Translation: Mihkel Mutt - The Joys of a Small Country

Postimees: väikeriigi võludest

A small country is a lovely thing. One might immediately say that I am trying to make a virtue from a vice. No, I do not call for the disintegration of big countries nor play them off against the small. I merely wish to indicate that a small country too has its pleasures. These are just not as apparent as the benefits of a large country and state.

At least partly, the problem is that we are living with prejudices. One such is the conception that only a large country is good, whereas a small one a misfortune. And I very much am against prejudices, especially if it has to do with the individual sense of happiness. Insisting on an unreasonably high self-esteem is evil. But far worse is feeling bad over something which is not worth it at all.

I will start with the psychological side, the everyday moods. There is a joke: an American comes to Estonia and mentions to an Estonian friend that he had just recently met another Estonian in his homeland. And the Estonian asks: “What’s his name?”. The point of this story is of course that there are so few Estonians. The joke would not work with the Chinese.

Yet we have it so that no matter the company you’re in, still the conversation eventually winds up being about people we know or even mutual relatives. This reminds me some verses from Juhan Liiv’s poem, Autumn home: “everyone I know are with me and I with them.” Granted, what is initially meant is the actual home of the poet (the poem starts with a well-known verse: “My lovely home, so small on yonder hill!”), but this grows into a larger metaphor.

It was once said that the academician Ariste knew at least half the Estonians by their face. Now it is joked that some members of the parliament know all the people who voted for them. Or that some writer knows all his readers.

Knowing that we are all relatives or at least kin from fifth or sixth generation onwards can make an outlander smirk. Yet it is a rare and lovely thing - to have such large number of relatives. This is somewhat more reassuring than the knowledge (sometimes used to encourage mankind’s sense of togetherness) that we all descent from a few thousand African ancestors who journeyed out a hundred thousand years ago.

I imagine more than a few of us have experienced the perplexed awe foreigners have when we mention that we know the president personally. To ourselves, this does not seem anything extraordinary (as would be an acquaintance a Chinese Emperor). Even in the case of political alienation we so often complain about, it sometimes escapes our notice, how close the “alienated” politicians really are. Who among us has not studied or graduated with some MP or some other person of authority, or is not an acquaintance, a relative or an in-law to one?

Concentration renders objective benefits. Even if you own many things, but lack a proper overview, you might as well not have them at all (and vice versa). If you do not orientate in your own library and be able to find the desired book fast enough, then it often makes more sense to borrow it from a public library or even buy a new copy. If a text file you started has been saved under a random name god knows where, then it is sometimes easier to reconstruct the text from memory. Time spent on searching simply does not pay off.

When handling tools, home-appliances, smartphones or computers the case is that, when we have familiarized ourselves and become skillful in using a device with merely moderate capabilities, then the benefit and the pleasure of using far outweigh a device which does have superior possibilities, but which we do not comprehend or manage.

These examples, by the way, refer to one of the core needs of the human soul. That is, the need for clarity. The need to know, what and how things really are. The human desires to comprehend the whole. Be this then the whole in its entirety or some smaller, relatively closed, system. Comprehension is easier if the object is not too big as there are limits to the psycho-phyisical capabilities of a human being.

A representative of a small country will always know more about one’s land than the average citizen of a big country. This entails both time and space, both geography and history. One can comprehend Estonia. Within five hours it is possible to drive from one border to the other, no matter the direction. With a week you will sail through the coastline. Being able to grasp our country is a good thing! Driving through Estonia is like visiting one’s domain. There are people who make a tour around Estonia every summer. I understand them completely. You can really see, how a year has changed things, and be able to guess, where are they about to go. In a large country, in the other hand, one moves without any tangibility. Everything is new, but as if in a bad infinity.

I do not know, for example, how the Chinese feel like when the airplane touches ground on a landing strip in Shanghai or Bejing. Most Estonians feel a sweet hobbity sense of having come back home when they reach the airport in Ülemiste. Of course, if you cruise further into downtown Tallinn, the houses on both sides of Tartu road will seem rather low. And the weather is generally gray. But it still is home! For some reason I think that if home is too vast and multifaceted, the sense of arrival is not as focused either, and rather tends to dissipate.

The question is not only about subjective pleasure. By studying a system as a whole, we will obtain information that its individual parts do not offer. By observing a single process from beginning to end, we can make conclusions that cannot be reached on the basis of its individual stages. The question, whether the system is big or small, need not be the most important thing in the process. The two primary units of measurement for both individual and collective memory are volume and accessibility. One is ineffective without the other.

Estonia’s history is, in its recorded phase, rather short and small in size. In one hand, this is no advantage, yet in the other, an Estonian has a possibility to know the history of his country and his people in greater depth than one would from nation with a long history. (I do not hide the fact that, besides history, my other great attachment is local lore. In Estonia the two more or less go together - a true land of wonders!)

The same applies for the history of science, sports, art, literature and culture as whole. It is possible, for instance, for a hard-working and rather fast-reading person to obtain a relatively adequate picture of Estonian literature. He carries this in his memory and sees, how each new literary work connects with has been before. His colleagues in Germany, the USA or anywhere else where the total sum of literature is immensely bigger, would not have such a genuine possibility. There a scholar has to operate with finished models from other readers.

For similar reasons it still possible in Estonia the universal intellectual - a highly beneficial, albeit dying, breed - who knows remarkably more than just his field of expertise. Such a person has a chance to see the tendencies in the state, nation and the society as a whole, to synthesize and offer visions.

The smaller the preserved memory of a collective is, the easier it should be to realize it, and thus create a sense of eternity, a connection with the times, even among the common man.  The most certain way for this is the use of public space. On streets, squares and parks, on the crossing and the hilltop, it would be possible, by way of sculptures, commemorative plaques, signs, stones, etc... to constantly draw attention to the people and events of the past. I very much like the way we have, on the countryside and even in towns, sometimes, the old place names marked with brown signs. Yet this is still a fraction of what could be achieved on this field.

Every society and state is whole and in a way equal to other countries in size. They have similar functions and, often enough, a similar composition. I remember one of my favourite parallels between a mouse and a giraffe who both have an equal number of  segments in the neck. The same applies the countries and their “necks”. Sometimes one meets an arrogant position as if Estonia were the same as a district in a large city. This is true only formally, in terms of population. Even in terms of landmass, no city comes even close to Estonia (there is 3.4 hectares for every person living in Estonia).

But this is not what matters. A city district is merely a part of something, a small country, in the other hand, is complete. The two have a different amount of segments in their “necks”. In a way, even some island state the size of Hiiumaa, with a population of a few dozen thousand inhabitants, still surprasses a city like New York. Behind the imaginary Round Table all seats are equal. (Actually this table does exist in the form the United Nations General Assembly. There recently was a vote about giving Palestine the status of an observer state. Very few nations were against it, among them some miniature island states in Oceania. Someone joked that they had been against, because they wanted to be mentioned in the same sentence with the USA.)

By definition, a state needs take part on the international level. It needs to sends its representatives to many organisations. A state like Estonia can’t make it everywhere. In terms of proportions, population and resources, Estonia will always need to put more effort into things. But this is not without a positive side. In a small country,  there is a bigger chance to get appointed to these positions, because there are more posts per citizen. (And in general, how easy it is to become someone in Estonia - an opinion leader, politician, whoever.) For a young person determined to make a career and see the world, things in Estonia are easier than in some large state, where internal competition is tougher and the selection process longer. During the last decades, there have also emerged the EU level, the proto- or pre-state structures and the organizations next to them. And even though there are places, where the old countries keep the sweet spots for themselves, there some, where the representatives of “new” states actually are in an advantage. This also applies for the admission of foreign students in several western universities. Actually, the world truly is wide open for the Estonian youth right now.

Social entities try to make their structures more efficient. For this they need constant feedback. In a small state, feedback is generally more efficient than in a large one. Let us remind a known comparison that a big state is like an ocean liner and a small one like a fishing boat. The model is always physically smaller than the object it models. (Although it seems to me that Estonia is a model of itself.) For instance, let us think of our e-state. How is it still possible that such a thing blossoms  in a country that is forced with retardation? True, we did have a high level of education and strong leadership, but still, a country from Old Europe or North-America is not worse off in this regard. But there, everything happens slower and more carefully. “The big guys” experiment with innovations just in some part of the country (as is the case with Special Economic Zones in China). At a time when mankind stands, in nearly every field, at the footsteps of fundamental changes, a smaller country has a threat of going adrift, but also the benefit of adapting faster.

Still, there is the sense of isolation and smallness inevitably felt by anyone, who returns home after having spent some time in New York, London, Berlin or in some other metropolis. This feeling stays forever, but it is now remarkably smaller than it used to be. Technology has greatly reduced the distances. No, I do not say as if now provincialism now lay solely in the hearts of people. Technology and virtuality do not replace physical human relations - for instance in the need for recognition. Perhaps some local celebrity indeed feels bad about the fact that he is not recognized in all the gas stations of the world. For a normal person, however, a reference group - a group of likeminded peers, who share one’s values and whose recognition matters - is all the self-assurance needed.   

Everything has everything, a drop of water reflects the entire world - this is no mere triviality or shallow consolation. Even a regional centre with a population of ten thousand has most of the same human relations as does a global centre. The zoo here is as diverse, just that there are fewer specimens in each pen. Of course a person might be encouraged to find a bigger work field (asides money) by a sense of mission for mankind. But the slogan “think globally, act locally,” does have its point.

There are more pleasures to a small country than that, if you know where to look. I have mentioned only a few of the most obvious. In conclusion, I will once again come to Juhan Liiv. In relation to the quoted verse about a “lovely home on yonder hill” the first lines of the poem are: “Here I am so poor/ and so rich.” It seems to me that we sometimes mix the two things up: a small country and a poor country. Actually we complain not about being small, but rather about being poor. Because a small but rich state would be perfect. Maybe the best.

Translation: Aare Pilv - Silent or a Deaf Era?

EPL: Vaikiv või kurt ajastu?

For a while, already for several years, it has seemed to me that there is a certain similarity in the way the society developed during the First Estonian Republic and is developing now. That we are in a danger of repeating the same mistakes only that we do not see the similarities.

I have thought every now and then that I would like to call the current period a “silent era”, but the parallel with the 1930ties does not hold up completely – anything can be said, the elections are free, there is no fear of repressions from the state etc. Yet Ahto Lobjakas' article “Riik kuu peal”¹ opens up the modern nature of that silence: not that it is impossible to speak, but rather the state itself remains silent and pretends as if the people were silent too.

The abuse of power is evident to everyone, it is even spoken publicly. Even the state partly admits this (e.g. the treacherous statement of the prime minister when the funding scandal begun that the “actual situation” should be legitimatized), but there lacks what would make communication truly communication: the actual part of the speech act – the speech act accomplishes nothing, i.e. there is no real action. (I refer here to the J. L. Austin's and J. Searle's theory of speech acts according to which the speech act is not merely limited to the uttering of a sentence. The purpose of any meaningful speech act is to do something, to act somehow, even if mentally.)

But what we see here is in essence a complete simulation of communication: some form of discussion does seem to take place, but this discussion has no connection with the realm of actions. Essentially, there is an interruption in the chain of communication: we see that the funding of one party (and other parties, probably) does not create trust (therefore it is in principle very hard to consider party politics trustworthy at all, because we simply do not know, what political influences are coming with the money), but we are essentially laughed at and said: “This can very well be so, although we do not admit it, and there is nothing you can do about it.”

Core of the silent era

We are not said “shush!”, nobody can say that our freedom of speech has been repressed. We simply are not heard until we reach that Wittgenstenian conclusion that what cannot be said, need be kept silent. And it is exactly in this sense that we have drifted to the core of a new silent era where we do not remain silent just because it is forbidden to speak, but rather constantly talk, because we are free to speak about anything, but the speech act has lost its central aspect – to be an action.

If the speech acts in public discussion on politics no longer have an influence to political actions, then it means that politics itself no longer remains in the public sphere. And this – political actions leaving from the grasp of public discussion – is exactly what also characterized the previous silent era. It is hard to call this democracy.

But there is a new kind of silence which is modern. A comparison would be like communicating with a computer. Probably all of us have given in to the illusion as though it were possible to communicate with a computer. We have angered at the computer when it seems to us that it is harassing us, as if there was some conscious process taking place inside the computer. No, the computer is merely a machine where certain processes operate when we enter the corresponding commands. And when we say to the computer for example “Well hurry up already,” we have a completely real and communicative relationship with the computer, only that the computer will not become faster because of what we said. Our speech act has no actual dimension for the computer. In reality we are silent, because the computer does not participate in the communication at all. Communication does not consist solely of saying something – the inevitable part of the speech act is the presumption of being heard.

This is also the situation with the state right now. Sometimes it feels as if a robot revolution, akin to science fiction, has already taken place, only not through robots becoming human (as it is always depicted – robots achieve self-awareness etc), but through people becoming robotic. And it makes sense that the state should act in a way that treats the country and the society as a mere machine that needs to be kept operational as economically as possible. It manages the country according to its own nature. Those currently in power are so thanks to free elections – but they have been chosen in a way one would choose between different computer brands in a store. They have been chosen by people who have failed to understand that the computer has no brain or heart, but a processor and a hard drive.

Deafness of the state

My previous sentences of course hint that the problem is not merely in the confrontation between the state and “us” - it is in some distorted “tiger leap” that includes the entire society, in a way “we” deserve what rules us. The question is, when was it that this robotized silent relationship between the people and the state fixated. Was it perhaps the spring of 2007² – it can be imagined that, at that time, the Russian population probably experienced something similar to what the society is now feeling as a whole? Or was it sometime earlier? But if so, when is that point in time when the choice fell in favor of the current situation. I do not say I know this – I am asking.

A friend of mine asked me whether it would be better to call this not silent but a deaf era. I think rather not. To describe this merely as a deafness of the state would mean that all responsibility lies on a malignant state unwilling to listen. I feel that the state's deafness is based on something in the society which could be described as the loss action from speech acts – that the inner strength of the speech act – which is what makes speaking a speech act – has faded somewhere, meaning that we are actually silent, even though we speak.

I wish to point out the paradox that even in the case of complete freedom of speech (Estonia is, after all, at the top of any free speech index) it can nonetheless happen that this freedom does not guarantee what it is established for – that the truth would be possible at all times.

The state's deafness is actually a symptom of something else – that the ties and connections inside the community which give the speech act its strength are lacking. And that is why it is important not only the fact that the state is deaf, but also that this deafness mirrors a certain silence. Because the kind of state we have now did not, after all, spring from a empty place, it corresponds to the society. Maybe it is not enough to just sadly admit that the state is a robot, but also necessary to ask if the reason behind it is the society's habit to speak with the state like a robot, without hoping any meaningful reply, merely inserting some line of command once every four years³ andconsidering it natural that the state will effectively carry out the process.

The people in power too are concrete individuals, so in that sense as well I would not want to strictly separate people speaking and a state being deaf – the logical conclusion of this would lead to an inner exile: “let's not communicate with the state at all, just between ourselves and then we'll show them!” We have a right to expect an response from those in power, because they are people too and should also belong to “our” circle and we should start thinking, what to do when a part of this circle no longer behaves like human beings. Because there is no escape from the state, let it at least be then as human as possible. We need to think how our speech acts would regain that presumption of being heard which gives meaning to speech.

I have no answers. What I say is a question intently waiting for answers.

1Postimees 17.10

2The author refers to the tensions culminating with the Bronze Night riots in April 2007.

3As in "just going to elections once every four years".

Translation: Indrek Hargla – A Question of Moral and Self-Respect

EPL: Moraali ja eneseväärikuse küsimus

A Question of Moral and Self-Respect

Already for the past few years, if not longer, not a week has gone by without there appearing another concerned article by some intellectual about the crisis of trust and alienation that has struck the political life of this country.

Something is seriously amiss in the relationship between the state and the larger society – it seems as if the state is living a life of her own somewhere high above and the democratic dialogue has been replaced by a state-centered monologue... even in the West the democracy is brewing, the system we have considered the fairest and the best guarantee for personal freedoms is suffering setbacks. More and more there is talk of democracy being hijacked by the political elite and that parliamentary system in its current form has become obsolete. That the parties lack vision and are merely corporate clubs. Often it can be heard that the gap between the elite and the Estonians has never been as wide as it is now. Even more commonplace are the comparisons with the Estonian SSR.

I fear that in reality we have merely grown up as a state. The time of childhood idealism is past, we have matured as a democracy. We have professional politicians and a professional civil service. The time of holding hands and mass singing demonstrations is history which will never return. The state has always been a thing in itself, an instrument to move from chaos to order, identical everywhere and always. The state dictates her terms in order to survive. Yes, she is one jealous and egoistic lady who demands complete commitment. Concepts such as justice, freedom, nationality she sees as competitors. The state loves to be lead by a party that in essence were Marxist and with a quivering voice and a thumping heart would speak of the supremacy of a certain economic model, be this model bent on serving the international proletariat or the international capital.

Defeating the grassroots

Those who have fallen to the embrace of the state, be them ministers or civil servants, will act instinctively by her prescriptions. They repel grassroots movements because clearly these have not been created in the interest of strengthening the state. So yes, I believe we have grown up as a state. We have note achieved a free republic of Estonians but rather the Republic of Estonia. It functions perfectly as a state alongside hundreds others of its kind, fulfilling its international obligations, supporting duly the European banking sector... The energy of this state is directed outwards, towards other states, because cooperation makes them all stronger.

What takes place in the inside? The party and the government no longer speak of Estonians and the national interests of Estonians. The interests of Estonians do not help the state to survive as much the interests of the international financial capital. The result is another rampant russification in Estonia, especially in Tallinn. It is hard to find work in Tallinn without knowing Russian and conducting business solely in Estonian has become difficult – you are simply not understood. The state watches all this with contentment. At the time of this article¹ eight years passes from the day when the state had its people beat up at Lihula in order to kill another grassroots movement.

The corporal punishment handed out in Lihula did not merely kill the national aspect in the Estonian politics – it marked the beginning of a period characteristic for style of communication from above to below. Bloodhounds and batons in Lihula's autumn evening seemed to be a good motive to erect another memorial two years later. And regrettably this gives even more reason to talk of freedom-fighting.

The communication with public mostly takes place on two levels. First is the restrained and fine-tuned self-praise of a PR expert. This rhetoric always comes back to the “value-based politics, transparency of the decision-making process, and sharing the positive experience of the e-State” which in August culminated with claims that the wages in Estonia have grown faster than the prices, and that the European Stability Mechanism is a question of self-respect and our moral duty. Seeming earnest while joking cynically is no doubt another sign of a matured state.

Noteworthy is the circumstance when the state started, via the mouth of a minister, to speak of moral and self-respect. Take notice – this was not during some internal question, but rather when the international financial capital was in trouble.

A language of decrees and restrictions

The other level of communication is based on arrogance and a sense of superiority. What was said to us when ACTA, spitting to the face of individual freedoms, was imported to the country? What was said when a strike took place and teachers demanded a fair salary? What is being said when the party, taken hostage by the euro, passes the European Stability Mechanism no matter what. This is being said: fuck off!

It is the civil service that makes up most of the state and writes its laws. They, the civil servants, have perhaps an even bigger understanding of state's needs than the politicians in the cabinet, their numbers are just that: times bigger. Perhaps it is the ever marginal role of the people's representative body that defines this parliamentary crisis. The career and self-actualization of a civil servant who spends his whole life in an office very much lies in creating legislation.

Years spent in a state institution tend to blur one's sense of reality. Estonia's growing and overpopulated bureaucracy produces a mass of laws that no parliament could ever chew through in detail. This results in flawed, confusing and inconsiderate laws which often originate from departmental interests or someone's personal fanaticism. Every organization will at some point start living and growing for its own sake, not for its intended goal.

The self-actualization of the civil servant is all the more successful if he organically grasps the growth needs of the institution and works toward that end. Unfortunately the laws are becoming increasingly cruel, even spiteful. The languages of decrees and restrictions tends to become the only language the state instinctively has for its subjects. I sensed this when working in a public office more and more: there is a prevailing mentality that it is necessary to forbid, limit and restrain more. The people have too many rights and not enough obligations. The people have to be forced to report themselves, to register themselves, they need to be counted, mapped, polled. The state needs this.

Healthism

Take for example the restrictions of the new tobacco law. The officials do not even hide the fact that its purpose has been to make the lives of people uncomfortable. Several scientists that have researched in healthism claim that this inevitably leads to totalitarianism – a state hijacked by puritans enforces conventions and limits personal freedoms. People's activities are categorized to healthy and unhealthy. The latter need be banned, eradicated from the society. The ideal of the state is a citizen who is weighed, measured, counted, a registered resident, digitized, without a nationality, healthy and always smiling. One who gladly greets healthism, big brother and a new era of silence.

Here's a small hint to the Ministry of Social Affairs where there seems to be difficulties in focusing on the important. How big is the pension of those Estonian intellectuals who during the occupation kept alive the Estonian language and culture and thanks to whom our independence became possible? How worthy does the state consider the contribution of those who endured the real repression of the USSR so that the ministers of today could speak of the European common values and maintaining self-respect?

The answer is 300 euros. And that is the true measure of our moral and self-respect.

1The article was first published on 30 August 2012. The author refers to the controversial removal of a memorial monument in Lihula on 2 September 2004.

An evening in Tartu's autumn

Originally published in the magazine Värske Rõhk, issue 40. The Estonian version can be read here.
 
I have created the English version of this text in order to take certain liberties a translator never can. Most important of those is the way direct speech is handled, which I have left unchanged and added a translation in the form of footnotes. In that sense the direct speech is the symmetric opposite of the Estonian version and the difference is only in the quantity of foreign speech in the text (as Estonian is the common language used in the story).
 
Unlike the Estonian version, this text has not been edited properly, so please excuse the mistakes in grammar, rection and other idiosyncraties that have slipped through.
 

By the time Arno left school, a fog had covered the town. The late-November wind was not very strong and a silence, anticipating the coming Christmas, had taken a hold of the town. Already there were Christmas songs played on the Raekoja plats and construction workers were placing a tremendous flatscreen on the very moment. In their yellow vests, the police was on high alert and Christmas peace was under guard on every street. Arno had just finished his day’s work and was now thinking of home. But since he was still in the town centre and the night was still young, he found these small details to be enough of a reason to stay for a little while longer. The week had just begun and it seemed - for the time being at least - that it would be coming one of those quiet evenings when very few people would be found on the streets willingly. He thought back at the previous week and the week before that, and regrets weighed heavily on him. The fog was getting thicker, he gladly stepped among it.

Soon he was wandering around aimlessly, passing the usual places and looking inside windows. There too, only a small number of people sat, strangers mostly, an occasional acquaintance among them. Only when he had reached Tehas did his luck change. On another occasion he would probably have gone foward - the person in question studied economics and they had known each other better as children -, but he was not very picky on that night. The week had, after all, just begun, all ways out remained open and even home was a short distance from Tehas.

A familiar ooze of sweat and grease shot at him as he opened the door. The music was rather quiet and there was an air of temperance among the voices inside. The girl behind the bar said hello, he ordered the cheapest beer as usual and went to the back room. It turned out that there were actually two people he knew (he recognized the other face but they had never really spoken). He raised his hand to greet and others did the same.

“Pole ammu näinud, Joosep.”¹

“Arno! Ega jah.”²

“Kas ma...?”³

“Jajah - võta tool.”⁴

As Tehas at that time was emptier than usual, it was not that difficult to find one. He dragged the chair at the boys’ table and took a seat next to them. After a moment of silence, Joosep spurred back to life: “Ahjaa! Arno - see on Georg Adniel. Ta on välisüliõpilane Saksamaal.”⁵ He then turned towards Georg Adniel. “This is Arno. He is my friend.”

The German nodded and said:: “Very nice to meet you, Arno. I’m Georg.”

             Arno wanted to answer, but words got stuck in his mouth. He had never been that good with languages in school.

           “Yes. Very nice.”

          He took a large gulp of beer and this helped him get over the moment. At the same time, Joosep started to explain the situation to the foreigner: „Me and Arno, we come from same place, went school together, grew up together and had lots of fun then. Kas sa mäletad, Arno,” he said, switching to Estonian, “kui me koolimaja tiigi juures venelastega kaklesime?”⁶

Arno did remember; there had been seven of them he thinks - all the boys from the village - and three or four of the Russians. But the Russians were bigger too. They had driven in from town, vodka with them and loudly started to break things. Arno would have wanted to call the teacher or the police, but Joosep didn’t let him. It’s a matter of honor, he said, and so they went to protect the honor of their home. Next week neither Arnor or Joosep made it to school - Arno because his wounds still needed healing, Joosep because nobody wanted to see him there. He heard from others later that the princal had seen Joosep the next day and tried to hit him with a fire iron. Arno doubted, whether this had exactly been what happened, but something among them definitely took place and a few years later, when they started writing a petition against the old principal, Joosep had been one of the first to sign it. At any rate, this was the last time they had any closer contact. The blood that had been jointly spilled rather drove the boys apart, and during the next few years Arno tried to avoid any dealings with Joosep quite consciously. At the end of ninth grade, their paths parted completely - Arno went to a secondary science school in Tallinn, Joosep stayed put. That had been about five years ago and it had only been September when the two boys got back in touch with one another.

         “Jah, mäletan küll,”⁷ Arno answered. But he did not have any desire to start discussing the question in any great length (especially if Joosep was planning to translate everything to English), so he turned the conversation to a more familiar topic. “Oota, sa õpid majandust, eks?”⁸

           Joosep nodded. “Hakkasin see sügis.”⁹

         “Sa oled esimesel aastal?” Arno was surprised. “Olime ju samas klassis.”¹⁰

         „Läksin pärast kooli kohe tööle – Soomes ehitamine ja muu selline. Siis tuli sõjavägi peale. Hea kah, et tuli. Muidu oleksingi äkki sinna ehitama jäänud.”¹¹

         “Ja tagasi ei kutsu?”¹²

Joosep shook his head. “Tead, sa võid ju raha eest rügada terve elu, aga kaua sa ikka teiste taskuid täidad. Teen oma kolm aastat ruttu ära, panen äri püsti ja viie aasta pärast ehitan Soomes juba enda maja. Väike mökki järve ääres mändide vahel poleks paha, või mis?”¹³ he added with a grin. Arno’s father had likewise been a builder an led the seventh largest construction firm in Central Estonia (based on the turnover of 2002.). Then he too found that much more profitable than building houses is selling them. The times were good, the old man had plenty of contacts and the banks were somewhat more lenient in giving loans. As a smart kid, it was clear for Arno pretty early on that an investment loan is not the same as a private loan and that SMS-loans pose an ineffable danger to the Estonian economy.

Soon enough they started living in a new exclusive suburban project near Tallinn. In the beginning they were almost the sole residents of the neighbourhood and when Arno walked home from the bus at evenings, he often imagined himself as the last person on Earth among empty houses and half-finished construction sites. ‘There will come soft rains’ or whatever it was called. Sometimes he borrowed the keys to these empty houses and imagined it was exactly that.

This was all, of course, in the beginning - the venture turned out to be immensely successful and more and more young families found their home in the new Männinõmme neighbourhood. Some men from Pärnu involved them to a construction project in West-Estonia and in the end they even had a third one in Latvia with a name Arno which never did manage to learn properly.

“Aga mis sa ise teed?”¹⁴ asked Joosep.

          “Olen kirjanduses ja kultuuriteaduses. Hakkas just kolmas aasta.”¹⁵

        “Kirjandus!” Joosep shouted. “Aga sul oli ju matemaatika alati selge. Mis sa sest kirjandusest õpid?”¹⁶

        “Noh, tead, kujunes välja kuidagi nii.”¹⁷

         Arno was just about to finish school when it happened. The old man had a hear failure and in school they kept repeating that cardiovascular diseases are the number one cause of death in Estonia. This was not much of a comfort. But there really wasn’t half as much time to cry than mother used - already with a week strangers, “business partners” appeared behind the door and talked of old debts, waving around with some contracts.

       Of course, what happened next took place several steps well above Arno - stockholders here, stockholders there, the Ministry of the Environment and politicians. The only thing clear was that nobody really cared about the him or his mother’s faith so eventually they came after, one article of law at a time, even to the floor under their feet.

         That is why it was more than obvious by summer that he would like to get a far from the capital as possible, likewise from all sort of speculation or fighting over money. In that sense the Tartu University’s Facult of Philosphy offered a perfect solution. Because in culture, he thought, one is free and it is the morality of people that counts, not mutual favours or self-righteous asswiping.

     “Kes sust siis saab,” Joosep asked, still being somewhat shocked. “Eesti keele õpetaja maakoolis?”¹⁸

            Arno sighed to himself. It seems they were talking of all the old things again. Secretly he peeked at his clock. It seemed that outside the weather had cleared already, tomorrow’s lecture was to start at ten and if went home right now, he could take even a third look at the materials.

          “Kuule, naljakas, et ma sind just täna näen,” said Joosep when no answer from Arno came. “Teele tuleb täna Tartusse! Tegelikult me Georgiga siin Teelet ootasimegi, ta peaks kohe ka tulema. Sa mäletad ju Teelet?”¹⁹

           For a moment, Arno thought deep back into his childhood and then shouted: “Teele? Teele Jalgtee?!”

           “No ega ta Jalgteeks kaua enam jää,” answered Joosep, grinning and raised his right hand. There were several rings, but his index finger was empty. “Peaks suvel pulmad tegema. Oled ka kutsutud.”²⁰

          “I think I need a smoke,” suddenly the third man among them said. Joosep flinched because while speaking, he had forgotten the German altogether, but already a moment later he answered with his usual confidence.

             “Yeah, me too. Kas sa tuled ka?”²¹ he asked from Arno.

            Arno did not respond immediately. He did remember Teele. As a matter of fact, he remembered her very well. Just a moment ago, he had been ready to talk about tomorrow’s timetable and how he is teriibly sorry to leave already, but now...

           He did not smoke generally, but he did keep a pack in his pocket just in case. He rose up and on Joosep’s lead the three men left the empty Tehas. In fresh air Arno’s mind started working better. Before moving away he had lived fifteen years on the same street with Teele, their houses being almost opposite to each other. They did not speak much (Arno had to admit, that he had never been a really talkative person), but they did share their way to school. When he stayed at home after the accident by the pond, Teele had been the only one to visit him. Then he had told her, what really happened (also how the most painful blows he had received from Joosep because he had not dared to go along). This conversation remained their childhood secret and, back then, Teele had thought that Joosep was really a bad person. Knowing that these two were now together fell upon Arno like a pile of stones.

          They stopped in front of Äpu. Adniel had not yet stopped his smoke (it was one of those fancier foreign brands, but Arno couldn’t really tell anything more) and Teele was about arrive too. At first glance, Arno did not recognize her at all - the blond girl she remembered had cut off her hair, dyed them silvery grey and now wore glasses. He figured he himself had not changed that much.

         “Arno!” she shouted and embraced the boy. „Sind pole ju nii kaua näinud! Kus elad? Mis teed?”²²

            Arno intended to answer, but Joosep beat him to it and said to everybody: “Kuulge, väljas on külm – lähme siis.”²³ This seemed a good idea and they moved down the stairs.

              The night had reached its peak - the people standing in front of the bar were like a small wall which kept others waiting behind them. Still, it was not that difficult to find a place on the left side of the room. Arno quickly made sure that there were not any other people he knew here tonight and that was all the better. Now that things had started going their way, he did not really wish to see any new faces that evening. The air had cleared, all players had taken their position and Arno remembered that besides mathematics, he had once also been fond of chess. Joosep proposed that he would go and buy some drinks. Having taken money from all of them (though Teele’s part he returned graciously), he stepped out from the immediate hearing distance. This time the silence that ensued was rather short, however - Adniel, who had so far been stoically silent, suddenly asked: “So what are you studying, Arno?”

              Arno doubted for a moment as he was not sure in his answer. Then he remembered the webpage his curriculum was at: “Culture sciences. What about you?”

              “Well, in Düsseldorf I majored in philosophy,” Georg answered, apparenlty happy that somebody finally was talking to him, “but I’m focusing more on theology right now – I plan to do my PG thesis on the Herrnhuter Brothers here in Estonia. What’s your research topic?”

               This kept going worse! Arno thought hard. Wasn’t there supposed to be a class about this? ”It’s very complicated,” he said then, “how long you in Estonia are?”

              And so forth; they found out that Georg Adniel came to Estonia in September and that he was going to stay here for at least spring term, he was living in the student residence at Raatuse street (he knew Joosep from there, actually), but planned on moving out on the first chance, being a little old for that kind of life. Estonia is nice, the nature beautiful, the people friendly (though not as talkative as the Germans) and the beer cheap and good. In addition he said that he offers - more to pass time than to earn money - private lessons in German. He was surprised by how many Estonians knew German and praised the Estonians’ talent for languages.

            “Oh, you are German!” Teele suddenly exclaimed and said something Arno could not understand. Georg Adniel laughed at the phrase and responded in kind. Joosep came back the same time, four glasses in his hand.

          “Noh, janutab ka juba?” He put his hand in his pocket and drew some coins and four candies. “Näe – natuke jäi üle kah. Ja neil on seal süüa!”²⁴

             Arno laughed and took the candy. But the money was worn out and dirty, seeming - when compared to the beginning of the year - somehow unpleasant. “Sa hoia seda enda käes,” he said to Joosepile, “järgmise korra jaoks.”²⁵

             Joosep looked at the heap of money with some discomfort, but nonetheless wiped the coins on the palm of his hand and pushed them deep into his pocket. Georg Adniel saw this and made some joke about the europäische Finanziell– und Vertrauenskrise. They both laughed even though Arno did not understand, what was there to laught about. When he looked at Joosep it seemed that Joosep did not understand anything at all.

            The night dragged on. Some new company arrived, others left. It also happened that people came in together, then already they went their separate ways. Everybody had a desire either to find or replace someone and each passing hour more and more aimless wanderers, who just banged the door. By midnight a group of people from a university corporation appeared and scared off most people with their loud patriotic singing. When the dust had settled, only a small, diminishing host of people remained.

           As time progressed, Joosep said less and less - a bad sign when one is at the consumption of alcohol. Arnon increasingly had to keep up the conversation and this made him feel unpleasant. So they spoke of school, the differences between faculties and of Tartu in general - Arno had after all been here for three years alread, Joosep being only on his first. These were the usual subjects from Arno’s backpocket when he did not quite know, what to say.

            At some point Gerog Adniel announce that he would go and do another smoke. Joosep did not react to this so the German went alone. Yet as soon as he had left the room, Joosep turned to Teele and said sharply: “Kuule, võta natukene rahulikumalt, eks?”²⁶

          “Mida sa sellega öelda tahad?”²⁷ Teele asked. During the last hour she had not talked to Joosep that much and so the gradual change in the boy’s mood had also gone unnoticed.

            “Tead väga hästi, mida ma öelda tahan,”²⁸ Joosep answered. As long as he was sitting quietly on his chair, it was not as obvious, but now when turned around, it occurred in a series of clumsy movements. Joosep, Arno realized, had been lost for the evening.

             “Joosep, kuule...”²⁹ he started, but Joosep immediately snapped back: “Ole sina vait korra.” He then said to Teele: “Ma tahtsin öelda, et no võta natukene rahulikumalt. Selle saksa kutiga, eks.”³⁰

          “Noh, sa oled ikka omajagu loll tõesti,” Teele laughed. “Ma ei või kellegagi siis rääkida, jah?”³¹

              It seemed as if Joosep had not hear this and said: “Tule, lähme.”³²

  

            “Ei kavatsegi!”³³

           “Lähme.”³⁴

            He grabbed Teele by her wrist and a grimace of pain appeared on her face. Yet no cry followed and a moment later her resistance stopped. She shouted: “Hästi!” and pulled her hand loose. They both stood up to leave and Teele said to Arno, as if guessing, what he had in mind: “Jää siia parem. Ma räägin temaga ise...”³⁵

            They had just reached the door (Arno was a little further off, fumbling with his coat) when Georg came back in. He asked: “Hey, what’s up?”

               Joosep pushed him aside and said: “Fuck off. We’re leaving.”

              Teele added something in German and Arno - just before he slipped through the door after them - muttered another “sorri” to conclude. During the next few weeks, he thought, I have to be careful not to meet Georg Adniel.

            The Rüütli street was practically empty. Two police officers in yellow vests were passing by and Arno noticed his companions moving towards the town centre. There were sounds of an argument and he decided to keep some distance. This would have been a good moment for a smoke, but he had no matches so he dropped the idea at that.

   It seemed that Joosep was keen on avoiding any excessive attention and they turned left on the first corner. Yet the anger must have diminished and Arno caught up with them after the parking lot behind the Public Library. They had just crossed the street when Arno called out for them. Joosep stopped.

            “Arno... kurat, mul vaja kusele minna.”³⁶

   

              He then fled behind the writer’s monument. 

              Arno sadly looked at Teele and asked: “Sinuga on kõik korras?”³⁷

              Teele just shrugged and replied:: “Mis seal ikka. Küll ta hommikuks rahuneb.”³⁸

              Arno stepped a little closer to Teele. It seemed terribly wrong, what had happened to her since they last met. It was not the girl next door he once knew, but a complete stranger that now stood before her and he was not sure, whether he could ever cross this strangeness.

            “Sa räägid päris head saksa keelt,” he said for the sake of saying something. “Miks sa ülikooli ei tulnud?”³⁹

              “Ülikooli!” she laughed, “Mis mul sellest ülikoolist? Mul on elus muud ka kui kool. Kust ma selle raha võtan? Mul on haige ema kodus. Kes siis tema eest hoolitseks? Ja kas sa arvad,” she pointed her head towards Joosep in the distance, “et tema jätaks mind hetkekski rahule, kui ma siia elama tuleksin?”⁴⁰

               “Ma arvasin lihtsalt...”⁴¹

               “Ei, Arno, sa ei ole kunagi lihtsalt arvanud. Ainult keeruliselt. Hüvasti, Arno. Ole tubli.”⁴²

               Teele turned around and grabbed the approaching Joosep by arm. The boy did need some support too as he had apparently tripped somewhere and his trousers were all torn apart and dirty. Teele waved one more time, but when they then moved towards Kaarsild, neither of them looked back anymore.

             Arno started walking towards home. The wind grew and he pulled his coat more tight around him. he had a desire to yell insults, throw stones at windows or spit at the face of the first person he met. But the town was empty, so he was left alone with his anger. From the Rüütli street to the right, then to the left again, up the hill and away home. Until morning.

            “Vabandage, kas teil helkur on?”⁴³ a voice suddenly said so that Arno jerked. He turned around and saw behind him a man with a yellow vest. It was possible that he had already seen him during the night, but then again they all seemed the same to him. This one did look a little fatter than they usually were.

              “Helkur peab olema, kui öösel liikuda,” the man added when Arno made no reply. He stepped a little closer and Arno sensed the stench of filth and alcohol flowing from him. His first reaction would have been to keep his distance, but Arno forced himself to stay put. “Nüüd eriti, sest muidu võtab politsei kinni. Oodake.” He put down his plastic bag, the bottles clanged, and pulled from his pocket a small yellow slab of plastic. “Võtke vähemalt siis see.”⁴⁴

          Arno took the reflector and observed it for a moment. The Comarket logo appeared like a secret message. Still holding the reflector with one hand, he started to grope in the pocket with his other. “Aitäh, ma...”⁴⁵ But the man with the yellow vest raised his hand and said: “Häid jõule teile.”⁴⁶ Then, not waiting for an answer, he went his own way.

             Arno looked as he parted, thoughts of a different kind of life drilling through his brain. He stuffed the reflector to his pocket and moved further into the night.

1 “It’s been a long time, Joosep”

2 “Arno! I guess it has.”

3 “Should I...?”

4 “Yeah, yeah - grab a chair.”

5 “Ah yes! Arno - this is Georg Adniel. He’s an exchange student from Germany.”

6 “Do you remember Arno /---/ how we fought those Russians by the school pond?”

7 “Yeah, I remember,”

8 “Say, you’re studying economics, right?”

9 “I started this autumn.”

10 “You’re on your first year? /---/ But we were in the same class.”

11 “I went to work straight after school - building in Finland and stuff like that. Then the service came. And it’s good that it came, too. Otherwise I maybe would have stayed there building houses for good.”

12 “And you don’t feel an urge to go back?”

13 “You know, you can work for money all your life, but what’s point really, if all the profit goes to someone else’s pockets. I’ll do my three years in no time, set up a business and in five years time I’ll be building my own house in Finland. A small mökki next to some lake among pine trees doesn’t sound that bad, does it?”

14 “But what are you doing yourself?”

15 “I’m in Literature and Cultural Research. Just started my third year.”

16 “Literature! /---/ But you always knew math so well. What are you studying literature for?”

17 “Well you know, it turned out like that.”

18 “But who will you become then, /---/ An Estonian teacher in some village school?”

19 “Hey, it’s funny that I see you today, /---/ Teele’s coming to Tartu tonight! Actually George and I were waiting for her, she should come soon. You remember Teele, don’t you?”

20 “Well he won’t be Jalgtee for long /---/ We should have weddings in summer. You’re invited too.”

21 “Are you coming too?”

22 “Arno! /---/ I haven’t seen you for so long! Where’re you living? What you’re doing?”

23 “Hey it’s cold outside - let’s go then.”

24 “Well, you thirsty already? /---/ See - I got some change back. And they have food there!”

25 “You hold on to them, /---/ for the next time.”

26 “Hey, take it a little easier, ok?”

27 “What do you mean by that?”

28 “You know very well, what I mean by that.”

29 “Joosep, listen...”

30 “Shut up you for a sec. /---/ I just wanted to say that, you know, you take it a little easier, ok? With that German guy,”

31 “Well you really are stupid. /---/ I can’t talk to noone then, can I?”

32 “Come on, let’s go.”

33 “I don’t think so!”

34 “Let’s go.”

35 “Fine! /---/ You stay here. I’ll talk to him myself...”

36 “Arno... fuck, I need to take a piss.”

37 “Are you okay?”

38 “Well whatever. He’ll calm down by the morning.”

39 “You speak pretty good German, /---/ Why didn’t you come to the university?”

40 “The university! /---/ What good will the university do to me? I have other things in life than school. Where should I take the money? I have a sick mother at home. Who would take care of her? And do you think /---/ that he would leave me alone ever for a second if I came living here?”

41 “I was simply thinking...”

42 “No Arno, you never think simply. Only complicated. Goodbye, Arno. Take care.”

43 “Excuse me, do you have a reflector?”

44 “One needs a reflector if one moves around at night, /---/ Now especially, because otherwise the police will take you in. Wait for a moment. /---/ Take at least this then.”

45 “Thank you, I...”

46 “Merry Christmas to you.”