Chapters 1990

Chapter  27

 ‘Lithuania has voted! I was listening their radio.’

‘Oh, hi, dad! And?’ I don’t need to ask, I can hear the answer in father’s voice already.

‘Of course. What else you expected?’

‘Yess! That’s great, isn’t it?’

‘Brilliant! Guess what they did right from the beginning? The newly elected Soviet Supreme Council of Lithuanian Soviet Republic? They renamed themselves. Now they are Lithuanian Supreme Council. All the soviet appendixes are off! And then they passed the bill. Something concerning the restoration of an Independent Lithuanian state.’ Father chuckles to hide the overwhelming excitement. ‘Do you understand???...’ He takes a pause and then I heard him scream. ‘They declared independence!!!’

‘Lucky bastards! I bet they feel good today!’

‘I will open that bottle of French cognac today, definitely! We must celebrate this! You know, now I start to believe that maybe I’ll live up to the day when Latvia too will be an independent state! Unbelievable!’

‘Yeah! They are brave. It’s not like Estonian declaration. ‘

‘Well, but they have a different plan. Our current Supreme Council would not even pass that so it’s still a big step.’

While Lithuanians had decided that the right strategy would be renewal of independence and dealing with the rest later, Estonians decided on much milder plan – at first, step by step, untie Soviet economical ties and establish independent economy, and only then wave the political “Good bye!” to Soviets.

Yes, Lithuanians are lucky. They haven’t had such a strong Russian speaking opposition as we have here. They announced their plans last summer and now it’s done. The Supreme Council of Lithuania has voted to declare the renewal of Lithuania’s independence. It is some statement, especially if we take into account that States has been pressing hard to put Lithuanians off the idea.

Lithuanian’s statement is being noticed, at least in Moscow. Five days later Gorbachev demands to Lithuania immediately rescind its declaration. Lithuanians do not bend. So another week later there is an order for all foreign diplomats to leave territory of Lithuania within twelve hours. On top of that Soviet Foreign Ministry announces that no journalists will get permission to visit Lithuania. Preparations for a bloodbath?

The tank columns enter the streets of the capital, Vilnius, accompanied by Soviet fighter planes buzzing above heads. The tension is growing by hour and seems that Moscow is seriously preparing to crush the disobedient.

‘You think they will repeat the Baku scenario?’ dad sounds worried now.

‘If they have banned journalists... Everything is possible, you know.’

Yeah, we know. On January 19th Soviet forces audaciously crushed Azerbaijani’s People Front. Late at night Soviet special troops started with demolition of the local TV and closing down the radio and phone lines. They were followed by Soviet troops, smashing barricades and firing into the crowds for three long days. About a thousand were injured and the death toll numbers are still unknown but the opposition estimates it around three hundred. In February Baku was followed by Soviet tanks crushing people in Kirghizia and Tajikistan.

 The reaction of the International community was… zero.

‘Without international support – what chances we have? Be real!’

‘I’m more concerned about what our Supreme Council will do.’

‘Dad, whatever happens now we have only two options: to carry on or hide back in bushes with tail between our legs. And you know better than I do that we are past that point when the wheel can be turned backwards.’

‘Yeah, probably...’

‘So it will all come to the end somehow, one way or another.’

I put the receiver down and bury head in my hands. What if... The pressure is getting on me. The phone rings again. I do not want to talk it over again and again. But probably I must to. ‘Hello?’

‘Listen, I need your advice!’

‘Andrew? You mean an advice like you get a girlfriend and now she is pregnant?’

‘Seriously! I’m in Vilnius right now...’ Andrew? In Vilnius? Our apolitical friend is right there?

‘How it’s there? Scary? Gloomy?’

 ‘Here? I don’t know. Some rain. See, the bugger kicked the bucket.’

Of course. It’s silly to expect Andrew assessing the political environment surrounding him. ‘Who’s the guilty?’ I’m certain that death bed Andrew is so dramatically mourning over now, doesn’t belong to a human being. ‘Your favourite cockroach?’

‘Worse. An eagle.’

‘Right!‘ I grab my coffee mug and pull the chair closer to phone. ‘What happened? Did you told him one too much of these old jokes of yours?’

‘Stop pissing around, it’s a real drama! I got these two white tailed eagles from the farm, in the depth of our beloved Soviets. Trust me, they are not cheap even there! Then I travel with them across the whole to Europe, and when we are nearly there, one bugger dies!’

‘So you want to say that as soon this poor Soviet eagle dragged in the independent air of Lithuania, it died? Groovy!’

‘You laugh, but to complete all the transit paperwork! It’s a nightmare, and now I have no time to get another eagle!’

‘Well, take one bird!’

‘But the papers are for two!’

‘Then take another bird.’

‘I can’t. Papers are for eagles... I have one pheasant that I would like to take, but it’s a pheasant.’

‘Andrew, listen! The eagles are in proper travel cages, right?’ I shout in receiver giggling.

‘Yes, the thick wood.’

‘So even with a flashlight you can only peek a little in, right?’

‘Yes, but...”

‘How’s the pheasant? One of these flashy ones?’

‘No, it’s completely gray; a bit of white on wings only.‘

‘Perfect!’

‘Yes, but even a border guard can spot the difference between an eagle and a pheasant!’ Andrew is still not convinced.

‘You will be surprised! How big chances are that you will stumble upon persistent officer with the degree in ornithology and vultures as a particular hobby? Common! Nobody will dare to open these cages! And if suddenly there are doubts, you can tell them all about gender dimorphism or something like that. All that matters is the right paperwork! See you later!’

 

‘There are some fresh newspapers, I thought you will enjoy them,’ says Uldis, taking out of his huge bag Times and Herald.

‘Oh, fantastic!’ dad puts them aside with a noticeable regret but they must wait for now. The little miracle has happened – my father had found his childhood friend who emigrated during the war. To be precise – his friend has found him. They hadn’t seen each other for some fifty years and today is the day. Reunion.

Since Iron Curtain started to rust, exile community is searching for ways back home. At the beginning these were just two short days, part of Baltic-Leningrad strictly guided tour by Intourist, but now American, British and Australian Latvians are coming back like a tide. Nice. Quite.

‘Hi, you, old bat!’ Uldis has wonderful Hollywood smile, especially in comparison with the robust metal caps my father managed to get when he returned from the gulag. There were five friends, back in thirties, inseparable. Only two of them have survived. One here, another one in America.

Uldis looks taller than my dad and has so much confidence! His wife, Anny, is quieter – maybe because of the language. She is a German American while Uldis is Latvian. ‘I can’t imagine I’m finally here, mate!’ Uldis open his arms for a proper bear hug, emotional tears streaming down his face.

It started few months ago with a careful phone call, then few letters and now Uldis is here.

My parents had been preparing for the big event for weeks now in full force. Red Bohemian Chrystal glasses are sparkling in candle light, table silver is polished, and everything – from caviar to roasted pork, from smoked eel to stuffed tomatoes look perfect.

‘How do you do that?’ Uldis eyes the exuberant table. ‘I saw the shops, they are totally empty.’

Father smiles. Even if we are these poor Soviet cousins, we have our pride. ‘Oh, there is always the market.’ Dad lightly waves the question away. What he forgets to mention is the black market, the friends-of-influence and the price of all this abundance. ‘Once in a fifty years...’

Anny sits with a polite smile and when old boys remember about her presence, some bits of the conversation is translated to her. But all in all the whole thing is filled with “do you remember...”. Father had sorted out all the old photographs and now they are trying to remember in which corner the baby grand was standing back in 1935.

It is a sweet-and-sour reunion. Uldis had one life while my father – completely different and building bridges now isn’t easy. The ancients believed exile a worse punishment than death but all these years under Soviet rule we were thinking about people out there as the lucky ones. I look at Uldis stance, his attitude and think how my father’s life might turn out if not the Soviet prison camps and the rest.

‘The Russification here!’ Uldis lifts his eyebrows in disapproval. ‘I went in to buy some flowers and the shop assistant didn’t understand a word! How dare they?’ He is genuinely shocked. ‘I was talking with my cousins here a lot and I noticed that they are using so many Russian words, you know. Good job that we in exile kept our language clean.’

Father smiles and nods. They both are old men and have no point to fight. Uldis has his beliefs which kept him going. The truth is – his speech is as full with Anglicisms as ours with Russian.

‘And this is my granddaughter Cory!’ Uldis proudly leans over a picture. ‘She is so cute! I pay her a dollar for each Latvian word she learns!’

‘And?’ father quizzically looks over the table. I giggle as I remember him paying me for learning  English words. Only they were paid in Soviet roubles instead of dollars, of course.

Uldis opens his hands. ‘Sadly I’m still quite a wealthy man.’

‘And your son? Cory’s father?’

‘He speaks some, yes, but...’American style positivism suddenly disappears from Uldi’s face. ‘The truth is, there will be just few left after us. We are a perishing generation, mate. We tried to keep up but the next generation... They had no point, with this Iron Curtain and such... It was hopeless. It’s up to you here now!’

‘Yes, I can imagine that wasn’t easy for you.’ Father nods.

‘This pork is rather nice!’ Uldis lift his fork up. ‘Oh, and the sauerkraut! Anny makes it at home sometimes but of course, without any real fat.’ He happily winks. ‘How do you keep yourself so slim?’

Father shrugs. ‘Never thought about that. I guess I’m the lucky one.’ It’s not the right time to explain that since the diet, offered at the Soviet prison camp, dad can barely eat anything. I saw him this evening already sneaking several times to the kitchen for his teaspoon of bicarbonate soda.  

When the memory and family parts are over they bite into current political events.

‘While Uncle Sam will keep his head in bushes, nothing will happen.’

Sadly, dad seems right with this one. The hopes for the international support are drying out by every next day. Sure, we do have screaming media coverage in the West, especially Lithuanians right now. But if you look more carefully, no state officials (or any officials at all, to be honest) had reached out even for a vague handshake. Nada. Zilch. Especially the big boys – America, Britain, Germany and France.

‘But its price we must pay for the not recognition de jure, you know! They can’t with one hand say that we had been illegitimately incorporated and then with other hand shake hands of your officials who are illegitimate because they are Soviet.’ Uldis has a valid point.

‘But everything is changing now! Sure they must be able to find a way!’ Mum suddenly chimes in, rearranging plates.

‘Probably. But nobody will rock Gorby’s boat!. Gorby can’t do wrong right now, trust me.’ Uldis shakes his head dismissively.

‘Indeed. What’s the whole Soviet empire in comparison with this little bunch of Baltic States?’ Dad, as usual, is quite skeptical. Or – let’s be precise – more realistic.

‘Yeah, Germany will definitely keep the trap shot until the army will be completely out and America wants Gorby reforms to achieve, that’s for sure.’ Uldis nods towards Anny, who with a stiff, distant smile gazes at her husband. ‘And for Gorby letting Eastern bloc go is painful enough.’

‘Sure, Baltic States are worse – we are part of the Soviet Union. Touching borders can sink Gorby’s boat easily.’ Father agrees. ‘So, like it or not, we were swept under a carpet in Teheran and Yalta and we must stay there. Right now we are a nuisance for all the big boys, not only in Moscow.’

Mother brings in the crystal bowls with strawberries in cream sauce, decorated with whipped cream.

‘Fantastic!’ Uldis leans over the bowl. ‘I remember the scent! From your garden? Believe or not, they do not have any aroma at all in States. Flowers too, you know.’

I watch Anny carefully pushing the whipped cream aside. By some unknown reason it makes me want to scream. ‘Can we get Reagan back?’ I chip in with a forced giggle. ‘We loved Reagan. He was rough and tough; the bears in Moscow at least had some respect for him.’

‘A Democrat candidate would do better,‘ Uldis raises a finger. ‘Yeah, right wing Republicans always had been supporters of Baltic States, but that’s all talk, you know. Just when something valid had been done, it’s always been under Democrats. Think about Carter.’

‘Whatever, the current attitude towards Lithuania is disgusting!’

‘Yeah, I can’t understand it, actually.’ Uldis shakes his head. ‘Anyway, let’s leave politics to politicians. We have better things to do.’ He opens one of the huge suitcases and takes out a heap of clothes.

‘Mate, indeed,’ father feels really uncomfortable. ‘We do not walk around here really naked, you know.’

‘I saw your shops. They are empty. Do not worry, I love shopping! Since I retired I have nothing better to do anyway. Shopping and golf. You just can’t sit all day long and watch telly!’

And so clothes are spread out. Each piece has a little tag with our names on. Seems that Uldis have had put his heart in it.

‘Now, tell me, honestly, what you really would like to get from US because I’m planning to come over the next year as well.’ Uldis asks with a warm smile.

Father takes a moment for some thoughts, then looks helplessly at mum and me. ‘Well...’

 There are so much we would like to have but so little we are ready to ask for.

‘Maybe some coffee, you know.’ Father after a long pause finally burst out.

‘Yeah, right,’ Uldis clasps his hands. ‘What kind of coffee? Any particular sort?’

Father looks helplessly at mum. ‘Any. You know, we are not spoiled here,’ he uncomfortably laughs. ‘But really, you do not need to bother! Trust me, we are ticking by.’

‘Yes, I see!’ Uldis points at the table. ’It’s hard to believe that you eat like this on a daily basis, isn’t it? I know, I know,’ he waves away when dad opens mouth to replay. ‘Don’t say anything. I’d understand.’

‘Now, when you had been back,’ fathers draw a breath for the question he wanted to ask all afternoon. ‘If the miracle happens and we shall get our independence back – will you return?’

It’s an awkward silence then Uldis pulls himself together. ‘I’m an old man now. It is too late for us to change. My life is there where my health insurance works.’ He laughs uncomfortably. We nod. We do understand.

Then talks go back on the safer grounds like malls and housing markets. American, of course.

‘So much of a life interrupted some fifty years ago,’ sighs father later, when Uldis and Anny have left. ‘He was such a bright boy back then! Into books and such. Maybe...‘

It looks like father is shocked by his own thoughts. ‘Maybe our life here haven’t had been so bad after all. As we do not have pension funds to invest and no supermarket sales to attend, we had time to think.’

It is hard to look at dad’s face, crunched in pain.

‘I’m sure, if not the prison camp, I probably would end up worse that Uldis – back then I was the jolly one, into partying, booze and painting. I’d never meet the people I met there, in Vorkuta. It was the best university, really. You learn the things which really matters.’

‘Like what?’

‘Pride helps. I remember Japan pilots, war prisoners, who went down the shaft every day in white gloves. Imagine the effort there to keep them white? It was their pride. The Muslims who died because the only nutritional food available there was fat pork and even that only sometimes... It was their pride to hold on their beliefs. You know, the people who quickly lost their face there... were people without the pride, without beliefs.’

He slowly lifts the pair of trousers, left by Uldis. ‘I know, he means really well, but...’

‘Let’s look at the newspapers better.’ And we all three dive into unseen news from the different reality while children quietly try to stack Hershey’s in to a pyramid. 

‘I remembered one more thing,’ father suddenly announces in a quiet, barely audible voice unfolding the newspaper. ‘It was a sunny day back then in Vorkuta and we were walking outside after the shift in mine. I felt really down, seriously considering a suicide when a man behind me suddenly said the crazy words. ‘It all soon will be over, just hold on.’ Over? He must be out of his mind, I thought. Stalin was stronger than ever, and we all, with our twenty-five plus years sentences... You know, it all felt so hopeless back then. How it can end up? The man, he was a doctor, Dr Lukin, explained it to me. ‘If so many people are living with one strong thought in their hearts and minds, the things happen. Minds are such a strong thing!’ You know, today I understood something. We do have that one strong thought here. It’s not about fuller fridge or thicker wallet. We all want one simple thing – independence. So things will change.’

 

Chapter  28   

‘If you hope that I’ll be nursing eagles around here, you are mistaken, my friend.’ I angrily reach under the table as Joachim must go into his cage right now. ‘But I can offer you a gulp of water if you consume such substances. Okay, I might be nice once more. Coffee or tea?’

‘None of mentioned yet. Can I put it here?’ Andrew carefully carries one of the heavy cages across the room and puts in the corner. ‘That’s the eagle. He will be okay right now. Do you have a hammer? The pheasant would do with some refreshments. Do you have some space in the fridge?’

‘Since they introduced coupons I have a lot of space in fridge.’

‘Well, then,’ Andrew takes out of his shoulder bag a long bundle, wrapped in plastic. ‘I skinned it and salted yesterday, but it will keep better in fridge.’

‘What?’

‘The eagle. Tomorrow I need to find a good taxidermist. Do you know anybody?’

‘You took the dead one with you???’

‘Of course, even dead one will fetch some thousands if done nicely.’ Andrew looks surprised about my ignorance.

‘I see. So you exploit poor animals even after the death. Why I’m not surprised?’ I tut mockingly.

Carl patiently stands with a hammer in his hand, with the gang behind him. ‘Can we have a peek?’

‘Definitely not in that one! You can’t mess with eagles.’ Andrew sounds very serious. ‘But I’ll show you the dead one after the pheasant will have a snack.’

Andrew, with Carl’s assistance, pulls out nails and lifts off the top a little. “Here you go, a bit of fresh air first!’

‘Feel free breathing! We are not deadly like Lithuanians. Yet.’ I mock watching how the poor pheasant blinks eyes. We silently gaze at the poor bird, trying to assess his current condition.

‘Do you have some vegetables? Like a beetroot?’ Noticeably relieved, Andrew draws his attention back to me.

While Andrew prepares pheasant’s dinner, I drag from the cellar Jane’s old cage. ‘This will suit the poor bugger better, at least tonight he will have a bit more space.’ I suspiciously look at the bird which has been taken out of the wooden box, called travelling cage and sits, still blinking between Andrew’s feet. ‘He doesn’t look very lively for me. Are you sure that this one is not planning to kick the bucket as well?’

‘Don’t worry, they are quite sturdy.’

‘That “quite” is that worries me!’

The bird puts his head in the bowl, dig for a while there, and then make a weak, gurgling noise.

‘You call this sturdy? He sounds like it’s his last supper!’

‘Actually its she, and right now sounds very contented!’ Andrew finally produces a beaming smile.

‘Well, then, if you are so sure, I will repeat one more time. Tea or coffee?’

‘Tea would be nice,’ Andrew rubs his palms and reaches in the bag for a bottle. ‘With a little top off...’ He winks. ‘Well, then, who wants to look at the eagle?’

All three silently watch Andrew unwrapping the bundle.

‘It’s not big!’ Carl is disappointed when finally the dear feathered departed is revealed. ‘Eagles are huge! I saw on TV!’ My other two little ones also do not look very impressed over the skinned bird.

‘Wait a minute! Can I put these away?’

When table is cleared, Andrew carefully pulls out one wing. It opens like these Japanese Three Elephants’ umbrellas which fit in your handbag comfortably but spring out into a full size in a second. ‘Oho!’ children are impressed finally.

When Andrew stretches out the other wing, eagle is taking the whole length of our large dining room table, and tips of the wings are still hanging over the edges.

‘That’s something! Carl whispers. ‘Now he looks like one on TV!’

‘Does the one alive need water or something?’ I nod towards the wooden cage in the corner.

‘Vultures don’t need much water. He will be fine till tomorrow.’

When eagle’s wings are folded back in and bundle finally tucked in the fridge, Andrew stretches out legs under the table. ‘Right, then, little folks, I have a present for you.’ He takes out of the bag a small plastic sandwich box. ‘Do you have a spare aquarium or something?’

Gosh! I know Andrew means well but not another one, please, not another....

‘Since I moved my fish into the big tank in the kitchen... a really small will do?’

‘It will be just right.’

My old, 40 litres, tank is full of empty film rolls. It takes some time while they are cleared out. ’Okay, what’s next?’

‘Some pebbles and a handful of water. From aquarium, please.’

Finally everything is ready and Andrew opens the box. ‘A freshwater crab! From Nigeria!’

The large crab climbs out of the box and splashes in the water, leaving out only his eyes which are positioned, like, on little poles.

Three noses press against the tank’s glass. ‘He is funny!’ Kate excitedly squeals. ‘So cute!’

‘What we will feed him?’ Carl is a bit concerned.

‘Crabs are not picky. The same krill what you feed to fish, and algae, fresh or in flakes.’

The outside door slams. ‘Hi!’ John is back. I rush with dinner, while John catches up with Andrew.

‘So tell, how it’s going in Belorussia now?’

‘Vodka is still cheap.’

‘Seriously! We heard about some demonstrations, but not much.’

‘I’m dead serious. While vodka is cheap, nothing will happen. It’s all down to economy.’

Yeah, probably Andrew is right. Most likely. Really, how many of us would be marching out on streets for the abstract political independence and freedom? Language, yes... But in general political activity is directly conditional to the capacity of the fridge... Even most devoted communists get wobbly if forced to gaze at a tin of cod filets in a crappy tomato sauce all week long. The colour of the flag is not so important, the contents of the fridge are. How many of us are just hoping to see a bit better life whatever that means?

‘How long the cheap vodka will keep the nation down?’

‘Forever, trust me, for ever...’

Later when Andrew has left for the hotel and we are finally in bed, I remember. ‘John, don’t open that white plastic bundle in fridge. It’s an eagle there. Cheese I moved to the top shelf if you feel peckish.’

The scaffolding is off, I notice walking through the centre. Crosses, gold platted, are up. A Latvian couple from Germany had spent a lot of money on the project but finally crosses are back on top of Russian Orthodox Cathedral. It feels right. It feels as it’s supposed to be. Another small victory, I tick the list in my head. The previous was few month ago when new draft law about religious institutions had been published. It’s still not ideal but so much better than the current one. I’m not a politician and I prefer shadows instead of lime lights, but we are quite steadily ticking by.

Nothing has happened in Lithuania so far. After the tanks are withdrawn, Gorby throws economical blockade at Lithuanians. Within three days oil and natural gas supply from Russia is cut off.

The big boys in Moscow and Washington play intense diplomatic chess but Gorby is as stubborn as Lithuanians. They must to annul their independence declaration. Or suspend, at least. Lithuania stands proud against Moscow and Washington.

‘German Chancellor Kohl and French President Mitterand called for Lithuania to suspend their independence declaration. Just heard on news,’ John grimly announces when I let Charlie in. Vita arrived earlier, just to borrow some white glue. 

‘What?!?’ Charlie seems genuinely shocked. He quickly strokes Keggy, then crash in the chair, removing a long, sticky string of slobber from his jeans. ‘Is this the support from the West?’

‘Are you surprised that all these years of waffling about de jure was just an empty blob? I’m not.’

‘No, really! Is this the kind of support they are ready to offer? Just put your head back in sack and do not disturb? Bastards! Fucking bastards!’ Vita hits the desk so hard that coffee mugs jump and some spills out on today’s newspaper.

‘Who needs enemies if we have such friends?’ Charlie spits the words out over the beer bottle with fierce venom.

We sit in silence, chewing on the news. Yeah, right. Lithuania had its say and had been hit on head hard. From everybody. Which means that we know exactly what to expect then when we shall say our word.

‘Shall we?’ The whole thing starts looking really hopeless.

‘Of course we shall! Oh, we are as stubborn as Lithuanians.’ Vita’s eyes are flaming. ‘But yes, it’s harder when you know that there will be no allies at all.’

‘At least it saves the unpleasant surprise.’ Charlie adds, trying to push Keggy’s head out of his lap.

‘Don’t you worry; we’ll have plenty of these ahead!’

Time is flying now. Radio and TV are on non-stop, John brings home the daily heap of newspapers, but it feels that there are too many things going on at once to even keep track of the events. Election time!

Thankfully I had enough savvy to reject the offer to run as well. Politics, I mean, proper politics, is not for me. Too many compromises and evasive small talk. I’m too much of a dissident by default. Fuck it! It’s enough excitement to watch this bedlam from the side. These are our first elections! The real ones, with several candidates for each constituency, with “them” and “us” fighting for the chairs. And not only for chairs! We all realize that’s our future, our life we are going to vote for!

Of course, “we” win. In total majority of constituencies. Moscow quickly starts pushing for signing a new Union agreement. If we’d sign, it would turn the current de facto into the dreadful de jure. Our winners insist on necessity to become an independent subject by international law. Hopefully we’ll stand strong!

The May 1st hits me very hard when the new coupons are introduced. Two kilograms flour, two kilograms of any grouts and a half kilo of any kind of pasta per person for... the next FOUR months?!?

‘At this rate soon we’ll be chewing grass only,’ I groan, screening the contents in our pantry. ‘Who can explain me how to feed a family of five with 625 grams of pasta for the whole month? It hardly makes one meal for us!’

‘Course, there are still potatoes on the market, but the whole doesn’t look promising at all, especially for Keggy,’ John shakes head in disbelief. ‘And we are not even under the blockade. Yet. Shall we manage?’

‘Say “Joachim and Keggy will share a potato”, Rob!’ Carl mocks, parodying my speech exercises. We all burst out in laughs. It’s not only for fun. We are learning. Day by day. It’s still not perfect, Rob’s speech, but you do not need guessing anymore to understand what he says. Older he gets, better he manages his clumsy tongue. It’s obvious that I was right and doctors were wrong on this one. In a big way. He is as bright as Carl. He is speaking and speaking properly now. So I’ll fight for the next step – the school. He is four now, we still have some time, but I am determent - when it will be time for him to go to school, there will be one right for him just around the corner!

Rob is still walking around; no wheelchair yet. Some days we slowly manage to make even ten kilometres, step by step. So maybe doctors were wrong on this one as well? Maybe after all he will live?

On May 3rd the newly elected Supreme Council starts. There are 131 “our” members of parliament who are supposed to support the Independence, and 57 “their” members, supporters of the Soviets. Sounds good, our majority, but for the final walkout we need solidly two thirds of votes. It’s tight. It’s very, very tight!

The pressure is growing by hour. Lithuanians did it right on the first day. Ours ... not. Ours spend the whole day, slowly electing a new chairman, and a deputy chairman, and so on and on with our heads impatiently pressed at radio.

 ‘They don’t rush on voting deliberately! I bet there are some deals going on right now...’ The crowd outside the Parliament building is worried but still optimistic.

The next morning arrives bright and sunny. Today is the DAY! We start early. We gather there. Around the Parliament building. On the narrow streets of Old Town and when it’s full there as well, on Embankment. Flags, flowers and radios. And excited people.

The voting starts. It’s open, there is no hiding behind the anonymity. The nation has rights to know its heroes... the countdown.

Sun is shining and little radios pressed against ears. ‘One “for”... two... the third... that one “against”... Thousands of lips repeat the announcements inside the Parliament building. We freeze in anticipation. Do we believe that’s possible? No. But we believe in miracle.

Finally... We did it!!! The big “YESSS” runs through the crowds. We did it!!! Independence declaration is signed!

“Our” deputies, one by one, leave the Parliament building, greeted right on steps with flowers and endless cheers, and solemnly walk towards the embankment. Yes, we must celebrate this moment together!

It’s one happy, overwhelming blur. I hug John and he hugs me, and then we hug children, and then few strangers around us. We hug, shout, cheer, sing. Shoulder by shoulder. Together. United. We did it!

‘There must be a million here today!’

‘Who cares about numbers? We all are here, the whole country! Independence! Can you believe it? Independence!’

Our joy doesn’t last very long. At first about five thousands of hardcore communists and their supporters try to attack the parliament building. OMON, the team of Soviet Special Forces have difficulties to stop them. A week later the hardcore communists unite officially, creating Rescue Committee with one aim – to restore Soviet ruling over us again.

‘Gorby has voided the independence declaration as illegal, according to Soviet constitution,‘ John smirks, listening the news. ‘It took him ten days to work this out.’

‘And what that means?’

‘Nothing, of course! It’s all bullshit. It’s done; and done according to the Soviet Law which is basically an absurdity to itself.’

But Gorbachev has his own plan. He demands to suspend the independence declarations in Baltic and offer talks instead regarding some kind of union of independent states. At the end of June Lithuania finally agree on 100 day independence moratorium for talks with Soviets and finally, on 2nd July, the economic blockade for Lithuania is over. Strangely it doesn’t feel like a defeat.

‘What’s next?’ We do not know.

‘A bit sad, don’t you think? Feels like landing back on your bum after an exciting flight.’ I pour the strong tea in the mug. The days of coffee in our household are gone. Even dad has none at all.

Independent Latvia was like a fairytale you heard as a child and took with you in your adulthood. The only problem– adults know that fairytales are just that - fairytales. That there never will be a prince on the white horse to recue you with “and they lived happily after” shit at the end. How hard you will try, there will never be the princess and half of the kingdom in addition waiting for you at that end.

But in some mysterious way (the whole nation can’t be so naive, can it?) we still believed deep down that miracles do happen. If we try harder, we shall get our kingdom at the end even if we need to kiss some ugly frog on the way.

It must be the fault of fairytales with that “they lived happily after” bit at the end because there was not much thoughts about that “after” bit. Estonians seemed wiser trying to set up independent economy prior jumping the political cliff, but Lithuanians and we were the hotheads. The dreamers. The ones who believed in fairytales. We must jump. We must get our independence, not later than “tomorrow around breakfast time” as one of the cool heads pointed. Did we listened to that voice in the wilderness? Nope, we were proud wanting it right now! Economy and other crap we shall sort out later. Barefoot but free!

Now we are. Not exactly free yet, but already barefoot.

Our last congress is over. Movement has voted to go for a full political party, looking for the space somewhere between the theoretical centre and the far end of the right wing. ‘I’m quitting. The time of movements and fronts is gone. Now it’s turn of politicians to march up on the stage. It’s not for me. ’

‘Good thinking, Batman! I wanted suggest the same.’ John slowly rises from his chair, stretching.

‘All this endless baffling, backstage chess, business interests... Nope, not for me. The revolution is over and amateurs must go home. Return to each of their own.’

‘The moor has done his duty. The moor can go. As usual.’

‘Exactly! But in our case it’s the right thing to do! So... what’s next?’ I look at John.

‘Actually Netta has had an offer for us; she called yesterday. Bookbinding, and some minor restoration, nothing special. 25 bucks per book. Interested?’

Finally divorced from her bellowed Forkie, Netta has been working in Sweden for past two months, renovating the castle for some nouveau riche crawfish farmer. Wages are far from Swedish but Netta is happy. Few months away from Nana is an opportunity to enjoy.

‘Sounds fine to me. Will get some cheese on our sandwiches.’

‘Then I will tell her tomorrow if she will call.’

 

Chapter  29

‘Talk about cooperation!’ my mum with a sigh resigns from the greenhouse. ‘The salad is basically gone.’

‘Why? Some mildew?’ I ask airily, sipping coffee. I’d spent the whole morning admiring mother’s roses, peonies, irises, and... You name it. Even with a large coffee mug in my hands I have started to feel exhausted by now.

‘Yeah, called Keggy Plop. Go and look!’

I peek into the greenhouse. They both are there – Plop is rummaging in the salad while Keggy patiently wait in the middle between the rows. Plop pulls out a head and quickly removes the green bits for himself and then Keggy crunches the white stems left.

‘Ouch, indeed, not many left. Sorry, mum, but it was your idea to put Plop in the greenhouse.’

‘Yes, I know, but look what he has done to the kohlrabi already!’

‘Who? Plop?’ It is hard to imagine Plop clearing out the whole kohlrabi row in a morning. Not possible even with his appetite.

‘No, Keggy.’

‘Ouch! I didn’t know Keggy is such a vegetarian.’

But there is no eulogy for the gone salad or kohlrabi. Mum doesn’t look devastated at all, more like amused. She seems even quite thrilled that there is at least somebody who really appreciates her darling kohlrabi.

‘If they’ll find strawberries, you are dead!’ mother pokes her finger at my chest.

‘Where else we can put him in? I mean Plop, I do not want him wonder around; he can be quite fast.’

‘A tortoise? Fast? I have a proper fence all around!’

‘You’d be surprised!’

‘How about that flowerbed? Mum points at her lily bed with few peonies, an asparagus shrub and some delphiniums in the middle. ‘Only perennials there, nothing he can ruin. It has high borders so no escape.’

‘Are you sure? I do not want him turning your pride into a desert.’

‘Positive. Let’s have another cup. I’ll put the kettle on.’

Cottage is my mother’s pride and escape. Not exactly the cottage itself but the garden. We sit outside and discuss the growth of Brasilia, her favourite sort of irises and then some tomato sorts, and then courgettes. It’s not exactly my sort of things but it’s great to put all the political hassle aside for a while.

‘You know, I think it’s time for me to take the pack for a swim.’

The cottage compound has its own lake. It’s perfect with smooth sandy banks and shallow slope for children to swim safely. It’s normally a fifteen minute walk but with Rob... ‘We shall be back when we shall be.’

Mum helps collect children, swimming gear and finally Keggy who has sneaked into the gooseberry bushes behind the greenhouse.

‘We must visit Angelica’s babies first!’

We released all nine little monsters a year ago here, on the bank of the little stream which feeds the lake. Since then when we are at the cottage to go there in hope to see “our babies”.

The banks of the stream are steep, covered with thick bushes and nettles but Rob is determined. For past few months he is trying to do everything by himself despite how hard the thing might be. I plop on the patch of grass and quickly light my first cigarette to keep mosquitoes away. In this thick moist shade they are as nasty as mosquitoes can be.

It hurts thinking how hard this road is for Rob but I can’t interfere. I can’t. I grit my teeth. ‘How it’s going?’

‘It’s okay, mum! Don’t you worry! Yes!!!!!’ There are two!’

‘One here!’

‘And another one!’

Voices are muted by the rushing water and rustling leaves, disturbed by the slight breeze. According to excitement level, they have found grass snakes. Good. I light the next cigarette.

‘Look, mum, it’s one of ours, I’m sure!’ Kate emerges out of the nettles, happily showing me a baby grass snake. Be nice or go for the truth? The truth.

‘This one is just a baby, ours must be like adults now.’

‘Yes, mum, I know, but this one must be a baby of our babies, like Angelica’s grandchild!’

‘Oh, I see. Might be, indeed. Can we go swimming now?’

‘Wait for Rob! You will see!’

Rob’s speech has improved so much that we can communicate with him in full now. His physical abilities, in contrary, are attenuated and not improving thus it’s a long and painful wait watching him battle with the steep slope.

Finally Rob is back, followed by Carl.

‘Bugger I didn’t think about that!’ Carl sounds annoyed when Rob makes the final steps, pulling out a bundle from under his t-shirt. It looks like mum’s pillowcase.

‘What’s that?’

‘Look, mum!’

Rob opens the top of the pillowcase and gently lifts out a black swarming ball.

‘Rob! It looks like hundreds of them! Did you catch them all?’

‘See? So many! Babies of our babies, all happy here! Cool, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, indeed, but it would be better to put them back now. They probably have their own plans for the day.’

‘Yeah, probably. Last year there were only few, remember? Now there are so many, they can have proper party!! With our help they’ll not become extinct.’

I’m sure that grass snakes are not exactly under the danger of extinction right now, especially here but I decide not start a lecture on the Red Book animals – any animal protected is good. Except mosquitoes, of course.

Kate is quite willing to part with babies while Rob decides to say good bye to each one so it takes some time.

‘Done? Can we go swimming before mosquitoes take my last drop of blood, please? Keggy, let’s go!’ But Keggy has sneaked away already. According to the screams from the lake, it is obvious where he has gone.

‘Shit! Run, Carl, run! Kate, Rob, you‘ll catch up!’ Leaving little ones behind on the path, I rush after Carl. There are no reasons for real worries because Keggy is gentle and all mum’s neighbours know him good enough but still – you do not want an eighty KG dog dragging you out of water.

Keggy is obsessed with saving humans from various dangerous bits. Swimming is definitely the one. Bicycles are the other. By some unknown reason Keggy detests bicycles. Another big thing is fur hats. Each and every time when Keggy sees a person in one of these fluffy, Doctor Zhivago style fur hats, he is getting very suspicious. Maybe hat look like an animal for Keggy, attacking people from above?

Keggy also doesn’t like wheelie bins and old sofas left out in remote corners, especially in dark. Actually there are quite a lot Keggy is not really happy with but at the end with a sympathetic sigh he accepts this such-so-not-perfect world.

When I reach the lake, Keggy, surrounded by happily screaming children, calmly stands in the water, wagging tail. Nobody seems scared. I slowly breathe in to relax.

Carl also is standing in the water and screaming, only sounds that he is very angry.

‘What’s happened?’

‘Bloody Russians!’

‘Watch your language, young man! Why Russians?’

‘Glass!’ Carl groans angrily, trying to skip out of water on one leg. ‘Look!’

There is a broken bottle in his hand. Smashing bottles left and right has become some Soviet kind of entertainment. Before Soviet era each bottle was neatly stored to be reused again. Now broken glass is everywhere. But maybe it’s only because back in thirties even an empty bottle had some value. Nowdays the few kopecks’ refund is definitely not enough to be bothered with.

 ‘Sit here and don’t do anything!’

I run to slowly approaching Rob and Kate. ‘Quick! Give me that pillowcase!’ Then back to Carl again. ‘Now, show me the foot.’

 ‘It’s right in the middle of the heel! That’s nasty!’

I whip away the fast running blood. Nasty it is, indeed. Seems like some stitches would be needed. Do they do stitches on heels? I unfold the pillowcase and try to wrap around the foot as tight as I can.

‘Hope it’s empty?’ Carl suspiciously asks through clenched teeth. ‘I’d like not to thread on snakes, you know.’

‘Especially on Rob’s, I know.’

We sit for a while watching Rob and Kate playing with Keggy. Game is quite simple. You go as deep as you can, then wait for Keggy to grab your arm and gently drag you out on shallow grounds. Then repeat the whole routine again. And again.

‘How we’ll get back? I’ll need to carry Rob. Will you manage?’

‘Must to.’

I can see that Carl is pulling on his “I’m the big boy” hat on but I have no choice. We slowly walk back – Carl is holding on Keggy’s back while I carry Rob piggyback and Kate is fighting with the weight of our swimming bag.

‘You are back!’ Mum happily clasps, emerging from the strawberry beds. ‘Had a nice swim?’

‘Keggy had.’ Carl grunts, crashing on the bench outside. Mum rushes around with disinfectant and bandages, plastic bags and flip-flops. When finally Carl is sorted out, it’s time to pack home.

‘Where is Plop’s box?’

Kate provides the box and collect some grass while I dive in the delphiniums looking for our tortoise. ‘Mum, have you relocated him? He is not here!’

‘Must be! Look under peonies!’

I do. I look under each peony bush, digging through soft soil with my fingers, but he is not here. Plop is gone. We quickly check the rest of the fenced garden but no turtles on sight. Oh, shit!

‘He can’t be gone far! Check on the street.’ Mum stays calm. Sadly she has no idea how far this tortoise can go if he has decided so. It’s hopeless. He can be anywhere. What to do?

An hour later we are saved by Liga, one of Kate’s friends. ‘This is yours?’ She stands at the gate, holding Plop tightly. ‘He was in our garden.’

‘Oh, thank you!’ Kate quickly tucks the fugitive in his box.

‘Oh, he scared the shit out of my grandma. She was weeding and suddenly “a bowl, upside down” walked past her,’ Liga giggles. ‘That was some fun, including heart drops.’

‘See, mum? You said that he can’t go far.’ Liga’s grandparents live at least half a kilometre from us in a straight line. ‘Now you’ll believe me. Well, it has been a lovely day but we must go. I want somebody at hospital to look at Carl’s foot. That cut is deep.’

 ‘It has been a nice day,‘ at home John greets us with a beaming smile. ‘Lucky you. Have you enjoyed at gran’s? ‘

‘Plop had,’ I grunt, spreading out on sofa. ‘I’m done.’

‘Yes, great! So many new babies!’ Rob dreamily bites in the strawberry.

‘Yeah,’ Carl nods, nursing his wrapped leg, ‘we might go next weekend again.’

 ‘Now we are free. Independent! Guess what? The streets are still littered, shop assistants are still rude and shelves are even emptier than before!’  Charlie alone sulks at the dining room table. We hadn’t seen Raul for a while. He has his own ways of dealing with depression, moving from poppies to harder stuff.

 ‘Plus we still have the whole Soviet garrison here, and KGB, and loyalty of police is under a question...’ John also feels defeated. Summer has turned into a bleak autumn. 

’Such a fun, indeed!’ John shakes head, turning over the pages of the paper. ‘How long it will take to sort out all this mess?’

‘It’s not exactly that we were looking for! Where is our fairytale!?!’

The awakening was magic. We were so thrilled to watch how miraculously the night was losing its black powers and the wee dawn was braking through. But now we are wide awake and the magic of dawn is long gone. What makes the whole thing even harder is the helplessness creeping up on you. The solidarity, that overwhelming sense of unity is gone.

‘We are now in the wild capitalism which means grab for yourself as much as you can and as fast as you can!’ Charlie spits out bitterly.

‘Yeah, we must be learning the meaning of Homo homini lupus est or what that saying was. The classics!’

‘If you feel crap, imagine how poor Russians feel? It must be really weird – to wake up one morning in your own bed but in a completely different country! With still empty fridge!’ I think about our neighbours. Damn! Who asked for that? Not them, definitely.

‘Ubi bene, ibi patria,’ John bitterly mocks. ‘No patria without that bene...’

 ‘You know, our drumming Prime Minister went to meet with Bush and Baker. Unofficially, of course.’ Charlie raises his head with an evil grin.

‘And?’

‘According to the big boys, our independence can be restored only via Moscow, I heard! As usual. Crap!’

‘But what do you expect? I heard rumours that our rocking man went to the meeting in white socks!’ Charlie carefully pours out the last drop of beer in his glass.

‘Yeah, could happen, I’m not surprised! With our current economy, it might be as well his last pair, don’t you think? Anyway, who cares, it all might be rumours only! Unofficial meetings are only fiction, white socks or not. Yeltsin’s visit here in contrary was very official and the agreement to start recognition talks between Russia and Latvia is something real and very positive.’ I try to find something positive.

We are rushing. In September the first border crossing points are opened on the border with Belorussia. In October, both Germanies are finally united in one.

Life slowly turns into a slightly better road. The restrictions on fuel are eased and a private car now can have 40 litres per month. But feeding a family is still a challenge, I think, slowly screening the shops.

‘Hi!’ It’s Jines. ‘Have you heard? Gorbachev is getting Nobel Peace Prise!’

We stand on the busy street corner and quickly exchange the latest news.

‘Splendid!’ I spit through the gritted teeth. ‘Maybe they needed to give it to the whole KGB then? Would be only fair.’

‘Common! It’s a gesture. For the Germany I think.‘ Probably Jines is right but it still stinks.

‘How neat! How ‘bout Baltics? Oh, yes, of course, nobody cares, right?’

‘Hello?’

I turn around. There is a man standing, smiling cautiously.

I had seen that face, somewhere. But I can’t remember who he is. ‘How are you?’

‘Great, thank you.’ Who is he? One from the movement? No, I don’t think so. I would remember his accent. It’s Jewish....

‘How many children you have now?’ the man carefully asks. Och, he is that doctor! The second one, with his private consultation! Dr Gatt!

‘Недождетесь!’ I put on the broadest smile I can. ‘He is still very alive, thank you very much!’

‘Really?’ Doctor seems very surprised about the news. ‘How interesting! I would like to see him again...’ he pauses for a moment, ‘but then again... I’m not in the hospital anymore.’

‘Why’s that?’

‘I’m finally leaving! For Boston. In America.’

‘America?’

‘Yes, my son is there already, finally through his internship. Now is my turn.’ He is literally shinning. ‘I had been studying English like mad for past few years. Finally out and away from all this!’ He makes a big gesture.

‘You don’t like it here anymore? Our little independence chess?’ I feel a bit offended, to be honest.

‘It’s good, don’t get me wrong here, but...’ doctor looks around and then leans closer. ‘Always keep in mind that Russia is just an hour drive on a tank from here! Always!’ Then he smiles and rubs his palms. ‘I’ll better be gone while I can. I wish you all the luck! And your son too!’ He waves and energetically walks away.

‘It doesn’t look very good,’ Jines sighs. ‘He is right. Whatever, have you heard...’ we quickly go back on the gossip track and the leaving doctor is soon forgotten.

 

Chapter  30

 ‘That was cool!’ Yvonne giggles, showing her arm, ‘Gosh, and painful! The bite of a Green mamba!’

I look at her really impressed. I personally do not know many people who had survived mamba’s bite. ‘You must be proud now! You definitely are the only survivor in the whole country!’

‘Yes, it’s not like they are lurking in every forest around here! I presume, ours is the only one around, even Silvia in Zoo has none. We were packing them in travelling cages when it happened. You know, minivan nearly full, long drive ahead in that cold and then this... ‘

‘What did you do then?’

‘Ouch, the usual stuff - cut deep and suck fast out as much as possible. That’s mamba, you know. Really scared the shit out of me!

‘Me too!’ Roland adds.

‘There was no point to go to a hospital; nobody here keeps antidote for the snake bites. So I decided just carry on with some antihistamines on top and heart drops in pocket.’

‘Awful! And?’

‘When we arrived at the end, this part...’ Yvonne points to her arm, ‘looked like a log, all swollen. It was bloody painful too. If it would be the wild one, I would be dead by then.’

‘I took her to the local hospital in case they can do something...’ Roland chimes in chuckling.

‘Four hours too late anyway! I told you, all they can do is to give me some Novocain!’ Yvonne makes a grimace. ‘Whatever, I went in at hospital’s ER and the doctor asks me what help I need. I show my finger, all wrapped up and explain that I was bitten by a snake. He looks at me, all over, and then looks outside the window. It’s deep snow, you know, something like minus 20 Celsius outside... He looks back at me, at my wild pupils and swollen hand, and then again at the snow outside. You needed to see his face!’ Yvonne laughs in full, ‘Poor sod! But he gave me novocaine blockade anyway, even if he didn’t get my story.’

‘You just needed some drinks! Nothing is better than pure vodka in large quantities, internally!’ Roland burst out in laughs.

‘Yeah, you are just looking for another reason to get plastered, right?’

‘Seriously, it helps! Remember Andrew’s story about giurza?’

‘Yes! I can feel his pain now!’ Yvonne laughs. She turns to me to tell the saga. ‘Just imagine Andrew in his flat, playing with a blunt nosed viper, you know, giurza in Russian,’ Yvonne’s eyes are sparkling.

‘I would like to ask why he kept six of them on his bed stand in the first place but let’s not go that way.’

‘And then the viper bites. The dark night in Belorussia, rows of concrete council flats with nearest phone box miles away and probably broken anyway... And like here, no serum in the whole country. Guess what Andrew did?’

‘I dunno... Got vodka?’

‘Exactly! He decided that that’s it and was determined to make his death as pleasant as possible. So he unlocked apartment doors and left them slightly ajar so neighbours would be able to find him in the morning, then slumped down on the floor in the hall and hit the first bottle... then the second... and finally the third one.’

‘What happened?’

‘He did run out of vodka!’ Roland mocks.

I can feel some tension between these two. Are they growing up or there is something more serious going on.

‘Oh, you know Andrew! Next morning the neighbour kicked him up, grumbling about his drinking habits. Three bottles alone, greedy bastard! You need to share...’ Yvonne leans back in the chair.

‘Mum, ‘uick! I need your ‘elp!’ Rob rushes in the room as fast as he can.

‘What?’ I put my mug on the table.

‘ ‘uriel’s giving a ‘irth, and it’s gone ‘ong! It’s ‘eech ‘irth, I can’t ‘et ‘aby out! It’s ‘uck!’

‘Stop! Wait a minute! Remember, don’t rush when you are speaking. Otherwise it all goes into porridge again. Muriel is having a birth?’

‘Yes, in my bed!’

‘And you are saying that’s a breech birth?’

‘Yes, it’s out, only ‘ead sill in, and it’s not ‘oming out! ‘all ied to pull it out, but its ‘uck ‘ere!’

‘Sounds like a breech birth to me, indeed. Well done, young man!’ Yvonne nods.

‘ ‘uick!, mum!’

I follow Rob to nursery and Yvonne joins in. Our men stay behind’, refusing to get involved in such an obstetric affair. ‘Well keep our fingers crossed for you!’

Muriel, indeed, is laying on Rob’s bed, heavily panting. Yvonne carefully lifts Muriel’s tail. The kitten is hanging out at the back, limp. ‘What a shame, I like ginger cats!’

Children are standing around with sad faces. We were waiting for this day so long! Muriel was shagging around endlessly but so far got pregnant only twice, and both pregnancies went wrong – live embryos in sacks at different stages of development were popping out, leaving Muriel steadily childless This time seemed that she might make it but now...

‘Will the kitten die?’

‘Listen, most likely he’s dead already by now.’ Yvonne is blunt. ‘But inside,’ she gently presses Muriel’s tummy, ‘definitely are more and they might be alive, so we must to act.’

‘ ’esarean?’ Rob asks with pale face.

‘Nope, no point now. And I can’t do it anyway, I’m not a vet plus this!’ She points at her still swollen arm. ‘We shall pull the kitten out.’

‘We?’

‘To be precise, you!’ Yvonne points her wrapped finger at me. ‘Be quick! Otherwise you will be not plus, but minus one cat! Look at her panting!’

I carefully wrap my fingers around the little wet creature and pull. Nothing happens. I pull steadily; increasing the strength... ‘Still nothing happens! I’ll pull his head off! He already looks like a giraffe now!’

‘Keep going, he is gone anyway!’

Children stand, holding hands, with big, scared eyes. I need to save at least Muriel to keep their trust in me! I can’t fail. I pull stronger, and then even more stronger... Finally, with some help from Muriel, little one is out. Luckily still in one piece.

‘Uff!’ I haven’t realised sweat’s dropping from my nose.

‘Now somebody bring Muriel a bit of water and then hopefully she’ll be able to carry on!’ Yvonne puts her unbitten palm on Muriel’s tummy. ‘Definitely there are some more!’

Suddenly I feel like a light movement in my palm.  ‘Yvonne, listen,’ I whisper, ‘it feels like the ginger one is not completely dead yet.’

Yvonne shakes her head. ‘Let’s leave Muriel in peace now for a while. I’ll put TV on or something.’ She ushers children out of the room. ‘You can put him down with Muriel, let her clean him up and such, but ...’ She shakes her head, ‘no way he will make it!’

I quickly prepare a box for Muriel as I prefer Rob using his bed by himself, and relocate the so far merely single child family under the desk.

An hour later it’s all over. ‘Listen all! Luckily we have three kittens, all alive, but don’t you dare to disturb them tonight. A deal?’

‘Sure, mum.’

‘Muriel will be okay?’

‘Looks like. Cats have nine lives, you know, granny always says that.’ I must stay optimistic.

The next morning I peek in the box early. Cats indeed have nine lives. Even the little stuck giraffe is up and sucking strongly. Uff! I feed Muriel a mixture of egg yolks and minced meat and then let the children peek a bit at the little squeaky creatures.

‘Can we call the ginger one Fred?’ Carl offers.

‘Aha,’ Rob nods, ‘and the ‘ittle black ‘un Uffo.’

‘If you can pronounce it, let it be! But then Kate has rights to name the gray one.

‘Can I?’ Kate seems honoured.

‘Yes.’

‘Cinderella!’

Boys burst out laughing. ‘Girls! Gosh, so sleazy!’

‘Why?’ Kate turns sharp at brothers. ‘The gray one definitely looks all smeared with ashes, like Cinderella was! This is a suitable name!’

When Kate gets really angry, boys always give up. ‘Oh, she is her female mode again.‘ Carl sighs with sour face. ‘Can we better have a breakfast now?’

 ‘You know what’s the worse bit?’ John folds the paper and throws it on top of the yesterday’s pile. ‘There are no more of “them” to blame. That’s harsh!’

‘What was on our mind?’ with a sourly face I chew on a yesterday’s sandwich. ‘To get away from Soviets at all costs, right? But where we were going to? Anybody thought about that? No! We were united in one and only one – to get away.’

I hopelessly look into our fridge. If I’ll grind that stale cheese, I might be able to produce a bearable potato soup for dinner. Or a nice mushroom sauce. Yes, there are still few jars of wild mushrooms left.

 ‘Estonians were thinking about economy and such,’ John scrawls his face. ‘But they haven’t landed much better.’

Phone rings and I reach for the receiver.

‘Listen,’ its Yvonne, ‘we are a bit in a shit right now. We’ll be going tomorrow to Lithuania with the whole thing and Regina is coughing badly. Can you help?’

‘How?’

‘We thought you can babysit her for a while. Till she gets better.’

‘I don’t know. I’m fairly busy right now, actually.’ Am I?

‘Please! One more baby will not make a big difference, I’m sure.’

 ‘Okay then! Tell Andrew I will take her!’ I put the receiver down and call for an instant family meeting. ‘Listen, everybody! We’ll have Regina for a while.’

‘Who is Regina?’ John asks casually, head deep in the next newspaper.

‘A chimp, John. A monkey.’

‘Oh, that’s neat... What we are having for din... WHAT?’

‘Yes, sometimes is worth listen what wife has to say,’ I casually mention, already turning to children. ‘This is urgent. She is a baby. A very silly baby. So please, quickly, all the small toys, tools and everything valuable must be packed away in boxes! You can leave only soft toys out!’

I turn back to John. ‘Yes, dear, what did you say? Okay, okay, just teasing. No, I do not like the idea either, but she is ill.’

Half an hour later they arrive. Andrew has tucked Regina tightly in a blanket and she looks exactly like a tiny, ugly baby. We unpack her while Andrew sorts out her bag.

‘Here are pampers. Her pink jacket. Some hazelnuts, she loves them. Listen, treat her like an eighteen months old human baby in general. The only thing – if she is naughty, there is no point punishing her other than biting in her shoulder. Seriously! It’s what chimp mothers do.’

‘Great! Now I’ll be walking around biting monkeys... Fun-tastic! Fab-luss!’

‘Keggy, careful, it’s a baby!’ I jump up and pull Regina up in my arms when dog slowly approaches, sniffing the new guest.

‘Don’t worry, she’s much stronger than a human baby, Keggy will not harm her at all. Try, feel her muscles!’

Indeed. Little creature in my arms feels like made out of steel. ‘Okay then.’ I slowly put her back on floor and watch how carefully Regina investigates her new environment. She lets Keggy sniff her hand. Then she slowly touches his shoulder. Seems like Keggy, as usual, has no objections. Maybe for him she is just another baby. I relax. ‘What she eats?’

‘Oh, like... in general everything a child would eat.’ Andrew shrugs. ‘Nothing too spicy or too salty.’

‘You sound a terrible father, Andrew!’ I tease. ‘Poor neglected baby!’

‘Well, that’s settled then. I must rush now, the rest need their dinner. We must start packing.’

‘Tonight?’

‘Yes, we are leaving early.’

Regina is truly a fascinating creature. She slowly walks around, cautiously touches this and that, followed by all three children.

‘Mum, why we can’t have a monkey?’

‘Over my dead body. Don’t even ask. ‘

‘But why? She is so nice.’

‘Let’s have this discussion later. After two weeks. A deal? Now she needs food and sleep. And some of your cough syrup.’

‘Yes!!!’

Tonight we are having mushrooms in cream sauce with boiled potatoes. It will fit Regina perfectly. I spread out plates on the table. Do I need to feed her or she eats by herself? My dilemma is sorted out quickly as Regina jumps on the chair, ready for the meal.

‘Seems like she knows it all,’ John points while we watch her reaching for the fork.

‘What a waste of a nice mushroom sauce,’ I grumble later, watching my family. ‘I should serve you rocks and you wouldn’t even notice.’ But I’m mesmerized by Regina’s table manners too. She eats graciously with the fork, no fingers involved at all. During the whole meal only one little tiny bit of potato escapes and falls on the floor. Regina like a hawk is down the chair, grabs the escaped bit and instantly jumps back on the chair.

‘I wish you all would have such table manners!’ I sigh. At the end of the meal when I offer her a mug of warm milk with some honey I learn that Regina has one bad habit after all. She carefully takes the mug, drinks the milk, checks out if there is any left and when the last drop is out, she turns and drops the empty mug on the floor.

‘Minus one,’ John smirks while I collect the broken china. ‘So what’s next?’

‘I’m sorry, she’ll sleep with us tonight. Tomorrow I’ll arrange a cot or something for her.’

‘Can she sleep with me?’ Kate asks pleadingly.

‘You know, I don’t think it’s the best idea, at least for tonight. Remember, she is an animal after all, with sharp teeth.’ Kate seems disappointed but I want to be sure that this baby is safe. With us and for us.

Blurp! The easy recognisable smell drifts across the room.

‘Here we go, shit alert!’ John laughs when I jump up. ‘Baby on board!’

Regina is faster. She runs to her bag, grabs a fresh pamper and runs back right to me.

‘WOW! That’s smart,’ even John is impressed, ‘at least we do know exactly who is the monkey mother in this house!’

‘Shut up!’ I must remember how to wash a baby bum. And these pampers... New art for me. When mine were small we hadn’t had such a luxury. I had heaps of linen nappies, changing and washing, changing and washing. Pampers are a new thing.

‘So much easier, just peel them of and right in the rubbish bin...’I mumble, carrying Regina into the bathroom. Shit. Folding a pamper with one hand while holding a monkey in other isn’t as easy as I expected. Well, I’ll clean that later... But on the other hand... This little monster is so much easier to handle. She holds on the arm without any problems, like she’d been glued on it. Now the towel and the new pamper... Shit. Which is front and which is back?

‘Kate, I need your help! Hold her a bit while I check this system!’ I unfold the one I so carefully folded earlier. ‘I see,’ I check the sides twice until I’m sure, then wash my hands. ‘Let’s try it again.’

With Kate’s help finally everything is in the right place and Regina is ready for bed.

‘John, hold her while I make the bed!’ I put her on John’s lap. Regina freezes.

‘Why she is so scared?’ John notices it as well.

‘I presume it’s a pack thing, hierarchy, something like that. She had worked out already that you are the biggest monkey in this pack!’

‘Sweet girl! At least one shows some respect here!’ John pats chimpanzee’s head. ‘I like her hair!’

‘She’ll sleep on my side, I put the oilcloth there and another sheet. She must be comfortable there, and hopefully we too.’ I collect Regina from John’s lap and lift her in the bed. ‘Time to sleep, baby!’

Nope, Regina has a different opinion, exactly like a child. Screaming her guts out with long and devastating uh-uhs she wraps her long arms around my neck and holds on tight. I mean really tight. Her little arms are made out of steel and I simply can’t remove her. ‘Okay, honey, this is an old trick. We’ll do different for tonight.’

I lay on bed with Regina still holding tightly on my neck. Seeing that I’m not determent to push her away, she also relaxes and cuddles underneath my arm, holding on me just with one hand now.

‘And now a fairy tale and a lullaby.’ John teases, looking at us. ‘Do you know any chimp ones?’

‘Seriously, John, it feels so weird! Like having another baby! When you look at these eyes... ’

‘She is a sleep now, you can leave her,’ John carefully slides one finger gently over her head. ‘Poor little mite!’ We tiptoe out of the room united and carefully close the door.

‘Now,’ I rub my hands, ‘baby things!’

I quickly organize coffee, light a cigarette and flick through my phone book.

‘Vita? Hi! I remember that your cousin had a baby. Must be a year old now, right? Accidentally - does she have any baby stuff left?... Yes, something between 3-6 mo... Girl actually, but in general can be boy’s as well.... No, no, it’s a bit different, but I really need some.’

The next call.

‘Rudy, hi!, Listen, do you have Mia’s number? She has a baby, right? ... No, I’m just interested that she might have some baby stuff left.... Will you? That’s really nice of you, thanks!’

The next.

‘Anita, I know, yours nearly at school now but I just wander if you kept some baby stuff?... I see... I didn’t kept any as well. Maybe... Oh, that would be great! Call me back when you’ll know! ... No, no, till midnight easy!’

At the end I have my long list all sorted out.

‘Hi! It’s me again! Yes, I got some, now only the delivery... Oh, thank you, I really can’t leave home right now as you can well imagine!... Ha-ha!... Listen, Rudy will pop in to your place later... Definitely take the schoolboy with you! ... No, I promise, it’s nothing like a boring baby shower, honestly! And I highly recommend you taking camera as well... No, just wait... A big surprise!’

‘John, that’s done. Now... No point taking her to the ordinary vet. I need a paediatrician. A good one.’

John dives in his phone book. ‘I might give a call to my aunt. You know, the professor. She works on the cancer research herself but she might know some.’

‘Yes, try her. Tell her that nothing too serious with the baby, we do not need a superb specialist, our only problem is that the baby itself is a bit extraordinary.’

We quietly peek in the bedroom. Regina is sleeping on the side, both palms neatly under her cheek. I cover her with a baby blanket and tuck the sides in a bit. ‘I agree,’ John whisper, ‘it really feels like we have a baby again.’

Next morning I learn hard that waking up with cockerels is not an option; from now on I must get up with monkeys.

‘O! M! G!‘ John lifts his head with a groan, looking around. ‘Did they provide the search warrant?

‘Go back to sleep! It’s just our baby!’

Regina innocently sits in John’s chair, nibbling hazelnuts. Then she notices that I’m awake and with a big, happy “Ech! Ech!’ jumps back in bed and puts her hands around me in a serious bear hug. So sweet! Then, very businesslike, she grabs my hand and drags me into the dining room, right to her bag.

‘A fresh pamper?’

‘U-u-u! Ech! Ech!’

Our baby happily jumps up and down enjoying that she has been understood. ‘You can talk, do you? Good girl!’

‘Is she working for KGB or something?’ With a big sigh John collects the ruined film rolls and pushes them in the bin while I try to arrange books back in the shelves. Regina watches us for a while, confused, then grabs a book and pushes it in the rubbish bin.

‘Yeah, I agree, that’s not the best book, indeed!’ John giggles, taking the book back out, ‘but it might upset our mummy and I can assure you that you’ll regret if she will go ape!’

‘I’m apeshit already,‘ I grab Regina and carry her to the bathroom, leaving behind a little cloud of nasty smell. This time it goes easier – there are skills you simply do not forget.

When Anita and her boy leave leater, I spread out Regina’s new layette. The best thing is a pink winter overalls with a hood. In that she’ll be cosy and warm even in the coldest weather. Two really nice knitted cardigans. Dozen sleepsuits. Few bonnets.

‘Everything we needed, really. Did you call your aunt?’

‘Yes, and she gave me the address. You can take her in right now.’

Introducing Regina to her new clothes goes easily. Sleepsuit looks perfect. Then the bonnet which is not a hit but isn’t pulled off either. Then the pink overalls. I tie the strings of the hood and now only Regina’s flat nose and wrinkly, wide mouth peeks out.

‘Hold her!’ I push the pink bundle in John’s arms, grabbing my own jacket.

 ‘Carl, my handbag! Now you all, don’t kill daddy before we return! Ta-ra! Off we go!’

Winter rodeo has already started, I think, climbing over the piles of icy snow, juggling heavy bundle in my arms. I need a buggy! Yes, that would be an answer. Where I can borrow one short term? No, probably some kind of a kangaroo bag will be more suitable... I jump in the tram and soon somebody offers the seat to ‘the lady with a baby’.

Regina, like a human baby, indeed, quickly falls asleep and has no idea about the effect she creates on fellow passengers. People, standing by, occasionally look at a baby and then their expression changes from inadvertent curiosity into a pity and pure horror. One lady even cross herself and quickly moves further in the carriage, desperate to get away from us. This feels like some nasty prank, actually. I gaze through the frosty window and try to swallow the giggles.

The professor paediatrician has quite opposite reaction. When I peel her new patient out of all the layers, she claps her hand and burst out in admiring laughter. ‘Oh my God! That is some surprise! When my colleague called about a monkey baby I didn’t realise that she meant it literally! Fantastic! Never had seen one of these! A chimpanzee? How old?’ She offers baby a finger first, then a squeaky toy. ‘Oh, such a darling!’

Regina takes it, cautiously checks and then drops. Nothing interesting.

‘She is nine right now as far as we know. It’s estimated to be an equal of an 18-months for a human baby if it helps.’

‘And what we are complaining about?’ doctor takes baby under armpits and lifts her up. Regina hangs there quite comfortably, sucking one of her toes undisturbed.

‘She is very fit!’ Doctor admits with a surprise in her voice.

‘True Iron Maiden,’ I nod. ‘She has a nasty cough.’

‘Lungs are clean,’ doctor takes stethoscope away after a careful check up. ‘Heartbeat strong. Nothing to worry so far. And we do not want to worry, do we?’ she gently tickle Regina’s tummy. And then it happens – baby laughs for the first time. To be honest, it looks scary – Regina’s lips part, revealing like hundred scary teeth in a weird grimace. She tosses her little feet in air and then finally a loud mixture of grunts and her happy ‘U-u-u!’ rolls out from the depths of her little body.

‘She is ticklish!’ Doctor is stunned.

‘So what do you think, what I need to do with this cough?’

‘Nothing much, just warm feet, a lot of juice to drink and some cough syrup.’

‘What syrup? See, she is a show animal and is exposed to hundreds of people daily. If it’s possible, I would like not to give her any chemical medications, I would like to keep up her own immune system, unaffected as much as possible. Last night I gave her hip syrup.’

‘Right now the new herbal syrup is coming in from Bulgaria, really good stuff, and yes, there’s always the hip syrup. And plenty of camomile tea.’ doctor tells, scribbling recipes. ‘Do you mind if I’ll call in some of colleagues?’

Within a minute about ten ladies burst into room, overexcited. ‘What’s her name? Nine months? She is tiny! Darling, look at me! Fantastic baby!’

Regina takes it all as a pro. She travels from arms to arms, smiles, offers her hand for kisses and all in all enjoys watching the bunch of academics going bonkers. At least I will be able report to Andrew that the whole paediatric department has checked his darling.

Next morning I take all my three and half children for a walk to the nearest pharmacy. As I only have two hands and streets are slippery, I created some harness for Regina last night so I can carry her on my front. And so we go – at one hand Kate, at other – Rob’s, and Carl, as oldest and strongest, holds Rob’s other hand. And then Regina, harnessed, quite happy holding on my neck, excitedly clamouring her ech-ech’s and uh-uh’s.

As soon as we enter the pharmacy, the lady behind the counter calls out in outrage. ‘Mum! What are you doing! In such a harness you will ruin the baby’s back! She is too young to be carried like that!’

Okay, I know that lady means well but still... I truly do not like to be shouted at in public. ‘Really?’ I casually ask, removing Regina’s hand from my shoulder, and turn the harness around for lady to see Regina’s face in the hood. Then I quickly turn her back again.

The scream of true horror departs lady’s lips. It looks like she’ll faint. The assistant, some bottle still in her hand, runs out from the back and quickly assess the situation.

I can see picture with her eyes. Pharmacy is empty, only a young mother with four little children standing there. No druggies, no drunken – no reason to scream at all. ‘What’s? Have you seen a mouse?’ assistant, quite annoyed, asks.

The lady behind the counter is still unable to speak. She just points her finger towards us, gasping for air.

‘What?’

‘Ba-ba-bah-by!’ she finally manages to produce some kind of an answer.

‘You know, it’s not very polite to point fingers at other people’s children...‘ I tease with a big grin, ‘...including these who are not children in the direct meaning of the word.’

‘What?’ now assistant is starting to lose the plot.

‘It’s a monkey!’ I turn Regina around again. ‘See, it’s not a child!’

Now both of them gaze in shock at the dark, wrinkled face in the pink hood.

‘Whatever, we need some cough medicine.’ I pass my recipes. Lady slowly reaches for them, suspiciously reads and then, noticeably relieved, screen the shelves, looking for the right bottles. At least this is something she understands fully. 

Chapter  31

November brings crazy, but not surprising, news – OMON, the team of Soviet Special Forces attacks Media House, opens fire towards police car and then abuse and humiliate the journalists there; finally they hoist up the red Soviet flag on top of the building. Why the do that? Nobody knows. Nobody admits issuing such a command.

‘You think it’s Moscow? It’s pressing hard about signing the Union agreement.’

‘Nope. I’d say that’s the old school – something Rescue Committee might come up with.’

‘People, did you hear the latest news? Gorby throws an economical blockade at us!’ Charlie is here again, and Raul.

‘Not a big deal. Lithuanian’s are still alive? So we’ll survive.’ Raul is philosophical about the issue. But it might be simply because he is flying high again.

 ‘Yeah, we’ll probably get some direct supplies from Russian Federation, but ... I can see that from now on there will be no fuel for private cars again.’

‘Not a big deal.’ Raul dreamy looks around. ‘Do you have a car? Do you? And you? Nobody? See, problem solved! No reason to worry! Look at Joachim! He didn’t care about anything, except food! Anybody for some beer?’

Joachim indeed happily bounces in the room, carrying something meaty in his beak.

‘Oh, shit!’ I jump up and run, but it’s too late already. Somebody had left the nursery’s door open and Cinderella disappears in the depth of Joachim’s beak right in front of our eyes.

‘You, greedy bastard!’

‘See, I told you he is not so fond on fish!’ John tries to joke.

‘In the cage! Right now!’ I’m furious. What I’ll tell children?

When voracious predator, despite his protests, is safely locked in the cage, I run to check the other kittens. Shit! Shit! Shit!

Thankfully he didn’t kill them all. Fred and Uffo are still in their box, snoring away, oblivious to the dreadful end of their sibling.

‘Minus one,’ John winks. ‘Don’t worry; we shall work out something for kids. Like... the truth? That’s part of the life, right?’

 ‘Can’t they get their firecrackers right?’ John makes a flat joke over the morning news. At night in several cemeteries around the country monuments of Latvian soldiers had been blown up.

 ‘Soviet Army?’ Morning is grim, indeed. Muriel had spent the night trying to find a better place for the remaining two kittens. Sadly her motherly instincts are stronger than her brain capacity and Uffo had fallen off the top of the bookshelf. Now we are left with Fred only.

‘Sure, who else? Local scouts?’

 Yeah, it’s definitely not naughty scouts gone wild because the next day the communists’ Rescue Committee call Gorbachev for the state of emergency to restore the “peace” in this country. We still make jokes, but gradually the overall feel is getting scary. What we shall do if Moscow indeed decides to throw the state of emergency at us? The scary X hour...

‘Talking about scary, do you know where Fitzy is sleeping now?’

‘Yes, I know, Lady Jane is sulking alone.’ Fitzy indeed had found a better sleeping option than rolling in guano under Lady Jane’s tail. The sand right under the Osiris’ heating lamp is much cosier and cleaner. Seems that Osiris doesn‘t mind the company. Heating lamp or cat’s warm back... as far as there is heat, the company is not so important.

‘He is such an opportunist,‘ Carl disapprovingly waves his fork.

John brings home leaflet with recommendations, like how to get through the fire or which side of the street is safer under the fire.

‘This doesn’t look very convincing!’

‘At least somebody at the top is trying to prepare.’

‘It’s getting boring now! Yesterday they had a blast at one of the buildings of the communist party, tonight - at KGB building in centre of city! Can’t they find something a bit more creative?’ John mocks, spreading jam on the bread for Regina. ‘Ups! Minus six, baby, I think. Mo? Do we have any mugs left which are not broken?’

‘Yeah,’ I grab the broom, ‘but none with handles. All off.’

Five days later another three blasts thunder over Riga. All of them are small and very professionally set up – no big damage, no victims.

‘They are just saluting to our victory. Today finally these one million signatures had been collected against the Union agreement with Soviets. I think that’s worth three little blasts. Get Regina off the curtains, please.’

One million signatures is a lot. It’s a bit less than half of the country’s population, including under-aged and Russian speakers who en masse still doesn’t support the idea of independent country even if they are living now in one. ‘Kate, can you play with her or something till I make a dinner?’

Yes, my girls actually do play. The little sister with the big one. Well, in jungles they probably do not have dolls to play with, but you got the idea.

‘Mum, can Regina have my Ragged Anny?’ Kate asked seriously few days ago. ’She prefers it from all my dolls.’ Yes, sure, Anny is baby safe, washable and we always can repair her.

Since then Regina and Anny are inseparable. It seems like chimpanzee girls really are not much different from human girls. Doll is carried around, sometimes head up, sometimes down, but Regina is blissfully happy with it. She holds Anny in her arms like a baby, takes her in bed and when having a tantrum, Anny flies all over the room.

All in all Regina has sussed out our family. I’m the mum of all babies. Changing nappies and feeding and singing lullabies while tucking in bed. If I’m not available, it’s Kate’s job to take care of the little sister. Carl is the suspicious young male in our pack, sometimes suitable for a rough play but better to be avoided.

Rob is the weak one and Regina has sussed out that as well because each time when Rob tries to cross the room, balancing hard on his unsteady feet, Regina with a grip of a rugby player jumps on his knees, knocking him down. A bit rough sense of humour. To protect Rob’s dignity I scoop Regina up in my arms every time when Rob is moving around.

Finally come the adult males of our pack – Keggy and John – to be respected and avoided at all times. At the beginning it took Regina some time to suss out who has the highest rank, but one morning, when John was still running around naked, she got her chance.

‘Look at her!’ I rolled in the bed giggling. ‘Regina has found Keggy’s balls!’

We giggled watching how carefully our little monkey approached Keggy’s backside. She sat for a while assessing and then carefully, with absolute admiration in her face, with one finger gently touched that important part of the male dog’s anatomy.

‘At least she shows some respect!’ John was laughing nervously watching Regina approaching. ‘Seems like it’s my turn now.’

After careful assessment and comparing for the monkey it is absolutely clear who has the final say here. So now John is approached only in extreme situations - like when I’m completely ballistic. In such cases with a panicky scream Regina hides behind John; if he is not available, then behind Keggy.

‘It’s really good to know that I’m behind the dog on the hierarchy ladder in this family!’ mock, laying out the breakfast table.

‘Look, what Regina has got now?’ John quizzically points over the paper. We watch our monkey baby happily bouncing in the room, holding tight something in her arms. ‘Which toy is that?’

‘It’s not a toy, it’s our Fred.... Actually... was.’ Carl takes the limp kitten out of Regina’s arms. ‘He is dead.’

‘Talk about deadly love,’ John makes a feeble attempt of a joke but children are furious.

‘Mum, she killed our kitten!’ Kate wipes away tears, running down her face.

‘Common! Accidentally, only accidentally. She hadn’t killed on purpose. You know how strong she is. Who left the door open?’

‘Not me. I came out last and I closed the door.’ Kate broadens her shoulders. ‘Properly.’

Kate is reliable. I can trust her statement. ‘Ah, well. It means she has mastered the handle finally. We need to put a latch on your door then.’

‘No point.’ Carl angrily sits on the chair and reaches for his plate. ‘No more kittens left there.’

 ‘Mum, why we can’t have a tree?’

‘We’ll have a tree. Only it will be not decorated. Al least no baubles or tinsel this year, only live cats and monkeys.’

‘But why?’

‘Think!’

‘Oh, mum, we will look after her!’

‘No way! You were the one who wanted the monkey, right? Then suffer the consequences!’ Yeah, because of Regina we must cancel our Christmas. The whole country will be celebrating while we’ll have bare tree, decorated by a monkey only. Our life with Regina has been very interesting but now I’m getting tired.

‘Andrew, what shall we do?’ I’m desperate. The problem is – Regina’s paperwork is tied with the exhibition, and there is no way to find a legal way transporting her out of country not without any papers. There are no monkey tickets for sale.

I tried. I truly tried. I visited many offices at veterinary services but everywhere they just shrugged shoulders. For dogs, cats, even cage birds... regulations had been made already. But not for monkeys. I offer to arrange vet tests, like tuberculosis, and, let’s say, HIV as she is a primate, but nobody can tell me one way or another.

‘Sorry, we are sinking in jobs right now with new laws and regulations to be made for all the livestock. Pets are left a bit behind.’ Yes, I feel for them, it’s a lot of job. But I can’t sit with a monkey in my hands until they manage. Shit!

‘I have an idea!’ finally, after an unsuccessful brainstorming evening, Roland announces. ‘We’ll transport her as a child!’

We sit in silence, considering possibilities.

‘Hey, that might work!’ We still carry the Soviet passports, and there are no individual ones for children yet. Child is just a line in mother’s passport.

‘All we need is a mother with a baby in her passport!’

‘That’s easy; Rudy’s girl is nearly six months old now.’

‘Will she agree?’

‘Let’s ask!’ Yvonne reaches for the phone. I suspect, she feels a bit guilty about the whole situation; it was her idea in the first place.

And so the big plan is born. Roland will drive at night. That way Regina most likely will be sleeping and will not jump up and down with her loud ech’s and uuh’s. There will be dark in the car so border guards hopefully will not notice that the baby is a bit too ugly.

‘And even if they will, tell me, who has the audacity to tell a young, stunning girl that her little baby girl looks too much of a monkey?’ Roland giggles. ‘Really, this is a solution!’

‘If there will be any border guards at all! I know we have posts on Belorussian border now but on Lithuanian? Do you know?’

‘With the current fuel supply? I’m not going there to check it out beforehand. Let’s prepare for the worst and hope for the best.’

‘After all, we are not doing anything bad!’ I really feel like that. Yes, that’s kind of illegal. But it’s not our fault that there is no legal way. Yet.

I pack Regina’s bag. All her clothes and even her Ragged Anny. And then it’s time to say good bye. ‘Grow big and clever!’

‘Don’t crush more mugs, will you?’ John blows a kiss to a bundle in pink overalls.

‘Now we can have a full tree, right?’ Kate asks when the car disappears in the darkness.

‘Definitely! No more monkeying around!’

 ‘Listen, seems it’s getting close! Be careful!’

‘What, dad?’

‘The X-hour. See, our neighbour has a friend, and she knows somebody who works in a canteen in the tank base, and she said that they all are on red alert, you know, all holidays cancelled and such.’

Seems like father might be having the right information. Three days before Christmas our newspapers are full with rumours, leaking from “truthful sources” in Moscow, that plan of coup has been prepared. Well, they can sit in barracks with their little plans but we shall be celebrating. In full. Monkey is gone!

‘Mum, look, Plop has had eaten something.’

Shit.  ‘A tinsel!?!’

‘No, it looks like one of your sewing threads hanging out his mouth.’

 ‘Here is the empty bobbin as well! I found it! Under the bed.’ Kate ads cheerfully.

Shit! Shit! And more shit! At least fifty metres of it down the tortoise’s throat.

We place Plop on the table and assess the situation. There are two options. We can wait and see if it comes out the other end or I can try to pull it out this end. If I will do it now and very slowly, it might work... Do I have the courage?

‘Well, now listen carefully, everybody! Do not distract me in any way! I will try to pull it out, right? If not, Plop is a goner.’

I must admit, I’m not a patient person. Quite opposite. But for Our Plop I will try. I roll the loose end back in the bobbin and start. The thread comes out quite easily so I slowly roll it up, inch by inch. Plop doesn’t mind. He just sits on the table in front of me, occasionally blinks or slowly moves a bit one of his legs. We sit in silence while I pull and roll, pull and roll in one slow and even motion.

Soon my fingers are bent by cramps but I carry on. My children believe in me. So I must. To be honest, it’s harder than anything else I had done before. The temptation just to pull the thread a bit faster is overwhelming. Hearing my grunting, children decide retreat silently. I clench my teeth and continue. Another minute, another inch.

‘Hi, I’m back!’ John opens the doors.

‘Don’t!’ I hiss when he leans forward for the usual peck, ‘I’m a bit busy right now!’

‘What’s this? Some new kind of fancywork? Like knitting?’

‘Yeah, tortoise spinning technology, you, dumbass! Just plop-ping around, you know!’

‘I can read for you a newspaper, if you want.’

‘Stop mocking! It is a life or death here right now!’

‘The dreaded X hour?’ John laughs. “Do you want me to make a dinner while you are battling?’