Hingeõed | Soul Sisters

Värske Rõhk nr 44 /​talv 2015

Hingeõed Les ruches malades Juuli alguses tõi Andres asjad Tartust ära ja viis need vanaema juurde Põlvasse. Tolmunud kastid peitsid vanu konspekte, õppevihikuid ja kohustuslikke õpikuid, mida oli olnud aastate jooksul osta vaja. Kodus lappas ta kastid osaliselt läbi ja viis need lõpuks alla keldrisse keskkütteruumi. „Põleta sügisel ära, kui viitsid,” ütles ta teisele. „Sulle hea tulehakatis.” Vanaema vaatas järgmisel päeval kastid üle ning tassis need tagasi üles ja jättis pööningule paremaid aegu ootama. Suvi oli lühike ja plaanid, mis Andresel sellega olid, enamasti teoks ei saanud. Need olid pikad päevad ja uimased hommikud, üldine loidus, mida vaheldas juhuslik vaimustus. Poiss unistas välismaast ja mõtles reisida mööda Eestit, aga veetis suurema osa ajast kodus väikeste asjade üle jageldes. Sest kodu argisus teeb rahutuks, kui oled ise suuri kavatsusi täis. Augusti üha lühematel päevadel, kui ilm pöördus vihmasemaks ning meenutas saabuvat sügist, murdis Andres lõpuks oma vaheseisust välja ja kaalus võimalikke valikuid. Ja ühel jahedal suveõhtul, kui vanaema vaatas parasjagu enne õhtuseid uudiseid mälumängu, läks Andres tema juurde ning ütles: „Ma nüüd kolin Tallinna ära. Lähen isa juurde.” Vanaema ärkas justkui unest ning vaatas äraoleval ilmel poissi. Andres oli peaaegu valmis end juba kordama, kui vanaema lapselapsele vastas: „Ahah, ega sulle see maaelu ei sobi ka. Oled just nagu su isa.” „Ma olen isast igas asjas erinev,” ütles Andres vastu, kuid ei laskunud vaidlusesse süviti. „Aga ta on mu isa.” Möödus nädal, mil marjakorjamine püsis veel haripunktis ning koduseid abikäsi oli hädasti vaja, kuid pühapäeval tuli isa autoga Põlva, et Andres saaks oma vajalikud asjad kaasa võtta. Viimasest kolimisest ja kohtumisest oli möödunud palju ning nad vahetasid viisakusi nagu ärimehed enne läbirääkimisi, siis hakkasid tassima, valdavalt kila-kola, vana džiibi pagasnikusse. Vanaema hüvasti jätma ei jäänud, vaid ütles, et täna heidavad mesilased pesa ning tal vaja silm peal hoida, muidu läheb sülem raisku. Haigest tarust pole kellelegi kasu, küll Andres leiab peagi oma koha.  Heurt Neil oli korter Nõmme tagumises otsas, kus mändide ja eramajade vahele olid ära eksinud üksikud tornid. Natukene kaugemal elati juba kõrgete aedade taga klaasmajades ning kusagil veel kaugemal oli Pääsküla ja Saue vald. Nemad olid siiski sügaval siinpool piiri, kuigi bussipeatus asus omajagu eemal ning Andres rohelise kaardi hankimises erilist mõtet ei näinud. Samal päeval pärast saabumist läks ta huupi ja jalutas mööda võõraid tänavaid. Siin ei olnud ta kunagi käinud – isa oli kolinud tema gümnaasiumiaegu ning külas ei käinud ta ka. Väikesed lapsed sõitsid rataste-rulluiskudega ja ristmikel laveerisid närvilised juhid, sest kehtis parema käe reegel. Ja ema jooksis laste juurde, käed rusikas, siis haaras nad teeservalt peenrale. „Mis ma rääkisin tänaval mängimisest? Autod sõidavad! Kus su kiiver on? Viimane kord, kui üksi õue lähed.” See kisa kostis päris kaugele, sest tegelikult oli siin vaikne nagu maal vanaema juures või suviti kusagil Tartu Tammelinna tänavatel. Ei olegi imestada, et Morna on tegelikult Nõmme. Aga inimesed käitusid närvilisemalt kui väljamõeldud väikelinnades ja Andres mõistis peagi rahu petlikkust – autosid oli näha vähe, kuid siinsamas mühises Vabaduse puiestee ning rohtunud aedade rahus hoiatas võõraid naabrivalve ja CCTV. „Siin me siis oleme,” ütles isa, kui nad lõpuks pärale jõudsid ja parklasse sisse keerasid. „Mis see suur plaan sul ka on? Koolis ei käi?” „Mul siin üks teema käib. Eks ma vaikselt vaatan,” ütles Andres autoust kinni lüües. „Viime asjad üles.” Kodus – see on koht, kus magatakse – jagasid nad korteri kaheks. Isa andis talle elutoa, mida üldiselt ei kasutatud ning seisis magamistoaga vastastikku. Niisiis polnud sellest suuremat vahet ning kaks meest elasid koos enamjaolt teineteist nägemata. Isa töötas öises vahetuses ja päeviti magas, Andres ärkas tihti küll hilja, kuid isa tööleminekuks seadis aegsasti ukse kinni või otsustas minna linna peale. Andrese kolimine oli kompromiss reaalsuse ja soovide vahel ning ta teadis seda hästi. Varem, kui isa oleks teda kutsunud või keegi oleks selle välja pakkunud, poleks ta hetkegi kõhelnud ning öelnud, et mitte kunagi, mitte kunagi ei kavatse ta selle inimesega enam koos elada. Aga need olid teised ajad ja Andres tegi südame kõvaks, isegi kui kõhus oli mõnikord õõnes ja külm. „Mingit läbustamist ma ei kannata,” jätkas ta. „Ja raha mul ka sulle anda pole, ole õnnelik, et niigi saad üürita ...” „Jah, ma tean. Saan ise hakkama küll.” Justkui kogu vestluse naljaks võttis isa rahakotist kümnelise rahatähe ja ulatas selle poisile. „Mine osta endale midagi süüa, ma ise kööki ei kasuta. Pood on siinsamas.” Andres kõndis huupi mööda tänavaid ja mõtles juhtunu üle. Rahast saab üks vägivalla vorme, kui sul muud voli inimese üle ei ole, sest võimaldab kehtestada kontrolli, tekitada sõltuvust ja panna inimesi tegutsema nii, nagu sa tahad. Suuremeelsel hingel on palju võlglasi. Laste nutt kostis üle mitme ristmiku ning ema hääl muutus juba hüsteeriliseks, justkui kahetsedes, et nad üldse sündisid. Andres mõtles, et emad võivad nutta, palju tahavad, aga tema oma sündi kahetsema ei hakka. Oli ilus ilm, kuigi kogu eelneva nädala sadas ja taevas selgines alles ärasõidul Tallinna. Sellel oli vist märgiline tähendus, sest õhk püsis jahe ka päikesepaiste kiuste. Põhja-Eestis oligi natukene külmem. Õhtuti käis ta sageli väljas, kasutades selleks isa vana ratast, mis oli mitu aastat keldris seisnud ja uut elu oodanud. Tagarehvi pidi küll välja vahetama ning keti ära õlitama, kuid muidu oli ratas sõidukõlblik. Vanalinna väntas umbes kolmveerand tundi, kuid Andrese tee viis ka kõikjale mujale üle linna. Kord oli ta siin elanud, aga vahepeal oli möödunud pool aastakümmet ning aeg-ajalt tekkis huvi vana elu uuesti näha. Kord sõitis ta Piritani välja, kus poisid ja tüdrukud käisid omakeskis ujumas. Tormise ilmaga uhtusid lained üle liivaranna ning tuulekohin ähvardas mände murda. Andres keeras üles Lasnamäe peale, kuid laululava juures oli pime kurv, kus autojuhil polnudki võimalik märgata ilma helkurvesti või ees- ja tagatuleta ratturit. Kiirete reflekside abil õnnestus Andresel külg ette keerata ning jalgade abil end suurema hoobi eest eemale tõugata. Sõiduriist aga jäi rataste alla ja Andres kuulis metalli kriiksumist. Masin pidurdas hetkeks, kuid pääses peagi ratta küljest lahti ning kihutas omatahtsi edasi. Kas rattur pääses õnnetusest suuremate vigastusteta või mitte, pole pimedas kuidagi võimalik aru saada. Hommikul Nõmmele jõudes oli kokkupõrge vältimatu. Vähemalt sel korral liikusid nad samal kellaajal ning isa, kes alati kahtlustas mingit joovet, kus seda tegelikult ei olnud, haaras tast kinni ja lohistas risti üle korteri. Viimaks lükkas ta Andrese selle tuppa ja keeras ukse seejärel lukku. Andres oli hetkelise hingetõmbe üle õnnelik, kuid tahtis peagi välja ja asus ust käte-jalgadega peksma. Ning vastus tuli sellisena nagu alati: uks avanes, Andres tõstis käed rusikas üles, valmis äsama. Kaks meest põrnitsesid üksteist ägedalt, kuni isa lasi käed alla ning loobus edasisest võitlusest. „Kurat sind sellega. Sul pole ju kuhugi minna ka. Idioot.” Recueillement Mustamäe nõlvalt paistab suurem osa linnast. Hea ilmaga kogu merejoon Haaberstist kesklinna sadamani välja, vaid Pirita ning Lasnamäe jäävad puude varju. Andres käis siin sageli, kuna see märkis tema jaoks vahepeatust. See oli punkt tema teekonnal edasi linna: Ehitajate tee kaudu alla, endisele merepõhjale, seal on nüüd tihe kortermajade labürint, siis Kristiine poole ja lõpuks Pärnu maanteele välja. Teinekord meeldis tal siin nõlval lihtsalt istuda ja mõelda ning polnud teist kohta, mis nii hästi sobinuks suurte plaanide üle mõtlemiseks, aeg-ajalt linnale rusikat viibutades ning lubades, et saab veel targemaks ja veel kavalamaks. Selline istumine meenutas talle miskipärast Hardit, kes endiselt lõpetas Tartus õpinguid ja kes tegi kõike nii vastupidi Andresele. Hardi istub, aga Andres teeb. Andres kujutles, kuidas nad siin kahekesi istuksid, Hardi komistab ja vajub mööda külge sügavamale alla, kuigi proovib meeleheitlikult tagasi mäele saada. Aga jalgealune on libe ja juurikad jäävad alatasa ette. Andres vaatab, kuidas teine iga hetkega kaugeneb, tunneb kõrvus vere elevuse kohinat, kuni lõpuks plahvatab ning tajub nina otsas punaseid piisku. Selline see Hardi on. Aga inimesi mäel sellised keerulised mõtted ei vaevanud, pigem tehti seal sporti. Mõned jalutasid ka koera ning – loojangu lähenedes – leidis Andres kamba koolipoisse õlut lürpimas. Üksteist nad väga ei seganud, kuigi vahepeal käis üks poissidest Andrese ees põit laskmas. Andres tegi varese moodi kraaksatuse ning teismeline hüppas suure hirmuga eemale. Ta oli vahepeal muutunud justkui nähtamatuks – teda ei märgatud enam. See oli ühtaegu hirmutav ja joovastav, sest kogu maailm näis hoomatav ja käegakatsutav, kui ta ainult natukene rohkem üritaks. Nähtamatud saavad kõike, mida tahavad, näha nähtamatut tähendab saada nähtamatuks. Andres naeris ning kõrvaltkuulajale oli see pigem haugatus kui inimese hääl. Rastignac oli üksi Pariisi vastu, Andresel oli ainult Tallinn ja kõik. See ei ole mitte midagi, see Tallinn. Sellised olid tema mõtisklused üleval mäel, kuid seal käis ta ainult vahepeatuse pärast ning alla Mustamäele jõudes unustas tihti oma tujud. Faux Semblants Andres jõudis tagasi maa peale üsna kiiresti. See oli siis, kui ta avastas taas end tuttavate inimeste seast. Kristiine keskuse foori taga kohtus ta juhuslikult Leenaga, kes foori taga rohelist tuld ootas. Andres tuli kiiruga teiselt poolt vastu ja oleks tuttavast möödagi tormanud, kuid Leena sai mantlivarrukast kinni ja tõmbas poisi kõrvale. „Vanu sõpru veel mäletad?” küsis ta naerdes, sest esmapilgul vaatas Andres teda kurjal võõra inimese pilgul. „Sa ei ole vana ega midagi,” vastas Andres ja muigas omakorda vastu. „Kus sa nüüd elad?” „Läksin tagasi vanemate juurde. Et siis Viimsis.” „Käid päris kaugel poes,” täheldas Andres, kui märkas roosat ostukotti teise käes. „Tulin tegelikult siia korterit vaatama, Sõpruse tänaval üht kahetoalist. Viies korrus on.” „Paneelikaid ei karda?” „Kellega sa omaarust õige räägid? Elasin Annelinnas kolm aastat järjest, pole midagi.” Leena patsutas korra veel poisi õlga ja ütles, et on tegelikult hiljaks jäämas. Hiljem mõtles Andres juhuslike kohtumiste peale ja leidis, et Tallinnas on need kõik väga teistmoodi. Ma ei taha vältida sind suures linnas, kus see on väga lihtne ja ma kunagi ei tea, millal sind jälle näen, mõtles Andres. Koju jõudes otsis ta telefonist tüdruku numbri ja helistas pikemalt mõtlemata. „Jooksid nii kiiresti ära, et jutt jäi pooleli,” sõnas ta Leena küsimise peale. „On siin kiired ajad jah.” Jälle naer. Neil justkui tõsiseid teemasid enam polekski ja Andres lollitas edasi, kuigi tavaliselt rääkis ikka asjast. „Mis sa homme teed? Saame linnas kokku ja teeme mõne dringi, kui juba niimoodi juhtus.” „Igast asju juhtub. Aga, jah, ma homme saan paari sõbrantsiga kokku. Kas see sobib?” Andres oli nõus ja nad leppisid kokku, et kohtuvad kell seitse Telliskivis, kuhu Andres ei olnud veel väga sattunud. Välja arvatud paar korda kooli ajal, mil tööstushoonete vahel sai õlut joodud ja niisama jõlgutud. Vanasti tegid sõbrad seal bändi, aga nüüd olevat kant märksa viisakam. Vähemalt kaklema keegi küll ei kukkunud ning taaskasutatud tehasekompleksid seisid segamini veel valmimata büroohoonetega. Ta jõudis pärale enam-vähem kokkulepitud ajaks, kuid teisi veel kohal ei olnud. Kusagil tehti teatrit või avati mingit näitust, nii et platsil majade vahel oli omajagu liikumist. Reede õhtul toimub igal pool asju. Poiss ostis lähedal asuvast Telliskivi Rimist paar Sassi ning jäi kaskede vahele rüüpama. Väljas oli oktoobri kohta ebatavaliselt soe. Pool üheksa helistas ta uuesti ja sai Leena kätte. „Jah, tule siia Pudeli juurde, me juba istume,” vastas tüdruk. „Oled sa veel kaugel?” „Mitte väga.” Andres viskas tühja purgi põõsasse ning kõndis ümber nurga. Läbi suure klaasakna tundis ta inimmassi vahel ära ka tuttava Leena. „Läks omajagu aega?” tervitas tüdruk. „Kaugelt Nõmmelt tükk maad tulla.” „Sõitsid bussi või rongiga? Rong tuleb siiasamma Baltasse välja ju.” „Tulin praegu jala, ei viitsi bussi peale mõelda.” „Hull peast!” naeris teine. „Ära tagasi küll nii mine. See on ohtlik!” Õhtused kultuurisündmused hakkasid tasapisi lõppema ning baari valgus üha rohkem inimesi. Andres tundis teiste seas ära vana klassivenna, kellest nüüd olevat saanud viljakas kultuuriajakirjanik. Vähemalt tema arvustusi nägi Andres siin-seal üsna tihti. „Väga kitsaks läheb,” ütles ta Leenale. „Te õues istuda ei taha? Mul on veel mõni alles,” näitas ta põuetaskus peituvat kahte õllepurki. „Väljas on ju sügis,” vastas tüdruk. „Vastik märg ja pime. Mina enne aprilli küll õue ei taha. Aga meil oli mõte linna minna küll,” leidis ta hetke pärast. „Seal on täna üks äge pidu. Me siin tegimegi soojendust.” Nii jõudsidki nad tagasi õue, kus mitme lokaali klientuur moodustas ühise seltskonna. Joodi valdavalt väiksemaid brändiõlusid ning burgeribussi juures kiheles veel omaette kamp näljaseid. Andres avas järgmise Aleksandri ning pakkus seda ka tüdrukutele. „Kuule, tänan mitte, ei ole päris selle isu,” vastas Leena sõber. „Mulle meeldivad pigem orgaanilised tumedad fair trade-õlled. Kus on humalat ikka tunda ka.” Leena üritas saada neile taksot, kuid tänaval ei seisnud ühtegi ja Taxify järgi oli lähim masin kümne minuti kaugusel. „Tühja kah,” ütles ta seepeale. „Lähme siis seekord jala.” „Trammid veel käivad,” arvas teine tüdruk, aga Leena lõi talle käega. „Ei taha mingis kuselõhnalises trammis ...” Pidu, mida Leena sõbranna, kelle nimi Andrese kõrvust mööda läks, näha tahtis, toimuvat kusagil vanalinnas ning jalgsi oli see tee umbes veerand tundi. Balti jaama tunnel suletakse võrdlemisi vara ning seetõttu lisandus veel paar minutit, kuid nad jõudsid siiski enne keskööd Pikale tänavale. Andres polnud selles baaris varem käinud, kuigi koht oli talle tuttav. Vana Juuksur, igatahes. Alt terendas paks udune muusikamüra. Turvamees Andrest oma joogiga sisse ei lasknud ning poiss tegi õues viimasel purgil ruttu kaane lahti. Päris lõpu jättis ta sinnasamma trepi kõrvale, kuna ei jõudnud nii kiiresti juua ja vahepeal sõitis mööda politseipatrull. Õues joomine oli mõni aeg tagasi taas väärteoks saanud, kuigi esialgu ainult Tallinna vanalinnas. Tüdrukud leidis ta tagumises toas tantsimas. Kuskil lava peal andis diskor kütet, kehad liibusid tihedalt kokku. Andres õõtsutas end mõnda aega rütmide saatel, siis aga läks tagasi eesruumi. Selline muusika oli tehniliselt igav, ei tekitanud emotsioone. Viimaks ostis ta uue õlle, mis maksis neli eurot ja viiskümmend senti. „Mis?!” karjus ta kitsilt üle leti. „Miks sul siis hindu väljas ei ole?” Teenindaja viitas seinale, kus oli nimede ja arvude sigrimigri. „Vaadist on odavam,” lisas ta selgituseks. Andres tõmbas rahakotist viiese, kortsutas selle rusikas käkraks ning kukutas selle siis letile. See oli väikeses pudelis kvaliteetse taaskasutuspaberiga markeeritud Eesti käsitööõlu. „Hea õlu,” kiitis valikut Leena, kes oli vahepeal Andrese selja taha ilmunud. „Mul endal on praegu küll millegi mahedama isu. Anna mulle üks see Kriek!” „Enam tantsida ei taha?” küsis Andres, kui nad parasjagu laudade poole liikusid. „Liiga palav on!” hüüdis Leena. „Ja see muss pole ka päris see meeleolu.” „Mida sa siis Tallinnas teed?” küsis tüdruk lauas istudes. „Oled tagasi vanemate juures?” „Isa ainult,” vastas Andres. „Aga seda lühikeseks ajaks, varsti otsib mõne teise koha. Kui olen end sisse seadnud.” „Töötad ka?” „Ah?” „Et kas sa tööd ka teed?” „Olen paaris kohas proovinud küll,” vastas Andres. „Aga ei ole päris see olnud. Võtaksid küll, aga ise ei taha.” „Noh, lucky you,” naeris Leena. „Ma olen nüüd ühes kohvikus, kuigi lubasin, et sellist tööd eales ei tee. Aga see pole tegelikult väga hull.” „Mis kohvik siis?” „Ah, üks Kadriorus. Pole midagi erilist.” Muusika ja muu müra muutis jutuajamise raskeks ning mõnda aega vahetasid nad ainult üksikuid mühatusi ja pilke. Leena kandis tumedaid retuuse, selle peal must lühikene kleit. Ta ei olnud tüdrukut kunagi selles värvis näinud ning mõtles, kas see on nüüd tema uus stiil. „Sa käid ka kellegagi?” „Kuidas?” „Käid ka kellegagi? Nagu kohtamas. On sul poiss?” „Ah,” muigas Leena viimaks mõistes. „Andres, ma selle jätan sulle praegu vastamata. Ma tahan nüüd tantsida!” Tüdruk tõusis uuesti püsti ja läks tagasi lava juurde. Andres jäi hetke mõttesse, kuid järgnes siiski. Tossu sees oli raske ringi liikuda ning mitu korda põrkas ta kellelegi otsa või komistas vastu jalapaari. Muusika tundus üha valjem, kehad liikusid kiiremini ning Andres arvas Leena ära tundvat. Minut-paar nõksutas ta rütmi saatel pead, siis langes aga taktist välja ja avastas, et seisis hoopis kellegi võõra taga. Et Leenani jõuda, pidi kõvasti rahvast läbi murdma. „Mulle aitab tänaseks,” arvas tüdruk mingi hetk kuuldekauguselt. „Sa vist tahad veel siia jääda?” „Aei, ei pea jääma,” vastas Andres. „Kell omajagu ka.” Nad hakkasid välisukse poole trügima ning ühel hetkel avaneski võimalus, et end jälle värskes õhus leida. „Kus su sõber on?” küsis Andres, kes avastas nüüd, et neist on vahepeal saanud kaks. „Sa mõtled Kairi? Ta läks ju juba mitu tundi tagasi,” ütles Leena. „Homme on tal tööpäev.” „Ja sa lähed nüüd koju Viimsisse või oled juba Kristiines?” „Ei kumbki – lähen ühe sõbranna juurde siinsamas kesklinnas. Raua tänaval.” „Ta pahaks ei pane, et tuled öösel ja üles ajad?” „Tegelikult ta üldse linnast väljas, maal vanaema juures, aga mul on võti.” „Et saad tulla-minna kuidas tahad?” „Põhimõtteliselt.” „Saadan su äkki ära?” tegi Andres ettepaneku, kui nad olid paar minutit vaikides Tammsaare pargi poole liikunud. „See pole väga kaugel ning saame veel rääkida.” „Mida meil rääkida on?” „Oled sa nüüd rahul pärast lõpetamist?” „See on loll küsimus. Keda huvitab? Vanemad on rahul, kui sind see huvitab.” „Aga sina ise?” „Kõik läheb väga tavaliselt, tead.” Tee viis Gonsiori tänavale, kus päevase tossu ja müra asemel haigutas tühi vaikus. Öised taksod olid kusagil mujal ja hommikused bussid veel ei sõitnud. Sammud sillutisel kajasid valjult igas suunas ja nad tundusid olevat ainsad inimesed tänaval. Kui keegi peitiski end kusagil varju all, siis nemad teda ei kuulnud, kuigi nad ise olid hästi nähtaval. „Raua tänav siis,” nentis Leena järgmise ristmiku juures. „Tead, ära Nõmmele ikka jala mine. Pole mõtet, ma annan sulle parem hea takso numbri.” Tüdruk asuski telefoni näppima, et õige koht üles leida. „Su sõber on linnast ära, eks?” küsis Andres ja astus lähemale. „Äkki ma ei hakkagi siis minema?” Andrese käed haarasid Leenast nagu klambrid ning ta jätkas peaaegu romantilise kähinaga. „Me oleme üsna sarnased, eks. Sa oled väga nagu ... ma saan sinust väga aru. Meil on ühised asjad, ma tahan ...” Seejärel hakkas ta tüdrukut suudlema, küüniliselt nagu vanemad luuletajad oma nooremaid muusasid. Aga see ei saanud kunagi teoks, sest Leena naeris täiest südamest, tundmata isegi hirmu või vajadust end kaitsta. Ja naeruväärsus tegi vastase võimetuks. „Lollakas, ei saa aru üldse,” irvitas ta, vabastades Andrese enda haardest. „Sa ei ... ei, sa ei ole üldse sarnane, ühised asjad. Sõidad nüüd tagasi kodu poole ja teine kord kohtume valgel ajal, kohvi või teed juues, ja sa räägid väikestest sündmustest või tegemata plaanidest ning mina aeg-ajalt esitan mõne kinnitava küsimuse, et sa räägiksid edasi, kuni sa viimaks ise ka aru saad, et ei-ei-ei, me oleme väga erinevad.” Takso jõudis Raua tänavale ning võttis teelseisja peale, viimaks teda koju. Viimaks („Lukase 3, korter 23”) koju. Takso sõitis Raua tänavalt Gonsiori tänavale, Gonsiorilt sõitis ta Liivalaiale, Liivalaialt sõitis ta Suur-Ameerikale, Suur-Ameerikalt sõitis ta Endlale, Endlalt sõitis ta Sõpruse puiesteele, Sõpruse puiesteelt sõitis ta Ehitajatele, Ehitajalt sõitis ta Pärnu maanteele, Pärnu maanteelt sõitis ta Valdekule, Valdekult sõitis ta Õiele, Õielt sõitis ta Vabaduse puiesteele, Vabaduse puiesteelt sõitis ta Sulevile, Sulevilt sõitis ta Ilmarisele ja Ilmariselt jõudis Andres koju. Video Girl Andres magas hommikuti kauem kui varem. Päevad lühenesid ja pime aeg imes endasse ka jõu. Konjunktuuri mõistes oli ta ületanud parabooli harja ning liikus üha kiirenevasse langeseisundisse. Majanduse seisund oli kehvenemas, süda tundis end halvasti. Kuid ka hilised hommikud jõudsid kunagi pärastlõunasse ning kolme paiku ajas Andres end uuesti püsti. Kempsupeeglist jõllitas ta kurjalt oma ilmet ja proovis kuidagi kõhtu pingule tõmmata. See oli ainult pooleldi õnnestunud katse, sestap pani ta särgi tagasi selga. Sel ajal korrati ühes kunstikinos Lars von Trieri „Nümfomaani” mõlemat osa ning kuigi Andres oli esmase linastusaja ükskõikselt mööda lasknud, vajas ta parasjagu suurt visuaalset narratiivi. „Melanhoolia” on aeglane ja tüütu maailmalõpuga päädiv film, Charlotte Gainsbourg on palju ilusam prantsuskeelsena – nagu kunagi „Hüljatutes”. Aga viimane tõlgendus sellest oli hoopis inglise muusikal. Päeva jooksul keeras pilvisemaks, kuni viimaks hakkas sadama. Andres sõitiski seekord bussiga, kuigi rohelist kaarti veel ei olnud ning pärast kolmandat katset õnnestus bussijuhilt saada ka pilet. Londonis, nagu räägitakse, pole see enam ette nähtud ning Tallinnas, kus püüeldakse maailmalinnaks, juhtub paratamatult sama. Peagi sa top up’id oma smartcard’i krediidiga, mis kehtib kõigis Greater Tallinn Area tsoonides Tapani välja. Andresel jäi pilet rahakoti vahele ning sai paari aasta möödudes eksponaadiks. „Nümfomaani” saab vaadata kolmel viisil: 1) ostes pileti esimesele osale ja jättes teise osa vaatamata; 2) ostes teisele osale siiski pileti ja mõlemat osa koos vaadates; 3) Kopenhaagenis, kus jookseb ka viie ja poole tunnine lühendamata versioon, nagu oli looja vaimusilma algne nägemus. Artises pakuti seda teist varianti, kuid Andres ostis esialgu ainult ühe pileti ning läks kinno. Hoolimata sellest, et teine osa pidi olema hoopis erineva tonaalsusega. Pooltühjas saalis sai kohta vabalt valida ning Andres jäi meelega keskmise rea trepipoolsele istmele – mitte filmi pärast, ta lihtsalt oli harjunud nii. Ega eriti tema lähedusse ei istutudki ning üsna pea tumenesid lambid, algasid reklaamid ja algstseen Rammsteiniga, vist nagu ekstreemsuse eesmärgil. Lugu lasti täies pikkuses ette, misjärel algas seksisõltlase jutustus, mis edenes väärikal teosammul nagu maailmalõpumasendus või mõni Wagneri motiiv, sügavad dialoogid läbisegi pikkade paljastustega, mis panid Andrese kubeme aeg-ajalt kihelema. Brad Pitt lõi „Elupuus” karmi käega oma poega, aga siin armastas peategelane isa lõpuni välja. „Ohoo, kas sa käisid ka filmi vaatamas?” küsis Andreselt üks sõber, kes oli parasjagu saalist lahkumas. Oli kahe filmi vaheline paus ning kinotöötajad ajasid saali hetkeks tühjaks. Mõnda aega tagasi oli Andres lugenud tema arvustust sellest filmist. „Jah, ma käisin ka filmi vaatamas,” vastas ta sõbrale, keda ta alles nüüd nägi. „Ja mis mõtteid see sinus tekitas?” „Mul tekkis selline mõte, et Peter Greenawayl oli kunagi aastaid tagasi unistus teha üks korralik kunstiline porno. Aga Lars von Trier tegi selle lihtsalt ära. Jõudis Greenawayst ette nagu. Ja nagu Greenaway on öelnud, et see, et ta kuulus on, ei tähenda, et näitlejad saavad palju raha, vaid et kuulsad näitlejad tahavad temaga töötada. Trier on ka nüüd omajagu kuulus ja tal on täpselt sama efekt. Aga Greenaway veel unistab, Trier tegi ära.” „Kas sulle tundub ka film vastuoluline – ühelt poolt selline konkreetne füüsiline maailm, aga siis see psühholoogiline pool, et miks peategelane seda kõike teeb? Või jäi praegu see veel lahtiseks?” „Ei, see on hästi lihtne pornofilm,” ütles Andres resoluutselt. „Lihtsalt väga hästi üles ehitatud.” „Arvad, et pornol pole midagi mõistusega pistmist? Vaimset poolt nagu pole?” „Ma ei tea, mis vaimset poolt sa mõtled. Film on hästi lihtne – on nümfomaan ja räägib oma lugu. Seal on kõik ära koristatud, et näidata võimalikult lihtsalt see lugu ära. See lugu on väga lihtne – nümfomaanil ei ole ju mingit erilist lugu. Kui võtta maailma kõik nümfomaanid kokku ja kui siis Gainsbourg räägib seda lugu, siis loos ei ole ju midagi. Hall hiireke teiste nümfomaanide keskel. Algus oli ebaloogiline, keskel ka. Trieri lemmiknäitlejad mängivad ja lugu lihtsalt kestab. Midagi imelikku seal pole, kõik on väga tavaline. Väga Trieri stiil muidugi, nalja ei saa. Või no üldiselt ei saa. Oleks võinud rohkem olla nagu itaalia elementi ...” „Andres, sa ajad mind haigutama. Kuule, nad avasid juba uksed, nii et tegelt teine osa kohe algab!” „Aei, ma teist vaatama ei hakka,” vastas Andres ning hakkas palitut selga ajama. Hiljem õhtul, pärast üheksasi uudiseid, istus ta kodus arvuti taga, tekstiredaktor tühjalt ekraanil. Saalis istudes oli tekkinud igasuguseid mõtteid ning ta oli võtnud nõuks kirjutada midagi arvustusesugust. Aga nüüd tundus see kuidagi üleliigne, kuigi võrdlus Greenawayga oli igati kohane. Samas ei saanud ta oma mõtetest kuidagi lahti, nagu oleks sügelus. Charlotte’ile inglise keel ikka kuidagi ei sobinud, kuid teise tüdruku suhtes tal seda eelarvamust polnud. Välisuks kolksus ning Andres kuulis tuttavate sammude kraapimist. Korraks vaatas ta üle toa, veendumaks, et uks oli ikka lukus ning ruloo akna ees. Internetis oli videointervjuu – sinust saan ehk paremini aru, Stacy Martin. La reine trayeuse Uuel nädalal mõtles ta jälle Leena peale. Esmalt veel voodis pikutades, siis uuesti pärastlõunal, kui ta isaga lõunalauas istus. „Anna mulle vorsti ja hapukurki,” ütles see vanem mees nagu mühatades. „Poest on juustu vaja.” Andres valis telefonil tüdruku numbri, lastes sellel kutsuda mitu pikka minutit. „Piima ka, kui sa juba lähed.” Siis viimaks, kui ta oli juba telefoni ära panemas, võeti see siiski vastu ning Andres kuulis hingehääle kähinat. „Oleks lehm, siis lüpsaks lihtsalt lehma.” „Andres olen,” konstateeris ta lühidalt. „Tere, Andres,” vastas tüdruk. „Mis sul mureks?” „Kuidas sul läheb?” küsis poiss sama lakooniliselt. „Minul läheb hästi.” „Mida sa homme teed?” Oli neljapäev. „Ärkan üles ja lähen tööle.” „Ja seejärel?” „Siis olen ma tööl.” „Ja pärast tööd?” „Sul on sellega seoses mõni mõte?” „On küll jah,” elavnes poiss, sest ettepanek ei tulnud nüüd temalt. „Me saame kokku ja räägime. Kohvilaua taga juttu ja pärast võib-olla õlut.” „Ja mida sa siis räägid, Andres,” küsis tüdruk. „Juttu?” „Ma ütlen, et inimesed muutuvad ajas, elades oma elu. Ja on vabad, kui ajavad oma tahtmist taga, ilma et nad kardaks. Ja kartmata mitte midagi, oled saanud vabaks.” „Ja sa oled saanud nüüd vabaks?” „Jah, ma arvan, me võiks juttu – kohvilaua taga – ajada, kas pole? Mul on palju mõtteid ja plaane, mida ma tahan, et sa kuulaksid. Ma ei räägi ümbernurgajutte.” „Võid neid täitsa otse rääkida, aga homme on mul plaanid,” lõpetas tüdruk kõne ja katkestas selle mõtte. „Osta siis hapukoort ja üks ketšup ka,” lisas isa, pärast mõningast järelemõtlemist. Järgmine kord juhtus see laupäeva õhtul, kui Andres tegi linnas midagi ja ei teadnud korraga, mida ta tahab. Kaubanduskeskuse fuajees istudes ning mööduvaid inimesi tähele panemata toksis ta telefonil nuppe, kuni see hakkas tuttavalt kutsuma. Ümbritseva müra tõttu ei saanudki lõplikult kinnitada, kas ühendus katkes või lihtsalt aegus ja ebamäärasus pakkus võimalusi tõlgendusteks. Ilmselt oli majas võrk ülekoormatud ning parem olnuks õues uuesti proovida. Kuid väljas ei tahtnud näpud enam väga liikuda ja helistamine jäid seekord helistamata. Selle asemel sõitis Andres tagasi Nõmmele, käsi püksis, sest mõnikord ei saa bussis kohe aru, kui telefon heliseb. Pühapäeval istus ta üksinda toas, kui mõte uuesti pähe tuli. Kell ei olnud palju, pigem kahe paiku pärastlõunal, mis on helistamiseks täiesti tavaline. Jälle vajutas numbreid, kui oodatu lõpuks juhtus ja telefon hakkas elavalt värisema ja põrisema. Ta võttis vastu veel enne, kui teadis, mida öelda tahab. „Jaa?” küsis ta telefonilt, ebalevalt-segaselt ning lõpuks pettunult, sest helistaja oli hoopis keegi teine. „Andres, kuidas läheb?” küsis tuttav, justkui teisest elust. „Olen Tallinnas täna ja pole sind ammu näinud.” Nähakse, kui tahetakse näidata. „Hardi, nagu ikka, mida sa mõtled?” küsis Andres. „Et kui sa oled vaba?” „Minul plaane ei ole,” kinnitas Andres. „Olen hetkel kodus, läheks mingi tunnike aega.” „Siis nii teemegi,” nõustus Hardi. „Näiteks kesklinnas, kui sa oled siin, kohtume?” „Jah,” vastas Andres. „Ma helistan siis.” Viie paiku jõudiski ta linna, väljas hakkas juba hämarduma – aastaaeg kippus vastikuks ära ning varsti enam välja ei saagi. Aga neil polnudki plaanis õues istuda ning Andres tahtis sõbra viia mõnda lahedasse kohta vanalinnas. Nad otsisid sellist boheemikat, kus käiksid pigem noored ning oleks hea seltskonda sobituda. „Uks on lukus, aga mul on kood olemas,” sõnas teadvam Andres ühe Pika tänava puitukse taga. „Siin on tegelikult terve koht peidus.” Aga salajase numbri sisestamisel ei juhtunud midagi, kuigi Andres mitu korda proovis ja ust mõlemas suunas kangutas. „Lähme parem edasi,” pakkus välja Hardi. „Ma tean üht kohvikut Balti jaama juures. Emaga käisin kord.” Nii liikusid nad läbi liguneva Tallinna, tunneli alt läbi, rongidest mööda ning lõpuks trammiliini mööda sihtpunkti. Andres oli alguses Hardi orienteerumisvõime suhtes skeptiline, aga pärale jõudnuna pidi ta nentima, et koht oli tõepoolest kena. See läks tema Tallinna kohvikute nimestikus kolme esimese sekka kindlasti. „Kuidas siis Tallinna elu kulgeb,” küsis Hardi viimaks, aurav teekann nende vahel. „Oled end korralikult sisse seadnud?” „Ajan siin veel mingeid asju,” kinnitas Andres. „Olen paarile inimesele saatnud kirju, et küsida, mida nad arvavad.” „Sa mõtled nagu CV-sid töö jaoks?” „Ma tööd ei küsi,” raputas ta pead. „Küsin pigem, kas nad koostööd tahavad teha – võrdne võrdsega.” „Ja tahavad siis?” „Peab natuke vaatama,” tunnistas ta. „Praegu vahetame alles kirju, ei midagi kindlat.” „Selge siis. Tartus oled käinud? Pole sulle vahepeal nagu otsa sattunud ...” „Ei mina tea Tartust midagi,” vastas Andres ning tundis mingit sisemist jõnksatust linna nime kuuldes. „Ma pole vahepeal käinud. Siin on igasuguseid asju ajada.” Kõrvallauas istus noor ema imikuga. Laps tegi aeg-ajalt end kuuldavaks, justkui midagi luksatuse ja naeru vahepealset, siis hakkas ema teda imetama. Ema, veel tüdruk, ei saanud olla vanem kui ta ise, mõtles Andres uudishimuga. Kuid viimasel hetkel pööras ta pilgu siiski eemale ning vaatas teda jälgiva Hardi mõistmatuid silmi. „Sul juba korter on?” jätkas see. „Mul paar sõpra vist otsivad samuti kohta, et kui peaksid midagi head kuulma ...” „Mul mingid asjad siin toimuvad jah,” kinnitas Andres tühja pilguga. Silmad jooksid uuesti Hardi selja taha. Saatan valitseb maailma, ütles Kaur Kender, ja Andres kõndis raha ning vanade meeste kiima teed. „Ma kogu aeg ajan, et saaks need korda.” Rongijaamas surusid kaks sõpra üksteisel mehiselt kätt. Andresel oli mõttekam siit trolli peale istuda ning Hardi tahtis õhtul veel tagasi Tartu saada. Andku Andres teada, kui järgmine kord lõunasse satub. Siis räägib ka pikemalt, nõustusid mõlemad. Trollini oli mõni hetk aega, mille poisid veetsid sõnatult katusealusel pingil. Vihma ladises räästaid mööda alla, tänavale, loikudesse ja ega sel aastal välja enam tõesti ei saa. Sügis oli liiga kaua juba kestnud. Nad olid ilma lõksus. „Jõua siis turvaliselt koju,” ühmas Andres, kui number viis peatus ja ta jooksuga vihmast läbi jooksis. Akendest ei olnud midagi näha. Poole tee peal meenus isa käsk piima osta. Amesoeurs Siis üritas ta uuesti helistada, aga sellest ei tulnud midagi välja. Ta ei olnud veel sõnumi saatmiseni jõudnud ja nüüd ta kirjutas, et palun võta vastu, meil on vaja rääkida. Seejärel jäi ta ootama, vaatas vaheldumisi vastasmajade tulesid ja kas telefoni ekraan oli ehk hakanud helendama. Helendas küll, kui ta nuppe vajutas, niisama aga mitte. Ukse taga kolistas isa, keda ta oli piki koridori lähenemas kuulnud. „On sul ka kiire? Televiisoris on huvitav ajalooline film.” „Jah, kohe tulen,” vastas Andres ukse poole vaatamata. „Teen siin ühe asja veel ära.” Viie minuti jooksul ei juhtunud aga midagi ning Andres läks vaatama, mis filmist isa rääkis. „Ootad kellegi mingit kõnet või?” päris isa korraga, parasjagu kui tankid sõitsid üle Poola väljade. „Ah?” „Et kas keegi pidi helistama, et sa telefoni näpid.” „Ah,” mõistis Andres ning pani vidina käest. „See ... ei, ei oota midagi.” „Kas sa õlut tahad?” küsis isa. „Mul on kapis veini ka.” „Kui sul punast on, siis küll,” nõustus ta ettepanekuga. „Ma valget väga ei seedi.” Isa keeras pudelilt korgi maha ning kallas sisemuse kahte eri suurusesse pokaali – Andres sai Coca-Cola graveeringuga morsiklaasi, mida aeg-ajalt poest kaasa anti. „Mingit läbustamist ma ei kannata,” tuletas isa meelde. „Mina tahan oma kodus rahu ja vaikust.” Sõdurid taplesid Stalingradi varemeis elu ja surma peale, iga maja, tänav ja tükike leiba. Suvest sai sügis, aga talv ei olnud veel päral. Andres maitses jooki ja see tundus seismisest kibe. Ta küsis, millal isa selle kappi peitis. „Ee ... emaga koos ostsime kunagi.” „Helistate ka teineteisele mõnikord?” „Mul läks number vahepeal kaotsi. Ma ei tea, kusagil peaks kirjas olema,” kehitas isa õlgu. Ta valas Andresele veini juurde, pudeli tühjaks. „Näed, nüüd saigi otsa.” Ta ajas end diivanilt püsti ning avas uuesti kapiukse. „Mul on siin midagi veel,” ja näitas Andresele poolikut pudelit kuldpruuni vedelikuga. Juudid alustasid ülestõusu, kuid Nõukogude väed peatasid edasitungi ning tõmbusid tagumistele positsioonidele. „Te siis ei räägi üldse?” „Ei räägi mida?” „Et millal sa emaga viimati rääkisid?” Isa tõstis silmad ekraanilt ja vaatas nüüd poega. „Miks sa seda just praegu küsid? Ma ei tea, pole nagu viimasel ajal asja olnud.” „Nii et te ei räägi?” „Kui midagi öelda pole, siis mitte,” vastas isa selle üle liigselt juurdlemata. Tema tähelepanu oli taas taganevatel sakslastel. Andresel said küsimused otsa ning ta vaatas filmi edasi. Korraks koputas ta sõrmega telefonile nägemaks ... aga vahepeal polnud kelleltki midagi. Tulnud – pudeli sisu pidi olema omajagu kange – meeldetuletus mingist õnnelikust hetkest – sest pea käis tugevalt ringi, kui üritas püsti tõusta – lapsepõlves, kui nad kolmekesi käisid mere ääres – ning Andres lösutas diivanil edasi – Pärnus ja väike Andres ladistas vees – tundes okset kurgus – lalisedes „issi-issi” – aga ta sundis selle siiski alla – „vesi on nii soe! Tee mulle hüpekat, lähme sügavamale, issi!” „Ma arvan, et me ka väga palju ei räägi,” ütles Andres viimaks. „Viimasel ajal. Kuidas sul läheb?” Isa vaatas telekat edasi ja Andres peaaegu juba unustas oma öeldu, kuni viimaks isa vastas: „Vabandust, kui sa pole tundnud ennast nagu kodus ... sul on siin alati mingi koht, kui sa aga vähegi tahad. Kes see sulle siis helistama peaks?” Viinasegane Andres mõtles kohe vastata, kuid vahepeal võtsid punased Riigipäeva ning film sai läbi. Au crépuscule de nos rêves Tallinna tulekust oli möödas umbkaudu kolm kuud, mil magusast suvest sai sombune sügis, ilmad olid vihmased, päevad lühenesid jne, jne ... Inimesed jäid kodudesse lõksu ja Andres käis harva väljas, selle asemel magas päeviti ja öösel unistas, kuigi hommikuks läks see meelest. Auahnus on pime, tahtmine mõttetu, nagu mõne aja möödudes ilmnes, kui ta jõudis ringiga tagasi oma eksimise algusesse. Andres oli elanud oma senist elu iseenda mõtete kaitse all. Aja möödudes said mõtted aga otsa ja ta oli kindlusest lage ja tunnetest paljas. Novembri esimesel nädalal (vist keerati siis kella), ajas ta end siiski välja ning käis vanad kohad kõik läbi. Head sõnad olid muutunud kibedaks ja Andres meenutas erinevaid tüdrukuid, et muutusi tagasi pöörata. Sest, mõistuse ja kätega, mis kasu on muutuda, kui sa ise koos ei püsi? Mustamägi ei paista hommikuhallis kuhugi välja ning sild, mente et manu, on inimestest tühi.

Soul Sisters Les ruches malades At the start of June, Andres brought all his things from Tartu and took them to grandmother in Põlva. The dusty cases concealed old class notes, notebooks and obligatory textbooks he had had to buy during the years. At home, he went through some of the boxes and finally took them to the heating room down at the basement. “Burn them in the autumn if you want to,” he said to her. “Good for staring fire.” The next day, grandmother carried the boxes back up and left them in the attic to wait for better times. The summer was short and plans Andres had made mostly did not realise. These were long days and drowsy mornings, a general dullness alternating with chance moments of enthusiasm. The boy dreamed of going abroad and thought about travelling across Estonia, but spent most of his time at home, quarrelling over small things. Because the prosaic life at home makes you restless, if you yourself are full of big intentions. During the shorter days of August, when the weather turned for rain and reminded of the coming autumn, Andres finally broke out of the standstill and considered his options. And on one cold summer evening, as grandmother was watching the quiz show before the evening news, he went up to her and said: “I will move to Tallinn now. I'll go and live with father.” It was as if grandmother awoke from sleep and was looking absently at the boy. Andres was almost ready to repeat himself, when she answered her grandchild: “Alright then, country life doesn't suit you anyway. You are just like your father.” “I'm different from my father in every way,” Andres replied, but did not dwell in any deeper discussion, “But he is my father.” A week passed, when it was still the high season for collecting berries and the household could have used all the help there was, but on Sunday, father drove to Põlva so that Andres could take with him the stuff he needed. It had been awhile since the last time he moved and they met, so they exchanged pleasantries like businessmen before negotiations and then started carrying the mostly useless junk to the trunk of the old jeep. Grandmother did not stay to say goodbye, and only said that the bees are swarming that day and she needed to keep an eye on it, otherwise she'll lose the colony. A sickly hive has no use to anyone, Andres will surely find his own place soon. Heurt They had an apartment in the back end of Nõmme, where a few lone towers were lost between pines and private houses. A little further, people lived behind high fences and in glass houses and somewhere further still there was Pääsküla and Saue county. They were still deep on this side of the border, even though the bus station was quite far away and Andres did not really see much point in getting the green card. On the same day of his arrival, he went wandering and walked along the alien streets. He had never been here – father had made the move during his high school years and he hadn't been visiting. Small children biked and rollerbladed around and the intersections were taken by nervous drivers, because of the priority to the right that applied. And a mother ran to the children, hands fisted and then grabbed them off to the wayside of the road. “What did I say about playing on the street? The cars are driving! Where's your helmet? This is the last time for you to go outside alone.” The shouting carried quite far, because in reality it was quiet here like at grandmother's by the countryside or in the summer streets of Tammelinn in Tartu. It is no wonder that Morna is in fact Nõmme. But people acted more nervous than in made-up smalltowns and Andres soon understood the deceptiveness of peace – there were few cars around, but right out there roared the Vabaduse avenue, at the tranquillity of green gardens, strangers were warned of neighbourhood watch and CCTV. “Here we are,” father said, when they finally arrived and turned to the parking lot. “So what's the big plan then? You going to school?” “I have this thing going on. We'll see what happens,” said Andres as he slammed the car door. “Let's take the stuff upstairs.” At home – that is the place where you sleep – they split the apartment in two. Father gave him the living room that generally was not used and stood opposite to the bedroom. So there really wasn't that much a difference and the two men living together mostly did not see one-another. Father worked the night shift and slept during day-time. True, Andres often woke late, but by the time father went working, he always shut the door in advance or decided to go hit the city. Andres moving in was a compromise between reality and wishes, and he knew it well. Before, if father had ever invited him or someone had proposed the idea, he wouldn't have doubted a second and would have said that never, never again will he intend to live together with that person. But those were different times and Andres was hard at heart, even if he sometimes felt cold and empty in the stomach. “I won't be tolerating any kind of shit,” he continued, “And I don't have any to give, be glad you don't have to pay the rent...” “Yeah, I know. I'll do fine.” Then, as if making the whole conversation a joke, father took a ten-euro bill and handed it to the kid. “Go get something to eat, I don't use the kitchen myself. The store's just around the corner.” Andres wandered across the streets and thought about what had happened. Money can become a form of violence, when you have no other power over a person, as it allows to exercise control, create dependency and make people act the way you want them to. Generous people have many debtors. The children's cries sounded across several junctions and the mother's voice slowly turning hysterical, as if wishing they were never born. Andres thought that mothers can cry as much as they want, but he won't be regretting his own birth any time soon. The weather was nice, even though it had been raining during the entire week and the sky cleared only during the departure to Tallinn. Perhaps this had some meaningful significance, because the air remained cold despite the sunshine. North-Estonia is slightly colder as it is. During the evenings he often went out, using his dad's old bike to do it. The thing had been in the basement for several years, waiting for a new life. The back tire needed changing and the chain some lubing, but other than that, the bike was good enough for riding. He needed to pedal about three quarters of an hour to get to the old town, but Andres' trips took him also everywhere else in the city. Once he had lived here, but half a decade had passed and sometimes he was interested to see his old life again. Once he rode all the way to Pirita, where boys and girls had been going swimming together. Stormy weathers washed waves across the sandy beach and the howling wind threatened to break the pines. Andres turned up towards Lasnamägi, but by the song festival grounds there was a blind spot, where the driver couldn't possibly have seen a cyclist with no reflector vest, neither front or back lights. Quick reflexes saved Andres, by pushing one side to the front and deflecting the main force of the impact. The bike, however, was caught under the wheels and Andres heard the metal squeak. The machine slowed down for a second, but was soon released from the bike and rushed on at its own will. Had the cyclist survived the accident without injury or not, would have been impossible to tell in the dark. Upon reaching Nõmme in the morning, the crash was inevitable. At leas this once, they were moving at the the same hours and father, who was always suspicious of some kind of drinking when there wasn't any, grabbed and dragged him across the apartment. Finally he threw Andres to the boy's room and locked the door. Andres was happy for being able to catch his breath, but soon wanted out and started kicking the door with his feet and fists. And the response came the way it always would: the door opened and Andres lifted his hands in fist, ready to punch. The two men scowled at one-another, until father dropped his arms and gave up on any further conflict. “The hell with you then. You have nowhere to go anyway. Idiot.” Recueillement You can see most of the city from the hill on top of Mustamäe. With good weather, the entire coastline from Haabersti until the ports in the city centre; only Pirita and Lasnamäe stay hidden behind the trees. Andres came here often, as it marked a sort of a resting stop for him. It was a waypoint for his journey further to the city: down the road across Ehitajate street, to the former sea floor, where now stands the thick labyrinth of apartment buildings, then on towards Kristiine and finally to the Pärnu highway. Sometimes he just liked to sit up here and think, and there was no other place so proper for thinking about big plans, waving, every now and then, his fist at the city, and promising that he'll become smarter and more cunning still. Sitting like this reminded him Hardi for some reason, who was still finishing studies in Tartu, and did everything so opposite to Andres. Hardi is sitting, but Andres acts. Andres imagined, how they'd be sitting here, the two of them, Hardi trips and slides deeper down by the slope, although he's desperately trying to get back on the hill. But the ground underneath is slippery and he gets stuck in the roots. Andres looks, how his friend distances with every second, blood roaring from excitement in his ears until it suddenly explodes and he feels the red drops on top of his nose. That's how he's like, Hardi. But the people on the top of the hill were not bothered by such complicated thoughts, rather it was a place for sports. Some also walked their dog and – as the sunset approached – Andres encountered a group of school boys slurping beer. They did not bother one-another that much, although there was a point, when one of the boys came to take a leak right next to Andres. Andres croaked like a crow and the teenager jerked with great fear. He had been changing almost like invisible – he was no longer noticed. This was terrifying and exhilarating at the same time, as the whole world seemed comprehensible and in his hands, if he only tried a little more. The invisible can have whatever they want, to see the invisible means to become invisible. Andres laughed and for passers-by it was rather a bark than the sound of a human being. Rastignac was alone against Paris, Andres only had Tallinn and that's it. This was nothing, this Tallinn. Those were his contemplations on the mountain, but he came there only to rest and stop, and, as he descended down to Mustamäe, he often forgot his moods. Faux Semblants Andres touched back on Earth soon enough. This happened when he discovered himself to be back with the people he knew. By the traffic light at the Kristiine centre, he met Leena by chance, who had been waiting for the green. Andres was rushing fast across the street and might have well passed the familiar face, but Leena got hold of him by the sleeve of his coat and pulled the boy aside. “You still remember old friends?” she asked, laughing, because at first glance Andres had been looking him like an angry stranger. “You're not old or nothing,” Andres replied and smiled in return. “Where do you live now?” “I went back to my parents. That is, in Viimsi.” “You go shopping pretty far off,” he noted as he saw the pink shopping bag at her hands. “Actually I came here to see an apartment, on Sõpruse street with two rooms. Up on the fifth floor.” “Not afraid of big apartment blocks?” “Who you think you're talking to? I was in Annelinn for three years straight, nothing to it.” Leena patted the boy on the back for a goodbye and said that she's actually running late. Later Andres found himself thinking about random meetings and found that these are all very different in Tallinn. I do not want to avoid you in a big city, where this becomes so easy to do and I could never know, if I will see you again, Andres thought. When he got home, he looked up the girl's number from the phone and called without thinking too much. “You ran away so fast that it was almost mid-sentence,” he said at her picking up. “Well, I have busy days, yeah.” Laughing again. It was as if they no longer had serious topics and Andres fooled around, even though he was usually up to the point. “What do you do tomorrow? Let's meet somewhere and have a drink, if we already had this thing.” “You can have anything. But yeah, I'm meeting a few friends tomorrow. Is that fine?” That was very fine and they agreed that they'd meet at seven in Telliskivi, where Andres hadn't been that much so far. Except for a few times when still in school, only to have some beers and hang around amidst the industrial buildings. Some friends used to do a band there, but now the area seemed to be more proper. At least no-one was picking a fight and re-used factory complexes stood, mishmashed together with yet unfinished office spaces. He arrived pretty much on time, but other's hadn't arrived yet. Somewhere there was a theatre play or an exhibition opened, so you could see a fair amount of movement between buildings. Friday nights have a lot going on. The kid bought himself a few beers from the Rimi nearby and found a place between some birches to drink it up. For an October, it was unusually warm. At half past eight he called again and got Leena on the phone. “Yes, come here by the Pudel, we are already sitting down,” the girl replied, “are you still far?” “Not too much,” Andres tossed the empty can to a bush and passed the corner. From the big glass window, he could recognise Leena among others in the crowd. “It took a while?” the she greeted. “It's pretty far off, coming from Nõmme.” “Did you take the bus or the train? You know, the train comes all the way to Balta.” “I was walking, didn't really bother about thinking of the bus.” “You're crazy,” she laughed. “Don't go back like that. It's dangerous!” The cultural events of the evening were gradually starting to end, and more and more people poured into the bar. Among the people out there, Andres recognised an old classmate who was now supposedly a prolific culture journalist. At least Andres saw quite often his reviews. “It's going to be packed,” he said to Leena, “Don't you girls want to be sitting outside? I still have a few of these,” he showed the two beers hidden in the inside pocket of his coat. “But it's autumn outside,” the girl responded, “ugly, dank and cold.” I don't want to go out before April. But we did have an idea to go see the city,” she added in a moment. “There's a this great party tonight. We were just warming up here.” So they made it back outside, where the clientele of several establishments formed a single group. The drinks were mostly the smaller independent beers, while bunch of hungry faces also circled the burger bus. Andres opened the next Alexander beer and offered it to the girls. “Hey, thanks, but no. I don't really feel like it.” Leena's friend answered, “I'm more into dark organic fair trade beers. Where you can actually taste the hop.” Leena tried to get them a cab, but there were none the street and according to Taxify, the nearest machine could be found ten minutes away. “Well, never mind then,” she concluded. “Let's walk this time.” “The trams still go,” the other girl thought, but Leena shrugged the idea. “I don't want some urine-stinking tram...” The party that Leena's friend (Andres always lost her name) wanted to see, seemed to take place somewhere in the old town which was about a quarter hour on foot. The tunnel near the Balti train station is closed rather early, which took them another two minutes, but still they made it to the Pikk street well before midnight. Andres hadn't gone to this bar before, though he knew the place. The old Juuksur, anyway. Down below there welcomed the thick foggy noise of music. The security didn't let Andres in with his own drinks and the boy quickly opened the last can outside. He left the last end of the drink by the stairs, since he couln't down it as fast and there was a police patrol passing. It had recently become an offence once more, to drink outside, although so far only in Tallinn old town. He found the girls dancing in the back room. Somewhere on stage, the DJ was heating the dance floor, bodies stuck closely together. Andres moved himself at the beat for a while, but then went back to the front room. Music like this was technically boring, did not create any emotions. Finally, he bought himself a new beer which costed four euros and fifty cents. “What?!” he shouted cheaply across the counter. “Why don't you have the prices listed?” The bar guy pointed at the wall, where there was a mix of names and prices. “It's cheaper from the tap,” he added in way of explanation. Andres drew a five euro bill, crumpled it up in his fist and let it fall on the counter. It was a small bottle of Estonian craft beer, rolled into quality paper, recycled of course. “Good beer,” Leena lauded the choice, having appeared behind Andres in the meantime. “Myself, I feel like something more soft now. Give me one of that Kriek!” “You don't want to dance anymore?” Andres asked, as they were moving towards the tables. “It's too hot!” Leena exclaimed, “And the music is not really for my mood right now.” “What do you do in Tallinn?” the girl asked, once they sat down, “Back at your parents?” “Just my father,” Andres replied, “but only for a while, I'll look for another place soon. Once I'm settled in.” “You working?” “Huh?” “I said, are you working?” “I've tried a few places,” Andres replied. “But it really hasn't been the right thing. I mean, they're interested, but I don't want to myself.” “Well, lucky you,” laughed Leena, “I'm now in a cafeteria, though I promised, I'd never do that kind of work. But it's not too bad, actually.” “What's the cafeteria then?” “Oh, some place in Kadriorg. Nothing special.” Music and the general noise made it difficult to talk and for a while they exchanged only a few humms and glances. Leena was carrying dark knit pants with a short black skirt ontop. He had never seen the girl in this colour before and thought, if it was her new style now. “You seeing someone?” “Sorry?” “Seeing someone? As in dating. Do you have a boyfriend?” “Ah,” Leena grinned, understanding what he had said, “Andres, I'll not answer that at the moment. I want to dance!” The girl stood up again and went back to the stage. Andres fell in thought for a moment, but followed her still. In the smoke it was difficult to move around and several times he bumped into someone or tripped at a pair of feet. The music seemed louder than ever, the bodies moved faster and Andres thought he recognised Leena. For a minute or two, he bounced his head at the rhythm, but then lost the measure and discovered he was standing behind some stranger. To get all the way to Leena, he had to force through a lot of people. But at some point, he heard the girl from a hearing distance: “I'm done for tonight. I guess you want to stay here a little longer?” “No, no need to stay,” Andres replied. “It's quite late anyway.” They started struggling back towards the outer door until at some point the opportunity opened to find themselves back at fresh air. “Where's your friend?” Andres asked, discovering now that they had become only two at some point. “You mean Kairi? She went back several hours ago already,” Leena said. “She's working tomorrow.” “And now you're going home to Viimsi or you're already in Kristiine?” “Neither – I'm going at a friend's right here in the city centre. On Raua street.” “She doesn't mind that you come at night and wake her up?” “Actually she's out of town altogether, seeing her grandma, but I have the key.” “So you can come and go as you please?” “Pretty much.” “How about I'll send you all the way,” Andres proposed after they had moved in silence towards the Tammsaare park for a few minutes. “It's not very far and we can still talk.” “What do we have to talk about?” “Are you happy now after graduation?” “That's a stupid question. Who cares? Parents are happy, if you care.” “What about yourself?” “Everything is very ordinary, you know.” The way took them to the Gonsiori street, where an empty silence yawned instead of the smoke and noise of the day. The nightly taxis were somewhere else and the morning buses were not coming yet. Steps on the pavement echoed loudly to every direction and they seemed like the only people on the street. If someone was hiding in the shadows, they did not see him, even though they were well in sight themselves. “So, Raua street,” Leena observed at the next crossing. “You know, don't go to Nõmme on foot. There's no point, let me give you a number for a good taxi instead.” So the girl started going through her phone to find the right place. “Your friend is out of town, right?” Andres asked and stepped a little closer. “Maybe I shouldn't be going at all?” His hands grabbed Leena like clamps and he continued with the almost romantic huskiness. “We are quite alike, right. You're a lot like... I get you. We have common things, I want...” He then started kissing the girl, cynically like older poets their younger muses. But it never happened, because Leena started laughing loud, without even feeling fear or any need to protect himself. And ridicule made her opponent incapable. “Stupid, you don't get it,” she grinned while releasing herself from Andres' clutches, “You don't... no, you are not at all similar, common things. You go back home now, some other time we meet when it's bright, having coffee or tea, and you'll be talking about your small events or unfinished plans and I will every now an then ask you a reassuring question so that you would keep talking until you yourself will realise ultimately that no-no-no, we are very different.” The taxi stopped at Raua street and took on the pedestrian on the road to take him home. At last (“Lukas 3, apartment 23”) to take him home. The taxi drove from the Raua street to the Gonsiori street, from the Gonsiori street to the Liivalaia street, from the Liivalaia street to the Suur-Ameerika street, from the Suur-Ameerika street to the Endla street, from the Endla street to the Sõpruse avenue, from the Sõpruse avenue to the Ehituse street, from the Ehituse street to the Pärnu highway, from the Pärnu highway to the Valdeku street, from the Valdeku street to the Õie street, from the Õie street to the Vabaduse avenue, from the Vabaduse avenue to the Sulevi street, from the Sulevi street to the Ilmarise street and from the Ilmarise street Andres was back home. Video Girl In the mornings, Andres slept longer than he used to. The days shortened and nighttime sucked dry his energy. In terms of economic research, he had surpassed the vertex of the parabola and was speeding up to a descent. The situation of the economy was deteriorating, the heart was sick. But even late mornings would become afternoons at some point and about three o'clock Andres made himself get up. On the toilet mirror, he stared angrily his own glare and tried to tighten his stomach somehow. It successful only half way, so he pulled the shirt back on. During those days, an art cinema was replaying both parts of Lars von Trier's “Nymphomaniac” and while Andres had been indifferent to the initial release, he now needed a grand visual narrative. “Melancholy” is a slow and tedious film concluding with the world's end, Charlotte Gainsbourg is much prettier in French, as once in “Les Misérables”. But the last rendition had been an English musical instead. The day was clouding up, until it finally started to rain. Andres did take the bus this time, although he still didn't have the green card and after the third try, he managed to get a ticket from the driver. In London, as it is said, this is no longer possible and Tallinn, aspiring to become a global city, inevitably will have the same. Soon you will top up your smartcard with credit, valid for all zones of Greater Tallinn Area, all the way to Tapa. The ticket go lost in Andres' wallet and became an exhibition a few years later. There are three ways to go and see “Nymphomaniac”: 1) by buying the ticket to part one, and not watching part two; 2) by buying the ticket to part two nonetheless and watching both parts together; 3) in Copenhagen, where they also show the uncut five and a half long version, as first envisaged in the creator's eye. Artis offered the second option, but for the time being, Andres bought only a single ticket and went to the movies. Even though part two was supposed to have a completely different tonality. The hall was mostly empty, so you could freely pick your own seat. Andres gladly stayed on stairway seat of the centre row – not because of the film, it was just the way he was used to. To be honest, he was pretty much alone on this end, and soon the lights started to dim. There were the commercials and then opening scene with Rammstein, perhaps to make a point of extremity. The song was played in full length and then the retelling of the sex addict begun, at a dignified snail's pace, much like the end of the world depression or some motive by Wagner, deep dialogues intertwined with long exposures that made Andres' groin itch ever now and then. Brad Pitt in “The Tree of Life” hit his son with a heavy hand, but here the main character loved her father until the end. “Wow, did you come to see film as well?” asked a friend, as Andres was about to leave the hall. It was a break between two films and the cinema staff cleared the room for a moment. Some time ago Andres had read his friend's critique about the film. “Yea, I went to see the film as well,” he replied to the friend he'd noticed only now. “And what are your thoughts on it?” “I had this idea that Peter Greenaway had a dream once, many years ago, to shoot a proper artistic porn film. But Lars von Trier came and just did it. He kind of beat Greenaway to it. And just like Greenaway has said, he being famous, doesn't mean that his actors get a lot of money, it means that famous actors want to work with him. Trier is quite famoust now as well and he has exactly the same effect. But Greenaway is still dreaming, Trier already did it.” “Does the film seem controversial to you too – on one hand you have this concise physical world, but then this psychological side, about why the main character is doing all this? Or did this remain unresolved so far?” “No, this is very simple pornography,” Andres said resolutely. “It's just structured very well.” “Do you think that pornography doesn't have anything to do with the mind? There is no mental aspect?” “I don't know, what mental aspect you have in mind. The film is very simple – there's a nymphomaniac and she's retelling her story. Everything else has been taken away, to tell a simple story as possible. The story is very simple – the nymphomaniac doesn't have any special story. When to take together all the nymphomaniacs of the world and then when there's Gainsbourg telling the story, then the story has nothing. It's just a grey mouse among other nymphomaniacs. The beginning was illogical, the centre too. Trier's favourite actors are playing and the story just goes on. Nothing strange about it, everything is very ordinary. Very much in Trier's style of course, no jokes. Or, well generally no jokes. There could have been more of this Italian element...” “Andres you make me yawn. Listen, they already opened the doors, so part two is actually about to begin!” “Oh, I won't be watching the second part,” Andres replied and started putting on his coat. Later in the evening, after nine o'clock news, he was home, sitting at his computer, the text editor empty on the screen. Watching the film, he had had all types of thoughts and he had got the idea to write something of a review. But now it seemed somehow redundant, even though the comparison to Greenaway very fitting. At the same time he couldn't really get rid of his thoughts, as if it were an itch. English was very unbecoming for Charlotte, but he did not have the same prejudice for the other girl. The outer door slammed and Andres heard some familiar shoes shuffling. For a second he glimpsed across the room to make sure that the door was still locked and the window blinds closed. There was a video interview on-line – perhaps I'll understand you better, Stacy Martin. La reine trayeuse He was thinking about Leena again the next week. First when lying in bed, then again in the afternoon, in the dinner table with father. “Give me some sausages and pickles,” this older man said or rather grunted. “We need to get cheese from the shop.” Andres dialled the girl's number, letting it ring for several long minutes. “Milk too, if you're going.” Then at last, just as he was putting the cell away, someone answered and Andres heard the hoarse sounds of breathing. “If I had a cow, I'd just milk a cow.” “It's Andres,” he stated briefly. “Hello Andres,” the girl replied, “How can I help you?” “How are you?” he asked in the same laconic manner. “It's going fine.” “What do you do tomorrow?” It was a Thursday. “I wake up and go to work.” “And then?” “Then I'll be at work.” “And after work?” “Do you have some kind of an idea with that?” “I have an idea, yes,” the boy said somewhat enthusiastically, as the proposition hadn't come from him, “Let's meet and talk. Chat with some coffee and later maybe beer.” “And what will you be talking about, Andres,” the she asked. “You chat?” “I will say that people change through time, living their lives. And they'll be free, when they do what they want, without being afraid. And without being afraid, you will have become free.” “And you have become free now?” “Yes, I think we could chat – with a cup of coffee – and talk, couldn't we? I have a lot of thoughts and plans I want you to hear. I don't do idle talk.” “You can talk about it face to face, but tomorrow I have plans,” the girl said to conclude and cancelled the idea. “Get some sour cream and ketchup too,” father added after some thought. The next time it happened on Saturday evening. Andres was doing something in the city and suddenly did not know anymore, what he wants. Sitting in the lobby of a supermarket and ignoring the people passing by, he pressed random buttons on the phone, until it started ringing the familiar tune. Because of the noise around, it was difficult to tell, if the connection was cut or just timed out and this ambiguity offered a chance for all kind of speculation. There was probably a connection overload in the building and it would have been better to try again in open air. But outside the fingers no longer wanted to move across the screen and the call was left uncalled. Instead, Andres drove back to Nõmme, his hand in his pocket, because sometimes it's difficult to understand in a bus, if the phone is ringing or not. On Sunday, he was sitting alone in his room, when the thought occurred again. It wasn't that late, somewhere around two in the afternoon – a time completely appropriate for placing a call. Again he pressed the numbers until that what he'd waited so long, finally happened and the phone started twirling and turning actively. He answered even before he knew, what to say. “Yes,” he asked, being confused, uncertain and finally disappointed that the caller was someone else entirely. “Andres, how are you doing?” the familiar voice, almost from another life, asked. “I'm in Tallinn today and I haven't seen you in ages.” People see you when you want to be seen. “Hardi, same old as usual, what are you thinking about?” Andres asked. “I mean, if you are available?” “I don't have any plans myself,” Andres confirmed, “I'm at home now, so it would be about an hour.” “Let's do like that,” Hardi agreed, “We'll meet, once you're here, in the city centre, for instance?” “Yes,” Andres replied, “I'll call you then.” Around five, he was finally there, the sky turning dark outside already – the season was slowly becoming disgusting and soon there'd be no going out. But they weren't planning on sitting outside anyway and Andres wanted to take his friend to some nice place in the old town. They were looking for something bohemian, with younger people mostly, where you could comfortably fit in. “The door is locked, but I have the code,” said the more knowledgable Andres behind one wooden door of the Pikk street. “There's actually an entire bar here.” But nothing happened upon the insertion of the secret number, even though Andres tried several times and yanked the door at both directions. “Let's go somewhere else instead,” Hardi proposed, “I know a cafeteria near the Balti train station. I went there once with my mom.” So they moved through the soaking wet Tallinn, under the tunnel, by the trains and finally to their destination along the tram line. Andres had been sceptical to Hardi's capability to get around, but once there, he had to agree that the place was indeed nice. Definitely, he ranked it his top three cafeterias in Tallinn. “So, how is your Tallinn life?” Hardi asked at last, the steaming pot of tea between the two of them. “Have you settled yourself in?” “I've still got things to do,” Andres assured. “I've sent letters to a few people to ask, what they think.” “You mean, sending CVs for a job?” Andres shook his head. “I don't ask for work. Rather I'm asking, if they want to do cooperation – like an equal among equals.” “Do they?” “It needs some thinking,” he admitted. “Right now we're just exchanging e-mails, nothing certain.” “Alright then. Have you been to Tartu? Haven't really walked into you recently...” “No, I don't know nothing about Tartu,” Andres replied and some sort of an inside twitch when hearing the name of the town. “I haven't been there recently. I have all these things to do here.” In the next table, there was a young mother with her baby. The child made himself heard every now and then, something like a mix between a hiccup and laughter, and the mother started feeding him. The mother, still a girl, could not have been older than himself, Andres wondered with curiosity. But at the last moment, he turned his eyes away and looked into Hardi's daft but observant eyes. “Do you already have an apartment?” he continued. “I have a few friends, who are also looking for a place. So if you happen to hear about something good...” “I have a few things going on, yeah,” Andres confirmed with an empty look. His eyes were running back away from Hardi. The Devil rules the world, Kaur Kender did oh say, and Andres walked the road of wealth and lechery of old men. “I've got things all the time, to fix them you know.” At the train station, the two friends shook hands like men. It made sense for Andres to take the trolley from here and Hardi wanted to get back to Tartu for the night. Andres should let him know the next time he's back south. Then they could have a longer talk, both agreed. It was still a few minutes until the trolley and the boys spent it sitting quiet on the bench and dry under the shelter. The rain was pouring down the eaves, to the street, puddles and no, there'd be no going out this year no more. The autumn had lasted for too long. They were trapped by the weather. “Get home safe,” Andes grunted, as number five stopped and the rushed through the rain. You couldn't see nothing from the windows. Half way on the road he remembered father saying, to get milk. Amesoeurs Then he tried calling again, but nothing came from it. He wasn't as far as already sending the text, and now wrote, please pick up, we need to talk. After that he waited, watching in turns the windows of the neighbouring houses and if the phone screen had lit again. It did lit, when he was pressing buttons, but not by itself. Behind the door, father was making noise and he heard him coming across the hallway. “Are you busy? There's an interesting historical film on TV.” “Yes, I'll be there in a second,” Andres replied, without looking at the door. “I've got this thing I need doing first.” But nothing happened for five minutes and Andres went to see, what was that film father had talked about. “Are you waiting for a call or something?” father asked suddenly, as tanks crossed the fields in Poland. “Huh?” “I said, is someone supposed to call you, so that you're always on the phone.” “Ah,” Andres realised and put the gadget away. “This... no, I'm not waiting or nothing.” “You want some beer?” father asked, “I've got some wine in the cupboard.” “If you have red, then yes,” he agreed. “I can't stomach white wine.” Father screwed off the top and poured the bottle's contents to two glasses of different size – Andres got the Coca-Cola-engraved juice glass that shops sometimes hand out as complimentary gifts. “I won't tolerate any shit,” father reminded. “I want peace and quiet in my home.” In the ruins of Stalingrad, soldiers were battling for life, death, every house, street and piece of bread. The summer became autumn, but winter was not yet there. Andres tasted the drink and it seemed stale from having stood open too long. He asked, when had father hidden it in the cupboard. “Um... your mother and I bought it once.” “Do you call each-other sometimes?” “I lost the number. I don't know, I should have it written down somewhere,” father shrugged. He poured Andres more wine until the bottle was finished. “See, that's all that.” He got himself up from the couch and opened the cupboard again. “I have something else here,” and showed Andres a bottle, filled half way with golden brown liquid. The Jews started their uprising, but the Soviet forces stopped their advance and pulled back to previous positions. “So you never talk?” “Never talk what?” “I mean, when did you last talk with mother?” Father pulled his eyes from the screen and looked at his son. “Why do you ask this now? I don't know, there really hasn't been a reason lately.” “So you don't talk?” “If I don't got nothing to say, then no,” father replied, without thinking too much. His attention was back on the retreating Germans. Andres ran out of questions and just watched the film. He tapped the phone just once to see … but there hadn't been nothing from no-one. Had been – the contents of the bottle must have been quite strong – a reminder of some happy moment – because his head was dizzy, when he tried getting up – from childhood, when the three of them went by the sea – and Andres just kept lying on the couch – in Pärnu and little Andres was splashing the water – feeling vomit in his throat – crying “daddy daddy” – but he forced it down – “the water is so warm! Toss me, daddy, let us go deeper!” “I think we haven't been talking that much either,” Andres said at last. “Recently. How are you doing?” Father kept on watching the film and Andres had already almost forgotten what he'd said, when father at last replied: “I'm sorry, if you haven't been feeling like home … you will always have some place here, as long as you want it. Who is it then that is supposed to call you?” Not thinking clearly from the wine, Andres thought about answering right there, but before it happened, the Soviets took the Reichstag and the film ran out. Au crépuscule de nos rêves Three months had passed from his coming to Tallinn, when pleasant summer had become the dull autumn, the weather was all rain, the days got shorter and so on … People were trapped in their homes and Andres seldom went out, instead sleeping on daytime and dreaming at nights, even though he forgot about it by the morning. Ambition is blind, want is pointless, as it was revealed after a while, having circled back to the beginning of his mistakes. Andres had lived his life so far under the protection of own thoughts. But as time passed, the thoughts ran out and he found himself without certainty, naked of feeling. On the first week of November (perhaps it was when they turned the clock), he finally made himself leave the house and went to see all the old places. Good words had turned bitter and Andres reminisced on different girls to revert the changes. Because, with hand and mind, what point is there for changing if you don't stand together yourself? Mustamägi does not show in the morning grey and the bridge, mente et manu, is empty of people.