By and large Natalya Filippovna understood nothing of the whole business – some boys were in trouble. Boys that Sofia didn’t really even know, she’d only met them once at Zhanna’s at that awful party that Sofia had come home from in the dead of night. She’d given them her whole month’s pay – the money that she’d earned at Rael’s grandma’s, but the boys hadn’t taken it from her by force, she’d given it to them because they’d been in such trouble – that was what she’d said over and over again – that they were in a terrible state. Yet they’d been alive and healthy and, most important, Sofia herself was alive and healthy. The money, the five hundred kroons, was a large sum, no two ways about it, but not a matter of life and death now that Natalya was back in work… She couldn’t understand these kids, and what they thought was dreadful and what they didn’t… Perhaps it actually was a good idea – to go and light a candle for them – if it only satisfied Sofia. And going to church was good in itself, a healthy thing to do… Only, what if at the church she, Natalya, were to come face to face with the priest? Now that Dmitri Dmitrievich hadn’t arrived or phoned even though he’d promised he would, he’d agreed, down to the exact time… Could something have happened to him? Or had he hesitated, decided at the last minute that he wouldn’t call on a woman like her after all… Hardly likely though, was it, that the priest had anything to do with Dmitri Dmitrievich – there were plenty of people like that with that kind of voice… All said and done, she didn’t want to meet the priest and look him in the eye. The place she wanted to be was in that sordid bed – yes, she’d like to be there, but not with anyone other than Dmitri Dmitrievich, lying side by side, and Dmitri Dmitrievich could talk to her… about the good sun and the evil sun… But all this was completely impossible because Natalya had turned Vova down in no uncertain terms despite the fact that Vova’s wife would have been happy to let Natalya provide services to her clients for a fair while longer…
Natalya ached with longing. All the time. While at work building pathways for electrons or on the bus on the way home, or watching the telly without registering what was actually on – whatever she was doing she thought about Dmitri Dmitrievich. She even forgot to keep checking Sofia’s grades – she forgot to ask how school was going… Finally she even began to feel that Dmitri Dmitrievich was by her side. She was definitely not going mad. She could not see Dmitri Dmitrievich or hear his voice. But when she thought about him or wondered what he might have said in response to something or other, she had the feeling that Dmitri Dmitrievich was somewhere behind her, at her right shoulder, and would reply in his crooning, lilting voice… And she even confused what he had actually said earlier about something or other with what she, Natalya, now believed Dmitri Dmitrievich might say… If anything, things were actually easier this way – there was none of the depressing emptiness, just a feeling that he was always here somewhere…
He couldn’t really have died, could he? Once when visitors were round for tea, when Natalya was still small, her grandmother had said that when a small child dies it leaves a companion for its mother, like a guardian angel, and they can see the child – the ones with the gift, that is – hovering by the mother’s shoulder… It was just whether it was at the right shoulder or the left – that was what Natalya could not recall. But she was not Dmitri Dmitrievich’s mother. And he was definitely not a small child. If he had died, he would definitely have gone straight to heaven.
Natalya wondered for a moment – if Dmitri Dmitrievich really had died, would she want him hovering by her shoulder or would she want him to go straight to heaven? No, she didn’t want Dmitri Dmitrievich stuck at her side. Yet it was so good to sense his presence, sometimes the feeling was very strong, as if someone had delicately stroked her cheek like a warm, gentle breeze even though she was sitting indoors and there was no breeze, or was on the bus with all the windows shut.
She and Sofia had gone to church on the Sunday morning and lit a candle although the priest hadn’t been there. Was Dmitri Dmitrievich still going to Vova’s? Not that it would be right to ask. She just wanted to know, and to know that nothing had happened to him. “Oh, just let him be alive!” grieved Natalya Filippovna. “Never mind what he’s doing. Whether he calls or not, whether he’s still visiting Vova’s flat, Vova’s wife, the main thing is that he’s alive, healthy and alive.” Because if he wasn’t, she could no longer live, she’d be alive of course, but she’d live like a machine – she’d go to work like a machine, she’d make meals at home like a machine – she’d live only for her daughter, Sofia, like a machine – she’d no longer even be able to love her child or believe in God – she just wouldn’t… And when she worried and grieved in this way, she felt a gentle laughter at her right shoulder, at the nape of her neck, like grown-ups chuckling over childhood’s trifles. So much so that it embarrassed her. She remembered that once Dmitri Dmitrievich had said that the thing that everyone thought was love was not in fact true love – the love that people feel for their dogs or cats or husbands or wives or even the love that they feel for their children. All that was just learning to love. The truth was that people lived solely in order to learn to love, to love truly – but true love was like a light that spilled over everyone equally, be they an enemy or even a murderer or a vicious pile of scum… And when that love was clear, then everything in the world was clear!
Clear… light… white…
But she didn’t understand, she was incapable – couldn’t conceive how to imagine it. Like at school when she was small, it took a while before she realised how the letters combined to make a word… And who could imagine it? Who could possibly imagine that you might love a murderer just as you love your own dear little daughter?
Spring was in full bloom and a starling would sing in the early mornings in the chestnut tree behind the bins. It could quite easily have been mistaken for a nightingale because in the distant, bush-covered wasteland, not yet overcome by urban sprawl, nightingales would sing as high summer approached, but Natalya and Sofia both knew this starling – was it actually a starling, not a thrush? It was black with a yellow beak and appeared every year when the snow was still lying, or if the thaw had come, it would be forever scurrying across the slushy ground to clear it of everything edible. But this starling had no fear of spring sleet, it hugged the bins, somehow escaping the cats’ claws and now, every morning before dawn, affirmed with the piercing notes of a penny whistle that he was still alive and still ready to fight for its mate and its chicks and its chestnut tree.
Natalya Filippovna listened to his song, but it did not bring her joy or yearning as it had in previous springs. The feeling it gave her was as if the song was reaching her through a silence; to tell the truth it didn’t actually reach her, but instead drowned, died away into the silence, the emptiness… Much as she saw and heard everything and understood everything, the “everything” lay beyond the great silence that enveloped her… “That is just so lovely! Mum, come and listen! It’s so – not even a flute comes close. Our starling!” called Sofia – and what’s more, she agreed with her daughter wholeheartedly, but that didn’t stop the song feeling strange and far away… Perhaps that was how things were meant to be; after all, her life was already as good as over. She was pushing fifty; the only thing that she had to think about still was ensuring that her daughter got an education. She must keep both feet on the ground. She must provide for herself; study Estonian conscientiously every evening so that when her eyes were no longer good enough for electronics, or her fingers could no longer move nimbly enough, or there was another crisis in electronics, she could find a job working in a shop, say, find a decent job so that when Sofia had grown up and become independent, she would not be a burden to her. And she really did study hard: the only channels she watched on the telly were the ones in Estonian, and sometimes the ones in Finnish because Sofia wanted to watch a film they were showing. The films were mostly in English with Finnish subtitles so Natalya would try to decipher them – it was completely crazy because although the letters were the same as in Estonian, everything was twice as long written down and Natalya only ever managed to decipher two or three words before the next lot were on the screen. It was easier to listen to the news in Finnish. It was fairly similar to Estonian but more relaxed. As a rule, all Finnish broadcasts felt more relaxed. Estonian broadcasts barked at you rapidly as if they were forever wanting to say that if you couldn’t cope, then it was no one’s business but your own. If you couldn’t cope they’d write you off… But the Finns spoke as if they wanted to calm you: everything is OK, we’ll get there, just take things calmly… The only bad thing was that the two languages became a jumble and when Sofia told her to reply to something in Estonian, a mishmash would often emerge, making Sofia laugh and tell her that the way she talked was the way Estonians spoke Finnish – half in Estonian, half in Finnish…