Never Turn Back

by Lorna Lee

  Meri adjusted her felted wool bowl-shaped hat, threw on her hand-made formless woolen coat lined with fabrics from various clothing she or her siblings outgrew, grabbed her satchel and walked out of her room and away from her old life. She had already said her farewells to Papa months ago when he had left them, once again, for the sea and to Grandmamma earlier in the day, so she simply left. Jani stood in the doorway of the bedroom, no doubt expecting Meri to turn and wave—just one last loving gesture. Meri did not turn around. Never turn back, she thought, tears streaming down her face. Wise words, Papa! Turning around and staying would be too easy.

  §

  Meri stood waiting at their agreed-upon rendezvous spot. The small Lutheran church located on a hill overlooking Raiso was surrounded by an old stone wall about waist height. Behind the wall were plentiful evergreen shrubs and flowers waiting to blossom when the weather warmed during the short summer. Kaija and Meri had agreed to meet at the wrought iron gate marking the entrance to the church. From there, they would walk the nine kilometers to the Port of Turko where they would buy tickets on a ship for passage across the Baltic Sea to Stockholm, Sweden. In Stockholm, they would board a train that would eventually take them to Paris. Kaija was worldlier than Meri so Kaija plotted out their entire trip. She had family, she said, in Denmark who knew about train routes, schedules, and fares. That is how they were able to plan and save enough money for their journey.

  Pulling a timeworn piece of stationary with Kaija’s precise handwriting on it out of her coat pocket, Meri reviewed their itinerary as she waited. In Stockholm, the train would take them to Malmo. From there, it was a short distance to Copenhagen, Denmark. They would travel through Germany: from Hamburg to Bremen to Dusseldorf to Koln. In Belgium, the train would take them through Leige and Namur, all places she never knew existed before Kaija had told her about them. Finally, they would be in Jeumont, France, where they would have to change trains. That train would bring them straight into Paris. Kaija estimated the journey would take several days. Meri did not know what “several days” meant. She did not care—escaping Finland was all that mattered.

  Am I early or is Kaija late? Since she didn’t have a time piece, she tried to guess by the light of the day.

  Meri had time to think about what, or who she was leaving behind. So much has happened in this place. I’ve seen my Papa, my hero, become old and unable to straighten his arms, legs, or back. His eyes are still as blue as the summer sky, though. When I was a little girl, I thought he was the tallest and strongest man alive. His hands were so big and always rough as the rocks on the ledges of the Tuuli Cliffs overlooking the Baltic Sea. I raised my brother because Mamma made me do it. She never loved me, not even when my two brothers died in the Winter War. She saved any love left in her heart for my two older sisters. Maybe some for Jani. I don’t know. Mamma died hating me. At least Grandmamma and Jani love me. Papa loves me most and I’m leaving him for the first time in my life. How many times has he left me? The difference is that he has always come back home. The next time he comes home, I won’t be there. Meri wiped at the tears spilling from her cheeks, the only ones she shed since she left Jani and heard his brave but tearful shouts of “Goodbye” and “Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.”

  Mamma is dead. She died shortly after we moved from our home by the shore to Raisio to live with Grandmamma. She hated Papa’s Mamma and me—she was jealous of his love for us. But she also hated the Winter War. After the war, she was angry at the Reds and God because they took her two sons and our home. Papa wasn’t there to defend our family, so she hated him, too. Hatred killed her, though the doctor said it was her diseased heart.

  I don’t remember Mamma when she wasn’t angry at something or someone. Even her hair looked tortured. It was always pulled tightly into a pinched bun. And her nose and ears seemed huge to me, like a hungry wolf searching for someone to devour. I wonder if she ever smiled as a young woman.

  My sisters left Grandmamma’s house as soon as they found men to marry. They rarely visited. I doubt my leaving will change that. Grandmamma is old. I don’t know how old, but she’s still able to cook and do a little cleaning. Jani will learn these domestic skills. Imagine someday how happy his wife will be when she find out her husband can help around the house. I wonder if he—

  Meri’s thoughts were interrupted when she saw Kaija running towards her. Something is wrong. “Where’s your bag, Kaija?”

  Breathing too heavily for the short distance she ran, Kaija said, “I don’t…I can’t…I’m sorry.” Then she started to cry.

  “Kaija! Stop! What’s the matter with you? We have to leave now so we reach Turko in time for the ship.”

  “Meri, I…I’m not going to Turko. I’m staying here. You should stay here too. Finland is our home. We can make a good life here. You’ll see.”

  “What about Paris? What about our plan to escape together and become famous fashion designers? We’ve been saving and planning for so long. How could you change your mind now?”

  She did not look at Meri when she said, “Arttu asked me to marry him and I said yes.”

  “Arttu? Arttu? Oh, Kaija, you’re staying here to be a housewife for Arttu? You chose Raisio and Arttu over Paris and me?” Meri’s eyes were storm clouds of grey-green anger thundering over Kaija’s downturned head.

  Silence.

  “Fine. Have a happy life as Arttu’s wife. Get fat with the many snotty-nosed children you will bear him. Cook and clean for him until you’re a tired, miserable old woman and have nothing to show for your life but wrinkles and an empty house. I’ll go to Paris and work in a famous fashion house. I’ll become rich and famous. You’ll see my work in those fancy magazines you love.” Meri’s heart thumped against her chest and her breaths were quick and shallow. She felt hot even though there was a chill in the air.

  “Oh, Meri, please forgive me. Don’t hate me. I wanted to go. I did. But things have changed. I’ve changed, too.”

  “I’m not so changeable. Kaija. I remain true to my dream of seeing something of this big world and using my talents in a Parisian fashion house. Fame won’t find me here. I’ll make a name for myself and prove I’m the special girl Papa always knew I was regardless of what Mamma thought of me.” Meri heaved a sigh of disgust. She hoped Kaija could not hear her heart pounding against her chest, belying her outward bravado. “I don’t have time for more talking. I must go.”

  “Before you leave, please take this,” Kaija said as she reached into her jumper pocket and handed Meri an envelope. “It’s not much, but it’ll help in Paris. Be safe and I wish you success. Maybe you’ll understand someday…” Kaija’s voice trembled as much as her hand did as she gave the envelope to Meri.

  “Kiitos, Thank you, Kaija. Goodbye.” Without feeling the gratitude she just expressed, Meri gruffly stuffed the envelope into an outer pocket of her satchel.

  With that, the young women walked in opposite directions. Meri heard Kaija’s footsteps stop, but for the second time that day, she did not turn around. Pausing for just a moment, Meri took in a shaky big breath, wiped away tears she would never let Kaija see, straightened her shoulders, and began walking south, toward Turko, with a determined stride.

  Part 2

  (Paris, France, 1923-1932)

  Chapter 2: Foreigner

  “A remark generally hurts in proportion to its truth.”

  Will Rogers

  Meri waited until after her journey across the Baltic Sea and until several days into her train trip to open the envelope Kaija had given to her just before she left Raisio. She reached into the outer pocket of her satchel and pulled out Kaija’s letter. While she had the bag on her lap, Meri reached inside and checked for a special package wrapped in tissue paper. How many times must I do this? It’s always here. Meri scolded herself with a smile, reassured that the lace dress she would show to Parisian fashion houses was tucked safely away in the valise. When they see my fine needlework, they’ll be fighting over who will get to hire me! />
  Meri loved the crisp smell of fresh linen and the earthiness of cotton threads waiting to be woven into a lace collar, curtains, or a tablecloth. Each kind of fabric had a different feel or “hand” to it, and Meri relished all of them. Mostly, she loved being taught new techniques by her grandmother and showing off each new creation, wishing countless times she would have been Grandmamma’s daughter, not Mamma’s daughter.

  “You have a gift—a natural talent for the needle and thread, my girl,” Grandmamma told her. “You go to Paris and show them how to sew!”

  “I’ll be happy when I get a job sewing with the designers in Paris, Grandmamma.” Why couldn’t Mamma ever once say an encouraging word to me? Well, I’ll show her!

  She stroked the soft leather, thinking of her dear grandmother. The small worn leather valise belonged to her Grandmamma. Meri asked if she could use the bag for her trip. Her grandmother smiled, nodded, and said, “My days of traveling are over, Kulta. Take it. Go to Paris and become a famous dress designer.” Meri smiled as she remembered the conversation and the woman who taught her to make fine lace, design clothing for herself and others, and sew expertly by hand or treadle sewing machine. She enjoyed the art of creating fashion—for herself, her relatives, and even dolls for neighborhood girls. She did all the mending for the family without complaint.

  Meri turned her attention back to Kaija’s letter. Kaija betrayed me. Meri couldn’t bring herself to touch the envelope until her temper had simmered down, which took hundreds of kilometers and so many hours of boredom that Meri’s curiosity finally trumped her anger.

  The envelope carried the flowery scent she associate with her only, now former, friend. She opened it. The first thing she saw was a small bundle of Finnish markkaa. Meri discretely looked around the train then, when she saw that no one seemed to be paying attention to her, she quickly counted it. There’s enough here to help me buy food and, perhaps, find a nice room to rent until I find work. Kaija must have given me what she saved up for her share of the trip, or at least most of it. Well, it’s the least she can do for abandoning me. She tucked the extra Finnish markkaa away with her own cash.

  Perhaps more valuable than Kaija’s financial offering, was the personal note that held the money.

  Dearest Meri,

  My heart is heavy knowing you are making this journey alone. I know we would have had an easier time if we were together—helping each other in the way true friends do.

  I have proven not to be such a true friend and, for that, I beg your forgiveness. But, knowing you, Meri, I’ll never receive it! I can hardly blame you. If you let me go to Paris alone, I would find it hard to forgive you, too.

  I didn’t make the decision to stay in Raisio with Arttu easily. I had to accept his marriage proposal. I’m carrying his child. This is not what I had planned, but I must accept the responsibility for my actions. I would never tell Arttu, but I want to be in Paris with you, free to do as we please. Unfortunately, that is not the life I’m destined to live.

  But all is not lost, dear Meri! Remember my cousin, Tuula, who lives in Paris? She promised to help us get established. She wrote to me about a community of Finns in Paris and was going to introduce us to them. Remember? I want you to go to Tuula. She is expecting you. She will help you. I have made the arrangements.

  She lives at 6 Rue Greneta, apartment 3C (on the third floor). Rue means street. She says many Finns live in that area, so you should feel a little at “home” even though “home” is not a place you think of fondly right now.

  Meri, I know you are angry with me and you do not accept help easily. But please accept Tuula’s help. It is my way of being with you on “our” grand adventure.

  If you ever forgive me, please write to me to let me know about your experiences in Paris. I’ll always ask about you when I write to Tuula. I will never forget you. I hope you will never forget me.

  Your dear friend,

  Kaija

  Meri had time on the rattling train to consider Kaija’s gift—not of the money but of Tuula’s address and her offer of help once she arrived in Paris. Meri was smart enough to understand that surviving without knowing the city, the language, or anyone in it, would not be easy, so she decided to take Kaija’s offer and seek out her cousin. I’ll accept help only until I find a job in a fashion house and a home of my own. I’m going to make my dream come true without anyone’s charity…at least as little as possible.

  §

  After too many nights of sleeping in a seated position with her head lolling from side to side, Meri finally stepped off the train and into the Paris station with its concrete, steam, and walls of moving people. She did not know which made her more elated: to be in the city where her dreams would come true or to leave the clackety-clack-clack of the rail cars that penetrated her waking thoughts and instigated fitful sleep during her long journey. She wobbled as she navigated her way through the crowds on the platform. The jostling of the train over the past several days muddled her balance, and she was not used to circumventing so many hurried people, many carrying suitcases as she was. What kind of a city is this? Meri thought to herself. She held her satchel tightly in front of her. It served as a shield protecting her from the masses of bodies bumping into her; but it was also effective armor to help her ram her way through the crowd.

  Coming from tiny Hirvensalo and Raisio, Meri had no experience with helter-skelter hordes of strangers. The noise from all these people talking at the same time, the trains blowing off steam and blowing their horns, and crackly announcements I don’t understand coming from boxes on poles! I think my ears will explode! She tried hard not to miss Finland and the quiet countryside. This is the city. My city. I’m a city girl now. Soon I’ll adjust and won’t even notice all this chaos.

  The large clock at the end of the station platform read 1:30.

  “No wonder I’m hungry,” she said to no one in particular. Her hunger, however, would have to wait.

  Meri needed her papers processed. She knew this because each time she crossed a boarder, someone asked to see her citizenship documents. For what? She did not know. Meri just smiled, answered any questions politely and, each time, her papers were handed back to her, often with a grin or at least a polite-enough nod.

  Knowing only Finnish, Meri quickly learned a friendly smile from a pretty woman was valuable. Men were in charge of reviewing documents and giving travelers permission to proceed. And these men also seemed to appreciate Meri’s physical appearance. Her full bosom, curvaceous hips, shapely calves and narrow ankles, ash-blond wavy hair, unusual gray eyes, and generally pretty face all helped during encounters with these male officials. Unlike with many other passengers, so far these uniformed men treated her with charm rather than indifference or, even worse, suspicion. I hope my good luck continues in Paris.

  As Meri stood in one of the many lines leading up to booths separating the train station from the city, a city she had dreamed of for so long, she repeatedly heard, “Vos papiers, s’il vous plaît.” Then each person would present their travel documents. She understood.

  Meri gulped. She saw the person who would be processing her documents. A woman. Recovering her composure without too much difficultly when she heard the familiar request, Meri smiled and handed the envelope containing her travel papers to the woman. Meri wore her shy smile—the one that had smoothed her way so many times before with the male officials.

  The woman’s lips were a thin, straight line—her mother’s lips. The immigration officer’s eyes narrowed when she alternately scanned Meri and her travel papers. If only I had gotten a man, Meri thought. He would probably smile at me, stamp my papers, and politely tell me to move on, like all the others.

  She reviewed Meri’s passport again and looked at her. “Quelle est votre activité à Paris?” She was tapping her pencil on the desk, as if already impatient with the answer Meri could not give because she did not understand the question.

  Meri smiled and shrugged. After an awkward pause, s
he replied in Finnish that she did not understand French.

  The immigration officer sighed and looked up to the ceiling. Meri had seen Mamma do the same thing many times when Meri had done something to displease her. The woman was about to pick up a telephone, when an older man standing two people in line behind Meri spoke up. “Pardonnez-moi. Puis-je aider?” Is he offering his assistance? He spoke with a distinct Russian accent.

  Meri’s smiles turned wobbly, and her eyes darted back and forth between this male stranger and the woman behind the glass. Meri had no idea what was happening.

  The French immigration officer scowled. After a long pause, she waved him forward.

  “Merci,” he said to the people he passed in line, then to the immigration officer. He turned to Meri and explained in a mixed Finn-Russian dialect that the woman was inquiring about Meri’s plans while in Paris.

  “Ah, kiitos. Thank you.” Meri explained to the man that she planned to obtain work in a fashion house and make Paris her home.

  The man translated Meri’s answer.

  The immigration official shook her head. She stamped Meri’s documents, giving Meri the same crooked grin Meri had seen many times before. Mamma did the same thing, and it always meant she was about to say or do something nasty to me.

  “Ha! These immigrants, they’re all so stupid!” The woman said loud enough in French for Meri to hear as she exited the area.

  The man replied in French to the woman, “What business is it of yours to say this young woman’s dreams are stupid simply because she is a foreigner? Shame on you!”