Lace Weaver

by Lauren Chater

  ‘One day we will send word to her,’ Kati said. ‘When it’s safe.’

  Etti had nodded, pushing the stray hairs off her face with the heel of her hand and marching off to check that she had packed enough warm clothes for Leelo for the months ahead. When the Germans had arrived this morning, Etti had not shown fear but been the first to tie on her coat and pick up her bag. She had not looked back as we climbed into the truck, too focused on her own survival and Leelo’s to allow sentiment to endanger them.

  Now she bounced the gurgling Leelo up and down vigorously on her lap. ‘No need to travel all the way to Narva to do your duty, is there?’

  Green Kerchief clicked her tongue but stayed silent. The woman with the carpet bag said nothing, but when our gazes connected I saw her give the slightest nod to me and a tiny smile pinched the corners of her mouth. White hair peeped out beneath her shawl like tufts of sheep’s wool.

  The truck’s wheels rumbled over the road. And then suddenly it halted. Voices were heard from the front, asking questions in German. My skin prickled.

  Green Kerchief sniffed. ‘Another delay?’ she said.

  I exchanged looks with Kati. Together, we lifted the flap of the canvas behind us and peeped through.

  Outside, the sun struggled to shine through a smattering of clouds. The truck had stopped on the side of the road near some grey paddocks. A few cars had also halted. German soldiers leaned into the driver’s side windows, speaking rapid German before waving them on. I heard Kati’s sharp intake of breath, and when I followed her gaze my own heart began to flutter wildly. Next to the road beside us lay dozens of bodies. They were piled into an open ditch, their clothing stained with mud from the recent rain. Women and children, hands splayed at odd angles like the limbs of broken dolls. Yellow stars were still tacked to their chests.

  As we watched, a German officer standing guard tumbled one of the smallest bodies into the ditch with his boot. Clods of earth scattered over the child’s pale face. It was clear that the ditch the Soviets had desperately dug out before they left – to prevent tanks from reaching Tartu – provided a convenient place to dispose of Jewish bodies.

  ‘What is it?’ Etti asked. She was feeding Leelo cow’s milk from a bottle. Leelo’s wide blue eyes stared up at the truck’s ceiling, her mouth slowly moving around the teat. She had grown so long in the legs that Etti had to lie her flat to drink her milk. She could lift her head now and look about and bring her tiny toes to her mouth.

  I saw Kati give the slightest shake of her head.

  ‘It’s nothing,’ I said quickly. ‘An accident. They will sort it out.’

  I turned back, trying to appear relaxed but inside I was sobbing.

  What if Oskar and Jakob had been forced to take part in this terrible act? I prayed that Oskar had found a way for them to slip away and return to the forest where they would be safe until they could find us again.

  As the truck began to move again, Kati shifted, climbing over Etti until we were side by side. In the rocking darkness, her damp fingers found mine. We held hands, not speaking, as the truck bounced and juddered over the road, racing towards Narva.

  Hours passed; we lost track of the number. At some point in the darkness Kati told me what she knew of Narva.

  ‘It’s an old place, Narva. Older than Tartu. It belonged to the Danes once, then the Germans and the Russians. The Narva Fortress runs all the way along the river, connected by stone passageways carved out of the ground. I have never been, but Papa took my mother sightseeing there once. She said she didn’t care for it. All those dark passageways made her feel as if she’d entered the underworld. She said she was glad to come back out into the light and find the world still waiting for her . . .’

  She paused, looking ahead. I could see she was struggling to conceal her emotions. It was always the same for me when I had to speak of Olga, or if I was thinking about Jakob. The same stare which held all the things that it was unsafe to say. I knew Kati was thinking of her mother – and Oskar.

  ‘What do you know about the factory?’ I said, hoping to distract her.

  Kati swallowed visibly. ‘Not a lot,’ she admitted. ‘Everybody’s heard of it, of course. Kreenholm. But Papa never told us any stories about it.’

  ‘My cousin’s wife worked there once,’ the woman with white hair said. ‘Before she moved south. There were ten thousand people employed there once.’ She paused to let this settle. ‘It’s a huge place. Built on an island surrounded by a vast river. There are three buildings, she told me,’ the woman went on. ‘A textile mill, a spinning room and a weaving factory. Water turbines keep the machinery turning. There are probably more now than when she worked there. Those Russians knew how to industrialise.’

  ‘Maybe,’ said one girl with a constellation of freckles smattering her nose. ‘But they knew nothing about clothes! When they arrived in Rakvere and occupied the houses left behind, some of the wives were heard to exclaim that they had never before seen so many varieties of clothing. All the Soviet clothes came from the one factory and they were all the same colour and the same shape. The Partorg in our area held a banquet at the Town Hall and invited all the Russian officials who’d just moved in; their wives showed up in nightgowns the Estonians had abandoned. They thought they were ball gowns!’

  Some of the women snuffled with laughter.

  ‘That’s just a rumour.’ The woman with the white hair smiled at me. ‘I’m Jelena Ilves.’

  ‘Lydia Androvna,’ I told her, feeling only a slight twinge of guilt at the lie. Anyone who remembered the Partorg would surely connect us. All the same, Green Kerchief swivelled her gaze to me. ‘This is my friend, Katarina Mägi, and her cousin, Etti. And the little dumpling you see there is Leelo.’

  I grasped awkwardly for the hand Jelena extended. Her fingers were careworn and roughened. The truck rounded a bend and she laughed as our hands slipped apart.

  ‘I imagine we will be seeing quite a bit of each other.’ Jelena glanced around the truck. ‘All of us. Best we know who our new companions are sooner than later.’

  ‘I’m Agnese Rosenberg.’ The woman in the green kerchief raised her chin. Her eyes glittered defiantly in the dim cavern beneath eyebrows plucked so thin they were almost invisible. Something tugged at me. A memory, a whisper. I almost spoke aloud in my head, asking Mama. But she’d been silent ever since the day after the deportations, the day of Etti’s birth when I had sung her song and imagined her holding me for the first time. It was almost as if the pure intensity of that moment had severed our connection.

  I tried to study Agnese. Had I seen her at the bakery? But the woman had already withdrawn into the darker shadows at the edge of the truck.

  Other women called out from the semi-darkness, their voices mingling. Some sounded resigned, others hopeful. I couldn’t begin to know their motivations for coming to Kreenholm. They were all women like Etti and Kati. If it were not for their names and accents, which pinned them down to different geographic regions, I doubted that anyone would be able to tell them apart in the dark. It was only my accent which seemed unusual. All those years in Moscow made it impossible for me to speak Estonian with the ease of someone who had lived here all her life. I cautioned myself again to speak only when necessary. It was dangerous now to draw attention to anything which was at odds. A few weeks, that was all we needed to stay. A month at most. As long as it took Oskar to organise our passage and send word to us that it was time to run. We did not need to make friends.

  Suddenly, Kati stiffened. ‘Kreenholm,’ she said, her head tilted to one side. ‘Listen.’ She gripped my arm. ‘Can you hear it?’

  The truck rumbled to a halt and the sound rose up beneath the throbbing engine. The roar of water. The churn of turbines. Lapping of waves against stone.

  Twisting, I pulled back the flap of canvas again. The sunlight dazzled my eyes as I made out stacked chimneys, brick red. Huge buildings that rocketed skywards so I had to duck my head to fit them into view. A set of vast
doors atop a flight of stone stairs.

  And before it all, a pair of tall black iron gates loomed between two brick parapets.

  German voices rang out as our driver spoke to the guard. Seconds later, the truck lurched forward as we crossed the threshold and mounted the small bridge that separated the township of Narva from the Kreenholm factory.

  A small cry of relief rose up as the doors were unbarred and we tumbled out. Some women groaned as they unfolded themselves, rubbing joints made stiff with travel over the bumpy roads. Etti was smiling – the first genuine smile I had seen from her in weeks. Jelena chucked Leelo under the chin and Etti looked on indulgently. Kati, too, seemed pleased at first, although I saw her frown up at the buildings, so vast above us, almost as if they were built for giants from one of Olga’s fairy tales.

  I tried to look up, to see the place where the buildings met the sky but my neck resisted, cramping painfully. The German officer loudly instructed the women to move forward into the building and assemble. A noise broke the sound of feet shuffling towards the doors. It was the cawing of birds. I looked around and spied crows clustered on the bare branches of a tree in a flowerbed rampant with weeds. At least a dozen creatures, beaks tipped open, feathers ruffled by the breeze. Their black liquid eyes watched us impassively.

  An arm slipped suddenly through mine. ‘Pay them no attention.’ Jelena’s face was sour with dislike. ‘I never cared for crows, either. But my mother always said if you leave them alone, they will find other people to bother. And my mother was a smart woman.’ Applying slight pressure to my arm, she began to coax me towards the doors.

  From the top of the steps, I could look back at the road that had brought us here. Rows of narrow houses lined the street beyond the gates. Flowerbeds heaped against their walls, late-blooming roses, bright as jewels, and brown spikes of seeding lavender. I could hear, but not see the water yet. I felt the ground shudder as the turbines spun.

  It all looked so normal. Compared to Tartu’s streets with their undercurrent of terror, it even seemed appealing, the rush of the water cleansing everything. A place of new hope, even if for just a few weeks until Oskar arranged our escape.

  The crows were the only blight on the peaceful view.

  Jelena squeezed my arm. ‘You mustn’t let them disturb you. This is their place, after all.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  She gave a small shrug. ‘Kreenholm. Roughly translated: crow island. Isle of Crows, my cousin’s wife said.’

  A prickle ran beneath my skin. Island of crows. Island of dead things and carrion flesh. I wondered what Olga would have made of that. I heard her voice. A bird taps the window three times: death is coming.

  Before I could speak, Jelena had tugged me inside. The doors clanged shut behind us as the German officer from the truck shifted in behind us to stand guard.

  Ahead, I could see Kati’s plait swinging at her back. Etti stood beside her, soothing the grizzling Leelo with soft words. I made my way towards them, Jelena beside me. A long timber staircase wound up to the next level of the building. The other women were murmuring to each other, but their voices died when a man descended the stairs and paused a few steps from the bottom. He did not seem embarrassed to be half-dressed. A white starched shirt tucked into olive trousers and a silk brocade waistcoat cinched around his waist. A half-sewn jacket was slung casually over his clothes. One sleeve was missing, the other hung loosely, held together with pins. My heart caught when I saw the swastika symbol emblazoned on the armband as if a spider had found its way onto the fabric and been ironed in by mistake.

  ‘Welcome ladies,’ he said in Estonian. His German accent was thicker than my Russian one. He seemed to chew on the words before spitting them out. ‘Thank you for leaving your homes and coming to where you are most needed. I am the manager here. My name is General Hans Burkhard.’ He gestured with his hands at the two women standing a few steps below him. ‘This is my wife, Frau Burkhard. And Hilda, the woman who will look after your children while you stay and work with us.’ I dropped my gaze to study the two women standing near him. Frau Burkhard was at least a decade younger than the general. Her hair, so pale it was almost translucent, was knotted in an elegant bun at the top of her head. She stood so straight I thought her back must be aching, her face immovable as a statue’s. Hilda, by contrast, was plump and wore a smile of welcome. A spotless apron was knotted about her waist.

  ‘These are the two women who will be your greatest allies during your time with us at Kreenholm. If you have any needs, you may feel free to discuss them with Frau Burkhard, who is used to keeping everything at our factories running smoothly. I fear you will see little of me, as business generally keeps me confined to the offices upstairs. I must apologise that you’ve caught me in such a state of undress.’ He paused to pluck at the sleeve of his half-made suit. ‘It was remiss of me to arrange for my tailor to attend to my clothing this morning. But as you will soon learn, this is a great day for Germany and for all of those who fall under her protection. I simply had to come down to greet you and tell you the news personally.’ His face contorted into a smile. ‘We have just been informed German troops have reached the city of Leningrad.’

  I felt my breath snatched away.

  General Burkhard nodded as the women exclaimed openly. ‘First Leningrad, then Moscow. Within a matter of weeks, we expect the Russian empire to fall completely into German hands. I trust you will join me in celebrating tonight in the cafeteria where we will indulge in the best quality foodstuffs that can be obtained during such hard times.’ His eyes sparkled. ‘I gather you all remember the sweet taste of vanilla pudding?’

  Some women clapped their hands to their mouths.

  I could not imagine the taste. All I could think about was the way Olga had described the Revolution to me; the sharp rattle of gunfire, the ashes from burning buildings that caught in her throat and stung her eyes. The people of Leningrad must be terrified. Tonight, the sky would be streaked with red. The city was besieged.

  I blinked hard and stared up at the ceiling, trying not to show how the news disturbed me. When I looked down, it was to find Agnese staring hard at me. Outside of the truck, in the light of day, I could see she was not well. Cavernous shadows circled her eyes and her cheekbones strained against her white skin. The green kerchief tied over her hair was obviously meant to conceal the fact that much of it was falling out. There were patches where it was missing entirely.

  Fear flared inside me.

  I know this woman. But I could not place her. Did she know me? I turned to ask Kati if she remembered seeing Agnese in the street, but Kati and Etti were busy talking about pudding. When I looked back, Agnese had turned her back on me to discuss the siege with her neighbour and I wondered if I had imagined it all.

  Money Pattern

  Kati

  ‘I only hope they have enough sense not to house the Russians with the rest of us.’ Agnese scrutinised the dormitory on the second floor of the factory into which we had all gathered. Over the past hour, another four lorries had arrived in the driveway, delivering their passengers before speeding off. Women and tired-looking children had been slowly shepherded up the winding staircase to the residential wing and deposited here, where we all waited for Frau Burkhard to return and assign us rooms. When Agnese’s gaze fell on Lydia she paused. ‘You can’t trust them,’ she went on. ‘They’ll betray us before long, you’ll see. They will defect and run across the bridge to their friends and bring down a terrible hellfire to burn us all.’

  Some of the women murmured uneasily. Lydia had looked down at her feet as if she wished she could melt into the floor. ‘Nonsense.’ Jelena Ilves pressed the back of her hand to her sweaty cheek. ‘You’re letting your imagination run away with you. Everyone who is here wants to be here. You’re just cranky and tired. You would be better to conserve your strength for the long hours of work tomorrow. You know how the saying goes – a wolf will not break a wolf. We must work together. Agreed?’ />
  The women around us nodded. I saw Lydia shoot Jelena a small grin. Of course. Lydia had already made a friend. Jelena had been charmed by the openness of her face and the charisma that always seemed to elude me. Still, I was glad that I did not need to defend Lydia alone.

  Agnese opened her mouth to retort, but at that moment Frau Burkhard strode back in, Hilda bouncing along obediently in her wake. The women shifted to make way for her, breaking apart then forming a circle around the German woman. Etti scooped Leelo up from the bed on which she’d placed her.

  ‘Your attention, ladies.’ Producing a clipboard from beneath her thin arm, Frau Burkhard touched the bun on her head, sweeping invisible wisps of hair away from her face. ‘You are to listen for me to call your name and follow Hilda outside to your dormitories. These are the rooms you will share with six of your companions for the duration of your stay.’

  ‘Six?’ Agnese glanced around in disbelief at the small space into which we had all somehow managed to squeeze. ‘I hope we are not expected to share beds, too, with perfect strangers.’

  Frau Burkhard’s cool smile did not change. ‘No. Of course not. But we simply don’t have the staff to clean room after room, so resources have been combined. You will get to know each other soon enough.’

  ‘What about the women who have infants?’ Agnese shot a quick look at Etti. ‘How can we be expected to catch enough sleep to perform our duties when we are disturbed by the wailing of children?’

  Frau Burkhard waved a hand dismissively. ‘Hilda will take care of them. In fact, it would be good for the children to get used to the nursery now, seeing as that is where they will be staying. Please bring your children forward.’

  Nobody moved.

  Frau Burkhard tapped her clipboard with sharp fingernails. ‘Don’t be shy, now. It’s for their own safety. The machines in the factory are dangerous. They must be supervised.’