By Kaur Kender
Translated by Jurgen Kaljuvee

Excerpts from Through Peaceful Eyes By Kaur Kender and Herkki-Erich Merila. Translated by Jurgen Kaljuvee.

Listen to me for a while because the stop is a brief one:
we are only in the beginning, not half way there nor at the end.
You are my beginning and I have not even lived before, because in this life which begins now, in this spring, today, this impatient birdlike morning I live you at the command of the Nameless.

Do not stay when I plead you to stay.

Emil Tode. Measure

II – Life

Today I will call that little repulsive office where my sister works her last days. The office is located in the middle of a ghastly desert, and it can be accessed only through an iron gate or under the controlling eyes of a security guard. What is more, I have noticed that the greater the debasement, the more vigilantly it is being guarded, the stronger is the security.

The buildings within the iron gate are revolting with no shape that would please the eye, there are some cars, and corpses of cars earned with sweat and blood standing in the courtyard. In the apartment next to the office live some architects who, unable to tolerate this depressing atmosphere, spend their energy trying to fight their neigbors’ smoking. In the next apartment lives an artist who organizes little parties with a little money collection box. Each guest must give a little money to the DJ who plays bad music. And right next to the office is a small room belonging to an unrecognized inventor where he, like a lost 19th-century person, creates the next revolutionary vacuum pump. It is the kind of office where only godforsaken women sadly enjoying their little gruesome joys work now. I also worked there for almost a year, imagine!

The directress of the office answered the phone.

“Oo!” she said and began telling me that I still had some obligations towards them.

I disagreed, denied everything, even raised my voice, then became silent. She eventually conceded, but there was slight satisfaction in her voice because at least she had tried.

“But I do not have your contact info, I do not have your number in case I have some other questions. Give it to me,” said this woman. She is not ugly, in fact she is even very beautiful, but I cannot understand whether she is cruel or naïve.

I should give her my number so she could call me if there is a problem! What a horrible thought! I do not even want people who have something nice to say to call me and she thinks that I want to hear from her! I cannot understand how people can be so cruel.

Or how they can be occasionally even more cruel. For instance, I remember reading this horrific newspaper story. Police had assaulted Z’s drug laboratory. Z, a former famous software and database virtuoso and now a drug tycoon, sees the hopelessness of the situation. He knows that the system has already punished him once and that a possible arrest, interrogation, court and punishment would be even worse, because with his existence he has been like a lighthouse shedding light to the intellectual lowlands of police and the state. Instinctively, assessing the situation right, he is doing what every Samurai would do not to lose his honor. He grabs a handful of amphetamine and swallows it.

“Police’s attempts at resuscitation were fruitless and Z died of an amphetamine overdose,” said the newspaper.

Ghastly! I imagined how big policemen with mustaches, wearing stuffy blue overalls, with spotty faces due to the to lack of air gave Z heart massage, and maybe even mouth-to-mouth artificial breathing. And screamed: “Z wake up, wake up, we want to charge you with crimes, wake up, we want to put you in prison for a long time, wake up, we want to torture you for hours asking idiotic questions, we want to humiliate you, wake up, you freak!”

And I suspect at one point the resuscitation turned into helpless beating of the corpse. Because Z was gone. And most wildly beat him the policeman who had performed him mouth-to-mouth breathing. “Homo, you fucking homo!” he screamed trampling on the dead body, furtively rubbing his mouth with his sleeve.

I hope that Z heard how policemen panting with impotent anger from the lack of air, and that by that time he was in a faraway and beautiful place. And I hope that right now he is watching and smiling.

XII – Soul

Every time you think of me the bells are singing somewhere. I am lying down, my body is in heat. Every part of me you touched hums. I am lying in the bed, the window is open, you are everywhere and you are getting increasingly closer to me. Your voice is sounding in the clatter of trams, in the rumble of the cars, your look is in the neon lights, in traffic lights, in street lights, your hair is waving in the trees, your pride is in the church towers and tall buildings. You are everywhere: your hurry is in the hourly radio news, people shaking in trolleys and trams feel your solitude, your tenderness and care is in the children marching across the street, your secrets are behind the dark windows of the the abnormally parked jeeps, your impatience is in the people waiting behind the traffic lights, your indifference is in the smiling tourists, your contempt is in the large street adverstisments. Your peace is in the morning mist and your search is in the car lights gleaming through the mist, your existence, your presence is in the parking tickets, your memories are in the Toompea viewing platforms, your past and the future are at this graveyard reachable by the noise of cars, and sometimes a thought about you rests there as well. All the flower shop vases are full of your smiles, every café is full of your leisurely moments, some have many, some very few. Your sudden appearance is in all the the ringing mobile phones, every plane taking flight is your desire to leave, each plane landing your delight of arrival, every passing train has an unused opportunity of yours, every train passing the bridge has your superstition and out there by the sea, there, on those rocks, at the sunset is your faith, your decision, your strength. Your love ... Look at me through your peaceful eyes. Love is in your eyes.

XII – Maria

I first met her a year ago. Beautiful young Russian girl. But a little short. When I met her again, she finally had the exact right height. I asked, how come? She said: “I just turned 17 and I grew a little last year.” Good girl, I thought. Since she was even more beautiful and with the right height, I felt this irresistible desire to spend time with her. I called her the next day (one minute 4.50 Estonian crowns, I spoke 10. 45.00), she said yes. But we could meet only after two hours. I sat in my car (Mercedes, 250 000, on lease, monthly payment about 7000) and drove to the Stockmann department store. I bought Boss (1400) and Armani jeans (1800), two Gant shirts (1400 and 1100), two pairs of Lagerfeld socks (250), Armani underwear (900). Everything in less than 15 minutes. I had 1.45 left. From the ground floor I bought Paco Rabanne XS perfume. Large 100ml bottle (810). They gave me an XS sports bag with the bottle. I had 1.30 left. It will be a while, I knew. I went to an ATM and took out 5000. I drove to the verge of the Old Town. I bought three packs of Camel lights (a 18.50). Then I went to the strip bar on Müürivahe Street. I was the only guest. There were five girls. They danced with little intermissions. I looked at my watch (Rado 32 000). Because I wanted to give away all my money, I had to hurry up. I gave in 500 bills. Even during the first song when you actually do not have to give anything. The girls were looking at me. They suspected that I was a pervert. I ran out of the bar. My mobile phone (Ericsson t28s. 5100) rang. An old lover of mine called. She calls me herself nowadays. She does not expect my calls anymore. She invited me for a quick cup of coffee. To the “No Name” bar. It was close by. I ran there. I lied: “I have no money.” She paid for me. I lied that I was falling in love with a strip dancer. She made a sad expression. Then I jumped in the car. I almost collided with a BMW (5th series, a few years old, about 500 000, monthly leasing payment about 12 000). I drove home. Rent apartment (with a cleaning lady and everything else about 7000 a month). I put on new clothes. I drove by a flower shop. I bough a lot of roses (20 crowns each, 33 flowers). And I drove to get Maria. She lives in Kallavere. She was wearing a beautiful pink shirt and pink pants with embroidery. She was sincerely happy to see me. I gave her the pink roses and the sports bag. We drove to a clothing boutique in the Old Town. Maria picked up beige pants (1800), shoes (2450), shirt (890) and a top (690). I paid with a credit card. I wanted that we would look a little alike so that everyone would understand that we are together. From the next store I bought us Police sunglasses (2400 and 2300).

We then went to eat. To the “Noku” club. It’s a closed club for young artistic people. I am a member of the club. We ordered chicken and bacon salad, ice cream with whip cream and strawberries, a pack of Camel Lights, a pack of blue Barclays, and an ice cream cocktail (a little over 300 in total).

“I want,” she said.
“What?” I asked.
“Drive your car!” I nodded. We went outside. A woman accosted Maria on the street.
“Maria, I have been looking for you! I want to take you to London and New York!”
“Oo! I want to go to New York!”
“Yes, we have arranged castings and test photo shoots there for you, some agencies are very interested in you…”
“To become a model?!” asked Maria, “I definitely do not want that!” We left. “Modeling work is the worst,” mumbled Maria, “it’s as dumb as my mother.”
“Yes?”
“My mother has a boutique, she said why don’t you come work for me, even for one day. I asked why should I sit somewhere the whole day. “You wouldn’t sit,” said mother, “you would sell.” I said that then I would definitely not go.”

At first Maria did not know that one has to use the same foot for both gas and brakes. I made a mental note to lease her a car with automatic gears (either E class Mercedes or 5th class BMW, price not over 400 000. Monthly payment 10 000).

“I only want to drive a car,” said Maria.
“What else do you do? In school?” I asked.
“No, I dropped out already two years ago.” I nodded.

We drove to Kütiorg to the Open Studio Art Exhibition. I have no friends living further Kütiorg in Estonia. We were there for 20 minutes. Looked at art. We drank a Jagermeister (0.5 liters, about 200) while driving. We were back in Tallinn just in time to go to Othello club (700 was spent on gas). Two of Maria’s friends joined us in the car. One secretarutka, the other probably a prostitutka. Wearing very expensive clothing. Picture beautiful. We bought a one-liter bottle of Hennessy (18 000). We drank the bottle in the car. Maria did not want to. I was driving. The day before I had bought 2 grams of cocaine (1100 a gram). We did one gram on a CD in the car. Maria did not do it. She never does it. I went home, put on the brand new white Gant shirt and black Armani jeans.

I paid for the cover fees at the Othello club (400? I cannot recall exactly). Maria introduced me to three Russian thugs. One thug I already knew for a long time. We drank Hennessy XO (4000 a bottle, I bought at least two). At 4 o’clock, another thug in a white shirt and black jeans arrived. Straight from the prison. He had had 4 years. Everybody was happy. Everybody was wearing white shirts and black jeans. Many had tattoos. I vaguely recall a moment: we were jumping up and down with four thugs in the middle of the dance floor and we were screaming: “Davai, davai, davai!” I was unconscious with happiness because I felt that I was home, I was with my people.

Maria dragged me to the car because I was getting tired. I wanted her to spend the night at my place. She was dodging. I tried to convince her. She said no. I got angry. She smiled: “But you said that you have not had a TV set for 8 years and that you read and write. Why don’t we go to my place because we can then watch a movie together in the morning.” We went to Kallavere. Police patrol. Luckily we were not pulled over. I had 12 000 in cash on me. You don’t need more because there are no bigger fines. We were lucky. Maria showed me her poems. She had three notebooks of them. In Russian. Powerful stuff.

I woke up in the morning to some noise. TheTV was playing in the room next door. Maria, beautiful like a dream, was sitting in front of the TV. “Dolph Lundgren, my favorite actor.” I fealt jealous for a moment. Maria was wearing a transparent bath robe. There was crystal bowl with cocktail cherries. Every now a then she would put one cherry between her lips. In her right hand she was holding a can from where she sprayed – shhhhhhh! – a small heap of whip cream in her cheek after each cherry. I went home. I was loitering in bed the whole day and reading Baudelaire’s “The Flowers of Evil”.

IV – It is Still Not Too Late

We are not yet old, our joints are still flexible. As you sit on a beach chair, I can still bow over the chair, you can still throw your head back, and we can still kiss in this uncomfortable position, kiss with oblivion. It is still not too late!

We are still able to lie next to each other, in peace, in scorching sun light, without fearing that the heat, mitigated by relieving puffs of tender, cooling wind, would cause us burns which would force us to wear diapers like children. Put your head on my shoulder, lean your hand on my chest, look at me so that I could see your eyes which are deeper than the ocean breathing on the background, kiss me, because it is still not too late!

We can still feel sincere glee and indifference if someone is enviously peeping at the union of our bodies from faraway bushes. We are still not paralyzed by the fear that someone would gasp at our hugs: what lovely, wholesome elderly, but somehow improper. Throw away these clothes my beauty, because it is still not too late! We can still make the bed rock, our young voices can still moan and scream, we need still not fear what would happen if our backs jerk unexpectedly, or what would happen if irregular heart beat would demand, please darling, measure my blood pressure! We are still those two frantic surfers who race with their bodies and do not fear death. Speed up, let’s break the waves, because it is still not too late! And we can hope and dream, closing eyes in one another’s sweet embrace that this time, exactly this time was the beginning for new and wonderful life, the beginning of a sunshine and love child. Let us love, beloved, because it is still not too late!

Images Courtesy Herkki-Erich Merila from Through Peaceful Eyes By Kaur Kender and Herkki-Erich Merila, Translated by Jurgen Kaljuvee.