The Wooden Chair (2 page)

“I’m Mira Bauman. Thank you for finding my daughter. She wanders away. Does it often.”

Tuula introduced herself. “Yes, she was alone, singing at the marketplace. I took it upon myself to bring her home. Your daughter is lovely.”

“You don’t know the half of it. She’s a little monster. In the company of people she’s all right. At home with me she’s quite a handful.”

The look in Tuula’s eyes told Mira that she’d said too much. Using a more pleasant tone, Mira apologized for Leini’s behavior.

“No trouble. We enjoyed her singing, but she’s much too young to be in the streets on her own.” Smiling at Leini, Tuula bent to touch the child’s cheek with the back of her hand. “There could be a bombardment any minute. Then what would she do? She doesn’t seem to know where she lives. I looked in the phone book for your address.”

“She’d manage. She always does,” Mira said, a slight quaver in her voice. She clasped her hands to keep them from shaking at the thought that, yet again, here was Leini, looking dumb as usual with her mouth half open, those horrid glasses magnifying eyes. Her beseeching gaze and stooping shoulders only infuriated Mira more.

Struggling to keep her voice calm, tamping down a lid on her anger for now, Mira thanked Tuula for her help and dismissed the woman. She pulled the door closed with one hand while she held it back with the other not to slam it in Tuula’s face.

Mira glared at the child, this accident from the early days of her marriage to Robert. She’d planned on having children, someday—but certainly not so soon. It was too much for her to handle—the loneliness, the responsibility of Leini, food so scarce, fear of bomb attacks a constant presence.
During three years of marriage, she and Robert lived together only one year. His country claimed him, and she was saddled with this girl
born on the dawn of the Winter War.

* * *

Before Leini could slink into the bedroom they shared, Mamma grabbed the back of her cardigan, yanking her into the living room. Fearing Mamma would pull her hair or pinch her ear as she sometimes did, Leini fought the urge to hide her head in her hand. She stood facing her mother, arms dangling by her sides as Mamma muttered, “You should have stayed lost.”

“But Mamma, I love you.” Leini’s throat burned from sobs she tried to hold in. “I love you, I love you.”

Grandma Britta and Grandpa often said “I love you” to Leini. Mamma didn’t, but maybe if Leini kept saying it very often, Mamma would say the words one day.

“Well, too bad, because I don’t love you. I never wanted you.” Mamma’s hands trembled.

Now Mamma’s very angry at me
.

Mamma lit a cigarette and exhaled the smoke in Leini’s face, making her cough.

“Why don’t you want me, Mamma?”

“Your papi wanted you, not me.” A spray from Mamma’s mouth hit Leini in the face.

“Please, Mamma, please don’t be angry with me. I’ll be good. I’ll do anything you want.” Silent tears rolled from her eyes, leaving trickles of wetness on her cheeks. Sobbing would only make Mamma angrier, she knew. Her hand twined a strand of hair.

Mamma pulled Leini by the ear so hard she moaned. Leini whimpered as the lighted cigarette in Mamma’s hand grazed her cheek. Mamma grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her hard. “Stop that whining this minute.”

Marching Leini across the living room down the short hall, Mamma opened the door to the walk-in closet. She shoved Leini inside with such force that she stumbled on the threshold and fell to her knees, cutting them on the rough cement floor inside.

“Mamma! Mamma, please don’t leave me alone here in the dark. Please turn on the light.” Leini heard the lock click. Total darkness. For a long time she sat immobile on knees burning from the scrapes.

Slowly, very carefully, she crawled forward until her head touched the back wall. Turning, she sat and leaned against the wall, cold and afraid. With knees pulled to her chest, arms hugging them for warmth and comfort, she rocked back and forth. She was thirsty. She was tired. She needed to pee.

Chapter 2

Helsinki, May 1943

Tears trickled down Leini’s cheeks. It was so dark she couldn’t see a thing. She didn’t have a hankie, so she wiped her runny nose on the sleeve of her cardigan. Shivers of fear ripped through her body—maybe Mamma would forget her in the dark. Papi was far away in the war. She missed him so much.

Her eyes grew heavy, so heavy she couldn’t keep them open. When she awoke she was lying curled into a ball on the hard cold floor, teeth clicking together. Her cheeks grew hot as her wet panties told the tale of peeing in her sleep. With the heels of her hands, she rubbed her eyes, which were burning from crying. Hard fingers of fear pinched inside her tummy.
Now Mamma’s going to be angry again.
Mamma always told her big girls didn’t pee in their sleep. Without a sound Leini wiggled out of the panties. Fumbling in the dark, she hid them in what she thought was a shoe and hoped her dress would cover her bare bottom.

Leini wondered what time it was. When Tuula brought her home from the market, the hands on the big grandfather clock had been past twelve o’clock. She didn’t quite know how to read the time, but Grandpa had shown her that twelve o’clock was when the long hand and the short hand on his pocket watch pointed together straight up. He held the watch very close to her face; when he pressed the button on the side, the lid jumped open and snapped against the tip of her nose. This always made her laugh, and Grandpa would tickle her under the chin and chortle along with her.

Only the sound of Mamma’s steps reached her as she walked past the closet’s heavy door. It must be late because Leini’s stomach grumbled and hurt from hunger. She only had some slimy gruel with a dab of carrot jam and a cup of chamomile tea for breakfast. At the market, a lady behind one of the stalls gave her a raw carrot, a little stick of licorice and a mug of warm tea. And the lady had smiled and patted her head.

A tear trickled down Leini’s cheek. If only Papi were here. He was away fighting the Russians. When
he had last
come home on leave, it was still so cold she had to wear those long, scratchy brown stockings. She had lots of fun with him. He took her to the playground and pushed her in the swing so high it tickled her stomach, and she’d screamed with laughter. They went to see a movie at his office where he used to work before the war. The movie was about a cat and a mouse. Leini didn’t like it very much because the cat was mean to the mouse, always chasing him, but she liked the music the cat played very fast on the piano. When Papi read to her, she sat on his lap, and it was like a nest, snug and comforting. Then Papi had to go back to fight the war, and she was sad, as if somebody took away the sun. Often, when she closed her eyes she couldn’t see his face very well, but she remembered he was big and had a booming voice. She could still feel him holding her face between his warm hands. Then a wave of good feelings came from inside, and she was so glad, it hurt inside her breast.

The door to the closet burst opened. Leini’s arm flew up to shield her eyes from the sting of bright light. Peeking over her arm, she saw everything as a blur because her glasses had fallen off when Mamma pushed her inside.

“Come out of there, now,” Mamma said. “Think you’ve learned your lesson?”

Leini didn’t quite know what lesson Mamma wanted her to learn, but she nodded with vigor. “Yes, Mamma.”

Mamma helped her find her glasses on the floor, polished them with the handkerchief she always kept in the sleeve of her dress and put them on Leini. She brushed Leini’s hair off her face and, with an arm around her shoulders, gave her a quick squeeze. Glancing at Mamma, who looked straight ahead not at her, Leini pressed her body close, but Mamma snatched away her arm. Leini shivered; it was cold when Mamma took away her arm.

“You must be hungry. Let’s wash your hands. Then we’ll eat.” While she talked, Mamma led her to the bathroom, turned on the water tap and took the towel off the hook, which was too high for Leini to reach. Mamma left her to wash and dry her hands. On tiptoe, as quietly as she could, Leini sneaked into the closet, found her panties where she’d stuffed them in a shoe. She dashed into the bathroom and flushed them down the toilet. A rush of relief washed over her as she followed Mamma into the kitchen. Now Mamma couldn’t find the panties.

Glancing across the long and narrow kitchen at the window, Leini was disappointed—there were no pigeons on the window sill like there used to be.
Maybe they know I have no food to give them, so they don’t come anymore.
Mamma was busy by the gas stove next to the sink. She had set the table for two on the white wax cloth with red dots.

Before Papi went away, their apartment was much bigger than the two rooms and kitchen that Mamma and she now used. The other rooms they had to keep closed, because Mamma said they couldn’t heat all of the apartment. There wasn’t enough charcoal, and the two of them didn’t need all that space anyway, Mamma said. At the end of the corridor there was a sitting room, bedroom and bath. When the war was over and Papi came home, they would open them, and those would be Leini’s rooms. Mamma and Papi’s bedroom was much larger than the maid’s room Leini now shared with Mamma. Next to the big bedroom was Papi’s den. After the big living room was the dining room.

Mamma sat. Leini wiggled onto the wooden chair until her feet were under the table. She didn’t like this chair. The seat was hard and the slats poked her in the back when she leaned against them. Mamma pointed at the soup tureen in the middle of the table. “This is a treat. I queued for this stringy piece of meat for an hour. It cost me five coupons and a lot of money.” She broke small pieces of dark rye bread into Leini’s portion of meat soup, to stretch the meager meal.

“Eat and don’t waste a morsel.” Mamma swallowed a spoonful and sighed. “Now I’m all out of coupons.”

Leini knew coupons were important. If they didn’t have any, they couldn’t get butter or bread or sugar. Even with coupons they couldn’t get much. Mamma called it rationing and said it was because of the Russians, who wanted to take away their country.

Mamma was listening to the man on the radio. Leini heard him say everybody had to make an effort to save the Homeland.

“Will the Russians take away our home?” Leini asked. She twirled a strand of hair around her fingers.

“They will if they can.”

Mamma’s voice was sharp; it made Leini shiver.

“Who knows what they’ll do.”

The food warmed her. Leini spooned the soup and bread into her mouth, careful not to spill even a drop, which would make Mamma angry. She wanted to say she was sorry for being a bad girl, but the words caught in her throat. She didn’t understand if she’d been bad because she sang in the market or because she didn’t disappear as Mamma wanted. With watchful eyes Leini looked at her across the table. Mamma’s head was bent over the plate. She seemed far away, stirring the spoon in a small helping of soup and vegetables, mumbling under her breath, as Leini heard her do so many times. Around and around she stirred with the spoon. Leini didn’t see her eat anything after the first mouthful.

Mamma stopped moving the spoon and took a sip of water.

Leini swung her legs back and forth under the table. The heel of her shoe caught the leg of her chair with a noisy bang. It broke the heavy silence in the kitchen.

Mamma dropped the spoon, which made a loud clang against the plate. She shoved the dish to the side, gazing at Leini, eyes half-closed, the corners of her mouth turned down.

“We’re leaving Helsinki tomorrow morning.”

Leini stared at her. “Mamma?” She didn’t understand this. They never went anywhere.

“Yes. We have to leave Helsinki. It’s no longer safe. The bombings happen all the time, night and day. We could be killed.” Mamma sighed, a loud whoosh. “I only found out when Grandpa called this afternoon to tell me he got tickets for the last train out of Helsinki.”

“We are leaving Helsinki?” Leini asked.

“Yes! I just said so.”

Leini jumped at Mamma’s loud voice and blinked to hold back the tears.

“Hurry and finish your soup. I want you in bed early. I’ve got packing to do and I don’t want you underfoot. We have to leave first thing in the morning.”

“This is our home,” Leini said, a tremor in her voice. “Where are we going?”

“Ask your grandpa. He’s made all the arrangements.”

“Is Grandpa coming with us?”

“Yes,” Mamma said. “He and Grandma Britta,” she added in a low voice.

“And Grandma Britta?” Leini beamed.

“Yes. Yes.
Yes!
” Mamma shouted. “Grandma Britta, too.” Her hand shook as she held a lit match to the cigarette between her lips.

“And Karl? I want him to come, too.”

“Karl can’t come. He’s in the military, doing desk work at the hospital here in Helsinki. You know that.”

“I forget.” Leini’s throat grew tight that Karl wasn’t coming.

After she helped Mamma do the few dishes, Leini undressed alone in the bathroom. She washed with water so cold her teeth ached when she brushed them. The chill air in the bedroom made her shiver, so she hurried to put on her white flannel pajamas with the tiny pink roses. She buttoned each button on the top, careful to get each in the right hole. Then she pulled on the pajama bottom, tucking the top inside the elastic band for warmth. She hated the pajamas. They were stiff and made her skin itch. For her fourth birthday, Grandma Britta gave her a nightgown in fine cotton, so soft and light like air, and it was yellow—Leini’s favorite color. Mamma said she wasn’t old enough to wear nightgowns. She hoped Mamma would let her wear it after she turned five.

Leini knelt by her bed and crossed her hands in prayer, whispering the words of “Our Father,” like Grandpa had taught her.

“God, keep my papi safe. Make me a good girl so Mamma loves me. Thank you. Amen.” She longed for a little sister or brother, but she no longer asked God to make the stork bring one. Mamma said the storks didn’t come to Finland because of the war. Leini decided she must wait until the war was over before she asked again.