smoothed out the embroidered poppies, lilies of the valley, and little wreaths embroidered along the black edge of the tablecloth, felt their green leaves and fixed her eye firmly on the fabric as if she wanted to learn to embroider herself. If she was a thief, she was the world’s worst.
Aliide had called Aino before the girl woke up and told her that she felt feverish and didn’t feel up to going to get her aid package today. She still had milk left—Aino could bring it over some other time. Aino had wanted to keep talking, about Kersti, who had seen a strange light on the road in the woods—it was a UFO, and Kersti had fainted and didn’t come to until an hour later, there in the road. She couldn’t remember if the UFO had taken her anywhere. Aliide interrupted Aino and said she felt very weak and should go lie down, and she almost slammed down the receiver in Aino’s ear. She had enough strangeness to contemplate in her own home. She had to get rid of this girl before Aino or someone else from the village came to visit. What in the world had possessed her to let the girl spend the night?
The girl ate noisily. Her cheeks glowed like the skin of a cinnamon apple. The thought of the car gleamed in her eyes, although it was clear she was trying to hide her excitement. She wasn’t a very good actor—she wouldn’t fool anyone that way. And what was she up to with that haircut? That sawed-off hairdo would attract a lot more attention than her old one.
Aliide went to the pantry to get some pickles. The marigold cream that she had made for Talvi was hardening in the cupboard in front of the selection of pickles she had canned. It was the only thing that Talvi would agree to take from here back to Finland. Her skin liked the cream and she hadn’t learned to make it herself. She never took any pickles with her, although she liked them when she was here. She could have fit any number of jars in the backseat, but when Aliide tried to sneak them into the car, Talvi took them out again. Did the girl who was poking around in the kitchen want to steal Talvi’s car, or just want to make an escape? Aliide wasn’t sure.
She’d heard that the Finns didn’t put horseradish in their pickles, that was the difference.
She sat down at the table and offered the girl some slices of pickle with dill and sour cream, and jars of cucumber relish and sour pickles.
“I had an especially good harvest this year.”
***
Zara couldn’t decide what kind of pickles to take, so she reached for the sour pickles first, then the bowl of sour cream, and her hand shook, and the bowl fell to the floor. The crash made her jump out of her chair and her hands flew up over her ears. She was ruining everything again. The enamel bowl lay overturned next to the rag rug, streaks of cream across the gray cement floor. Luckily it wasn’t a glass bowl, so she hadn’t broken anything, at least. She might break something soon if she couldn’t get her hands to stop shaking. She had to get them under control and get Aliide to understand that she didn’t have much time. Aliide looked like she still wasn’t angry at Zara for making another mess; she just fetched a rag and started cleaning it up, shushing soothingly. No harm done. When it finally occurred to Zara to help her, her hands were still trembling.
“Zara dear, it’s just a bowl of pickles. Sit back down, now.”
Zara repeated that it was an accident, but Aliide didn’t seem interested and interrupted her apologies.
“Your husband must have money, then?”
Zara went back to her chair. She should just concentrate now on talking with Aliide nicely and not making any more messes in her home. Be a good girl, Zara. Don’t think, since you can’t think right now anyway. Just answer the questions. You can talk about the car later.
“Yes he does.”
“A lot?”
“A lot.”
“Why was such a rich man’s wife working as a waitress?”
Zara plucked at her earlobe. There was
Aliide had called Aino before the girl woke up and told her that she felt feverish and didn’t feel up to going to get her aid package today. She still had milk left—Aino could bring it over some other time. Aino had wanted to keep talking, about Kersti, who had seen a strange light on the road in the woods—it was a UFO, and Kersti had fainted and didn’t come to until an hour later, there in the road. She couldn’t remember if the UFO had taken her anywhere. Aliide interrupted Aino and said she felt very weak and should go lie down, and she almost slammed down the receiver in Aino’s ear. She had enough strangeness to contemplate in her own home. She had to get rid of this girl before Aino or someone else from the village came to visit. What in the world had possessed her to let the girl spend the night?
The girl ate noisily. Her cheeks glowed like the skin of a cinnamon apple. The thought of the car gleamed in her eyes, although it was clear she was trying to hide her excitement. She wasn’t a very good actor—she wouldn’t fool anyone that way. And what was she up to with that haircut? That sawed-off hairdo would attract a lot more attention than her old one.
Aliide went to the pantry to get some pickles. The marigold cream that she had made for Talvi was hardening in the cupboard in front of the selection of pickles she had canned. It was the only thing that Talvi would agree to take from here back to Finland. Her skin liked the cream and she hadn’t learned to make it herself. She never took any pickles with her, although she liked them when she was here. She could have fit any number of jars in the backseat, but when Aliide tried to sneak them into the car, Talvi took them out again. Did the girl who was poking around in the kitchen want to steal Talvi’s car, or just want to make an escape? Aliide wasn’t sure.
She’d heard that the Finns didn’t put horseradish in their pickles, that was the difference.
She sat down at the table and offered the girl some slices of pickle with dill and sour cream, and jars of cucumber relish and sour pickles.
“I had an especially good harvest this year.”
***
Zara couldn’t decide what kind of pickles to take, so she reached for the sour pickles first, then the bowl of sour cream, and her hand shook, and the bowl fell to the floor. The crash made her jump out of her chair and her hands flew up over her ears. She was ruining everything again. The enamel bowl lay overturned next to the rag rug, streaks of cream across the gray cement floor. Luckily it wasn’t a glass bowl, so she hadn’t broken anything, at least. She might break something soon if she couldn’t get her hands to stop shaking. She had to get them under control and get Aliide to understand that she didn’t have much time. Aliide looked like she still wasn’t angry at Zara for making another mess; she just fetched a rag and started cleaning it up, shushing soothingly. No harm done. When it finally occurred to Zara to help her, her hands were still trembling.
“Zara dear, it’s just a bowl of pickles. Sit back down, now.”
Zara repeated that it was an accident, but Aliide didn’t seem interested and interrupted her apologies.
“Your husband must have money, then?”
Zara went back to her chair. She should just concentrate now on talking with Aliide nicely and not making any more messes in her home. Be a good girl, Zara. Don’t think, since you can’t think right now anyway. Just answer the questions. You can talk about the car later.
“Yes he does.”
“A lot?”
“A lot.”
“Why was such a rich man’s wife working as a waitress?”
Zara plucked at her earlobe. There was
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