‘You were quiet today.’ Jakob perched on the edge of an armchair.
I moistened my lips. ‘I’m always quiet.’
Jakob’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Really?’ Slipping into the armchair, he leaned back, his hands behind his head. ‘This is the girl who swears to have seen every one of Greta Garbo’s movies and can quote almost every line? The girl who can describe – in great detail, mind you – the exact formula for successful cutlery execution at a formal dinner party.’
I burst out laughing, despite myself. ‘You don’t understand,’ I said, moving to stand at the window and let the sun warm my back through the glass. ‘Today was…’ Disturbing? Troubling? ‘It was not a day for light-hearted chatter,’ I said. I shot a look through the windows. Swastika flags hung from every corner of the street. German soldiers in their clean, pressed uniforms leaned from the back of trucks, radiating smiles, happy to play the role of saviours.
When I looked back at Jakob, it was to find his face had changed. He ran a hand through his curls. ‘I know,’ he said, his voice low. ‘I thought so, too. We must be careful. That is what Oskar says. We must wait and see.’
He was silent for a moment, looking down at his shoes before he raised his eyes to grin at me from beneath his curls. ‘At the very least, we are together. I don’t think we have ever been alone without the rumble of tanks around us or people rushing back and forth. Or Kati, fussing around with that awful kettle which sounds as if it’s being murdered.’
‘You don’t want tea then?’
His eyebrows contracted before he realised I was joking. He laughed and shook his head. The armchair squeaked as he rose from it and came to stand in front of me. I felt my breath quicken, my pulse beating faster. Do not think of Joachim Squeak of shoes. Car door slamming.
Jakob’s warm brown eyes seemed to see right through me, right down to my soul. ‘Lida,’ he said and the breathless tone of his voice made my stomach flutter nervously. Very cautiously, as if he half-expected me to stop him, he leaned forward and placed a hesitant kiss on my lips. I froze. When I didn’t resist, Jakob kissed me again. Harder. Desire made my legs tremble. It surged through my body and I felt my heart soaring, like a bird freed from its cage.
And then suddenly, I was back in the cinema. I was tasting Joachim’s cigarettes, the coffee he had drunk that morning. I was listening to him beg for his life as my real father’s minders interrogated him and accused him of spying. I was watching guards shove him into a dirty railroad car, hearing him call for his mother, his father. Begging them to save him. Begging me.
I pushed Jakob away, gasping hard.
‘I’m sorry.’ I put my face in my hands. My skin was cold. How could anyone want to kiss me? I was tainted.
Joachim’s memory hovered just out of reach, still there like a shadow. If I could only purge it from my mind. I shook my head. ‘It’s not you.’ To my horror, I realised I’d begun to cry. Tears leaked down my cheeks and dripped onto my blouse.
Jakob whipped out his handkerchief to blot them. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said again. I scrubbed at my nose, wishing I could ask Olga for the handkerchief she’d always carried. ‘I’ve only had one boyfriend. And, you see, he was killed.’
Jakob’s hand froze, his handkerchief halfway to my face. His face had paled. ‘Killed?’
I nodded. ‘I think so. If not, he was taken far away from his family and everything he knew. Nobody comes back from those places. He might as well be dead.’
Jakob’s expression cleared. ‘He was deported.’
‘Yes. My father—’ I paused. I could not tell him. He still thought of my father as the Partorg. ‘My father had him sent away.’
‘That’s horrible.’
‘Yes.’ My sobs had lessened. ‘Yes. It was horrible.’
‘But not your fault.’ Jakob dabbed his handkerchief against my skin, soaking up my tears. ‘Not at all your fault. You mustn’t blame yourself.’
I stared at him. ‘But if he hadn’t met with me, he might still be alive.’
‘You’ve told me about your father,’ Jakob said. ‘Well, the little you know about him.’ I felt a hot ember of guilt burn my throat. ‘If I might suggest, your boyfriend knew the risks he was taking. He took them anyway.’
‘But why would he?’
‘Why?’ Jakob looked at me as if I was mad. ‘Because you are kind. And funny. And you almost always end up telling a rambling story about Olga or your mother. Because you know how to use fine cutlery and how to read poetry and about cinema and a hundred other completely useless bits of impractical knowledge.’ I smiled. I did not believe everything he said, but the way he said it was almost convincing. Jakob pursed his lips as if he knew my thoughts. ‘It’s true.’ Using his thumb, he raised my chin until our faces were level. ‘I want you to promise you will let him go. Let go of that guilt. Your father was a horrible man. You are not your father, Lida. You will never be your father.’
I wanted to throw my arms around him and kiss him at the same time.
I did both. As our kisses deepened, I realised with a pang of longing that I had been blind to my own desires. Hadn’t I wondered more times than I cared to admit what it would be like to trace my fingers along the ridge of his collarbone, or to tousle his curls or to run my hands across the flat of his back? Had I been so intent on sabotaging my own happiness that I had not seen what was in front of me? And Jakob, I knew now, felt the same. The last few times we met, he had seemed preoccupied, his hands always busy, fidgeting with his belt or hitching his gun up on his back or playing with the cuffs of his sleeve. I too busied my hands with other things; knitting needles. Baby bottles. Cooking implements. I had not realised that my hands would remain restless, empty until Jakob filled them and made the rest of the world disappear.
All my fears had been unfounded. Joachim was the past. Jakob was my future.
Now, at last, he stood before me and I was kissing him and for once, I didn’t want to talk. I wanted instead to listen to the sound his breathing, to hear his heart quicken and the clamour of my own blood surge in my ears in response.
A rush of impulse flickered up my body. I moved away. The thin cotton of my blouse crinkled as I unfastened the buttons. The sun from the window warmed the bare skin of my back. Through the glass, I could still hear distantly the crowd of voices from the procession moving off.
My fingers were shaking as I fumbled with my waistband until the folds of my skirt fell in a soft puddle around my feet. Jakob was right. Joachim was gone and nothing I could do now could bring him back. I could not continue living as if I was already dead, as if my body was not able to experience desire and hope and love.
Jakob was watching me. When I’d begun to undress, he had looked wary. Now he was following my every move with his eyes. When I unclipped my stays, he made a sound in his throat and stepped towards me. His lips warmed my throat.
‘You are sure?’ he said against my skin. I could feel him trembling. It made me feel stronger, more confident, to know that he was as nervous as me.
‘Yes,’ I said, in Estonian, to please him. All my limbs were warm from the sun. I wound my arms around his neck and he kissed me swiftly and a little clumsily, his beard grazing my chin. My hands travelled beneath his shirt, exploring the hidden landscape of his body. His skin was covered in a fine soft down. It made me think of feathers and the dream I had experienced the night of Leelo’s birth.
I thought of what Olga had said. Love is complicated.
Perhaps it was.