Rein Raud - The Death of the Perfect Sentence

How many pillows do you need to soak in tears before your eyes are able to see the world as it was?

How many letters do you have to rip to shreds before you realise that you never even knew his address?

How many times must the flowers bloom and wither before they can bloom for you again?

You have to have been there to know.

“I thought that I was your one and only,” Lidia Petrovna said.

“But you are,” said Raim in surprise.

“Oh really?”

But what do I actually know about this guy, other than that I am addicted to his body? Maybe he’s got a whole coterie of women just waiting to come and drape themselves round his neck at the click of his fingers. That would be the most ordinary thing in the world for him.

“What’s up?” Raim asked. “You’re somehow… different today.”

“Yes, that’s right, I understand the world a bit better than before.”

“Tell me what’s the matter then.” Li had never seemed so distant.

“All right. I saw you in town yesterday. You must have just been for a coffee. With someone else. But I understand of course, I’m only good for one thing. Well I do beg your pardon, I can’t help being who I am.”

“Ah.” There was only one café Raim had been to the previous day. “If you mean that girl from Pegasus, then that’s just a young artist I know.” Raim was well aware that it was better for the links in the chain not to know too much about each other, but losing Li was a far greater risk. “She’s the person to whom I pass the films you give me, nothing more. Her name is Maarja. We don’t even properly know each other.”

“Really?”

“Yes Li, really.”

“My name’s not Li, it’s Lidia.”

Raim said nothing in response, he just placed both hands on her head and ran his fingers through her hair, and her heavy thoughts melted away. Or even if they didn’t completely disappear, they at least became insignificant enough for her body to be truly ready to receive everything which she longed for.

This time it was a bottle of pear liqueur, Xanté, which Vello produced from his briefcase.

“What’s that?” Ervin asked in surprise. “You know I don’t go for those poof’s drinks.” He’d been on familiar terms with his contact man for some time now.

“Of course I do,” Vello said. “This is for you to give the hosts.”

“Are the KGB about to put on a party or something? I wasn’t aware that I’d been invited anywhere.”

“That’s not something you need to worry about,” Vello said, and he started to explain.

The latest talking point in the Estonian diaspora community was the recent marriage of a young man by the name of Ahto. He’d been involved with the youth league of the Swedish Social Democrat Party for a while now, and had even visited Estonia once as part of their delegation, to meet the Popular Front and help make contacts. But now Ahto had found himself a wife from the Estonian homeland. And although this girl, who was called Tiiu, came from Käsmu just like Ahto’s own parents, she already had a child by another man. Many of the Estonians in Stockholm doubted whether the marriage was a good idea, especially since quite a few of the local young ladies had their eye on Ahto. As a freedom fighter, Ervin also thought that it could be a major blunder. Tiiu herself might be fine and dandy, but hell knows who might turn up amongst her relatives, and there was nothing sensible known about the child’s father either. He could have all sorts of dodgy acquaintances. And just think, this same child would start going to the Estonian School in Stockholm in a couple of years’ time.

But others were of the view that everyone had the right to organise their affairs as they saw best. And that no one else had any business poking their noses in. These were free people living in a free country after all. Or were they not?

“Hang on, is that Tiiu linked to the security agencies as well?” Ervin asked. But Vello just scowled at him and carried on talking.

Apparently Tiiu really liked Swedish pear liqueur. And Ahto now had to demonstrate that he was a proper Estonian man, so it wouldn’t be hard for Ervin the freedom fighter to get himself invited to their place if he got talking to Ahto at some event at the Estonian club.

“And then you should definitely go,” said Vello. “And listen, when you get talking to them don’t hold back with that talk about giving the Russkies a hiding: give them all the heroic swastika stories you’ve got.”

“OK,” said Ervin, although Vello’s request seemed a little strange. “No problem.”

“That’s probably it for today then,” said Vello, getting up.

“But you could at least tell me if that Tiiu is working for the security services,” said Ervin. “I’ll find out sooner or later anyway, when her file gets here.”

“What do you mean?” Vello asked in alarm.

“Well, there have been films containing copies of the files delivered here from Estonia for some time now,” said Ervin. “There’s a special cupboard in the archive of the Estonian House where they keep the films and printouts, in alphabetical order. Don’t tell me I haven’t mentioned it before.”

“Damned idiot!” Vello bellowed. “Damned useless piece of shit! Of course you haven’t told me about it before, you damned shithead!”

“No need to be like that about it,” Ervin said, getting offended. And he felt himself break out in a cold sweat.

He hadn’t actually thought that much about it before. But now he realised that photographs of his own file could arrive any day.

Särg had never seen Vinkel in such a rage before.

“One of our own guys!” he yelled. “A damned rotten apple. Fuck, I’ll give him a whack myself! I’ll strangle him with my bare hands. I’ll trample him into the dirt! I’ll kick his head in, damn it! I’ll fuck him up so badly that he’ll be grateful when he’s dead!”

“So what will we tell Kuzmich?” Ots asked.

“Nothing, to start with.” Vinkel didn’t want to think about what would happen when their boss found out. The whole damned network of spies! Heads would roll over something like this. The first thing to do was to work out exactly what had happened, and only then report to the seniors. The men nodded, they knew the score.

“Let’s keep it to ourselves for now. Tell Vello to keep his mouth shut too,” Vinkel added. “If that bastard realises that we know, we’ll never get our hands on him.”

“But then the leaks will continue,” Särg said. That is if the person didn’t already know. If it wasn’t someone in that very room… Ots? Zhukov? They could just as well suspect Särg himself, especially Vinkel, or in fact anyone who knew about the Anton business.

“Let them continue, for now,” Vinkel said with a sneer. “But now, Comrade Särg, your job is to put together a nice fat pile of agent files for them. Special editions, damn it. With lots of background history. The finest sons of the Estonian fatherland, as they say. Look about, read the papers. You could start with that damned Lennart Meri. Let them rip each others’ throats out, the fucking scum.”

“I’m sorry, but I just can’t carry on doing it,” Lidia said. She was holding the door ajar with one hand, dressed in her dressing gown and looking older than usual. She hadn’t invited Raim in, and it didn’t look like she planned to. “I keep thinking of how that dolt caught me; the next time I won’t get off so easily.”

After that time she’d felt feverish for several days, and hadn’t dared go close to the archive, even if she had a valid reason to do so – an obligation even. Raim eventually persuaded her to go back there. The camera was in her bag, but the first time she didn’t even dare to take it out. In fact, she decided that she would give it back to Raim the next time he came for the films. Then she took a few pictures, with her hands shaking and her heart in her throat.