His eyes raked over me, coolly assessing. The train huffed and puffed on the track nearby, hissing steam. I felt exposed. I wrapped my arms around my body, wishing suddenly for the bear coat, with its imposing pelt of shining chestnut fur. But the coat was now buried at the bottom of Olga’s case. ‘I need to find a car,’ I said at last. ‘Well, I need a driver too. My companion and I are here from Moscow to visit my father. But there seems to be some mix-up. Perhaps it was the incident this morning at Tiksoja that caused the delay.’
He tilted his head. ‘I heard about Tiksoja. There are crazy rumours flying around everywhere; the station master said it was resistance fighters. Forest Brothers from Tartu. Did they do that to your face?’ He sounded shocked.
I lifted my fingers to my cheek, frowning. I had forgotten about it.
‘No,’ I said. ‘No, they didn’t hurt me. That was… someone else.’
‘Oh.’ He seemed relieved. He unfolded his arms. ‘I see. I can give you a lift.’
‘You have a car?’ I could not help but look down at his shabby pants, which were faded to a dull grey.
Jakob shrugged. ‘It’s not fancy. But yes. I run people back and forth sometimes, diplomats, visitors… I even offer a guide service for an extra fee. Assuming, of course, you are interested in a small place like Tartu. Many people pay me extra just to stop talking.’
‘Well…’ I stared at him, chewing my lip, my mind searching and discarding an ever dwindling array of possibilities. Suddenly, something warm pressed itself against my side.
‘Lydochka?’ Olga lifted her chin to scrutinise the man. ‘You’ve found our driver?’
‘Someone to take us, yes,’ I said, coming quickly to a decision, wrapping an arm about her as the train wheels began to grind, pulling the train out of the station. It was my fault Olga was here. I could not ask her to walk. I held the man’s gaze. ‘We would very much appreciate a ride. Thank you.’
Jakob’s face relaxed. ‘Excellent. It would be a pleasure to escort you.’
I caught the quick flash of his smile before he turned his head, steering us towards an old vehicle with scratched panelling and windows darkened so that the interior was strangely obscured.
‘It’s not the finest vehicle around,’ Jakob was muttering, opening the passenger door. ‘But it will get you to your father’s office. Here.’ He extended his hand for my case. Nestling it below the front passenger seat, he helped me in, shielding my head with his hand to avoid bumping it on a flap of fabric that had come loose from the car’s roof.
Muttering an apology, he tacked the roof back up, pressing it into place with his thumb. He ran around to open the back door for Olga. ‘Are you comfortable?’
He seemed so anxious to please, I did not have the heart to complain about the cramped space or the faintly sour whiff of body odour lingering in the fabric seats. ‘I am. Thank you.’
Grinning, he slammed the door closed. I heard the boot open behind me and the sound of Olga’s heavy case being pushed inside, then Jakob climbed in and started the vehicle. The engine coughed and sputtered, an alarming sound. Olga cleared her throat pointedly and I read what was in her mind: this was not how she had imagined arriving at my father’s office. But it was too late to change my mind now. I fumbled in my skirt for the remaining roubles. Jakob pocketed them and then he was turning the wheel, the car circling the small car park to join the traffic on the road outside.
Tartu was a city of cobblestones and high whitewashed walls. Hidden gardens flashed past, screened by iron gates. The streets were not as crowded with people as those in Moscow. I saw mostly soldiers, their grey uniforms and gleaming guns. On a street corner, I spied a group of women in faded coats huddled together, white scarves knotted around their heads. I swivelled in my seat to catch a better look, but the car moved off and they were gone, just a blur of white lace and drab clothes in the distance.
Jakob kept up a steady stream of chatter, only pausing every now and then to ask a question about Moscow. What did people think of the war? How did Muscovites view the annexation of the Baltics? Did my father talk much about what was happening? He kept his gaze fixed on the windscreen as I tried to answer. I was sure he was only asking to be polite, and when I told him I had not spoken to my father in some time, he did not reply.
At an intersection he pointed past a building to a set of ruins high on a hill. The broken brick battlements stuck up from the ground like sharp teeth. ‘Dorpat Cathedral,’ he said. ‘Built in the…’ He screwed up his face. ‘Twelfth century? No, that can’t be right. Anyway, it was captured by Prince Dimitri of Pereslavl. He was the son of Alexander Nevsky.’ He spun the wheel, rounding a corner so the cathedral vanished from view. ‘Fourteenth,’ he said suddenly. ‘Fourteenth century. I was wrong.’
‘I thought you said you were a tour guide,’ I said.
He grinned apologetically. ‘I never said I was a good one. My sister Kati is the historian and folklore expert in the family. She knits, too.’ His eyes swivelled to the lace shawl around my throat. ‘Shawls like that.’
‘Oh.’ I looked down in surprise and touched the shawl’s hem. I’d forgotten I was wearing it. It weighed almost nothing. ‘Do you think she could identify the pattern? My mother knitted it when she was a girl.’
Jakob snorted. ‘There’s nothing my sister doesn’t know about knitted shawls. Nothing.’ He took his eyes off the road to peer at the lace, and suddenly I was conscious of his gaze on my throat. Olga coughed again and Jakob looked away quickly, then turned the car into a wide avenue where tall government-looking buildings stood shoulder to shoulder. ‘Almost there.’
A moment later, we pulled up in front of a tall grey office building with arched dormer windows hedged on either side by similar-looking buildings. A Soviet flag hung on a long pole over the doorway. Jakob jumped out to open the doors for us.
I looked up at the building where my father worked. It was only now, facing the grey building that seemed to stare back at me, the windows striped with bars and the huge doors looming imposingly, that I realised how cold I was, despite the warmth of the shawl at my neck. I wanted to banish my fears but they continued to crowd about me.
‘Will you be staying long?’ Jakob was standing at arm’s length, holding out my case. His fingers brushed against mine as I took it. They were warm. I fought an unnatural desire to climb back into his shabby car and stay there. But Olga was at my back, and Jakob was watching me.
‘I don’t know.’ What would Papa say when he saw me? Would he be pleased or worried? Unconsciously I reached a hand up and bunched the lace at my throat.
Jakob nodded. ‘Well, I wish you luck.’
He turned back to his car. I heard the engine cough twice before it finally turned over. Then the car was gone, sliding around a corner and lost to view. I realised with a shiver that without its presence, the street was silent. No pedestrians. No trilling birds.
The silence was absolute.
Kringle Pattern
Kati
‘I suppose I should be getting home.’ Stretching my arms above my head, I tried to stir the life back into my limbs. The lace I’d been unpicking slipped sideways across my lap. I hooked it with one finger just in time, before it could slither in a soft silvery pile to the floor.
‘And I should be getting ready for work.’ Etti put her own knitting on the faded armrest and began to struggle out of her chair. ‘Since Tiina Tamm disappeared last month, I’ve been taking on her housekeeping shifts as well as my own.’
I paused, suddenly curious. ‘Does the Partorg ever talk to you?’
Etti gave me a strained smile. ‘He’s never there. I haven’t seen him since the agency first sent me. It’s just Tiina and me.’ Her eyes clouded over. ‘Or it was. Now she’s gone.’