Inga Abele - High Tide

The guard is squatting and inspects Ieva’s sandals one by one. One winter, when it was ungodly cold, Ieva had lined her boots with folded newspapers. She remembers the female guard who had unfolded and skimmed over each newspaper in annoyance.

Someone has to do it.

Ieva buttons up her dress.

While she does that the guard prods the loaf of bread with a long needle; then the needle is dragged through the block of butter. The needle is put down and the guard opens the bottle of mineral water, puts it to her lipsticked mouth and tastes the contents.

The guard sits next to one of the nightstands. She methodically opens the carton of cigarettes, takes out each one and puts it back. Dumps the contents of Ieva’s backpack onto the bed.

The guard flips through Ieva’s journal, then tosses it onto the table.

The guard says:

“You can’t bring that.”

Ieva nods. Thoughts are a scary thing — grenades, guns, narcotics.

“They’ll come get you tomorrow at ten,” the guard says.

She gathers up all the items to be temporarily confiscated and leaves. Ieva sits down so her shaking legs don’t betray her, and waits. There’s a knock at the door.

Another guard brings in the prisoner and leaves. The prisoner is dressed up in a suit. He stays standing by the door, grinning stupidly.

He approaches her cautiously, stands for a moment, then pulls her into his lap. Her smooth cheek against the bristly roughness of his.

They lean with their elbows on the windowsill because there’s nothing to really talk about. The window is open and sunlight streams in through the bars. Andrejs moves close to the bars and calls out — kss, kss, kss! A cat is walking along the meticulously raked strip of sand between the prison hotel and the zone fence. The cat freezes, looks up at the window, then walks on with purpose, its tail twitching.

Andrejs turns his head.

“Tell me what it’s like out there.”

Ieva gets flustered.

“I can’t.”

“Why.”

“It all changes so often. You’d have to see it for yourself.”

At some point the room is finally filled with the gentle shadows of twilight. Flies buzz around the final rays of sun over the strip of sand. These rays are so curious, so full of magic and freedom, that Ieva can’t think of anything better than what those flies are doing — dancing for the setting sun. Except the window is barred.

Andrejs hands Ieva an icon stitched into a plastic slip.

“I wanted to give you this.”

Ieva reads it:

“‘Be not afraid! Open your heart to Christ — the Lord…’ John Paul… Do you believe in God?”

Andrejs answers:

“Don’t know.”

Ieva reads on:

“‘Fools — this life was meant to given away, and nothing more…’ To who?”

“What do you mean ‘to who?”

She asks:

“Who are we supposed to give our lives to?”

Andrejs scratches the back of his head.

“Like I know… It was written in a book. Here we call those things icons. I make them myself. Got nothing else to do.”

Night. Light from the watchtower searchlights moves diagonally across the ceiling of the prison hotel room. Ieva and Andrejs lie in bed. Bodies rigid, naked, without touching. It’s hot. Now and then the guard alarm sounds outside.

Ieva asks:

“Where’d you get the suit?”

Andrejs answers:

“From donated clothes. Norwegian.”

“It looks good.”

“Thanks.”

Silence.

Andrejs’s hand moves and rests gently on Ieva’s chest.

“You’ve gotten pretty fragile. Like a skeleton.”

Ieva laughs.

“Like a skeleton!”

“Don’t do that. Eat more. You’ll get ugly.”

Silence.

Ieva says:

“I’ve got to save up. I’ve eaten nothing but water for a while now. It’s got nutrients in it, too, for real. Just have to get used to it.”

Ieva’s eyes in the darkness. Andrejs also pretends to sleep.

Then she suddenly sits upright in bed.

“Something was here! In the dark. Something evil! What’s that noise?”

After a brief silence Andrejs answers:

“The alarm outside.”

Ieva shouts:

“No, no! Here! There was something evil moving around in here.”

The massive May moon fills the window — an agitated red, and completely dead. The air is alive and pulsates with the chirping of crickets.

“This is a prison, Ieva. And you’re sleeping next to a murderer, by the way. Or did you forget that?”

Ieva leans on her arm and looks into his face. The moon shines through her eyes, her forehead is white in the glow.

She says:

“Stop reminding me all the time! I’m sleeping next to a person. That’s how I want to see it.”

Andrejs doesn’t know what to say, and just waves her off like he would a fly. Ieva sinks back against the pillow and continues:

“We have a daughter. A daughter, Andrejs.”

“I want you to bring her with some day.”

“She’ll never, ever set foot in here!”

Morning. Ieva lines dishes on the shelf. All that’s left on the nightstand is a watch. Outside it’s pouring rain and thundering. Andrejs sits on the bed, smoking nervously.

She sits across from him and picks at the corner of the blanket. He gets up and starts pacing the room.

He says:

“They’ve forgotten. It’s already five after.”

Ieva forces a laugh:

“That would be just perfect — to forget about us in prison!”

Andrejs asks:

“How’ll you get to the bus stop? It’s pouring and cold — take my shirt.”

Ieva pulls the shirt on over her dress.

He says:

“Just think, my shirt’ll be free in a few minutes.”

There’s a knock at the door.

Andrejs looks at Ieva.

“Everything that’s happened, and prison — but I haven’t turned into some kind of animal, Ieva. You hear me?”

A guard with a wide, official face comes in.

They’re taken away.

Prison hallways.

A maze of hallways, the door that opens and shuts with a bang. For a brief second they’re able to see each other through the glass door.

The prison gate.

They return Ieva’s passport.

She steps out into the rain, right into the core of it, this mess of intoxicating freedom, water, and sand. It won’t even let her breathe in — just exhale. Endlessly exhale as she looks back at the white fence, then back out toward the city and the future, which slowly but surely draws closer through the slanted torrent of water from the heavens.

The moon can do amazing things, her mother had said.

Ieva snaps back from the window when she hears the station announced over the speakers, her stop. She turns the Virgin Mary pendant from Andrejs over in her fingers, and then she’s on the platform. Dingy piles of leaves litter the concrete under the green benches, stray cats laze about, and everything is surrounded by a slow, small-town calm.

This is how I’ll get lost, she thinks. I’m already lost, disappeared, a rat among rats, a grey cat among grey cats, that alcohol merchant at the Central Market gave me my change because I already belong to a class, I’m one of them, one of the imprisoned, who’ll forever feel their scars and pain against the ones who imprisoned us.

Ieva gets into the only taxi waiting on the other side of the station.

“To the prison?” the driver asks, studying her and the bag.

All she has to do is nod.

You count my vertebrae when I light the stove. Loved by the touch of your fingers, they ignite one after the other and glow in the dark like embers.

Later I’ll walk you to the station and you can warm your hands in my embrace. Dig deep into the ash to the embers, to the spine-like fire.

Look at the stars up there!