‘They should be kicked out of the country,’ the man at the table next to mine said categorically, having in mind the people like the Russian they had just met, who, according to the woman, had refused to address them in Estonian, ‘because they all can speak it, they just don’t want to’. They did not dwell upon this topic just like they did not turn into a discussion any of the remarks that they exchanged in a dry fashion, like the man’s observations about the weather, the best shortcuts in the Old Town that the woman was proud of knowing, and the taste of the Pavlova cake they were having, their interaction being governed by a codex that defines how conversations should start and end, how often the topics should be changed and how profound a discussion is permitted – a whole set of rules that they were, in their age, incapable of not following.
They were both in their seventies, the man perhaps older, he a Swedish Estonian, possibly one of the refugees of September 1944, she most probably from Tallinn. They conversed in Estonian, and while the man spoke it with no accent and had a decent vocabulary – I didn’t hear any obsolete words and expressions that many Estonian émigrés and their descendants still use –, there was something very peculiar about the way he ‘carried’ the language. Almost every time before he took a sip of coffee he exclaimed, ‘Ja, bra!’ in Swedish, to conclude a topic once and for all. The woman was somewhat girlish, and in that she looked very different from most of the women of her age that can be described as such, as, in contrast to the latter, to whom youthfulness is returned by the nature, generously, with a hint of irony, before their cycle of life ends, she seemed to have managed to carry it continuously through the years until the present day. Something made me think that she had been well-connected to the higher strata of Tallinn’s society, but not born into it, not entirely part of it, and not having gained access to it through an achievement.
It was clear to me that they were on a date, long before all the formalities of small talk were exhausted, long before the man asked the woman if she wanted to live together. He stressed the word ‘together’, to express his wish for a companion, knowing that these are the last years of his life, just like hers, and it is probably in her interest, too, to have him as a companion, just as a companion, not as a husband or a lover, that goes without saying, as they are both too old for such things. It wasn’t the first time they were talking about this, as his question sounded less like a proposal than a hurried attempt to arrange things by someone who is about to leave. So naturally he became impatient when she answered that, yes, she would like to live with him, but went on to find reasons, utterly insignificant reasons in his opinion, why she cannot do it like this, why she cannot accept the proposal under his conditions. Of the argument that ensued I heard nothing, as they lowered their voices, except for the mentioning of a document that he had asked her to sign (and she standing firm in her belief that that document is not what he says it is), the flats that he owns in Stockholm and the house in Australia, his son named Oscar, and a planned visit to somewhere.
It is one of the last occasions that they would argue about this, I thought, each occasion bringing them closer to the awareness that despite their mutual sympathy the points where they stand in life make them totally incompatible for each other – he having crossed the line after which one lives in anticipation of death, she, still alive, and also seeking to feel alive. Would they be able to make a compromise? Can one make a compromise between life and death? Do they have any time left to give it a go? Do they have any time left to even ask such questions? They decided to drop the subject and finished their coffee in silence.
A young couple entered and sat at the table next to theirs. When the man heard that the couple spoke Swedish, he went on to exchange a few casual words with them. He didn’t think it worthwhile to try to engage the woman in the conversation nor to translate the conversation for her. She didn’t mind.
November 2019