NIGHT CAME TOO SOON
By Amy Thompson
In the spring of l944, a boat awoke from a long nightmare.
Looking around, it realized that it was lying on a pleasant, sandy
shore but it couldn't remember how it got there, and it was
confused. Had it ever been on the sea? Had she always been so worn and rusted?
Forlornly, the small boat wished to slide into the dark of the
sea. Rocks had gashed open it's sides. It realized it was
useless --- just an ugly tangled wreck of twisted metal and of broken wood.
Memories of being handled by rough men came to the boat. They
had heaved and hauled it here, over jagged stones,to lie on
it's side on the white.But what was their purpose? Surely,
it had been beautiful and seaworthy once!
And, just as surely, it had once possessed a name !
A boat with no name ... this was truly depressing!
That day, the cool April sun greeted the sad boat
and cheered her.
Faint memories of other days gradually came back --- days when
it was admired for her lines and her colour. The
memories were vague but it was sure it had once been on the
tempting blue ocean that lay beside her, proud and sleek and
giving pleasure to passenegers. Did she have a glorious past, she wondered?
Did it have stories to tell about faraway lands, lands with
strange - sounding names? A little swallow landed on it's edge. It looked curiouously
at the faded gray boat, lying on the beach alone.
Could this boat be a safe haven for her to build her
nest? The birches in the distance were still quite bare and exposed.
Before she had time to make up her mind, she was startled by a little
blond girl who was running down the steps of flat stones that
led to the sea. Her cheeks were rosy from the chill air and
her coat flapped open as she ran. Her unruly hair had become
unpinned and she was calling to an attractive adult woman
who followed her. "It's spring, it's spring!"
she called out to her companion who smiled at her excitement.
Then she stopped suddenly when she saw the
poor boat which really wanted to hide from human eyes.
It felt so dirty and ugly.
"Tjota Tamara, look!" she exclaimed."What's this boat
doing on our beach?"
"I don't know"", said the older woman."I haven't seen
it before.
But I don't think it's much good for anything.
The boat sighed wearily.
This reaction was no more than it expected.
At least now it knew it must be in Russia.
Tjotja meant "aunt". And these people were speaking
in Russian."Tjotja, we must ask my father,"said the girl, considering the matter.
"Maybe someone just forgot it here"."I'm sure there's
a reason for it being here," said Tamara.
"But it's wartime and strange things happen sometimes."
"I know." said the child thoughtfully."Like the
Nazis giving us candy and saying they'll rule the world
soon. But they don't, do they, Tjotja Tamara?"
"No, they don't", said the older woman." But the
Communists are here now..."I like Russians!
"said the girl and hugged Tamara."They won't harm us,
will they? Especially if we speak to them politely
in Russian?"
"Well, dear, Communists are Russian..." hesitated the
governess.
"But they're a new kind of Russian and I don't think
they're good people."
"Oh", said the little girl, distracted. She went closer
to the boat and regarded it in silence. She touched it
with her small,gentle hand.
"You are not all that ugly" she whispered to the boat.
"Just you wait and see, my father will give you a
coat of paint and you'll look new and shiny again."
Tamara smiled wistfully.
She knew her little pupil was kind to everyone --- even
to people who didn't deseve kindness. How happily she had
greeted the Russian invaders to Estonia! And these simple men had responded
in kind, giving children canned meat and pats on the head.
But Tamara knew how dangerous the situation was. Communists
took Estonians to Siberia in trainloads, if they didn't shoot
them first. The girl's father had been a prominent politician
and writer before the war and was sure to have problems.
She also knew that this pathetic - looking boat was destined to take the child's
family away from Estonia, her homeland, to safety and to freedom.
Children were told nothing for fear that they would talk - especially
her little charge who was fluent in Russian.
Soon the girl left with her governess. The boat was alone
again but the April wind was kind. It whispered of glorious days
and nights long gone past. It sroked the beat with cool,
feathery touches and murmured that such days might yet return.
The lights went out in Europe as
World War II raged on. First Communists
occupied Estonia, only to be driven out by Nazis. Then the
Communists came again and this time they stayed. All was still
peaceful on the beach where the boat lay alone. Now and then it dreamed
that it was afloat but it woke only to find it was still on the
shore, alone except for a a few curious birds and the wind.
The little girl had not returned yet becuse it was a cold April.
The boat could hear noises in the distance; loud and frightening
noises which usually broke the calm and the stilless of the night.
It couldn't know then that it was hearing the sounds of a World War
which would rearrange Europe and end or change the lives of
many people. It still didn't know why it had been taken to the beach.
But one day in May, it had some company. Three men came to the
beach.
They were deep in discussion and stopped to look at the boat.
The boat was uncomfortable, remembering the rough hands of men
... but it became obvious that these men did not wish to harm the boat.
On the contrary, they only seemed interested in looking at it
from all angles and remarking now and then on improvements that
could me made. These men did not speak in Russian. They talked
in Estonian. One of them seemed to be a former sea captain --- he
knew much about boats, geography and compasses. The other two were
discussing the kind of paint the boat needed; a captain's cabin,
a new engine, seats for passangers, and how to get gasoline
to make it run.
They seemed to concerned about finding the
necessary things. One of the men remarked on the fact that gasoline
was almost impossible to get during wartime. They all said they
would try to collect it from somewhere.
To " run "again? To float on turbulent waters?
The boat was afraid it might not be up to such a task. But the
men seemed determined. What adventures awaited the poor little battered boat now?
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