In the Crosswind

1

Heldur,

I received your letter.

I'm in our homeland.

As the summer began

it seemed like the best one ever.

Our wild apple tree

that grew in the middle of the field

was covered with a white carpet,

as if to hide its few leaves

with blossoms.

That ever so delicate

smell of the blossoms

is in my nostrils to this day.

These delicious morning smells...

The voices of you

and our little Eliide...

Those haven't changed.

I see in my mind's eye

how you looked at me.

How you gently stroked my cheek

with your hand

and tied a ribbon around my waist.

I can still hear your words,

that this will keep us together forever.

That you will keep us.

Under your protective wing.

That we are free.

But what is freedom worth, Heldur?

Heldur,

I hope my letter finds you.

Eliide is weak from the heat here

but otherwise we're doing well.

There are wives

of other Defence League men here.

We're sticking together.

When we crossed Estonia's border,

the Church bell rang,

did you hear it?

It was for a funeral.

I wondered if somebody really was

on their last journey just then

or they rung those bells for us.

Then someone in the cattle car took up

the song Estonia, Your Manly Courage.

Then everyone in the other

cattle cars joined in.

Heldur, that was...

the most powerful chorus.

Straight from the heart...

In that dark cattle car,

the women on the top bunks are our eyes.

Those narrow windows

are like a frame

that transforms our homeland

receding into a painting

that is beyond our reach.

Many of us think

this is all one big mistake.

One woman, Hermiine,

overheard Russian guards

saying that war had broken out.

If that's true,

we'll be back home soon...

That same woman, Hermiine,

shared her bread with us,

as ours remained in your luggage.

I can not comprehend,

what evil have we

simple people

done to enormous Russia?

One regime can't rob thousands

of all they believe in

and love.

Heldur,

I sent you a letter through the gap

in the window of our cattle car.

And then we got word that

the cattle cars were uncoupled...

That you went in another direction...

Surely, you are already

trying to find your way to us.

Today is July 9th.

We were in the cattle cars for 26 days

and nobody could get undressed

or wash themselves the whole time.

Those weeks on rails

robbed Eliide of her health.

She came down with dysentery.

She's weak, keeps asking for you.

I traded your trousers

for milk in a village.

We'll get you new ones

when we get home.

We travelled by river

for another 4 days and nights.

And then about another 60 km northwards

by foot convoyed by armed guards.

With Hermiine,

we've been housed 3 km away

from the village, in a solitary mud hut.

As punishment.

That's what they said.

We intervened

when the chairman of the local kolkhoz

beat a boy from Tartu.

We're in their bad books now.

In the evening,

they held some sort of a meeting.

We were lectured

on what we can and can't do.

Tomorrow we'll be assigned to work.

Whoever doesn't work

won't be given any bread.

Of the 51 women and children

in our cattle car,

42 made it here...

Last night,

one woman took her own life...

her own and her child's.

Is death really easier

than what awaits us?

Heldur,

time has taken on another dimension.

The temporary has passed.

We measure time

by the news that reaches us.

That way the days and weeks

seem shorter.

Eliide is feeble.

She hasn't been able

to get out of bed for over a month.

Her legs are swollen from starvation.

We get 200 g of bread,

about a handful,

for doing lumberjack work.

That's our daily ration.

Sometimes they give us flour.

But only if we fulfil our work quota.

There's no bread for children.

Hermiine...

showed me where the bread is kept.

Heldur,

I asked Eliide a week ago

what she would want as a present

for her birthday.

Eliide replied. A loaf of bread.

I asked her what she would want

if she had enough to eat.

Heldur, she started crying

and still said

a loaf of bread...

Constant hunger doesn't let her

dream of anything other than food.

We have to register at the village

militia station every two weeks.

So they check to see

that we haven't run away.

Some people who don't have children

have tried to escape.

They've all been brought back

and punished.

We're prisoners of nature...

I wonder if there have ever been

any prisoners

with so much space

that you long for boundaries.

...breach of the military power

of the USSR,

its independence

or territorial integrity

by espionage, betraying

military or state secrets.

Defection to the enemies side,

escaping abroad.

Sentenced to execution by shooting,

together with the confiscation

of the whole property

or the deprivation of liberty

for 10 years

together with the confiscation

of the whole property.

Please forgive me, Heldur.

The local chairman summoned me

to the kolkhoz office on Sunday.

He put the slice of bread

on his table.

The one I had stolen for Eliide.

And some vodka...

I had to choose...

whether...

to be taken further north

or...

to drink vodka with him, and...

Heldur, it's like we're living

in darkness here.

And lots of things are done differently

in the dark than in daylight.

Tell me, Heldur, is there a word...

A widow is a woman

who loses her husband.

An orphan

is a child who loses its parents.

But who is a mother

who loses her child?

That feeling doesn't deserve a word.

The weather is so gloomy.

The clouds hide the sun...

And I long to go for a walk.

My steps always lead

to where the locals peel birch bark.

So that the white trunks

have become black.

How those sooty trees still grow...

In that rich fertilised soil.

Hermiine said I shouldn't go

to the woods alone any more.

Where should one go

after being robbed

of everything they believe in and love?

I'm left with Hermiine,

and other Estonians.

I'm left with you, Heldur.

I often see you in my dreams.

Sometimes I catch a glimpse of you

among the trees when I'm out logging.

Sometimes in the gaze of strangers,

in the darkness of the room.

This year when we secretly celebrated

Christmas Eve behind covered windows,

an Estonian man

arrived in our village.

That gave everyone new hope.

Me as well.

I promise, Heldur,

that when I'm released,

I will find you.

Wherever you may be.

Tell me, where are you?

Each evening turns

everything around me

to a dim, dull,

black and white picture.

The sky also exchanges blue

for pitch black.

And I journey home

in my dreams.

I had a dream at night.

It was spring

and we were in our orchard.

Pruning apple tree branches.

You were up in a tree

and asked, this one,

and pointed at it with the saw.

But I pointed, no, that other one.

You sat on a three-pronged branch

and laughed.

At yourself and me.

But then suddenly you were gone.

I ran under the tree,

but you weren't there anymore.

I called out,

and you called out in response.

But from up in another tree.

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