Quite frankly, she hadn’t wanted to allow Sofia to go anywhere in the evenings, not even to Rael’s grandma’s because she’d be coming home in the dark now that it was winter. Not that it was late – small primary schoolchildren, the ones who did the evening lessons, were making their way home from school by themselves at the same time… Although Sofia still had studying to do for the next day… things were definitely much easier now that her daughter had some money of her own. She was afraid, of course, that Sofia would glimpse the type of life they would never be able to afford themselves. Could that maybe be a good thing? Who could say? Perhaps it was? Who could say what Sofia might one day become or what good it might do her in the future to catch a glimpse of it? Perhaps it was a good thing for her to practise reading Estonian and especially English clearly, after all she apparently had to read to the old lady in all those languages…
The last time they’d sat in the kitchen with Lyuda, Lyuda had explained in aggrieved tones how her language exam had gone. She wanted to pass it so she could apply for citizenship – she didn’t need to do it for work, she just thought that she should have everything straight, and as she had been born here and already had grandchildren who had been born here, and her children had citizenship, why shouldn’t she be a citizen too? The fact that her children were citizens and she wasn’t made it feel as if she didn’t belong with her children. Anyhow, she just about had the exam in the bag, she had everything straight, when at the last minute they asked her what the names of Kalevipoeg’s dogs were – you know, Kalevipoeg, the one who the Estonians’ national epic is about.
“You tell me,” she complained to Natalya. “Am I really supposed to know what his dogs were called? Pet dogs that have been dead for yonks and people are still supposed to know their names.”
Sofia, who was drinking tea with them because she always liked drinking tea with Lyuda, spluttered.
“What are you spluttering for? What is it you’re giggling at, you cheeky little brat?” scolded Lyuda – she always chastised people that way, but no one was actually afraid of her because she never got really angry. “You’re laughing at your elders and betters. You tell me their names.”
“Irmi, Armi and Killer Blackie,” shouted Sofia, laughing.
“Is that so?” drawled Lyuda, sceptically. “And just how do you know that?”
“We did it at school!”
“Is that so… They teach all sorts at school these days. They actually teach something practical. Kisser Blackie.”
Sofia was now roaring with laughter.
“What are you laughing at your elders for?” Lyuda was still trying to tell her off.
“This is a kiss,” laughed Sofia, and kissed Lyuda on her smooth, soft cheek, “but a killer kills. The dog was the Black Killer, Killer Blackie! With a coat that bristled and eyes that glowed – like the hound of the Baskervilles!”
“Who on earth are the Baskervilles?” murmured Lyuda sceptically and sighed, “You see, if I’d have known that, I’d be a citizen now… Killer Blackie! Kids are getting cleverer all the time…”
Natalya thought so too, and the fact that she didn’t say so out loud didn’t stop her thinking to herself, “You never know, Sofia could be a teacher.” Never mind that teachers’ pay was very low, it was a dignified job… It flashed into her head that perhaps she might even become a professor, but the thought seemed indecently arrogant…
Suddenly Sofia burst into tears – so suddenly, that even Lyuda was alarmed.
“What is it, what’s up, I’ve not said the wrong thing, have I?” she asked.
“No, no,” said Sofia almost calmly, only hiccupping, “it’s just the rat… the rat…” and it was as she sobbed the word “rat” that she started to cry again.
It turned out that the rat, the one belonging to her classmate Zhanna, whose birthday she’d gone to celebrate, the one that she’d got into trouble with Mum about, the rat had disappeared. Zhanna had woken in the morning to find the cage door open and the rat nowhere to be found. She was dreadfully cold and the window open, as well as the cage door… Had someone thrown him out of the window? But there was no rat in the street – it was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps the street cleaner had already been and brushed him away. And nobody had thrown him out because Zhanna had interrogated everyone who was still there, and no one knew anything. Perhaps the rat had just hopped it?
“Well you know,” said Lyuda, “rats are devious creatures. They’re intelligent, they don’t get into any trouble.”
But Sofia had the feeling that something had befallen the rat – and it wasn’t just that she felt really sorry for it. No, there was something else – as if there were no longer a something or a someone to rely on… And there was a heaviness in her heart, deep within her breast…
Dmitri Dmitrievich hurried along the long, curved street on the fringes of Lasnamäe. It’s not that he was lost, he’d just got off the bus one stop sooner than he’d needed to. And there was no point now waiting for the next one. Actually, he knew full well where he had to go – he knew Lasnamäe almost like the back of his hand. He didn’t need to follow the curve from here, just go over the wasteland along the path as far as the dark apartment buildings (in daylight they were actually red – the colour of their red bricks). They rose up against the background of the sparkling snow like a dark battlement – which was why the apartment block had been dubbed Dvigatel’s fortress since the Soviet time… After cutting through there he should be on the right street… It was still fairly early, before eight o’clock, but now in midwinter, that meant deep darkness – unless the moon was up. On the city streets you didn’t notice the moon, but here it illuminated the snow-trampled path as efficiently as street lights… In the field the wind swished and whirled in gusts; it bit acerbically into your cheeks and then subsided again, as if mulling something over for a moment.
It was no better between the buildings. The blocks were tall; the wind whistled nervously as it gathered momentum, assaulted you, broke cover from the wall of the building and faded again as if building up its momentum anew – or as if having doubts… Just like Dmitri Dmitrievich himself – he still wasn’t fully sure whether he’d done the right thing by calling Natalya Filippovna, and now he was actually on the way… But there was no other way for him to see Natalya Filippovna again because she’d found a new job, a proper job, and had told Vova categorically that she would not be helping them out any more even though Vova’s wife would have liked a couple more weeks to convalesce, perhaps even longer… But Dmitri Dmitrievich could not so much as countenance Vova’s wife any more, or any woman other than Natalya Filippovna for that matter; he’d even dreamt he’d slept with Natalya a couple of times and woken up relieved, happy, only to sink back immediately into deep despair… Could this turn out any better though? Would it be better if he explained just the pictures in the book?
Hurrying towards him almost at a run on the long empty street were two men, more accurately two young men, two boys huddling from the cold: one short and thin, the other tall and heavyset; when they were almost in front of him they suddenly dodged sideways – one as if he wanted to pass him on the right, the other on the left. In his left hand he held the briefcase containing the book. Hold on to the briefcase – he managed to think and gripped the handle firmly in his fist. The thin one tried to tear the briefcase from him; the tall one shoved him brusquely so that he lost his balance and fell, head first to the ground because he was clenching the handle of the briefcase in one hand and holding the case itself under his other arm…