Never Turn Back

by Lorna Lee

  Meri turned to look at the kind old man who had been her interpreter. He shook his head as if to say, “You don’t want to know.” Meri did not need him to explain. Whatever she said, it was cruel. Women like Mamma, it seems, live everywhere.

  Chapter 3: The City with Two Faces

  “Truth, like light, blinds. Falsehood, on the contrary, is a beautiful twilight that enhances every object.”

  Albert Camus

  The trek from the train station to Tuula’s apartment was between four and five kilometers. Meri discovered this when she stopped at a market to buy a map of her new city.

  Adjacent to the market was a café. Meri’s stomach rumbled as she smelled the familiar scent of strong coffee mingled with a scrumptious aroma she had never experienced. Parisian bread. The delicate and buttery aroma saturated the air. Meri sat down to her first Parisian meal of a fresh baguette, Camembert cheese with various fruit preserves, and several cups of the richest coffee she had ever tasted.

  She savored the French bread, worlds different from the dry, dense, dark breads of Finland. This bread is light and refined. This is exactly what I imagined Paris to be—full of light and life. The opposite of Finland. She raised her coffee cup in a toast to her new home. “To Paris! To your bread and your cheese and to your people who will offer me a new life! Skål!”

  Meri sipped the last bit of her coffee and finished every crumb of the baguette. She wrapped up the small wedge of Camembert she hadn’t eaten, and paid her bill with the Francs she had exchanged for her Finn Markkas at a currency booth near the train station. With her new, crisp map in one hand and her old soft satchel in the other, she started walking the unfamiliar streets of Paris with a spring in her step, heading toward Tuula’s apartment.

  Along the way, she experienced a lifetime’s worth of sights and sounds. Women in bright outfits, some of them quite risqué by Meri’s standards, held the arms of fancy-dressed men, not at all like the drab men of Finland—men like Arttu. These couples laughed and touched each other in public. Meri also noticed giggling children running around in parks and on the streets, often having to dodge loud horse-less carriages, whose occupants used their unnerving horns liberally. Music filled the air. Tunes came from the open windows of homes and eateries and musicians performing on the streets. Flowers embellished nearly everything in view—the private and public gardens she passed, table tops on sidewalk cafés, in the bags people carried, even as adornments on the people she encountered: girls, women, and even on the lapels of some men.

  Not everyone laughed or had flowers in their hair. Meri walked by poor and disabled people, too. But she squelched those images; she wanted to see only the sparkling, opulent, promising Paris—the prosperous city where her dreams would come true.

  Although Meri had plenty of time to think about how she should introduce herself to Tuula, a stranger to her, she was not prepared to meet her. Meri stood outside Rue 6 Grenata for a long time, long enough for passersby to ask her if she was lost or if she needed help. Most of them spoke French with a distinctly Finnish accent, so she knew responding in Finn would be understood.

  Meri shook her head. “I’m supposed to meet someone here. I’m waiting for her.” Meri smiled and that seemed to be enough. She was a Finn among Finns in France.

  Kaija’s note said Tuula expected me to come. How can she know when I will arrive? What if she isn’t prepared for me, then what will I do? How will we recognize each other? What if she’s not here? Oh, Kaija! Why did you have to complicate things for me by getting pregnant?

  Meri had to make a decision. She either had to leave or go up to the Apartment 3C. Rue 6 Grenata was part of an old and wilted neighborhood. This is not the cheerful Paris I saw a little while ago. Maybe I should go back to one of those nicer areas…but where? No one knows me in those more pleasant places. Someone is expecting me here…I hope.

  After knocking on the door several times, a little boy came up to her and said in Finnish, “You don’t need to knock. It’s an apartment building. Just go up.”

  “Oh, Kiitos.” Meri thanked him in Finnish as she blushed and opened the door.

  She walked up two flights of stairs and found the door marked 3C. Meri tentatively knocked. The door rattled, as if it would open on its own if she knocked much harder.

  The door finally opened just enough for a young girl to poke her head out. She was younger than Jani—perhaps seven—with thick, light brown, curly hair and blue eyes. “Hei,” she said with hesitation on her face and in her voice.

  “Hei. Nimeni on Meri.” Meri introduced herself in her native tongue.

  “Oh.” The little girl seemed unimpressed.

  “Is Tuula here?”

  “No.”

  Kaija, I wish you were here so I could kill you! Meri sighed and explained her situation to the little girl.

  “Oh.”

  “What’s your name?” Meri asked, hoping to get more than a one word reply.

  “Elina.”

  “Did Tuula tell you about her cousin, Kaija?”

  She nodded. “I know Kaija! Is Kaija coming?” Elina spoke perfect Finn. The door opened so Meri could see half of Elina. She was a lanky girl, her thick, curly hair the biggest thing about her.

  “No, she stayed in Raisio, but I came. Did Tuula tell you about Meri?”

  “Hmmm. Maybe.”

  “I’m Meri.” Meri searched her bag for Kaija’s letter, hoping Elina could read enough to see she was telling the truth.

  “What’s going on here? Elina, I told you not to open the door to strangers!” A woman’s voice interrupted Meri’s search. The voice was low-pitched. Ominous.

  Both Meri and Elina started talking at the same time. Their voices had taken on an annoying high pitch.

  “Stop! Please! One at a time.” The woman looked at Meri. “Now, tell me, who are you and why are you at my door?”

  “I’m Meri, Kajia’s friend. Do you know Tuula?” Meri, blushing, began searching for Kaija’s letter again.

  The woman laughed. “Juu! I know Tuula, don’t I, Elina.”

  “Juu, Mamma” Elina smiled a tentative smile, seemingly confused.

  Frustrated at being the only one left out of the secret, Meri sighed as she spoke to the woman now standing beside her. “I’m looking for Tuula. Kaija is my friend and she sent me here. Can you tell me how to find Tuula?”

  “I can. You found her,” Tuula said as she hugged Meri, which took Meri by surprise. “Now, please come in, Meri. We’ve been expecting you. I must write Kaija immediately to tell her you’re finally here. She’ll be so relieved.”

  Elina opened the door. Tuula gestured to Meri to enter before her.

  Meri had found her first, albeit temporary, home in Paris.

  §

  Apartment 3C was both tidy and tiny. Meri noticed the oddest mixture of a sweet fragrance mingled with a musty smell. She decided it was a rather cheap women’s perfume and the tell-tale odor of old curtains, bedding, and upholstered furniture. This apartment needs open windows and fresh air. Do cities have fresh air?

  “Our home is small, but you’re welcome to stay here for as long as you like,” Tuula said as she placed a small bag filled with groceries on the round table that separated the living area from the functional but cramped kitchenette. Except for a modest glass vase filled with drooping lilies, the table was clear. A lace doily protected the wooden table top from the vase.

  Tuula noticed Meri staring at the lace doily. “Do you like the lace?”

  “Juu, very much. I do fine lace work. My Grandmamma taught me.”

  Smiling, Tuula said, “Me too, but this is Elina’s work. I don’t want our Finnish craft to die, even if people here don’t appreciate our skills.”

  “What do you mean?” Meri still held her satchel and had not yet taken off her coat. “This is the city of high fashion. Lace work must be highly valued!”

  “Not if you’re a foreigner.” Tuula had turned her attention to putting away her groceries, so she di
d not notice Meri’s face, which had paled considerably.

  “I don’t understand, Tuula.” Only Meri’s nostrils and chest moved to her increasingly heavy, fretful breaths. Standing there in her coat and holding her bag, it was hard to tell if she had just arrived or if she was just leaving.

  Tuula turned around. “Oh, Meri! Please, let me take your things. You’ve had a long journey. We’ll have plenty of time for talking. Now it’s time for resting.” Meri let Tuula take her coat and satchel. Tuula instructed Elina to hang up Meri’s coat and escort Meri to Elina’s room.

  “Please, Tuula, explain to me what you mean about foreigners.” Her brows furrowed and her voice trembled as she spoke.

  “Don’t worry, Meri. I’m sure everything will be fine. You’ll find work. It’s just that Parisians like to give the best jobs to their own. You never know, though. In Paris, anything can happen! I didn’t mean to worry you in your first moments with us.” Tuula smiled. “Okay? Let’s worry about more important things for now…like where you’ll sleep. Elina’s giving you her room.”

  Elina nodded, her smile stretching the width of her narrow face.

  “But where will you sleep?” Meri asked Elina.

  “I get to sleep with Mamma!” She spoke as if the new sleeping arrangement was a big adventure for her.

  “And what about your Papa?”

  Elina shrugged. “Papa is gone.”

  Meri did not ask any more questions. An absent father is tender territory for two people who have just met. Meri simply said, “Oh.”

  The apartment had two small bedrooms, a modest living room with the round table and four chairs plus a small formal settee and a miniscule kitchen equipped with a sink, gas stove, and an icebox. The “private facilities” were down the hallway, shared with apartments 3A and 3B.

  “It’s not so bad,” Tuula said. We use the kitchen sink to wash our hair and other ‘essentials.’ See the container over there?” She pointed to a covered metal pot. “That’s for, ah, emergencies.”

  Meri eyes widened. This isn’t what I expected in the grand city of Paris! But she kept this thought to herself. “I see.” Meri’s stiff words matched her posture.

  Tuula laughed. “Meri, I can see this isn’t what you, ah, envisioned, coming from little Raisio to the big city of Paris. It’s not what I thought, either. You’ll get used to it, or you can always go back.”

  “I’ll never go back!” Meri’s response was more forceful than any of them expected, even Meri. Meri blushed and spoke to her shoes. “I said my final farewells to my family and to Finland. Turning back is not an option. I’m sorry. I’m tired from my long days of travel.”

  Tuula nodded. “Elina, take Meri into her room and help get her settled. Then show her down the hall to the washroom. Maybe then Meri can rest until dinner is ready?” Tuula looked at her daughter and her new roommate.

  Elina and Meri shared a brief glance—a look that said there’s no use in arguing—and left Tuula to her work in the tiny kitchen.

  In about an hour, Meri smelled garlic, onions, and other savory smells masking the odd odor she detected upon entering the apartment for the first time. Tuula is a good cook! Perhaps she knows people in the fashion industry, too…

  Meri came into the living area. Elina played quietly while Tuula finished setting the table for a late supper. “Your timing is perfect,” Tuula said.

  “Your cooking smells perfect. I couldn’t stay away any longer. Is there anything I can do to help you?”

  Tuula waved her hand and shook her head. “No, just sit and relax. You should rest after such a long trip.”

  Meri smiled and sat down on the chair Tuula indicated. “I had a thought as I was lying down. Do you know of anyone in the fashion district?”

  Tuula rolled her eyes and sighed. “Didn’t Kaija tell you what to expect? I told you, Paris is not welcoming to foreigners.” Before giving Meri a chance to answer, Tuula ordered Elina to help get the food into serving dishes.

  “When they see my fine needlework, I’m certain they’ll appreciate my talents no matter where I come from.” Meri smoothed her dress over her lap. Her stomach rumbled with hunger.

  “Think what you like. I live here. I know Paris.” Tuula sat down abruptly.

  “You don’t know me, Tuula. I’m not just any foreigner, so don’t treat me like one!” Meri put her hands on her hips and stared at Tuula.

  Tuula raised one eyebrow and said in a low, calculated voice, “I don’t let anyone speak to me with that tone, especially in my home, do you understand, Meri?”

  Meri shifted her gaze to the tired lilies at the center of the table. “I am determined, Tuula. My Mamma called me stubborn. I didn’t mean to upset or disrespect you. You’re kind to offer your home to a complete stranger. I should act more grateful. Please don’t be angry with me on my first night here. I’ll clean up after dinner to make things up to you.”

  “No, not tonight. Tonight, you’re our guest. Tomorrow we’ll discuss the terms of your stay here.”

  Meri remembered the small piece of cheese she had from the wonderful lunch earlier that day. It remained in her coat pocket. She decided to save it. “Kiitos. Kaija led me to believe you had a big apartment with plenty of room for both of us to stay until we found our own home. She also said that there would be many jobs for us to pick from—like you had.”

  “Kaija! Always the little girl…” Tuula shook her head.

  “What do you mean?” Meri asked the question as Elina sidled up next to her, seemingly equally curious.

  “Kaija always focuses on sunshine, never rain. She refuses to listen to a story with a sad ending. Once she even made up a happy ending to an old fable because the original upset her,” Tuula said as she served some kind of stew with mostly vegetables. “My sweet cousin chooses only to notice the good things in life, not the bad. I told her life wouldn’t be easy for either of you here in Paris, but her letters back to me were filled only with plans and dreams of prosperity and good fortune. She spoke about how you both would find a beautiful apartment and handsome suitors. In no time, you would be designing clothes for famous people from around the world. Those were Kaija’s words even though I told her the French have no love of foreigners. They believe we’re good enough to wash their clothes, not design them.”

  “You told Kaija this?” Meri stared at Tuula, watching her dollop stew into the three mismatched bowls.

  Tuula stopped dishing up the stew and met Meri’s gray eyes, “I did. I even warned her about coming. As you can see, life for me isn’t so easy.” Tuula turned to Elina and smiled gently. “But we’ve made a fine life for ourselves here. I’m just telling you, Paris isn’t for everyone.”

  “Paris is for me, Mamma!” Elina said almost as a toast before she gulped down her first spoonful of stew.

  “Paris is for me, too. You will see,” Meri said, following Elina’s lead. She felt her heart quicken again with anticipation. Or was it apprehension?

  Tuula shrugged. “All right, here’s to Paris being for everyone!” Tuula was nothing if she wasn’t agreeable, as long as certain lines weren’t crossed.

  Chapter 4: An Informal French Education

  “How dreadful knowledge of the truth can be when there’s no help in the truth.”

  Sophocles

  During the first two months Meri stayed with Tuula and Elina, she learned a number of valuable lessons.

  §

  Meri’s first lesson: Tuula was right.

  Parisians did not welcome foreigners, and she was a foreigner. Meri carefully packed the lace dress she had designed and made, and carried it with her to every design house and dressmaker within the garment district, though she rarely even got the opportunity to show her handiwork. Most often, her rejection came without entering the establishment. She needed no fluency in French to understand the curt wave of a hand and the pinched eyebrows silently telling her to go away. Could these French couturiers tell by simply looking at me that I’m not one of them? Is it my
face? My clothes? What is it about me that makes me so different, so inferior, to them? Meri wondered, but never discovered.

  After nearly two months of rejections, a fashion house owner spoke to her after glancing at her delicate lace dress she anxiously presented to him.

  “You say this is your work?”

  “Oui, Monsieur.” Meri had barely learned the rudiments of French, forcing her to keep her answers brief.

  “It is clear you’re good with a needle and thread. How are you with other domestic work?” he asked while examining the lace.

  Meri did not understand most of what he said, but she recognized “good,” “domestic,” and “work.” In the finest French accent she could muster, she delivered the phrase she had rehearsed so many times, “Je serais honoré de travailler dans votre maison de belle façon.” (“I would be honored to work in your fine fashion house.”)

  He laughed. It was not an insulting laugh, just an amused one, Meri knew, by the crinkles around his eyes. Papa crinkles. She remembered them so well. “Come back if you decide you would like a job working for my wife.” As he carefully wrapped Meri’s lace dress in the packaging, he added, “Your work is beautiful, but I cannot hire a foreigner to do the job of a Parisian.” Then he looked at her and said to her soft, but confused gray eyes, “You look like a young woman who deserves a chance. What is your name?”

  Meri stared at him, befuddled by all the French. No one had spoken that much French to her since she had arrived because either the Parisians ignored her or she stayed close to the Finn-French community.

  The man touched her arm and asked again, “Votre nom?”

  “Oh! Meri. Meri Vaarsara.” She hoped she correctly understood.

  He picked up a piece of heavy paper with the name and the address of his shop. On the back, he wrote his name and another address. “Meri Vaarsara, if you want a job working for my wife, go here.” He spoke slowly and pointed to the address on the back of the paper. “My wife is having a baby and needs help.” He gestured as if holding and rocking an infant.

  Meri nodded and smiled. She put the paper in her coat pocket.