Sofi Oksanen - Purge

“I speak Estonian.”

Lavrenti didn’t say anything.

“Estonian’s a little like Finnish. And there will be a lot of Finnish customers there. And since Estonian is a bit like Finnish, I could handle the Estonian customers and the Russians and Germans, like I do here, plus the Finns.”

Lavrenti didn’t say anything.

“Lavruusha, the girls told me that tons of Finns go there. And there was a Finnish man that was here who said that the girls were better in Tallinn, and he preferred to go there. I spoke Estonian to him and he understood me.”

The old man had actually spoken a mixture of Finnish, German, and English, but Lavrenti couldn’t know that. He had stood by the window in nothing but his socks and a cocky attitude and said, “Girls in Tallinna are very hot. Natasha, girls in Tallinna. Girls in Russia are also very hot. But girls in Tallinna, Natashas in Tallinna. You should be in Tallinna. You are hot, too. Finnish men like hot Natashas in Tallinna. Come to Tallinna, Natasha.”

Lavrenti left without saying anything.

A few days later the door flew open. Pasha kicked Zara in the side.

“Come on, let’s go.”

Zara was curled up in a corner of the bed. Pasha pulled her by her leg onto the floor.

“Get dressed.”

Zara got up and started dressing quickly-she had to be quick, had to be quick when she was told to do something. Pasha left the room, yelled something, a girl shrieked, Zara didn’t recognize the voice, she heard Pasha strike her, the girl shrieked louder, Pasha struck her again, and she got quiet. Zara put on an extra blouse, felt to make sure the photo was still in her bra, shoved a scarf and a skirt in her coat pocket and filled her breast pocket with cigarettes, poppers, and painkillers-they didn’t always give them to her, even when she needed them. She put her makeup in another pocket and some sugar cubes in a third, because they didn’t always remember to give her food, either. And she brought her Pioneer badge. She had carried it with her in Vladikki because she was so proud to get it, and it had traveled with her through all the nights and all the customers. Pasha had seen her with it once, grabbed it from her, laughed and tossed it back.

“I guess you can keep it.”

Then he laughed some more.

“But first you have to thank me.”

Zara undressed and thanked him.

Pasha had left the door open. The new girls were huddled like cattle as Lavrenti prodded them into the yard. A truck was waiting there. There was a sob among the herd. The wind was strong, even in the courtyard-it whistled along Zara’s body, a delightful wind, and she breathed in the wind and the exhaust. She hadn’t been outside since she was first brought here.

Lavrenti waved to her and told her to get in the Ford that sat waiting behind the truck.

“We’re going to Tallinn.”

Zara smiled at him and jumped in the car. She caught a glimpse of the expression on Lavrenti’s face. He was surprised. Zara had never smiled at him before.

This time she was allowed to go without handcuffs. They knew she wasn’t going to go anywhere.

There were lines at every border crossing. Pasha would run his eye over them, disgusted, get out to smooth out the situation, then come back to the car where Lavrenti and Zara were waiting and step on the gas, and the car would brush past the line and over the border and they’d be on their way. Through Warsaw and Kuznica to Grodno and Vilnius and Daugavpils, always at top speed. Zara sat with her nose against the window. Estonia was getting closer; there were pine trees everywhere, dairies, factories, telephone poles and bus stops, fields, and apple orchards with cows grazing in them. They made little stops sometimes, and Lavrenti would remember to get food for Zara from some little stand. They drove from Daugavpils to Sigulda. They had to stop in Sigulda because Lavrenti wanted to send a postcard and take a picture to send to Verochka. Her girlfriends had been there years ago and brought back walking sticks as souvenirs, with Sigulda burned into them for decoration. Verochka had been pregnant at the time and couldn’t go with them, but they told her that the sanatoriums there were charming. And the Gauja River Valley! Lavrenti asked the way and told Pasha to take a detour to the end of the Gauja River cable railway.

They stopped the car far away from the ticket window, under the trees.

“Let the girl come with us.”

Zara gave a start and glanced at Pasha.

“Are you nuts? Get going! And don’t take too long!” “She’s not going to try anything.”

“Go!”

Lavrenti shrugged his shoulders at Zara as if to say maybe next time and went to the ticket window. Zara watched his retreating back and gulped in the smell of Latvia. There were white ice-cream wrappers on the ground. She could feel the children’s vacations and families’ shared moments, the bosoms of the party leaders’ wives’, the Pioneers’ zeal, and Soviet athletes’ sweat all lingering there. Lavrenti had said that his son had come here to train, the way the pride of the Soviet Union always did. Was his son a runner? Zara should start paying more attention to what Lavrenti said. It might be useful. She should get Lavrenti to trust her-he might make her his favorite.

Pasha stayed with Zara in the car, drumming the steering wheel with his fingers-whap whap whap. The three onion domes tattooed on his middle finger jumped. The year 1970 rippled with the rhythm, a faded blue number on each finger. A birthday? Zara didn’t ask. Now and then Pasha dug in his ear with a finger. His earlobes were so small that he actually didn’t have any. Zara glanced at the road. She wouldn’t be able to run that far.

“The boys from Perm are expecting us in Tallinn!” Whap whap whap.

Pasha was nervous.

“What the hell is taking him so long?”

Whap whap whap.

Pasha got out two warm bottles of beer, opened one, and gave it to Zara, who emptied it greedily. She felt an itch for the road outside the window, but Estonia was close now. Pasha jumped out of the car, left the door open, and lit a Marlboro. Their sweat dried in the breeze. A family walked by, the child singing, “ Turaida pils, ” a Latvian murmur, “ frizetava, ” the woman fluffed her dry-looking hair, the man nodded his head, “ partikas veikals, ” the woman nodded, “ cukurs, ” her voice rose, “ piens, maize, apelsinu sula, ” the man’s voice became angry, the woman’s eyes fell on Zara, who lowered her gaze instantly and pressed herself against the back of the seat, the woman’s gaze slid away without registering her, “ es nesprotu, ” the pressed pleats of her skirt fluttered softly, “ siers, degvins, ” her toes reached through the straps of her high-heeled sandals and touched the ground, they passed by, her broad hips swung away, and eau de cologne drifted from them to the car. An ordinary family, disappearing into the railway. And Zara still sat in the car, which smelled of gasoline. No, she couldn’t have yelled, couldn’t have done anything.

The road was deserted. The sun shone on the bushes. A motorcycle with a sidecar bumbled past; then the burning road was empty again. Zara fumbled in her bra for a Valium. If she took off running, would they shoot her in broad daylight or catch her some other way? They would catch her, of course. A girl riding a too-large bicycle came into view. She had on sandals and kneesocks, and there was a plastic basket on one side of her handlebars and a toy milk can on the other. Zara stared at the girl. She glanced at Zara and smiled. Zara shut her eyes. There was an insect crawling on her forehead. She couldn’t bring herself to brush it away. The car door banged open. She opened her eyes. Lavrenti. The trip continued. Pasha drove. Lavrenti took out a bottle of vodka and a loaf of bread, which he scarfed down between swigs from the bottle, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. A gulp of vodka, the sleeve, gulp, sleeve, gulp, sleeve.