Lauren Chater - Lace Weaver

I moved towards it, intending to lift the pan but as I skirted the table, my boots met something soft. I looked down.

Imbi lay on her back. Her face was frozen, eyes staring up as if she could see through the roof to the sky. Bullets had torn holes in her dress and there was a wound near her forehead. Her arms were flung out in warning or surprise. In contrast, Aime was curled on her side, arms wrapped around her middle. Her eyes were closed, the skin on her eyelids a pale crinkled blue like the crushed fabric of her doll’s dress. The sun streaming in caught the rosy highlights of her hair. She might have been sleeping.

I squatted down and reached out my hand to touch her shoulder. It was stiff and unyielding. Understanding struck and I shot to my feet, gagging.

Oskar, where was Oskar?

My face was hot. I forced myself to lurch towards his room. It was empty. Relief was quickly followed by terror. I needed to find him, but I could not do it alone. My hands shook so hard I could barely turn the door handle to fling myself outside.

I stumbled home in a fog of panic.

My father was inspecting fruit in the apple orchard. One look at my face and he ordered me to go into the house and find Mama and wait for him to return. Mama was in the laundry shed behind the house, plunging Papa’s soiled shirts into a bucket of grimy water. She looked up in surprise as I ran towards her. The shirt fell from her hands and splashed back into the bucket.

‘Kati! We weren’t expecting you back till tea time.’ She wiped her hands on her apron and came towards me. ‘What’s wrong?’

I tried to speak. My teeth chattered. Nausea churned from the base of my stomach up to my mouth. The words finally came in gurgles and gasps, like water running from a broken tap. I watched Mama’s face grow ashen and then her cold hands wound around me and she held me as if I was a child, smoothing back my hair with fingers which smelled of soap and tea.

‘Oskar,’ I managed to say. ‘Papa must find him!’

We went together into the house and I stood at the window at the back, my gaze fixed on the far paddock where the path which led to Oskar’s farmhouse began.

It was less than an hour before Papa returned, but it felt like so much more. Every moment he was gone had shown me Imbi and Aime’s bodies on the farmhouse floor interspersed with visions of Oskar lying bleeding somewhere in the forest. Even the warm milk Mama pressed into my hands could not melt the chill that spread through my body. I couldn’t imagine my life without him.

At last, I saw Papa emerge from the forest and cross the fields towards the house. His movements were slow, his body bent inwards as if he was walking into a strong wind. We hurried down the steps to meet him.

‘Well? Did you see them?’ Mama said when he reached the farmhouse. ‘It can’t be true. They’re not—’

She stopped, caught herself. Papa’s skin was the colour of oatmeal. ‘It’s true.’

Mama began to cry. A wave of dizziness made my head spin and I clutched at Mama’s hand to steady myself.

‘Did you find Oskar?’ I said.

Papa’s gaze swivelled towards me. There was a strange look in his eyes. ‘No,’ he said. ‘No, I did not.’ He said the words carefully, sounding each one out as if he was speaking for someone else’s benefit. ‘When I got to the farmhouse, there were NKVD agents already inside. They are coming to speak with us later.’

‘Perhaps they will find him.’ I hugged myself. ‘They will look for whoever killed Imbi and Aime, start an investigation.’

My parents exchanged a look.

‘We don’t have long,’ Papa said to Mama. ‘Let’s bring the sheep in. The cars might startle them.’

Something about his tone made me search his face. ‘Papa?’

He was already turning away. He looked back and his shoulders slumped. ‘Kati, there won’t be an investigation.’ I stared at him blankly. His mouth twisted. ‘Think; there can only be one group of people who hate Estonians enough to slaughter innocent women and children.’

I felt sick. A curl of anger twisted inside me.

‘We must be prepared for the worst,’ he continued. ‘Oskar is gone. We may never know what happened to him.’

‘But what reason would anyone have to hurt him? To hurt Imbi and Aime?’

Papa’s face darkened. ‘I ran into Johannes Tamm this morning. Did Oskar tell you that he whistled an Estonian song as the Russians marched past the market in Tartu last week? The soldiers did not hear but Tamm’s Russian neighbour did and he recognised Oskar and reported him. Tamm told me so himself.’

‘No.’ I tried to conceal the surprise and hurt in my face. Oksar had voiced his disapproval of the Russians to Imbi and me in private but I had not thought him so foolish as to publicly endanger his family. I could only guess that he’d thought the Russians would not hear him. If he considered himself in trouble, he would surely have told me. We had promised we would not keep secrets from each other. ‘He didn’t say a word.’

Papa looked towards the road, as if he heard the crunch of tyres. ‘When the soldiers arrive, we must say nothing to incriminate ourselves. You understand? You saw what happened to Oskar’s family. That is what happens to anyone who opposes them. Or worse. Think of your mother.’ I flinched. His voice gentled. ‘You must forget that boy, Kati, and hope for his sake and ours that he never returns.’

He wrapped me in a tight embrace. I wanted to hug him back, but I could not force my hands, my limbs stiff with shock and fear, to move.

Now, a year later, here was Oskar standing before me. How many nights had I dreamed of him, willed him back? But I had never imagined it like this; my parents standing silent, my father’s wary gaze. So much was different. So much had been altered by the continuing Soviet influx. Estonian families exiled or deported, their properties broken up into collective farms. Others ordered to leave their office jobs to work in the fields or consigned to the darkness of the mines. Villagers had been encouraged to join the Communist Party; anyone who didn’t was viewed with suspicion. Cars and horses, even bicycles, were confiscated. Families came home to find their belongings flung out into the street and strangers sleeping in their beds. Whatever the Russians needed, they took for themselves. Anyone who resisted was beaten violently or taken to the NKVD headquarters for interrogation. Papa was right; it was best to try to forget. If only it was so simple.

‘I’m sorry,’ Oskar said. ‘I’m so sorry, Kati. I didn’t realise.’ His voice was low, edged with pain.

I glanced up and our eyes met again.

I’d forgotten the paleness of Oskar’s blue eyes. In the lamplight, they were almost grey, a stream reflecting an autumn sky. They were the eyes of the man who knew me best. They could see past the thin barriers I had built to protect myself. Once, I had been able to read Oskar too. Now there was a veil drawn between us, a darkness that clouded my judgement. I had no way of knowing; had he missed me as desperately as I’d missed him?

Papa spoke suddenly. ‘Why are you here, Oskar? It’s late. We are tired. You’ve risked our lives by coming back. Tell us what you want and then leave. If it’s money, we have none.’

‘It isn’t money,’ Oskar said. He stole another glance at me before turning back to Papa. ‘Change is coming, Erich. It affects us all, but it will affect, most especially, your family. I have come to warn you that the war is coming to Estonia.’

‘Ridiculous,’ my father replied.

‘It’s true.’ Oskar hadn’t sipped the water. He stared down into it, as if looking for answers written in the mug. ‘It has already started.’