Sketches of Estonia. Justin Petrone
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gray mixed in among the bangs, and very fine features, but it was those eyes that caught your attention. There was so much life in those eyes. They reminded me of somebody else’s eyes, somebody who was very close to me.
“That was on the way back from Stockholm in 1989,” Fred said.
“But who’s the woman?”
“That was my wife,” he nodded. “Helju.”
“She looks very nice.”
“She died last year.”
“Oh.”
Fred sat down at the table and gestured for me to sit down. Then he poured me some of the Japanese tea his friend had sent him, and we watched the steam rise from the cups, the little flecks of green leaves swirling around in the jasmine water, breathing in that medicinal smell that the tea gives off. Fred supplied honey and I dabbed some in with a spoon and watched its stickiness slide off and dissolve.
“No, no,” said Fred. “You should never put fresh honey into a hot cup of tea. You have to let it sit.”
“Oh, okay,” I said and put the spoon back. “Sorry.”
“Don’t worry,” he waved his hands at me. “You do look a bit worried, you know.”
“I’m just sorry you lost your wife,” I said. “I can’t even imagine.”
“Oh, that. Well, Justin, you know, I am getting old, too,” Fred said. “The doctors tell me I have to have heart surgery and I’m not sure if I’m going to make it,” he put one fist up against his chest and let it fall back down to the table. “But that’s how life is. It begins and it ends.” He stared at his tea for a second. “Just think of all the flags I have seen in my long life, this life! First, there was the blue, black, and white Estonian flag,” he held up a finger. “Then came the red Soviet flag, and then the red German flag, and then the red Soviet flag again, and don’t forget about the red and blue Soviet Estonian flag.”
“Oh yeah, I’ve seen that flag. It has the little waves on it. Kind of pretty. Not bad for a Soviet flag.”
“It was okay,” he shrugged. “But then the blue, black, and white Estonian flag came back, and now we have the blue and gold European Union flag and the blue and white NATO flag. What is that? Seven?”
“Or eight, if you count the Estonian one twice.”
Fred adjusted himself in his seat and leaned in across the table. “Listen, I have seen this country change so many times in my life,” he said. “The way people think. It’s like a weather vane. It goes like this and then like this,” his two fingers spun around each other. “One day everybody believes in one thing, the next day they have completely changed their minds and say that they never believed in it at all. But I can tell you one thing – this Estonian state, the current Estonian state, is not the same Estonian state that existed when I was a child. That was something special, different. It has been irretrievably lost.”
“Irretrievably?”
“Irretrievably.”
“Do you even remember what Estonia was like before the war? I mean Konstantin Päts, all of that?”
“Of course I remember it.”
“But weren’t you five years old? And in Aruba?”
“Oh, but we didn’t stay in Aruba for long. And my brother was born in Curaçao. You should see my passport, Justin. It says I was born in Holland, because Aruba is part of the Netherlands!” He chuckled.
“Anyway, if the US had fallen apart when I was five, I’m not sure if I would remember how it was.”
“You would remember it, and I remember it. And it was a different country then, a true Estonian state. People trusted each other back then, they cared about each other. It’s not like it is today,” he gestured with his head toward the window. “This is not the Estonia of my childhood. This is something else.”
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