When the Doves Disappeared (32 page)

Reval, Estland General Commissariat, Ostland National Commissariat

T
HIS WAS
the second day in a row that Juudit had let Roland into the Roosikrantsi apartment before Hellmuth got home, and she didn’t know how to explain it to herself; lately she wasn’t sure who she was more afraid of, or why. There were too many Germans coming and going—the military commissary and court were right nearby—and yet she let Roland come to the apartment. Yesterday he’d been dressed as a chimney sweep, today as a delivery boy from Weizenberg’s grocery. The precautions he took did nothing to calm Juudit as she kept watch in the entryway. She listened in turn to the sounds from the hallway and Roland working in the office, but who else could she turn to? There was no one else she could talk to about Anna and Leonida’s intentions, no one else who could help her, or even advise her, no one she could trust in these matters even a little. Roland’s attitude had once again surprised her. He insisted that the whole thing was a coincidence and then immediately used her moment of weakness to demand that she let him into the Roosikrantsi apartment. Roland was so naive. Contrary to what he imagined, Estonia would never need witnesses to the destruction wrought by the Germans; there would
be no war reparations, because Germany wasn’t going to lose. Or had she let Roland in because she herself no longer believed in a German victory? Or was the real reason Hellmuth’s comment before he went to Riga, that perhaps a life in the South Estonian countryside wasn’t for them after all? Maybe there was no place in Estonia for them. Hellmuth had thought that Berlin would always be open to them, but who could feel welcome in a place where there was war? Juudit agreed completely. She wanted to get away from it. With Hellmuth, and quickly.

She’d thought about it for many nights and days, thought about Berlin or some other metropolis where no one would know she had divorced, or rather left, her husband. Her relatives, acquaintances, Roland, everyone here could talk about it and she wouldn’t care in the least. But it was a long way to Berlin. It was a long way to anywhere. Was Hellmuth really willing to settle someplace other than Germany, someplace where no one would look askance at a German from the Reich attached to an Estonian woman? Like Commandant Drohsin at Ereda and that Jewish woman, Inge Syltenová. Juudit had seen the report in Hellmuth’s office. They had fallen in love, the commandant had escaped, and friends at the prison had dug a tunnel for Inge. They were caught attempting to reach Scandinavia and they committed double suicide. But of course Juudit and Hellmuth weren’t in the same situation. As she got up to put out her cigarette, Juudit wondered if she dared ask Hellmuth whether they had any money other than ostmarks. Did they have enough Reichsmarks? It would be better yet if they had gold. Or even silver. Something. She ought to have accepted the gold watches from the refugees. Why had she been so childishly honorable about that? If Hellmuth wasn’t willing to go someplace other than Germany, he wouldn’t have been talking about places without war—there was no other way to interpret it. So why was she risking their future by letting Roland into Hellmuth’s office, when the cook or the maid might come back from the market at any moment?

The office door slammed. Roland’s steps creaked across the parquet floor of the drawing room.

“I hope you left everything in its place,” Juudit said.

Roland didn’t answer, just went to the servants’ entrance, shoving his notes into his breast pocket. On the threshold he stopped and turned to
look at Juudit, who stood swaying between the mirrored drawing room doors.

“Come here.”

Juudit’s eyelashes pressed her gaze down to the pattern of parquet. Too much mascara. That’s all it was. It was such a long way to the door; Roland was so far away. She held on to the doorjamb, put her right foot over the threshold, then her left, held on to the kitchen table, the sink, and finally stood in front of him, wobbling like a gelatin.

“There was one other thing,” Roland said. His field jacket smelled of questionable lodgings, smoke, a coat that hadn’t been taken off to sleep. “The Feldgendarmerie intercepted three trucks. They were all full of refugees. Two of the trucks were organized by Kreek.”

“Kreek?”

“I’m sure you remember him. The shot-putter. Two of his fishermen are members of our ring. Kreek charges the refugees three thousand marks and gives twenty percent to the truck driver. The money’s collected from the refugees before they get in the truck. They don’t have to pay the fishermen if the cargo never arrives. Kreek has to be stopped. Should have been stopped a long time ago. You could do it—Juudit, don’t look so frightened.”

“How?”

“Tell your German about it.”

Juudit stumbled backward. “You can’t ask me to do something like that. How would I explain how I got the information?”

“Just tell him that you’ve heard rumors about someone who’s organizing refugee transports by sea. He can take care of the rest.”

“But they’ll be killed.”

Roland came up very close to her. His eyes were hidden under his hat brim—he’d left his hat on when he came inside. “What do you think happens to the ones who fall into the hands of the Feldgendarmerie?”

Juudit wrapped her arms around herself in a lonely woman’s embrace. The handkerchief in her shirt cuff throbbed against her wrist.

“Don’t fret about Anna and Leonida. I already told you, forget what they said.”

“How?”

“Trust me, it’s just a coincidence that they mentioned their idea to you. Old women talking nonsense.”

She didn’t believe him. It couldn’t be a coincidence. He just wanted to keep her calm. She squeezed her arms tight. Maybe the whole situation was so desperate that Roland was secretly planning an escape. Maybe all of them knew deep down what was going to happen, so there would be no point in telling Roland about the conversations Hellmuth had with the other officers in the evenings: “… Wouldn’t it change the Führer’s opinion if we had to leave Finland?… Ostland must not be surrendered, Ostland must not be surrendered, that’s all they keep repeating in Berlin.… For Sweden’s sake, of course. So that Sweden can hold its line, and the Führer probably also has the idea that we have friends in Finland, people who won’t tolerate a new regime, who need our support.… It’s crazy! All for the sake of Sweden and Baltische Öl. We can’t take another hit. We can’t defend ourselves.…” Once, after too many cognacs, Hellmuth had curled up next to her and said he suspected they couldn’t fight off the Bolsheviks much longer. “But you can’t talk about this, you understand? With anyone. Think of the hysteria it would cause if the Estonians thought we couldn’t hold our own against the Bolsheviks.…” And Juudit had nodded. Of course, she said.

Instead she presented a demand to Roland before she’d even had time to think it through:

“I’ll expose Kreek and the others on one condition: that Hellmuth and I are given places on a boat when the time comes. I’ll pay all the costs.”

She was immediately horrified by her own words. What had she said? She hadn’t talked about any such plans with Hellmuth. Was she hoping Roland would refuse, ask her to come with him instead? Why didn’t she explain? Why didn’t she tell him that she was afraid of Anna’s stupid scheme?

Roland’s cheeks twitched. But he didn’t ask why Hellmuth wanted to leave, didn’t ask why Juudit was willing to leave behind not just Tallinn but also Berlin, didn’t ask if she and Hellmuth had already planned this. He didn’t ask anything. He said:

“Fine.”

Reval, Estland General Commissariat, Ostland National Commissariat

T
HE APARTMENT WAS SILENT
. Juudit sensed Hellmuth as soon as she stepped inside the front door, but the apartment was silent, the hall was still, the kitchen mute, the air motionless, the servants sent away. The moment had arrived, she knew it at once. The floor in the hallway sighed as if with regret; the drawing room curtains were pulled tightly shut, their pleats fossilized; the leaves of the ficus were grayish. Juudit put her silver fox on the trumeau. It slipped off and fell curled up on the floor. She took off her coat. It resisted. The sleeves wanted to go back out into the hallway; her overshoes didn’t want to come off, and when they did come off they flew toward the door, their toes pointing out toward the stairway. She could still dash out, down to the street, but maybe there was already a car waiting there. Maybe there was a row of men waiting for her. Maybe the whole building was surrounded. Juudit’s breath caught in her throat, the sound of it echoing in the drawing room. Her mouth had dried up, felt like it was about to crack at the corners. Her light shoes thudded like furniture ready for moving. She could still try, still run. There was still time. But instead she stepped over the threshold into the bedroom. She’d already guessed that Hellmuth would be sitting in the armchair, the table beside him with its lace cloth, on the cloth the Parabellum. He
was wearing his greatcoat; his hat was thrown on the bed, and next to it Juudit’s Mauser. The hot air burned Juudit’s cheeks. Hellmuth’s skin was white, his forehead dry. Juudit took off her hat with trembling hands, held the hatpin in her fist. It was so hot, her underslip was bruised with sweat, which would soon spread to her dress as well.

“You can leave if you want to.”

Hellmuth’s voice was matter-of-fact. The kind of voice he might use as he stepped into headquarters, the voice he must have used every day at Tõnismägi, but never when talking to her, not until now.

“I’ll let you go.”

Juudit took a step into the room.

“No one will come after you.”

Juudit took another step.

“You have to leave right now.”

Hellmuth’s hand lay on the lace tablecloth. Beside it gleamed the Parabellum, well polished, ready.

“I don’t want to leave like that,” Juudit heard her voice say, somewhere far away.

“At this very moment the whole ring is being arrested. I won’t insult you with explanations. I’m sure you understand.”

She took one more step. She reached a hand toward the dressing table and fumbled for the cigarette case and lighter. The flame leapt up.
Roland!
Had Roland been arrested, too?

“Can I sit down?”