‘Are we still alive?’ I said.
‘I think so.’ She twisted her spine one way and then the other. ‘But I am stiffer than the second day of harvest.’
A German soldier at the doorway started to shout that it was safe for people to return to their homes. As we collected our things and spilled out into the square, our breath clouded in front of us. The sky was grey, a cold mist hanging over everything. Away in the distance, a scribble of smoke etched itself above the remains of a blackened building. The reek of burnt timber drifted towards us, blown by the cold breeze.
Kati squinted. ‘That must be the supply depot,’ she said. ‘At least the town seems mostly undamaged.’
Kristiina and Heldur caught up with us near the fountain at the centre of the square, and together we began to trudge back to their house. As we passed a small church, I chanced to look up at the sky, drawn by the church’s steeple that glittered like a glass lancet piercing the sky. My eye snagged on the body of a bird mid-flight, its dark wings fanning the air. It circled the steeple, calling. Its tune was mournful, more like the piping of a flute than the cheery singsong of robins and sparrows.
I felt Kati stop beside me and follow my gaze.
‘A stork,’ she said. ‘I think. I’ve never seen a black one before, though.’
Cold spread up my body. The stork continued to circle, its feathers like soot.
‘It’s so cold – I thought all the birds were gone by now,’ I said.
‘Perhaps he was injured,’ Kati said. ‘And he had to wait. He’d best hurry. If he gets caught in a snowstorm, he’ll die.’
As we stood there watching the stork circling I heard my mother’s voice. Her words were woven together with the stork’s soft cries. I strained hard to listen, to distinguish the two. And then with a dreadful start I realised she was saying Jakob’s name.
I saw Kati’s eyes widen. ‘What is it?’
‘Jakob,’ I croaked. I squeezed my hands tightly. ‘There is something wrong with Jakob.’
Mamochka, I pleaded. Help me! I waited, listening to my own heartbeat drum and to my mother calling him. And then I was weeping.
In that moment I had grasped the truth. Jakob was dead.
I turned away from Kati and from Kristiina and Etti. I forced myself to look up, to search for the black stork that had soared above us, the stork who had waited until winter to leave behind his homeland.
But the sky was empty.
Jakob’s bird was gone.
The Wolf Shawl
Kati
Lydia was still sobbing when we reached Turu Street. It was almost deserted. There were only a few people about, returning to their homes, heads bowed against the cold.
The collar of Lydia’s coat was spattered with tears. She could not catch her breath. Her boots kept slipping on the ice. I supported her on one side and Kristiina the other, both of us whispering encouragement as she said my brother’s name again and again. Kristiina mouthed at me: ‘What’s wrong?’
I could only shake my head, surmising that the stress of not knowing what had happened to my brother was taking its toll. Jakob could not be dead. Could he? A small voice of doubt whispered in my ear but I shut it out. I would know. I would know if my brother was gone. Just as I would know if Oskar had been arrested. When Jakob had first gone to live at the university dorms, I had missed his cheery face at breakfast and chores. I had even missed his teasing. His empty room seemed a sad reminder that he was gone. But in spite of the pain, I had known he was still out there. This was like one of those times. He must be hiding with Oskar in the forest. When it was safe, he would find Heldur and then join us. We would go on ahead, but eventually we would all be reunited.
I clung to this hope. I had to.
Etti and Heldur hurried on ahead to reach the house before us, and a German truck roared past, splattering mud across the snow.
Kristiina stiffened, but held firm to Lydia’s arm until it had disappeared. The presence of the truck seemed to have startled Lydia back to reality. Shaking us off, she trudged towards Heldur’s house. We stepped into the little front yard. Something caught my eye; a patch of scarlet glowing brightly against the snow near the front door. I blinked, uncertain if I was imagining what I was seeing.
Oskar’s glove. The one I had given him back at the barracks. Its mate was still crushed in my pocket.
I bent down to touch it, just as Kristiina ushered Lydia inside. The wool glove was stiff in my fingers, the threads frozen. I picked it up, the cold biting into my palm and glanced up to scan the road. Where? My heart pounded painfully. Houses. Trees laden with snow. Telegraph poles. I waited, alert to any movement, any sound.
A figure lurched into view, staggering out onto the footpath from the shadows a few houses away. I recognised the set of his broad shoulders, his sharp nose. Oskar. I cried out, bringing my hands to my mouth to stifle the sound in the quiet street and ran towards him, so full of relief I thought my chest might burst. When I reached him, I flung my arms around his waist.
‘You’re alive!’ I buried my face against his chest, unwilling to release him. I will never let you go again. His arms moved around me. The buttons on his coat dug into my cheek, but I ignored the pain. ‘You’re here!’ I said again, my breath clouding. Oskar’s chest rose and fell against my ear. I heard the rattle of each breath, long, laborious. It made the hairs rise on my arm. I looked up at him. Through the fog of happiness, I took note of his razor-sharp cheekbones, the shadows beneath his eyes. The eyes themselves were dull and sunken, the flesh around them tightly stretched. A little pinprick of fear niggled at my back.
‘Kati. Is it really you?’ Oskar’s voice rasped. ‘Or am I dreaming? I left the glove there, but I didn’t want to stand in the doorway in case a patrol came past.’
He stroked my cheek with his thumb, and continued to look down at me, one arm still draped about my shoulder. His chest vibrated as he drew breath, the sound like buttons clattering in a jar.
‘Yes. It’s me.’ I brought his hand up to my mouth and kissed it. It was shaking, the knuckles bruised. ‘What happened to you?’ I said. ‘Why didn’t you come sooner? Where is Jakob?’ I looked around, expecting him to lope out and join us. Instead, I saw Heldur emerge from the house. He took Oskar’s arm and gently pulled him inside. I followed behind, elation turning to worry.
Inside the house, Lydia was sitting in a chair. She was still crying, her mouth hanging open and her eyes glazed. Etti, with Leelo cradled in her arm, murmured softly about shock and tricks of the mind, but Lydia seemed unable to hear her.
The kitchen was cold, the fire burnt out to nothing more than a few embers. Kristiina hurried to relight it, fetching wood from the basket and fanning it with her breath, while Heldur barred the door and checked the window. Oskar was shivering, trying to warm himself beside what little heat remained in the grate. He was thinner than I had ever seen him. I went to him and took his hands in mine, trying to rub the warmth back into them. He winced and I looked down. The skin on the backs of them was cracked and peeling. I kissed them tenderly. I bent my head to his, and despite the cold in his hands, his forehead was warm, flushed by fever or shock, I wasn’t certain.
‘Here, Oskar.’
Kristiina thrust a mug of liquid between us. Oskar took it and drained it in one gulp. Kristiina took it and refilled it and passed it silently back.