The City
7 August 1987
3 months have passed since we left. Finally got my hands on this notebook and a pen. Can start writing again. Whether we are better off now than before is irrelevant. Having left the city, how can I expect to return?
**
Katharina:
I read the letter silently. After I was done, I slid it across the small round table back to him.
"Did she tell you anything?" he asked, folding the letter carefully before returning it to his shirt pocket.
I shook my head.
That was a lie, and I knew he saw through it. He looked at me for a while, but I avoided his gaze. He turned and started tapping his fingers on the table, producing a steady rhythm. Thud, thud, thud-thud-thud, thud…
He stopped, shrugged and looked at me again. "So what are your plans for the summer?"
And with that, he acted as though the first part of our conversation never happened.
I knew everything of course.
"Why do people take photographs at weddings but not funerals?" she had asked me the other day.
I couldn't answer her because it never struck me that that was indeed the case. Of course we weren't talking about funerals of important people, but funerals of ordinary people like you and I.
A week later or so, she told me she had booked everything. She was absolutely certain she had to go there.
"When are you going?"
"Tomorrow."
That was yesterday.
If everything went smoothly, her train should be reaching there shortly.
**
Femke:
The girl pushed open the door gently, poking her head in. I smiled, "Nuria Rinne?"
She nodded.
"I have been expecting you. Come in!"
"I am sorry. My train was delayed for about 3 hours," she said as she entered.
"It happens. A bed for…" I checked the reservation again. "Seven nights?"
"Maybe even longer…I am not sure how long I will be staying…"
"We can discuss that when the time comes. I need your passport for the check-in."
She nodded and handed over her passport. I took it. "You were born here?"
She nodded again. I smiled and returned her passport. "Ok, done. I will show you to your bed. By the way, I am Femke."
She shook my hand.
**
Dennis:
I came back from dinner to find a pretty girl sitting on the couch in the hostel. She was browsing through a magazine. Femke emerged from the kitchen with a glass of water and greeted me, "Hi! How's dinner?"
"Great, the place you recommended was good. Very value for money," I said.
"Good. By the way, this is Nuria, she just got here about an hour ago, and Nuria, this is Dennis," Femke made the introductions.
"Hi, nice to meet you," she said.
We started chatting. She told us she was a wedding photographer and proceeded to take out her camera, showing us the photos from her most recent assignment.
"Maybe you can take my wedding photos next time, but I would have to fly you over to the States," I jokingly said.
"Sure," she said. "Why are you here in this city?"
"I used to teach English here, a few years ago. This is my last stop for this trip. Flying back day after tomorrow. Just want to come and see this city again…and someone."
"Someone?" she asked.
"Someone," I affirmed.
**
Dennis:
She was sleeping on the bed above mine. I was already up, rummaging around my locker when she suddenly opened her eyes slightly, squinting. I smiled, "Morning."
"Morning," she said groggily, shutting her eyes before opening them again, this time widely. "Do you know what time is it?"
I checked my watch. "8:20."
She nodded and stretched out her arms, before resting her right hand on the bed frame and tucking her left hand between her face and pillow. She was facing me, but she was looking through me. Probably thinking.
And then she smiled at me.
If I had a camera at that moment, I would have snapped a photo of it. It was so picture perfect.
**
Mihael:
I was on the other side of the road smoking when I saw the girl who checked in yesterday evening come down with the American tourist. They checked their bearings before striding off. The girl had a professional-looking camera in her hand.
"Mihael, the grapes for your grandmother. Get going! You are going to be late," Mrs. Mikic, the owner of the small grocery store at the corner of the street handed me a bag of grapes.
"I know, I know," I said, stubbing out my cigarette before jumping onto my bicycle. "Bye!" I shouted as I pedaled off.
"Bye!" she shouted back, to which I waved my arm without turning back.
Femke told me that girl was born here.
Interesting.
**
Dennis:
"There! That is the free tour I am talking about. We are just in time," I said as we made our way to a group of people gathered by the café at the Metro exit.
"Hallo Dennis!" Lara still recognized me. We hugged each other. "How have you been?" I asked.
"Good, good. And you?"
I simply nodded and smiled. "By the way, this is Nuria. We are staying in the same hostel. Nuria, this is Lara."
"Hi, nice to meet you."
"Hi. Welcome to the city."
"Actually, Nuria was born here," I interrupted.
"Oh?" Lara was surprised. "And you moved away?"
Nuria nodded. "When I was four."
"Is this your first time back here since then?"
Nuria nodded. "I don't really remember anything from that time. Even though the first four years of my life was spent here, I don't know this city."
"Now you will know," Lara smiled reassuringly.
**
Dennis:
Back at the hostel that evening, we were chilling at the living room: Femke, Nuria, Femke's friend who covered the security aspect of the hostel at night, a Korean traveler and two other Americans, one of whom had brought his guitar along and was playing it. We sang along, or at least we tried to.
I was sitting beside Nuria. Nuria leaned closer and asked, "Lara…she is the person you came to see, right?"
I nodded. "But just to see. Nothing more. We have both moved on. Like how I am no longer living here. No longer a part of this city."
She looked at me. There was a sadness in her eyes. I looked away, and caught Femke's friend looking at us.
His eyes too, were intense.
**
Dennis:
7 in the morning. Nuria stirred slightly. I tapped her forearm gently. She opened her eyes. When she saw that it was me, she smiled.
"Goodbye," I whispered.
**
Femke:
Nuria had just left the hostel. Mihael was helping himself to some muesli.
"Nuria is a pretty girl, isn't she?" I remarked casually.
"Who?"
"Nuria. Don't pretend."
"She is," he chewed. "A beautiful traitor."
"At this rate, you are going to die a bachelor. You are too fussy."
"I am not fussy," he said, bringing the bowl over to me at the desk. "I just can't make up my mind."
"Oh, like there is even someone. Are you sure you are not gay?"
"I am not. I am neither gay nor fussy. Got to go. Flowers," he said, heading for the door.
"The muesli?"
"You finish it. By the way, Grandma says she hasn't seen you in a while. Drop by to say hi sometime."
With that, he was off.
What kind of traitor do you hate more, Mihael?
**
Mihael:
I had just finished the delivery when I saw the Nuria girl wandering by herself in the small park of the Hills district, behind the Castle. It is off the beaten track; not the kind of place you would expect to find a tourist.
I cycled towards her, slowing down as I approached her from behind. She was carrying her camera in one hand, her mp3 in the other. I reached out a hand and pulled at her earphones. Startled, she whirled around.
"How are you going to listen to what the city has to say, when you are listening to your mp3?" I asked.
"Do you understand me? My English isn't that bad, right?" I asked when she didn't reply. She shook her head.
"What are you doing here? How do you know about this place?"
She shrugged. "I was just wandering around after visiting the Castle. I saw the stairs and decided to see where it leads to."
I nodded and got off my bike, and walked beside her, pushing it.
"What are you doing here?" she asked.
"Delivery. Every day, someone orders a bouquet of flowers to be placed at the memorial at this park. We never know who this person is. But it is a nice gesture."
We walked past a young family. The little girl was hopping, her left hand held by her mother and her right her father.
I stole a glance at Nuria. She was looking at them with a faraway look. I wondered what she saw. Did she saw herself as a little girl all over again? What exactly was she doing here anyway? Having left so long ago, she had nothing to do with us anymore. Especially since she never once came back.
Until now.
"Luisa!"
We both turned.
"Luisa!" it was the old man who could always be found in the park, sitting on a bench, lost in his own world.
My grandmother told me he had turned crazy after losing both his sons during the Revolution.
"Come here, Luisa!" he called out.
Nuria walked towards him. I wanted to stop her, but she was already bending down in front of him.
"What was he saying?" Nuria asked.
"'Come here, Luisa.'" I said and joined her in front of the old man. I forgot that Nuria didn't understand our language. She had probably walked towards him because she assumed he was calling out to her, that he had mistaken her as 'Luisa.'
"Luisa…you are back, Luisa…where are Jenckes and Miro? Are they back with you?" he looked behind her expectantly. "Who are you?" he snapped at me.
"Let's go, Nuria," I said pulling her forcefully away.
Nuria turned to look at him as we walked away.
"Luisa!" his voice faltered.
"Who is he?" Nuria asked me.
"Just a crazy old man. Heard about the Revolution?"
Nuria nodded.
"At that time, many young people, students, teachers, intellectuals were involved in it, protesting against the regime. His sons were part of the movement as well. Both of them were killed as a result. 19 February 1987. The biggest tragedy in our recent history. The movement against Communism was mostly peaceful, as in the rest of Eastern Europe. But that day, the soldiers opened fire. Even now, those responsible still try to shirk responsibility. They either say the demonstrators attacked first, or that some soldiers disobeyed orders. 200 people died that day."
I started to walk ahead of her.
**
Femke:
Nuria and Mihael came back together. Mihael did not say a word but went straight for the bathroom.
"How did you two end up coming back together?" I asked casually.
"We met in the park behind the Castle," Nuria said.
"I see."
"Don't worry. There is nothing between us," Nuria said.
"What?"
"You like him, don't you?"
"We are just good friends."
"But you like him, I think."
I kept quiet. "But it is impossible."
"Why?"
"I can't hide the truth from him forever."
"What truth?"
"Mihael lost his parents when he was four. They were killed in a demonstration when the military opened fire. The people he hates most are the Secret Police and the soldiers. My father was in the Secret Police. I never knew. After the regime change, my father committed suicide. It was only recently that I found out he was in the Secret Police, and that he had committed suicide because he was afraid of retribution. He would hate me when he finds out. And he will find out, because we can never outrun the past, the truth."
"But it is not your past, Femke. It is your father's past."
"You don't understand, Nuria."
**
Katharina:
"Hallo? Hallo?"
"It's me." Unmistakably Nuria's voice.
"Nuria! Why didn't you call? It has been 4 days now. Do you know how worried we all are?"
"We?"
"Your father contacted me."
"Did you tell him anything?"
"He knew, Nuria. He knew without me needing to tell him anything. Where are you now?"
"Still there. I was at the Archives today. Found out something. How is my father?"
"Not much of a reaction. Fairly cool about it. I don't know. What is your address over there? Tell me at least ok?"
I jotted down the address of the hostel she was staying in.
**
Mihael:
Nuria replaced the receiver, turned and saw me looking at her outside the telephone booth.
"You are either a romantic, or you believe we are that backward that we don't have internet access. Or maybe you don't really use things like Skype," I told her matter-of-factly.
"You called home?"I asked.
She nodded.
"Do you miss home?"
She looked at me.
"Never mind. How was your day?"
"There's a place I want to go to tomorrow. Will you go with me?"
She asked, looking at me in the eye. I met her gaze and nodded.
**
Mihael:
"Morning." I made my way over to her. She was standing at the entrance of the hostel.
"Morning," she said.
"Shall we go?"
She nodded.
"But first, I have to pick up something. Ok?"
She nodded.
We went to my grandmother's flower shop a block down.
"Who is that pretty girl there?" my grandmother asked as she handed me a bouquet of flowers.
"Someone who is staying in Femke's hostel. Only this today?"
She nodded. "The usual place."
"Ok, I will get going then." I turned to make a move.
"Mihael." My grandmother held on to my arm. "Tourists come and go."
"Bye. I will bring you a cake from that confectionery."
"Reza Flower Shop," Nuria read out when I came out again.
"That's right. Reza is my family name."
Nuria looked at me strangely.
**
Femke:
I was cleaning the hostel when I chanced upon a piece of paper tucked under Nuria's pillow. No one else was around, and I couldn't resist it, so I pulled it out.
It was a list of names from the archives. The people who died in the uprising. Two names were highlighted in yellow: Rinne Luisa. Rinne Mattias.
Above these two names: Reza Kenzo. Reza Nikola.
**
Mihael:
We were back at that park. The old man was there. "Luisa!" he called out.
"Luisa!"
Nuria walked up to him. He held her hand, looking at her earnestly. "We are free, Luisa. We are free."
A tear was rolling down Nuria's cheek when she asked, "What sort of person was Luisa?"
The old man looked at her. I translated for him.
"A very charming young lady. When she speaks, everyone listens. Very courageous. She fights for our freedom, for our rights. Her husband Mattias is a brave man too. He writes such beautiful essays. They are the perfect match. And their little girl. What is her name again? She is so sweet, that little thing. Now that we are free, her smile will be even more radiant. What is her name again? My memory is failing me…but we are free. We are finally free. Now, Jenckes and Miro can come back too…where is your little girl, Luisa?"
Nuria was crying. "Nuria. Her name is Nuria."
"Don't cry, Luisa. We are free. We are free again."
Nuria buried her face in my shoulder, sobbing uncontrollably. "Why is it so unfair? Why is it that everyone knows my mother. Except me. Why? Why do I have no memory of her at all? Who was Luisa Rinne? Who was Mattias Rinne? Who was Nuria Rinne?"
**
Femke:
The man stood at the door and looked around. "Hallo? Can I help?" I asked in English.
He looked startled, but composed himself before replying in our language, "I am looking for Nuria Rinne. I believe she is your guest."
"And you are…?"
"I am her father."
"Mattias Rinne?"
He looked startled. I went to the room and took out the list and wordlessly handed it to him.
He smiled sadly, and looked as if he had suddenly aged 20 years. "In the eyes of my city, I am already dead."
**
Mihael:
We were sitting on another bench, far from the old man.
"I don't remember my mother. My father told me we left when I was four, and that my mother died when I was four. But he never said anything more. He wouldn't. My father wrote a lot, and he keeps diaries. So one day, I couldn't resist it, and I sneaked into his study. I knew where he kept his diaries. In fact, he never hides them, but keeps them neatly arranged in chronological order on a shelf. But the very first one, a small notebook dated from 7 August 1987. Nothing from before. It was as if 7 August 1987 was the start of a new life for him, as if he had deliberately erased all traces of his previous life. And together with that, mine and my mother's as well. That is why I am here. In search of the truth. To properly bury my mother. I can't let her be erased from our memory just like that."
My phone suddenly rang. It was Femke. I excused myself.
"Mihael, are you still with Nuria?"
"Yes. Why?"
"Can you bring her to a place?"
"Huh?"
"I will explain to you when you come back after that. The address is 17 Szekely."
I told Nuria that I was supposed to bring her to a place, which was incidentally nearby. We waited till the meeting time drew nearer, before making our way there.
It was a café called Everything and Nothing.
Outside, a man was waiting for us.
**
We used to come here often. We would take a walk around the park up the hill, and come over here for cakes. We used to live across the street. That grey house. On the third floor. You, me and your mother. You loved to climb the stairs. You have always been very energetic. Just like your mother. Even when your mother was pregnant with you, she was always about, organizing protests, coordinating activities, fighting for a better future for the people.
We had been fighting since our university days. This was the place we first met. This was the headquarters of our group. Over the years, as the Secret Police made more and more arrests, your mother and I suddenly found ourselves at the helm of the group. We were the next generation of leaders who would continue the fight.
Those were not easy times. It was like war, but hundred times worse, because we were fighting our own people. Your friends, your family could betray you the next day.
After you were born, I didn't want to fight on anymore. I didn't want you to grow up living the way we had been living, not knowing when we would be arrested. I thought maybe if we give it up, it wouldn't be too late to start afresh, as a citizen on the right side of the law.
I told your mother that. She looked at me as if I was crazy. She said we would never be allowed to cross the line so long as the regime was in charge. We couldn't turn back now.
She was right. Looking back, I was foolish to have even entertained such fantasies.
But I was afraid. The regime hadn't used violence, but who was to know when they would cross the line? Your mother believed they wouldn't, because at that time, even the Soviet Union was crumbling. The balance of power had already begun to shift.
And then it happened. Sometimes when people are pushed into a corner, they snap and go berserk. They panic and make wrong decisions.
19 February 1987. It was just another peaceful demonstration on the Main Square. We left you here with the owners. Everything was as per normal, until we heard gunshots. People around us started collapsing. Your mother couldn't believe it. I caught the helplessness in her eyes as we watched our friends being picked off one by one by the soldiers. Then your mother suddenly collapsed as well.
She died in my arms. Her last word was 'Nuria.' She was crying. I was crying as well. I knelt there, holding her. Someone dragged me away.
We never knew what the authorities did with the bodies. Even up till now, that haunts me. The lack of a proper funeral for your mother. We made a small memorial dedicated to those who died in the small park up the hill.
Your mother died fighting for your future. But I couldn't see the future anymore. Not with the readiness of the regime to use violence. That was what I thought. I knew someone who was helping people to get across to the West.
I thought we would start anew there. We would take the risk and try to get to the West.
That was the most despicable thing to do. To abandon friends and family like this, to abandon your mother and the cause she died fighting for. But I wanted you to have the chance your mother and I never had when we were young. I wanted you to have freedom.
Miraculously, we made it. I was sure we wouldn't. But at the start, we were living like refugees. 10 families on a floor. But we had no other choice.
Once we left, we couldn't expect to go back.
For the past 20 years, I have been living with shame. But for your sake, I have been living on, because I can't possibly abandon you too.
Maybe you are thinking, I am just trying to push it all to you, saying it is all for you.
I am not trying to come up with excuses. But I made the decision for you. Because I already died 20 years ago. I just wish sometimes that I had died a hero.
**
"I didn't know that in trying to get to know my mother, I would end up digging up such deep, old wounds for my father. But we have to live on, don't we? For the people who had died for us, who had given us the chance to live. That is why, Femke, you shouldn't weigh yourself down with your father's past."
"In any case, you have more than atoned for it with the flowers you send to the memorial every day."
"Wait- Mihael, how did you know it was me?"
"You underestimated my grandmother. Anyway, she was the one who said that."
"We have to go, Nuria."
"I know. Goodbye Femke, goodbye Mihael."
"Goodbye, Nuria. Goodbye, Mr. Rinne."
"You have to teach me the language."
"Surely you would have picked up a few phrases here and there?"
"But I want to really learn it."
"Your mother would be happy to hear that."
"And so, we are leaving the city again."
"We are."
"But we will come back. Mother."
**
17 September 1987
Nuria's 5th birthday. We only had a loaf of bread instead of a cake.
Luisa, you will forgive me, right?
