My heart jumped into my mouth at the sound of something heavy being dragged along the ground. I half-turned and saw a bandit wrestling with a trunk, a monstrously large thing papered over with official-looking stamps and crests. He managed to heave it off the train and onto the platform, where he kicked it and it toppled over onto its side, spilling its contents into the dust. Frilled petticoats and ladies’ undergarments disgorged in a tangled heap.
The man bent over them, rummaging like a pig seeking truffles, shoving the petticoats aside until finally he straightened, his prize – a jewellery box – clutched in one hand. Something inside it dazzled as he flicked the lid open.
‘Stop!’
A woman nearby had half-risen to her knees. Her face was smeared with dirt, but I recognised her from the station platform in Leningrad. Olga and I had watched the train guard shouting orders to the porter as her trunks were loaded in, while she preened nearby beneath the attention of a handsome man in uniform; a diplomat or a high-ranking officer, most likely. A man of enough importance to secure her a compartment alone in the first-class carriage. Olga had pursed her lips as the train began to hiss steam and the man and young woman enacted a tearful farewell, complete with kisses loud enough to make me turn away.
Now the woman was trembling, one hand clutched at her lace collar.
‘Please,’ she called, voice husky with tears. ‘My fiancé gave me that ring. It belonged to his mother from Kiev. You can – you can take the rest. All the roubles, but… please. Let me keep the ring.’
‘Fool,’ I heard Olga mutter.
The thief paused, one hand still tucked inside his pocket. He had a young face beneath his dirty blond hair that hung down in ragged strips, as if he’d hacked it off with a blunt blade.
‘Jaak?’
Footsteps crunched beside us on the gravel.
‘Jah, Kalev.’
I raised my eyes to see another man stride into view. The two men spoke rapidly in Estonian, and the shift of language jolted me. It had been so long since my mother taught me, but many of the words jumped out. Ring Russians Roubles. Their words in my head were like the currents of a river that flowed together then broke apart.
I studied them. This man – Kalev – carried himself differently to the other boys, although he could only be slightly older. Twenty-two at most. While his companions were hunched, as if they thought to make themselves invisible, Kalev held himself erect like a statue carved from rock. His blond hair was close-cropped. He gestured with his fingers as he talked. The confident flick of his hand conveyed the weight of his authority. A leader, I thought, my mind accustomed to placing power where it naturally belonged.
As if he had heard me speak, he turned his head suddenly and looked directly at me, eyes narrowed. I dropped my gaze to the dirt beneath my face, heart bumping painfully against my ribs. I waited for fingers to grip my collar, to be dragged to my feet and searched for valuables.
‘Tanan, Jaak.’ Thank you. Footsteps, coming closer. I squeezed my eyes shut.
The footsteps went past. I dared to raise my head.
Kalev was standing beside the Russian woman Jaak had been speaking to. She flinched as he kneeled down, and whimpered softly as his rifle slid forward on his arm. He lifted his shoulder, nudging it back.
‘This is your ring?’ he said, in accented Russian.
The young woman nodded.
‘Take it.’ He held it out. The diamond twinkled between his fingers. When she didn’t move, he reached down and grasped her hand, forcing her stiff fingers open so he could slip the ring into her palm. The woman’s mouth fell open as she stared up at him, her face tear-streaked.
‘We might be thieves but we aren’t animals. Perhaps you will remember that the next time your countrymen shoot at us in the forest.’
He straightened, adjusting his brown suit.
‘Kalev!’ Shouts echoed at the other end of the platform. The young man tensed instantly, dropping into a crouch. The ground began to vibrate, and gunfire crackled in the distance amid more yelling from the lookouts as they called the men back. ‘Jaak! Walter!’
Their boots kicked up dust around us, sending pebbles flying into the air. My eyes stung. Through the dust haze, I saw them run towards the edge of the forest and disappear. Moments later, Russian army soldiers flooded the platform.
More dust. More chaos. More voices shouting, this time in Russian.
I covered my head with my hands to block out the noise.
‘Lida.’ Olga was shaking me. ‘It’s over.’
Pushing myself upright, I stared into Olga’s face. Dust had wormed its way into the creases, giving her the appearance of an old marionette doll carved from wood. White hair billowed around her shoulders, freed from the many combs she usually employed to keep it in place. I reached out to squeeze her hand. Around us, the passengers were in various stages of relief and anger. Many of the women were crying. Russian soldiers moved among them, asking questions and taking notes. One man was shouting at the train conductor, telling him he should have attacked the thieves and defended us all. The train conductor was ashen, oblivious to the irate passenger as he stared off into the forest, as if he expected the thieves to run back out. Suddenly, he pitched forward and vomited all over the ground.
I turned away, my own stomach cramping in sympathy.
‘Ladies,’ said a voice near my elbow. I whipped around.
‘Apologies.’ The man held up his hands. ‘I didn’t mean to startle you.’ He was dressed in a grey uniform, a medal bar dangling over his breast pocket. The chevron insignia and the red stars on his collar distinguished him from the other officers moving about. There was a coldness in the line of his features, the way his deep-set brown eyes turned down at the corners. I had seen eyes like that before in the faces of my uncle’s colleagues. They were the eyes of someone who is used to having their orders obeyed.
‘You are a lieutenant,’ I said, unable to suppress my knowledge. It was one of the only things that had interested me at my uncle’s State dinners: picking out the colonels and officers, the police captains and sergeants based on their uniforms. A small game to hold back the flood of boredom that always accompanied such events.
‘Very good.’ He straightened his shoulders. Even at full height, he was shorter than me. I found myself bending slightly at the knees so I would not be looking down at him, and being thankful for the flat sandals strapped to my feet. ‘Lieutenant Dimitri Lubov,’ he said. He had a broad nose with large nostrils; what Olga called a ‘Lenin’ nose. His chin wobbled as he smiled. ‘Tartu division.’
‘What took you so long to get here?’ Olga rasped.
‘There are no soldiers stationed here in Tiksoja. Although that may change now.’ The smile left his features, replaced by a hard expression of distaste.
‘Who were they?’ I glanced back at the forest. The fir trees swayed slightly, their branches creaking in the sudden breeze. Soldiers with rifles were stationed at the tree line.
‘Thieves. Bandits.’ Lieutenant Lubov sniffed. The wind riffled his black hair. He jammed it down flat with his palm before raking it back into place with long fingers. ‘Resistors and saboteurs. They call themselves Forest Brothers. Usually hole up together like foxes in some stinking bunker. Rest assured, the Soviet army will find them.’
‘I’ve never heard of such a thing,’ Olga said. ‘I thought the Baltics surrendered peaceably.’