I watched Oskar emerge last; he raised his head, searching for my face. When he found it, he grinned and I saw his teeth flash white in the sun. I tried to paste on a warm smile in return but my lips felt stiff and frozen. Thankfully, Oskar had already turned away. He strode with purpose towards the entrance, Amerikana clutched beneath his arm. My heart gave a tug of longing. Then he vanished, too, and the only partisan left standing in the yard was Hilja, her face creased with scars.
I became aware of Hilja’s eyes searing into me. Of course, she must have seen the change in Oskar. He was usually so serious and just now his face had glowed as if he had won the war single-handedly. My stomach turned uneasily.
Turning back to Lydia, I found she had gone. Run off, no doubt, to tell Etti how I had mistreated her. A small coil of guilt wormed its way around my insides. I could imagine my grandmother shaking her head at me, her face clouded with disapproval. But was I not allowed a moment, one opportunity to express everything that was in my heart; the disappointment, the grief, the jealousy? The fear I would have to live with until Oskar and Jakob returned?
Was I not allowed an outburst of my own?
I knew the answer, as surely as if my grandmother was standing before me, or as if she had sent her wolf to judge me in her place.
Moss Pattern
Lydia
I ran. Tears bubbled up. I brushed them away with the heels of my hands.
Etti was not in the lean-to; she was standing with Johanna near the makeshift kitchen, giving Leelo a sponge bath from water heated over the fire’s embers. I bit down on a desperate desire to join them.
Kati’s words whirled round and round in my mind.
Go back and join them!
I couldn’t stay.
Snatching up my mother’s shawl, I bundled it together with the letter Olga had saved and an apple whose skin was already beginning to pucker. I slipped them both into a small bag Johanna had given me, sewn from the remnants of a torn skirt. On the threshold of the lean-to, I looked back at the tiny space which had been my home for the past week. The bedding was mussy from where Etti had been sitting earlier, feeding Leelo. A baby rattle lay on the floor, a small item one of Liisa’s children had given us to keep Leelo amused.
On the pallet where Kati slept were her knitting needles. They were not the best ones; I had seen her show those to Etti. I remembered how she had held them between her fingers in the evenings when she knitted while the other women talked and sang songs and cleaned up the camp. These ones were short and made from apple wood.
Would she miss them?
I picked them up, expecting someone to lay a hand on my shoulder. Now I was a thief as well as a liar.
Pushing them into the bag, I ran outside. I kept to the edges of the camp, my head lowered until I reached the entrance. I saw Hilja some distance away, speaking to Kati. Kati’s hair was braided in its usual plait, the sun catching its pale highlights. She was gesturing with her arms, her lithe expressive hands circling in the air. An unspeakable sadness washed over me. I would miss her, even though she hated me. Would miss her voice, softly singing to the baby in the warm darkness of the lean-to. The strength she gave so easily to the women who trudged into the camp, eyes wide with shock and to Etti, when she needed to rally to feed the hungry Leelo. It came to her unconsciously, the ability to issue directives and take charge. I would miss Etti and Jakob, too, Jakob perhaps most of all. He had gone now and I’d not even had a chance to say goodbye. He had not even looked around for me before he left. I’d become used to him hanging about as I washed up and helped Etti with Leelo in the afternoons. Somehow I had fooled myself that we were friends.
But Kati was right. I didn’t belong.
I was better off on my own.
I pushed between the trees at the entrance of the camp. The forest danced around me, branches swaying while hidden birds sang. Where would I go? I turned one way and then another. I took a step towards the area where the trees were thinnest. My bag bumped against my leg, as if urging me on. The grass was marshy. I felt my shoes sink slightly into the muck before I reached firmer ground. At least it was warm. It was summer. I would not need to find real shelter until the air grew cooler. I pushed on, walking until my breath was short. I came to a ring of rocks. The grass was dry.
I sat down, resting my back against a stone. The stone’s warmth bled through the back of my dress. Moss grew beneath it, forming a soft mat. The lace collar of my blouse tickled my throat. It was the blouse I had been wearing when I arrived at the camp. The blouse Olga and I had collected from the dressmaker on Staropanskiy Parade. It seemed so long ago. Moscow was a half-forgotten dream. A memory flashed, like the click of a camera. Joachim in the cinema, his face silver from the light of the screen. His warm breath. His hands.
I opened my bag and drew out Mamochka’s shawl. I spread it over my lap. My fingers found the edges and I began to unpick the lace. The yarn was thin as a cobweb. It came apart in my hands. I gathered the threads up and put them in the bag as I unravelled it and the longest length of yarn came loose. When enough of it was unpicked, I dug out the needles.
Kati had made it look easy. I’d watched her, trying to be invisible at the back of the group of women, trying my best to conceal my Russian accent although I knew they were curious. Make a loop stitch. Thread the yarn.
I tried it myself. The yarn slipped from the needle. It would not catch.
I tried again. When the yarn hooked, I almost cried out with triumph. But now what? I put the needles together, crossing them as I used to do with the shining cutlery we used in the apartment. No cutlery here. Fingers and mouths. I had seen Kati earlier helping Etti, reminding her how to slide one stitch onto the other needle, while holding the yarn tight with her little finger to ensure the tension didn’t slacken.
I slipped the stitch carefully onto the other needle. My heart filled with pride. I could do this myself. I could remake Mama’s shawl. I did not need anyone to help me. If I could do this, I could survive alone. The next stitch slid perfectly onto the needle, a smooth little circle. I smiled. The leaves swayed overhead. Insects hummed in the bushes. I levered the needles together, keeping the yarn wrapped around my pinkie finger, making the small movement needed to create the next stitch. But the yarn soon slipped loose from my finger. I tried to catch it and as I did, the needles pulled too far apart. The stitches slipped off, returning to their original shape. The yarn grew flimsy. All my work was undone.
Frustration clawed at me. I gripped the needles until my fingers ached. My second and third attempts failed, although I got further. My fourth unspooled before I had even made the second stitch.
A sob was building in my chest. Afternoon shadows were slipping through the trees. Soon it would be night time. I wound the yarn around the needles, trying not to look at the damage I had made to my mother’s shawl, unpicking the edge of it to try my hand. I shoved it with the needles back into the bag and sat back against the stone. The day’s heat still lingered in it. After a little while, I dozed, dreaming of Mamochka with her hands full of wool, dreaming I was not utterly alone in the world.
Angel Pattern
Kati
I moved mechanically through my tasks that evening, throwing myself into the preparation of dinner for the civilians and Hilja, stirring together a batter of flour and chicken’s eggs, spreading it over the griddle to make thin wheat cakes. With a little honey spread over them, they were palatable enough, but tonight of all nights I could not stomach them. After chewing the same piece for what seemed like forever, I managed to choke down a mouthful, then passed the remainder of my portion to little Hanna, a quiet five-year-old who often sat near me during meal times, her big eyes fixed on me.
Her eyes widened now as I forked the extra cake onto her plate. The look she gave me, joy mingled with adoration, chipped away a little of my guilt and gave me the strength to endure Hilja’s resentful stares.
It returned though when I went to visit Etti after cleaning the plates
, and found her dozing with Leelo beside her, tucked into a nest of pillows. Lydia was nowhere to be seen. The pallet she usually occupied was empty.
I remembered with a sudden pang that I had promised to show her how to knit once my cooking duties were completed.
The curtain of the hutch flapped in the breeze, ushering in the scent of fried wheat cakes. The sky was visible in the narrow gap between curtain and wall, the blue deepening to a cool purple hue. Stars were already flickering to life and birds cawed and wheeled towards their forest homes.
Uneasily, I lay down beside Etti, who whimpered softly in her sleep. I laid my hand on her chest and her brow cleared.
I will ask her, I thought drowsily, as my own breathing settled into a rhythm with Etti’s, the warmth of the hut stealing over me. I’ll ask her when she returns. We can start with pasqueflower; Viktoria mastered that quickly.
I touched Oskar’s glove beneath my pillow made from pine-needles, aware of the comfort of the wool beneath my thumb. As my muscles relaxed I saw lace patterns drift before my eyes; peacock tails, lilies of the valley. A delicate wolf paw, repeated over and over, like a story retold a hundred times.
*
The sound of distant screams woke me.
Heart thumping, I sat up. My arm slipped off Etti’s chest.
Gunfire rattled. Something boomed in the distance. The ground shook. The thin boards of the shelter creaked around us.
‘Kati!’ Etti’s hand found mine in the dark.
Another boom. Light glowed orange beyond the curtain.
‘Get Leelo.’ Etti obeyed, scooping the infant up and thrusting a blanket hastily around her small body.
‘Come on.’ Seizing Etti’s arm, I elbowed the curtain apart and dragged her roughly outside.
The night was on fire.
Trees burned, their limbs dancing with ruby flames. Smoke billowed in the air and drifted across the ground in big coils, the stench scorching my nostrils and blocking my throat.
The screams started again, louder now, followed by a volley of piercing gunshots.
Through the coils of smoke, I saw Hilja running from shelter to shelter, yelling. People emerged, some in nightclothes. Many of them seemed bewildered, looking around as if they had woken up in some nightmare landscape.
Somebody stumbled past us, a dark shadow silhouetted against the burning glow.
Gunshots peppered the ground.
Etti cried out.
The figure pitched forward, face first into the earth, and did not move.
Holding Etti’s hand tightly, I dragged her towards the back of the camp, past the grove where we had sat only hours before. I tried to see it clearly in my mind; to visualise the rocks that provided an exit to the camp. All we had to do was slip between them.
I imagined the feel of the rock sliding past my body, even as I heard voices shouting behind me, raised in terror. The rock formation loomed up ahead, between the thickly wooded trees. The trees here were not yet burning, but their leaves trembled, as if they feared the oncoming storm.
Suddenly a great whoosh of air reverberated behind us. I looked back to see that the shelters had caught. Some were already blazing, the thin frames as spindly as matchsticks. Figures ran past them, alight, their desperate cries for help making my stomach heave.
A spray of bullets cut across the clearing.
People fell, limbs flung wide. One small body was tossed upwards like a doll, imprisoned against the light. Then it thudded down, peppered by gunfire.
The trees that were alight creaked and groaned beneath the weight of their heavy boughs.
Leelo’s wailing snapped me back.
I turned away from the chaos. My hands found the rock ledge. I pushed Etti through it, protecting Leelo’s head with my hand before slipping through myself.
Beyond the camp, the air was clearer. We gulped it in, sinking to our knees.
An explosion shook the ground, and the roar reached us seconds later. Knocked flat, I tasted bitterness. Blood. I spat on the ground.
Leelo’s squalling cries reached me and Etti’s scream of terror. Coughing and gagging, I dragged myself to my knees, squinting against the darkness.
‘Etti?’ My cousin was curled in the leaf litter, holding Leelo to her chest. She was breathing, but in shallow gasps. I could see the whites of her eyes.
‘I’m here,’ she said.
‘We need to move.’ I touched her arm. ‘Can you walk?’
Leelo shifted restlessly against Etti’s chest, her bawling now one long series of hiccupping sobs. Etti looked down at her and then nodded. With my help, she struggled to her feet and we stumbled down a steep embankment until the stink of smoke lessened.
Propping Etti against the trunk of an oak tree, I sank down beside her, succumbing to the dank rich scent of earth and rotting foliage. I wrapped my arms around my cousin and her child. Etti’s body was trembling. Drifts of smoke still wafted overhead. The sounds of screams and gunfire had ceased. The fire had burned itself out, bloated on the trees and timber constructions in the camp.
Above us, the trees stretched upwards, fingers pointing accusations at the stars.
Leelo’s crying lessened. Eventually, her breathing changed, and she slept.
I closed my eyes.
‘Kati. Kati.’
Hands shook me. I tried to stir, but my limbs were too heavy. My head was full of smoke and singed flesh and the rattle of guns.
I inhaled the musky scent of fur, along with other night smells. Ash. Pine. Beneath my eyelids I saw glowing eyes. A flash of teeth.
‘Kati, it will be all right.’ Soft feet padded past.
Grandmother, wolf, a girl in a white lace shawl.
A fairy tale woven from the blackened threads of history.
*
Sunlight pierced my eyes. I jolted awake, and panic spread through me when I realised my arms were empty.
‘Leelo!’
‘She’s here.’
Lydia held her out. I snatched her up, squeezing too hard, pressing her against my thudding heart. I nuzzled her neck, drawing a soft sound of complaint from her as relief rushed through me.
Lydia was sitting opposite me in the leaves, Etti’s head was in her lap. Sunshine filtered down around them as Lydia stroked Etti’s hair. My cousin’s eyes were closed. Her chest rose and fell.
‘She’s sleeping,’ Lydia said.
Birds trilled in the branches overhead.
Lydia raised her eyes to mine. Her dark hair was twisted into tangled ropes. Smoke streaked her face. Her skirt was torn, the lace collar of her blouse half-ripped away.
‘Where did you go?’ It was not what I had planned to ask. But it was all I could manage.
‘Not far. I thought I should be alone. Perhaps I could live in the forest by myself for a while.’ She shot me a sad smile. ‘I was asleep when it started, out here under the stars.’ She paused. ‘It was a group of Russians. Soldiers, not agents. I think they stumbled on us by accident. They had rifles and petrol bombs.’ Her voice shook. Tears sprang into her eyes. ‘I heard them. I couldn’t do . . . anything. I wanted to cry out, but I was frozen. All I could do was lie here like a coward. Some of them died in the big blast. I heard others running away, cursing.’ She faltered, looking down suddenly at Etti, pressing her lips together.
‘It’s not your fault.’ I drew in a shuddering breath. ‘Have you been back?’
She shook her head. Her face tightened, a muscle flickering in her cheek. ‘I . . . I don’t think I can.’
Silence pressed around us. ‘I’m sorry I shouted at you,’ I said, at last.
Lydia lifted a shoulder, but the muscles in her face relaxed. ‘You were right, to be protective. But I would never hurt your brother. You must believe me. I would not hurt any of you. My father,’ her face darkened, ‘he is a villain. But I am not like him. I am trying to make amends. That’s why I try to help as much as possible. Why I tried to help with Etti and with Leelo.’
She fingered the tatte
red lace collar on her blouse. ‘I have lost people too,’ she said softly.
I did not ask her. I thought I already knew. The woman she called to in her sleep. Olga.
‘I should go.’ I slid Leelo off my shoulder. Her body was so small and warm. Lydia shifted Etti gently aside and held out her arms.
‘You don’t have to.’ The freckles stood out on her pale skin like a smattering of stars. She reached out her hand, grasping mine.
I bit the inside of my mouth. How I longed to sink back down and drink in the sunshine, cuddling Leelo and pretending that we had slipped outside the camp for the morning. That everything would be the same when we returned, the chatter of the other exiles, the stench of the latrine. The occasional shout of laughter from one of the Forest Brothers as a joke was shared in Oskar’s lean-to.
My thoughts lurched suddenly to Oskar. What if he’d come back to fight the Russians and protect us? He could be lying hurt and injured. The stench of the fire still lingered in the back of my throat. A rush of fear went through me. I did not want to go back. But I needed to see for myself.
I pulled away gently and started up the slope.
Sharp stones scratched at my feet as I edged through the rocks and into the camp.
The smell hit me first and a minute later, the sound.
Burned meat. Buzzing flies.
Smoke rose from the blackened ground. A crater the size of a sheep’s pen gouged the earth near the ruined wreck that had been our food tent. Oskar’s lean-to was gone, the soil dark and moist as if newly turned.
Bodies lay scattered among the ruins. Some were unrecognisable, just blackened skeletons. Others bore the familiar marks of their former hosts. Hilja I knew from her brown uniform, with the sleeves rolled up. Her body lay near the churned pocket of earth. Half her face was gone, blown away by the grenade she must have detonated to kill the Russian attackers.
Lace Weaver Page 27
