The Faces of Strangers

by Pia Padukone

  The egg white dripped down the side of the bowl, but the yolk had found its way into the bottom of it. Leo smiled, pleased with his technique but twisted his lips at the mangled carcass of shell in his hands, which he slipped into the wastepaper bin. He fished out a shard of eggshell from the bowl and turned on a small skillet. A pat of butter melted effortlessly; the fat sizzled as it spread out across the pan. A purist, he slid the egg into the pan and let it cook on its own, the butter bubbling around the sides as the yolk took shape and form.

  He had never tasted anything like this before. He understood the allure of fresh eggs now. It tasted like morning had burst open in his mouth; the woodsy, farm-like flavor couldn’t be bought in the cardboard egg cartons Vera brought home from the store. This was natural and real. This was how eggs should be eaten. He savored every single bite until it was gone. It wasn’t until after he had finished that he realized he hadn’t even used any salt or pepper for flavoring. He could hear footsteps from overhead now, so he rinsed the bowl in the sink and set more water on the stove for a second cup of tea.

  Vera creaked down the stairs, her steps heavy with sleep. She appeared in the kitchen, her hair mussed, her robe pulled loosely over her shoulders. She smiled at him. She had once again forgotten to take her makeup off the night before, and there were shadows of the black kohl she used to edge her eyelids smudged in the hollows beneath her pupils.

  “Have you made yourself breakfast?” she asked in Russian. “What a surprise.”

  “I didn’t know when you’d be up, so I made myself an egg,” Leo answered.

  She opened the fridge and stared into it, as if an answer would form before her eyes. “We were out of eggs.”

  “Oh.” Leo couldn’t bring himself to tell her the truth, not after he had lambasted the chickens in the yard for weeks. “There was one...in the very back...in a bowl.” With her makeup smudged like this, Vera resembled an angry raccoon. Her lips were so tight they appeared sewn together.

  “Levya...” she trailed off, watching Leo’s face carefully.

  Leo’s face paused over his teacup, the darks of his pupils watching her like an animal. “Yes?”

  “Don’t be upset.”

  “At what? What did you do?” Leo lowered the teacup to the table and placed it a few inches away from him. He planted his feet firmly into the wooden floor, bracing himself for her to speak.

  “I didn’t want to say anything last night in front of Nico, but I got you another test date. For citizenship.”

  Leo felt his head expanding. He pursed his lips and was grateful that the porcelain cup wasn’t between his fingers. He was sure his grip would have otherwise shattered it. “Why—Vera, why would you do that?”

  “It’s time, Levya. It’s been a few years since you took it last. You can’t avoid it forever. You and I both know that you’re as much of a citizen of this country as any of us. You’ve lived here for forty years. This is home. Just because our asinine government decides to make a stupid law shouldn’t make you a pariah.”

  “Pray tell, my Estonian goddess,” Leo sneered, leaning back against the stove. “When am I scheduled to participate in this little charade?”

  “You have time,” Vera said, approaching him. She patted his arm as though she were about to administer an injection. “It’s not until November.”

  “November?” Leo snorted and turned away from her, pouring more tea and spooning a glob of blackberry jam into the cup. He stirred it vigorously, sugary liquid slopping around the outside of the rim. “I’m supposed to learn this godforsaken language in three months?”

  “Oh, don’t be like that. You already know a great deal,” Vera said. “We just have to soften your pronunciation, polish the edges. I’ll help you.”

  Leo shook his head, hunching his shoulders up around his ears. Vera stepped behind him, letting her arms envelop his stocky figure, allowing her hands to trace the elastic waistband of his pants, dipping a finger beneath the drawstring. Leo tensed against her touch.

  “Remember when we used to play Defector?” she murmured into his broad back. “Remember how innocent we were? How we had no idea what it meant?” During the Soviet tightening of the borders, a handful of rebels slipped through the cracks. Ballerinas, chess players, fighter pilots—they all sought lives outside the Iron Curtain. While the Soviets tried to keep the news of defections under wraps lest others get ideas, the news inevitably traveled fast, inspiring excitement, support and very often jealousy amongst those who remained in Soviet-run countries. Defection was easily translatable into a children’s game. All you needed was someone to flee, someone to assist and someone to pursue and ultimately banish them to Siberia, a chalk-drawn square demarcation in which miscreants had to sit for the rest of the game if they were caught.

  Vera had been a petite child, and therefore an obvious choice to play the Defector attempting to flee the oppressive Soviet regime. She was nimble and could fit into suitcases, squeeze into bicycle baskets and wooden boxes, contort her limbs to accommodate any mode of transport. It was mostly other girls who were forced into Aider/Abettor roles, pushing the wheelbarrow, riding the bicycle or “driving” the getaway car. When boys played the role, they impatiently hoisted Vera onto their shoulders or cradled her in their arms, clutching her desperately as they weaved and dodged their pursuers. Burly Leo was always cast as a KGB Minder, keeping a lookout for those on the lam. It was in the small courtyard behind the imposing block of gray concrete apartments where both Vera’s and Leo’s families lived that Leo literally first began to chase his future wife. Paavo and Mari cherished their parents’ love story—their romance that began as a game and blossomed into reality.

  “So?” Leo asked, his voice gruff with annoyance. He was well versed with Vera’s tactic of tapping into his soft side, which she managed to locate from time to time underneath the hard armor that appeared to have toughened over the past decade.

  “Remember how you used to chase me? I miss that,” Vera said, letting her voice drop into its husky timbre, a pitch that usually brought Leo to his knees.

  “That was a long time ago. When we were young and stupid,” Leo said. “When the KGB called the shots and we stood to attention. When I was a citizen. When I had rights.” Leo tensed his body against hers.

  “That’s not quite how I recall those years before Independence,” she said, releasing her hands completely from around him. He turned to face her. “In fact, I remember some pretty miserable times. Or have you conveniently forgotten them?” Leo looked down at his hands and shook his head.

  “I don’t have time for this right now. I have to go to work. That is, if they haven’t found a red-blooded Estonian to configure bus schedules in my absence,” Leo said, clearing his throat. “Did your daughter come home?”

  “She’s my daughter now? What did she do?” Vera smiled, attempting to break the tension as she dabbed at the spilled tea with a dishcloth.

  “As long as she’s that pretty, she’s your daughter. I will reclaim her when her looks go.”

  “Levya! That’s terrible!”

  “It may be, but I can’t deal with a pretty daughter gallivanting around town. It’s dangerous. Beautiful things don’t ask for attention. You damn well know what I mean. You need to have those talks with her. You know, the ones about the fine balance between flaunting her body and not letting men have what they want.”

  “Wow,” Vera said, leaning back against the sink with her mug and surveying Leo. “You have managed to be incredibly insulting in the past fifteen seconds. That’s a record, even for you.”

  Leo frowned. “I am just trying to keep her safe. It worries me, Vera. This situation, it’s not easy for me. The fact that she’s beautiful is a gift, and it’s a blessing that she’s able to make some money from it. But that doesn’t make it any easier to digest the fact that she may be traipsing about town with God
knows who doing God knows what. Not to mention what people might be saying about her.”

  “So what do you suggest—that we stop her from modeling? She’s making good money from it, you know. At least it keeps her out of trouble and away from loitering with her useless friends in Freedom Square.”

  “Fine. Fine. Let her make money. If she’s talented, she’s talented.”

  “I have a great solution,” Vera said. Leo leaned in toward her. “Trust her. How about that?”

  “‘Trust’ is an interesting request from someone who just made me an appointment behind my back,” Leo retorted, his nose in the air. “I just don’t have time to worry about this, Vera. I have enough to worry about with Mari. And then there’s Paavo. The boy spent the whole summer reading books. I don’t think he went down to the football pitch once. I don’t think he ever met friends. He needs to leave the comfort of his own backyard.” At this, he looked back through the screened-in porch. The fluff was still floating about, as though a chicken were plucking itself on his roof and sending the feathers cascading down below them, an early snow day in September.

  Vera shrugged. “It’s a phase, Leyva. He will spread his wings. New York may be very good for him. Go and take a shower before the boys wake up. And Levya, please don’t stress about the test. I’ll help you. We all will. Besides, I think you know more than you realize.”

  Leo took in a deep breath. He hesitated before leaning over and kissing his wife gently on the lips. “Have a good day, armastatu.” Vera smiled at his use of the Estonian word. She tried to pepper their Russian conversations with as many Estonian words as she could, but it was especially poignant when he made the effort on his own. At least he was trying.

  PAAVO

  Tallinn

  September 2002

  There is no try. At some point in his life, Paavo had lived by the Star Wars credo. He’d once been capable of everything, or at least he’d possessed the self-confidence to think he was. He’d approached each experience and opportunity fearlessly and was prepared to fight whatever he thought might come in the way. But since the gang had started its advances toward him, his confidence had run for the hills of Narva, its tail between its legs. At first, Paavo figured he would just avoid the boys, make sure that he stayed out of their way. But it appeared that it wouldn’t be that easy.

  Now it was the first day of school, and Paavo had to venture back out there once again. The best part of participating in the Hallström program was that Nico was here. Well, Nico and really, that Sabine girl from Prague. When he’d passed out in the bathroom and Pyotr had run back to the conference room and announced that the Estonian boy had passed out, Sabine had been the first one on the premises. Paavo was just opening his eyes when he heard her enter the bathroom, taking tentative steps toward him, and then kneeling down on the cold tile floor next to his head. She’d made a pillow from her cardigan and placed it gently under his head. She put her hand over his mouth, testing for the warm puffs of air that emanated from his lips. She put her own fingers over her lips, guiding him not to move, even though his hands instinctively moved toward his waist as she tugged his belt off, whispering, “Relax. I’m just easing any restriction.” Then she reached down and lifted his legs a few inches off the ground. Paavo had been awed by Sabine, how she’d taken charge without waiting for an adult or further instructions and by her serene, methodical manner. How had she known that the fear of walking back into the conference room pained him more than his ankle where he’d turned it on the bathroom doorjamb? “Don’t worry, your pride can be healed,” she’d whispered. Paavo would repeat the mantra to himself over and over in the years to come. Barbara and the EMT had found them there—Paavo lying back and Sabine elevating his legs as she encouraged him to take deep lungfuls of air. The EMT had commended Sabine in a thick German accent—raising Paavo’s legs above his heart had been exactly the right thing to do. “From verr did you learn zis? Das ist perfekt tek-neek.” By that time, of course, the blood had rushed back into Paavo’s system, and he sat up and promised a very stricken Barbara that he was fine—he just had low blood sugar and needed to eat something, that he would be able to continue on with orientation. It was just too bad that Sabine lived four whole countries away. It felt good to have an ally for once.

  But Nico could be an ally, too. Paavo’s heart leaped a little, thinking of his presence here. He wasn’t sure whether or not they might get along, but at least he had a travel companion to get to and from school. He didn’t have to be alone anymore; there was strength in numbers. And Nico was a wrestler. It was as though the Hallström program had provided him with his very own bodyguard.

  Paavo sat straight up in bed, gripping the edge of his blanket with his stubby fingers, the nails bitten down past their keratinous whites. The bluish haze of night was still settled over the world outside the window, blurring the outlines of the houses and cars across the road. He could hear motion from the kitchen just below his room. Leo and Vera were up, communing, combining, collaborating. Paavo could hear the grinder’s powerful blade come to a shuddering halt and Vera’s breathless curses. It was kasha for breakfast today; the fatty fragrance of melted butter and hot rough-cut buckwheat seeped into his room. He should rouse Nico in case he wasn’t already awake. After all, they couldn’t be late on their first day.

  Not that Paavo was particularly looking forward to it. He washed his face in the hall bathroom. His face looked wan and pulled. He had no idea whether the gang would be waiting for him with the start of the school year; he’d hardly given them a chance to bully him over the summer. He pulled on a pair of jeans and a jumper and headed downstairs.

  Nico was already sitting alone at the table, mixing a bowl of groats rather aggressively with a spoon, as if it would somehow magically transform into ice cream or chicken noodle soup like that fable that Babu used to tell Paavo as a child. Paavo watched from the doorway as Nico sliced off three more pats of butter and dissolved them over the steaming buckwheat.

  “Unfortunately, that’s not going to help,” Paavo said, smiling. “Butter just makes them soggier. They take some getting used to.” Nico turned toward him, his eyes still droopy with sleep.

  “They’re not so bad,” Nico said. “It’s kind of like oatmeal.” He spooned some into his mouth, swished it around with his tongue and took a long chug of coffee before swallowing the whole thing down.

  “Try this,” Paavo said, opening a shelf over the sink. He handed Nico a bar wrapped in red-and-orange plastic.

  “Kamatahvel,” Nico read. “Chocolate?”

  “Kind of,” Paavo said. “It’s a candy bar. Mama and Papa ate it when the Soviets were in power and chocolate wasn’t easily available. Break some off and let it melt over the kasha. How did you sleep?”

  “Okay,” Nico said, looking sheepish again. “Though, you were right. I woke up in the middle of the night and had trouble falling asleep again. I guess I’ll try the sauna tonight after school.”

  “As I said, it’s a religion here,” Paavo said. “I’m sure you will be a convert.”

  “I got to meet Mari, though,” Nico said.

  “So I did hear her come in last night. I thought I was dreaming.”

  “You and me both,” Nico muttered.

  Paavo sat down at the table and broke a few splinters of Kama bar into his bowl. He looked up at Nico, who was looking back at him. It felt so awkward, having this stranger in his home. Barbara had told Paavo how perfect she thought the partnership was between these two boys, but so far, Paavo wasn’t sure where their common ground might lie. Of course, appearances could be deceiving. On the second day of orientation, Paavo had blanched when Pyotr met him near the coffee urns at the back of the conference room. But Pyotr’s face had softened as he put his arm on Paavo’s shoulder.

  “Are you okay?” he asked. “I’m sorry I ran out of the bathroom like that. I was worried about you. I
wanted to get help. I didn’t mean to embarrass you in front of everyone.” Paavo shook his head, concentrating hard on the piercings in Pyotr’s ear and said it was nothing—that he was glad that Pyotr had gone for help, what if he’d hit his head or worse, that Pyotr had done the right thing. Pyotr wasn’t such a bad guy after all.

  “We should leave as soon as we finish. Are you ready to go?” Paavo said.

  “I thought my Estonian class starts earlier than the rest of school. Your dad said he’d drop me on his way to work.”

  “I don’t mind going early,” Paavo said, shoveling kasha into his mouth. “I will help you find your way.”

  MARI

  Tallinn

  September 2002

  Mari had definitely found her way. At least, that’s what her booker Eva told her each time she called to tell her that she had scheduled a go-see.

  “This is your calling, pussycat,” Eva said on the phone, her voice raspy from cigarettes. “You were born for this work. That face and that body... I’m just sad we missed out on the few years we had with you before Viktor found you.”

  But even though she was a verified, certified model, Mari had never considered herself beautiful. She knew she had a “look,” which was what Viktor had told her the first time he’d seen her in Freedom Square. She knew she had a set of killer cheekbones, because her friends commented on them often and with great reverence. She knew she had height, because she towered over most of the boys in her twelfth grade class. And once she’d completed puberty, her lithe body had settled itself into a very comfortable size thirty-four, an enviable figure for anyone at the age of seventeen. But it still surprised her, the way that casting agents looked at her when she walked into a room, as though golden beams radiated from her body. It surprised her that people wanted her to wear clothes in an effort to get others to want to wear them, that people wanted to watch her walk down a long, narrow strip only to turn at the end and go back. It astounded her that she got paid for such simple tasks.