‘Well?’ he prompted. ‘Aren’t you going to eat it?’
My mouth was watering, and with an effort that surprised me I pushed the plate away with one knuckle and then sat on my hands, crushing my fingers to stop them betraying me and creeping out to snatch up the whole pastry and cramming it in my mouth.
‘Jakob, what is this about? Where did you get the money to buy such a thing?’
Jakob’s smile froze. ‘What are you talking about?’
I was about to reply when a waiter appeared carrying a tray laden with cups of steaming coffee. He was a young man with a thin moustache. His hands trembled slightly as he set them down, the teacups rattling. My brother thanked him and a secret look passed between them.
‘Danke,’ my brother whispered, so softly I almost did not hear him. The waiter’s lips tightened in a small smile before he withdrew and moved away. I watched him return to the counter, my curiosity kindled. The café was called Werner’s; a German name. I wondered if the waiter was one of the few Baltic Germans who had stayed behind when the war between Germany and Europe began. Hitler had called them home after the signing of the pact with Stalin, keen to unite all the German-speaking people together. Those who had remained behind in the Baltics risked the same fate as the rest of us who were minorities. There was no protection from the Russians and their campaign to convert everything and everyone to their side.
I turned to ask Jakob to confirm my suspicions about the waiter but he was staring out the window, blowing on his coffee, one of his long legs folded over his knee, maddeningly calm.
He glanced over at me and smiled. ‘Aren’t you going to try your coffee?’
The coffee sat between us, dark as treacle. There was no milk. Scented steam rose up from the surface, a bittersweet aroma mingled with memories of better days before the invasion, when such things were readily available. The idea that Jakob might have been here in Tartu enjoying himself while we suffered at home festered inside me. How could I indulge myself knowing Mama and Papa would not eat today until they finished delivering apples to the factory depot and made their way home?
My voice shook. ‘Is this where you’ve been wasting Papa’s money, treating yourself while we’ve been slaving away to keep you in your studies?’
Jakob’s nostrils flared. He spread his hands out on the table, his nails digging into the timber. ‘I haven’t touched Papa’s money. Not for months. I’m surprised at you, Kati. This is how you thank me for taking you out?’ He shook his head, disbelief etched in every feature. ‘Maybe you like eating broth every night. You’ve grown accustomed to it, so you think everyone else should be starving too.’
His words hit me like a slap. I saw the pain register in his eyes, a mirror image of my own misery. He snatched up my hand even as I swivelled my legs sideways, ready to take flight and leave it all behind; my brother, the Russian businessmen, the thick tantalising scent of coffee.
‘Kati, wait. I’m sorry.’ Jakob’s voice trembled. ‘Did you hear me? I said I’m sorry. That was uncalled for. I—’ He crushed my hand between his own. ‘I apologise. A thousand times. Just listen to what I have to say. Please. Just stay a little longer. I have to talk to you. It’s important.’ He sighed, then continued. ‘Perhaps I shouldn’t have brought you here. I just thought you deserved something nice. A treat, before… I know you think I don’t understand, that I can’t possibly guess how hurt you were when they chose to send me to university, but I do know. I know and I’m sorry.’
My brother’s eyes were warm. I heard the sincerity in his voice. He had never apologised for what happened two years ago, when my parents had drawn us into the kitchen one cold December day to inform us that Jakob would be moving to the university in Tartu to study teaching; he had just scraped by with enough marks to get in.
‘It’s not my choice!’ Jakob had raged later when my parents were out of earshot. ‘You think I want to spend my life teaching kids how to tie their laces? I want to travel and meet new people.’ I had watched numbly as he scattered the embers of the fire with the poker, churning them so the sparks flew up the chimney, swirling like angry fireflies. Was it fair that Jakob was the one charged with passing on our history and our special tales? Jakob, who mixed up all his dates. Jakob, who was more content when he was chatting with strangers than up to his elbows in books.
Now my brother bowed his head. When we were children, we had sometimes played that Jakob was my student and I his teacher. When he struggled with a piece of homework, such as an essay on the liberation of the serfs during the Estonian Enlightenment, I was the one who helped him, guiding him gently towards the answers while letting him feel he was in charge.
‘What I said to you before is true,’ he said. ‘The money isn’t from Papa. It’s from… another source. That’s what I need to talk to you about. I need your help, Kati. Please. Stay.’
Sighing, I sank back into my chair. ‘Tell me everything, then,’ I said, reaching for the kringle. I bit into the pastry, and sugar exploded between my lips in a delicate puff and then melted on my tongue. I must have made a small noise of pleasure because Jakob laughed. It had been so long since I’d tasted anything so good. In a few moments, the pastry was gone and only small flecks of sugar remained. I dabbed at them with my finger, the sticky paste of the ground walnuts clogging my throat.
My brother took a deep breath. ‘I’ve been suspended.’
‘Suspended,’ I repeated.
Jakob nodded. He crossed his arms. There was a note of defiance in his voice. ‘I’m not ashamed of that part.’
I rubbed my forehead, trying to process the words. A lump of pastry was lodged in my throat and I sipped at the coffee Jakob had bought me. The brew was as smooth as silk, but it didn’t bring the kind of comfort I remembered. ‘And they suspended you for what?’
‘Unsavoury connections. It could be worse,’ he said, seeing my shocked expression. ‘They only suspected my involvement. If they knew for sure, I wouldn’t be sitting here with you. I’d be in a cell at Tartu Prison.’
‘Oh, Jakob.’ I pushed the plate away, feeling sick. ‘What exactly have you done?’
Jakob glanced around as a roar went up from the businessmen. I suspected they had moved from coffee onto the bottles of liquor lining the walls behind the counter.
My brother wet his lips. ‘I joined a group,’ he said, sitting up a little straighter. ‘Of resistance fighters.’
‘Forest Brothers.’ The words were bitter on my tongue.
Jakob nodded. ‘They sent a recruiter around to the dorms a few months ago. Kati, it was Oskar. You remember what they said about him, what they accused him of?’
He paused, waiting for me to answer, his expression revealing only mild wonder. He’d been away at school when the bodies of Oskar’s mother and sister were found. He and Oskar had never been very close, but even Jakob had agreed in private that it was impossible for Oskar to have killed them. We had discussed it only once, in the safety of the barn.
‘I do.’ I ran my thumb along the edge of the table, avoiding his eyes.
Jakob nodded. ‘It was all a sham, as we suspected.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Oskar told me. The Russians killed them. And Oskar ran. He’s been working with others all this time, building a resistance group. I’ve been helping them; Torvid, too. Selling things for them on the black market, amassing arms. They gave me a car – I use it to run them back and forth between towns when it’s not safe for them to walk or catch lifts with strangers. Sometimes I take diplomats or officials to their offices, pretending I’m a guide. Anything I overhear, any scrap of information from outside, I feed it back to Oskar.’