.

  “Little Leini, how you’ve grown! When I left for the war you were a baby in a carriage, not yet walking. How old are you now?”

  “I’m five years old.” She smiled at him, loving his deep voice, and he sang when he spoke. “In the fall I’ll go to real school.”

  “Good. Life returns to normal now the war’s over. That’s wonderful.” He bent closer to her. “I’ll be here from now on. Anything you need, I’ll be glad to help.”

  Together with Papi she returned to their floor. In the lift she asked, “Why does Harry sing when he talks?”

  Papi chuckled. “He’s from a part of Finland where they speak only Swedish. You’re right, it sounds like singing when he talks. It’s called a dialect.”