FRIDA AND SASKIA came to visit Estonia. They booked for themselves an exclusive suite in an Old Town hotel, one with its own traditional sauna. We sat by the fireplace in the suite together, waiting for the sauna to warm up and drinking tea. Saskia was at the table, thumbing through a fresh copy of Eesti Ekspress. Frida’s older sister looked the same, with her red-hair parted down the center, and she was wearing a t-shirt with a vest over it. I’m not sure why Saskia was so engrossed by Ekspress, because she couldn’t understand a word of the Estonian language, but maybe she liked the cartoons? She seemed in high spirits, whatever the case.
Frida stretched out on the couch. She was wearing a dark dress, maybe black, maybe navy colored, and seemed quite tired from all the travel and very unimpressed. Her brown hair fell across the couch pillows like waves of grain tossed about by an autumn wind, and she reminded me of one of those slightly jaded Romanov princesses from before the Revolution. I surveyed this woman from end to end and from head to toe. Frida looked me over with a glum mix of pity and boredom. She yawned. I took a blanket and draped it over her legs. “Why did you do that?” Frida said. “I was afraid you might get cold,” I told her. “But I wasn’t cold,” she said. She took out her phone and showed it to me. There was a photo of her and her husband there. They were embracing each other and both topless. Frida put the phone quickly away. “I’m a married woman. Married.” She repeated the word as if it had great eternal meaning.
“But married women also need to stay warm,” I said.
Saskia looked up from the newspaper at that moment. “Cute!” was all she said. She smiled at me. “Frida, do you remember him being so cute? Because I had no memory of him being so cute. He sure is cute!” “That’s always nice to hear,” I said. Frida lounged on in tranquil lethargy, eyeing me with a mix of frustration and half-amused interest. The nerve of this man to barge into her life again like this. Why couldn’t he just let her go? Why did it keep on happening?
I presented her next with a gift, a box wrapped in old-fashioned wrapping paper with small evergreen trees painted on it. Frida carefully undid its ribbon, and opened the parcel in a way that the paper could be reused. Inside there was a small toy piano, like the type that Fisher Price might make, except made of metal. Frida gave me a funny look and pressed down on the keys. The piano made a playful, tinny, musical sound. “This is for your children,” I told Frida.
To be honest, I had no idea how many children she had. We hadn’t spoken in years and I knew nothing about her anymore, other than it was her fixed policy and heartfelt desire that I would continue to know nothing. Frida gave me a clear-blue-eyed glance and a sad half smile. I stroked her legs again. Then Saskia set the copy of Ekspress down abruptly and looked over. “Well, you two love birds” she said. “I think the sauna is ready now.” It was ready. It was hot.
north! 