Kati’s face was streaked with tears. She opened her mouth to speak but Etti’s cries blotted out everything. This time all the screams rolled together until they transformed into one long sound, stretched taut. I heard Kati cry out hoarsely, as if she was the one who was ripped apart. She stifled her cry quickly with her fist. Sunshine flickered in through gaps in the lean-to’s walls, striking Etti’s squirming body with tiny fragments of rainbow light.
‘Push, now,’ Johanna called, over the endless roar.
A gush of blood and fluid soaked the blanket on Johanna’s knees. ‘Push,’ she commanded. Etti’s legs were shaking so hard the pallet began to rip beneath the pressure, the loose stitches coming apart so the pine needles stuffed inside spilled out onto the ground. Adrenalin surged through my body. I gripped the skirt of my dress, twisting it in my fingers. Etti’s cries were so piercing, I feared she was dying. I called on Olga and my mother, praying for them to help her and heard, very faintly, my mother’s voice.
She was singing.
Moments passed as, inch by slow inch, Etti’s baby emerged until at last it slid out into Johanna’s waiting hands. Deftly, Johanna cut the cord with Hilja’s knife, then bundled the infant into the blanket, wiping the baby’s eyes and face with the corners of a rag. Johanna’s face was calm, but her shoulders had lost their stiff look. I guessed she had been worried, but had not wanted to alarm us. My own body felt weak and insubstantial. I knew I had witnessed what so many other women had seen before me and yet the experience was unique. Sacred. Etti’s baby would never be born again. This was her moment of triumph; hers and Etti’s. Even Johanna, who must have seen many births as a midwife, was smiling now and her eyes were warm with excitement.
‘She is a beauty,’ she said admiringly, touching the baby’s cheek with her thumb. ‘A girl. Is there a name?’
‘Leelo,’ Etti said in a weary voice. ‘It’s what my mother would have wanted.’ I saw Kati clasp Etti’s hands, their fingers meshing.
‘Leelo.’ Johanna hefted the baby, testing her weight. ‘Means song. A fine name.’
As if she agreed, Leelo began to grizzle, making soft yelping noises. ‘Here,’ Johanna said, holding out the bundle for Etti to take. Etti tried to reach up her arms but they flopped beside her. She shook her head. ‘Kati, you hold her. I’m too tired.’
Kati glanced at me, as if seeking reassurance. I shrugged slightly. I knew as much as her about what happened after babies were born. Etti had sunk back against the bed, her eyes closed.
‘She will need milk,’ Johanna advised. ‘Best put her to the breast now.’
Kati hesitated, then carefully laid the child upon Etti’s chest, unbuttoning her blouse with one hand. ‘Etti,’ she said. ‘You must feed her.’
‘But I’m so tired.’ Etti shook her head. ‘I can’t.’
‘Like this.’ Johanna lifted the baby easily from Kati’s arms, positioning her so that her tiny mouth could close over Etti’s nipple. Etti sighed but did not open her eyes. The baby’s hair was the colour of wet sand, streaked through with blood. When she had suckled for a while, she pulled away. Kati lifted her off Etti’s chest, holding her carefully. Still Etti said nothing.
‘Let her rest,’ Kati said quietly as she lifted the baby in her arms. Together, we peeked at her face. She was tiny but perfectly formed. While Johanna delivered the afterbirth and then bundled it away, Liisa handed Kati a damp cloth. Together, we wiped the remaining crusts of blood and mucus from the baby’s face.
‘She is an angel,’ Kati said, kissing the baby’s soft cheek. ‘A miracle.’ I heard the wonder in her voice and felt it shift beneath my own skin. Yes, it was a miracle to be born after a night of such heartache. How could anyone want to hurt her? I thought, touching her tiny ear with my thumb. How could anyone who had witnessed the act we had just seen be so twisted by fate that they could think of harming something so pure? And Johanna, Liisa, Kati . . . all those women who had helped bring her into the world. What had they done to deserve deportation? To have their lives cut short or be banished to a far-flung place as Joachim had been, as Olga had been? My father had caused this misery; my real father.
I had a vision of him shouting down the telephone wire at Captain Volkov. What would he do when he realised I was missing? Would Captain Volkov send Lieutenant Lubov after me? Lubov would tell them I had been at the station. Perhaps he’d even seen me with Helle and the others. If he sent his soldiers and agents after me, they would eventually track me here. I knew suddenly that I could not stay any longer, surrounded by the thick stench of blood, haunted by the terrible truths that had blinded me until now. Stumbling past Kati, I staggered out of the hut towards a knot of people sitting side-by-side near the remains of the fire, catching the last of its warmth. They looked at me curiously. I edged past them towards a small copse of trees near a bucket of water on a tree stump, their muttering following in my wake.
I leaned against the scratchy bark of a tree trunk and closed my eyes.
I would have to leave. I would have to go on alone, with only my memories for company. I’d not even been able to return to the townhouse to retrieve Mama’s volume of poems or her photograph. Joachim’s book. All the mementos of my past were gone. Everything except the shawl and –
My hand flew to fumble in the pocket of my dress. The letter.
I pulled it out, fingers trembling. The envelope crackled in my hands.
I stared down at the unfamiliar handwriting. My mother’s name was printed first, followed by our address at the House on the Embankment. Flipping the envelope over, I withdrew the contents; a crinkled piece of writing paper, tissue thin.
I unfolded it carefully, aware of how my heartbeat had slowed, how the sounds of the camp seemed to have faded.
The words were all in Estonian, black symbols like scattered twigs. One of the hardest languages to learn, Etti had remarked. But I could read every word. It was as if my mother had prepared me for this moment.
My dearest Ana,
How good of you to write and tell me of the safe delivery of your little girl. Lydia. A beautiful name. And Volkova! The wolf. I know she will be a strong girl. I am so pleased to hear you are both fine. How does she look? Is she dark or fair? Does she have your eyes? I’m sorry. Too many questions. You must forgive me. I do feel I know you, after so long. Does she sleep? Is she a good child? Enjoy this special time. In a year’s time, you will not know her. I can tell you this because I already see my own granddaughter changing. When she was born, she slept much. Now she is always watching, always reaching, wanting to touch and experience the world for herself. She loves best to watch me knit; she thinks the needles are playthings. One day she will hold them herself. I look forward to that day. I look forward to teaching her to make shawls, as I taught you. I suppose you don’t knit now. You must be too busy. But I hope that when you wear the shawl I helped you make you recall our time together with fondness. I too miss those days. I miss Haapsalu, its little winding streets and the promenade and the bandstand where the musicians played. You were a good pupil. You had the eye for patterns. Such a shame we did not get to spend more time together. I encourage you to write again, when you feel stronger. And remember you are always welcome to stay with us if you visit Tartu. I hope our paths will one day cross again.
Yours in good faith,
Elina
The letter ended with an address in Tartu I did not recognise. But at least the missive revealed the link between my mother and Elina, the mysterious woman who had taught her to knit and gifted her the little book of poetry.
I stared at the letter a moment longer. It was strange to read about myself, even stranger to imagine Mamochka sitting at her writing desk, penning the story of my birth to this woman, her friend. How tragic that Mama had never seen her again. I could almost feel the burden of her sadness as she waited and waited for a reply, then the hope when the letter arrived.
I tucked the letter back into my pocket and touched the shawl at my throat.
> It was time for me to go.
Every minute I stayed, I was risking the women’s lives, exposing them to danger. Had Etti been through so much only for me to jeopardise Leelo’s survival with my presence? Had I learnt nothing from what happened to Joachim?
‘Lydia?’
I froze.
‘Lydia, from the train station?’
I squeezed my eyes closed, then opened them.
Jakob Rebare stood before me. I recognised his face at once, the soft curls of his hair. Only, this time he did not look like a dishevelled student on his way to class. His features were sharper, his look wary. In his hands, he carried a gun. Blood flecked his jumper. It coated his hands and made tide marks up his wrists.
‘It is you. Isn’t it?’
We stood very still, facing each other. ‘Yes,’ I said, at last. ‘It’s me.’
I thought perhaps he might raise the gun. Would that be so bad? I felt the bite of the bullet nicking my skin, the sting as it buried into my flesh. My heart beat slower, anticipating the flow of blood from the wound.
‘Hilja said there was a Russian here.’ He blinked. ‘I didn’t expect it to be you. My sister Kati told everyone you were one of Etti’s friends who’s been living in Leningrad. Why would she do that?’
‘Kati is your sister?’ I shook my head in wonder. Is this a sign, Mamochka? My mother had told me Jakob was important. Did she want me to stay?
‘You will have to ask her.’ I nodded over his shoulder at the hut, relief and excitement mingling. ‘She’s in there. With Etti. And your new baby cousin. For want of a better term.’
Jakob’s eyes widened. ‘Etti’s baby . . .’
‘Has been born.’ I wiped a tired hand across my eyes. ‘Yes. And she is beautiful. Like her mother.’
He shook his head in wonder.
‘I am going to clean up,’ I told him, aware of the blood soaking my clothes. ‘I have not told anyone else of my connection to Captain Volkov. You can shoot me. Or report me. The choice is yours.’
I turned towards the water tub.
When I looked back, he was staring after me. But he neither raised his gun, nor called for Hilja.
The water in the tub was brown. A thin layer of grey scum floated on the surface. I hesitated a moment, before plunging my hands in. This was life now, as Hilja had said last night in the cottage. There would be no warm scented baths in porcelain tubs. There would be no soft mattresses and no dresses with collars of Ukrainian lace. I let the water soak over my arms, lathering with the tiny scrap of grey soap beside the tub. Something crawled across my neck. I reached up and felt behind my ear. My skin tickled. I pinched my fingers together and drew out a tiny brown spider which had been hiding beneath the dark-red mass of my hair. Its legs were drawn up over its body, its many eyes blinking. I flicked it away, horror tugging at my stomach. My scalp prickled. I could feel more of them shifting there; my fingers had disturbed them. They’d probably leapt on me as I stood beneath the trees. Before I thought better of it, I plunged my head into the cold water, relishing the rush of the liquid across my tingling scalp, trying to obliterate the insects along with the guilt in my heart.
*
Refugees continued to flood into the camp as the day went by. We watched them stumble between the rocks, many of them bleeding. Most of them were women wearing shocked looks on their faces and dragging exhausted-looking children behind them or carrying babies wrapped in blankets, towels or tablecloths. Anything they had been able to find at the last minute before they fled. The few men who did come were elderly folk assisted by their daughters or wives. Some of them brought suitcases, others knapsacks. Some brought nothing at all, just their aching bodies and their tears, their stories of watching their husbands and sons loaded into police wagons before they ran into the forest, not knowing what awaited them but unable to turn back for fear they would be dragged off and shot or thrown onto the trains headed east. One adolescent girl told us about seeing the train pass through town and about the notes which had littered the sleepers in its wake; balled up bits of paper containing scrawled letters to loved ones who had not been able to say goodbye. The young girl had collected as many as she could with her mother and brought them to the camp in her knapsack, hoping she could reunite them with their intended recipients, assuming some of them had made it to the camp where we were staying. Although the women all gathered around her, each one of us taking a letter to decipher, it seemed like a hopeless task. Thousands of Estonians were being deported all over the country. Not just in Tartu, but in Tallinn, Estonia’s capital city, and other places I had never heard of. Reuniting their letters with those left behind seemed too great a challenge when survival was at stake.
‘Here.’ I handed the scrap of paper back to Kati. I felt sick to my stomach. ‘It’s for a woman called Arina.’
Kati took the letter in her hand. Her eyes skimmed the page. She bit her lip as if she might cry, before placing it in the growing pile of papers on the floor of the lean-to.
It was from a woman called Noora whose children had been staying at her sister’s farm when she and her husband were arrested. The letter was addressed to her sister.
We are in a train, the woman wrote, which sat at the station for four hours before it finally left. It is hot and airless. There’s no food and no water. Babies cry because their mothers’ breasts are empty. We do not know where we are headed. Please keep my children safe for me. Kiss them each night. Tell them I will never forget them.
There was nobody called Arina in the camp that we knew. The letter would go back into Riina’s knapsack. Perhaps one day it would reach Arina, or perhaps it would not. Her children might never know what happened to her, whether she was killed or deported. They might wonder each night where she was, how she was suffering, their thoughts circling as they imagined the worst.
‘I heard they are deporting people from Lithuania and Latvia, too.’
I turned to find Jakob standing in the doorway. His presence made the blood rush up into my cheeks. In the hours after his return, I had found myself so on edge I could not eat or rest as I waited for him to turn me in. I’d sat stiffly beside the dead embers of the fire, waiting for my damp hair to dry, anticipating the shout and then the scuffle of feet outside the lean-to. But so far nothing had occurred. Now it was almost evening, the blue sky shot through with pink, the moon a slim white fingernail glowing brighter as each minute passed.
I reached for another letter, trying to make myself invisible but I felt Jakob’s attention shift to me.
‘Five thousand at least from Riga,’ he said. ‘Perhaps more.’
‘Oh, no.’ Kati sighed. She sniffed, rubbing at the tip of her nose with her thumb. ‘So many gone.’
I stayed silent.
On the mattress behind us, Etti’s baby made a small noise. We all glanced over. Leelo was tucked into Etti’s arm, swaddled in a blanket. She was beginning to stir, nudging the blanket with her tiny limbs. She looked so small and alive, her skin so pink, it was hard to believe that only yesterday she had been waiting to be born. Etti’s eyelids fluttered open as Leelo’s movements grew more restless. I watched Etti’s eyes dart round, resting on each of our faces, before she looked down at the child cradled in her arms.
Kati reached out her hand and patted Etti’s leg gently. ‘Etti? Leelo needs feeding.’
‘Yes.’ Etti nodded slowly, but she was still staring at Leelo as if she was a rare animal who had come close. Etti’s blonde hair was matted, and hung limp over her shoulders. She pulled herself up higher on the bed, rubbing at her tired eyes with her free hand.
‘Yes. Feeding.’ Holding the baby in one arm, she began to unbutton her blouse. Her fingers fumbled clumsily at the buttons. Leelo began to slip awkwardly off the cot. I reached out automatically and scooped her up. She weighed no more than the expensive porcelain dolls I had played with as a child. Her blue eyes latched onto me and she blinked slowly, like a person waking from a pleasant dream. I heard Jakob cough behind me an
d Kati’s brief intake of breath.
Too late, I realised my mistake. Fear engulfed me. I pressed the baby quickly into Kati’s arms, muttering apologies. I could not look up to meet Jakob’s eyes but I saw him turn swiftly and march away, leaving an awkward silence behind him broken only by the sounds of Leelo’s hungry yelps.
‘It’s all right,’ Kati said to the grizzling Leelo. ‘Shhh. It’s all right, now.’ She glanced at me warily and I sensed the fragile trust between us unravelling. Had Jakob gone to tell the others? She looked away as Etti held out her arms for the child and brought her to her chest.
I stood up and walked outside. If I was going to be executed, I did not want Etti or Leelo to witness it. I would go as far away from them as possible. Etti had seen enough violence and I did not want Leelo’s first experiences of the world to be of bloodshed.
Darkness was closing in outside. Some of the women had rebuilt the fire in the centre of the camp, lighting bits of kindling and throwing them in until a blaze crackled. It was summer and warm but people gathered around it anyway, leaning against each other, their hands fanned against the flames as if they were trying to burn away the bad memories. Liisa handed out small mugs of water and ladles of vinegary broth that people slurped before passing on to their neighbours. Some people were crying while others held each other, talking softly or humming. I caught snatches of their songs, the words both familiar and strange. I had never imagined to hear my mother’s language spoken again.
Nobody spoke to me, but nobody came to kill me either. I tried to see Jakob, to make him from the few men moving about but he remained invisible. I huddled as close to the fire as I dared, letting the heat lick up my arms and fill my belly with warmth. I felt utterly alone, apart from the group despite the fact that I understood what they were saying. One man began to mutter curses at the Russians, heaping bad omens upon them. Other voices called out in agreement.
One woman spat in the dirt and vowed to kill as many Russians as possible if she was captured, even if it meant dying herself. In a tearful voice she recounted how her husband had been reported by a neighbour because he refused to hand over their last cow, which they kept for milk and cheese. The woman’s husband had been arrested and the cow butchered into parts and carted off.
Lace Weaver Page 24