When the Doves Disappeared by Sofi Oksanen Read Free Book Online Page B

Rosalie’s. I had been there to help with the hog butchering, and I knew there would be fricadelle soup, which Edgar was fond of, but Mother had obviously already told him who else would be there. Edgar turned the offer down and went his own way. And his attitude toward his wife wasn’t the only reason I was angry. He didn’t know a thing about horses, so I went out to meet him, knowing he would leave it to me to take off the harness. My gelding was tired, his nostrils steaming. It was obvious he’d been driven too hard. Edgar had forgotten the oats, as usual—there were a couple of liters left in the feed bag, but at least some of the field hay I’d put in the sleigh the night before had been eaten. I left his excited greeting unanswered. He halted his steps halfway, the snow squeaking uncertainly under his feet. I didn’t care, I just led the gelding to the stable to get the packedsnow out of his hooves and give him a firm brushing on his flanks—the spot they call “the hunger pit,” his favorite spot for a rub. Edgar followed me, stomping his felt boots to get my attention. Clearly he had something he wanted to talk about. Whatever it was, it was hardly likely to have anything to do with the hay, so I didn’t care. The situation looked bad. Leonida had promised there would be enough hay for the winter, twenty bales’ worth, but already we were having to mix it with straw, although my gelding always poked around until he found the timothy hay. Things weren’t any better in the Armses’ stable. The Germans’ big horses had eaten everything, till the village animals were skin and bones, and I could hardly expect Edgar to fetch more feed on his trips unless I got Mother on my side. But she simply wouldn’t ask Edgar for anything. As soon as we’d reached our home province, I had seen how Edgar started pining for his auntie’s house. Mother’s smile had shone like a greased skillet when we arrived, and Edgar seemed relieved to find her in Rosalie’s good hands. He managed to get Leonida and Mother on his side about keeping his return a secret, too. They still hadn’t told their houseguests he was back—not even Edgar’s wife. Mother said Edgar could be arrested as a communist if he was seen in the village, which baffled me, since no communist would have suffered the kinds of misfortunes that we had at Simson Farm under the Soviets. I could understand why he’d wanted to hide his desertion when the Reds were still in charge, but what was the point now? Other men who’d left the Red Army were walking around the village, and those of us who’d been on Staffan Island had fought against the Bolsheviks. Mother, of course, didn’t want either of us to go to the front. She had weak nerves, and I couldn’t bring myself to contradict her when she was teary-eyed with fear. She was always so happy when Edgar came to look in on her. She would immediately fry up some salted meat for consommé or find some other delicacy to put on the table. Still, I knew Edgar must be up to something. He’d given himself a new name, Fürst, which was appropriately German, fine as a rayon shirt. I called him Wurst. I pressed him again about what he had to hide. Rosalie talked about sending a message to his wife, but Edgar forbade it, and Mother forbade it, and Leonida followed suit. The more time that passed, the harder it would be to tell Juudit he was back.
    EDGAR WAS STILL stomping his feet behind me. I was in no hurry, patting my horse’s side, grown thick and shaggy with winter, in the dimness of the stable.
    “Aren’t you going to ask the news?” he said, rustling some newspapers he had taken out of his bag. He couldn’t wait until we went into the house; he started reading them aloud in the stable, straining to see in the light of the hurricane lantern. Two hundred and six political prisoners had been freed in Tallinn, as a Christmas present from the Commissar General for Estonia to the innocent wives and children who