The Faces of Strangers (22 page)

From: EESTIRIDDLER723

To: HEADLOCK12

July 27, 2009

Dear Nico,

Circumstances unite us, but they don't make us stay together. Circumstances and complete folly, complete coincidence have brought us together, but no glue exists that forces us to stick by one another.

There are a million reasons why we should have revolved out of one another's orbits, but one major one as to why we haven't. Did you ever wonder? Did you ever consider that every action has a reaction? Lest you mistake this for one of my riddles, I'll just say that on a recent trip to Moscow, I learned something—presumably by accident—that hasn't been sitting well with me at all. I'll let you figure out the punch line.

From: HEADLOCK12

To: EESTIRIDDLER723

August 16, 2009

P-Train,

I'm sorry we haven't been able to connect in a while. Things have been busy and frenetic, but I have called you a few times. Have you not received my voicemails? I got your email, and I have spent the last few weeks puzzling over it. I read it over and over, even printed it out and carried it around with me, staring at it like one of those Magic Eye posters, as though the answer would miraculously appear in front of me. I'm honestly stumped. Clearly I did something to offend you or your family, but I'm at a loss. I've never even been to Moscow, so I can't imagine what you're talking about.

Can you give me a hint? Are you okay? Do you need anything? Money? Do you want to come visit? I'd love to have you. You can meet Ivy and travel with me. I'd come see you guys, but it's just not the right time. We're working toward the election next year, and they've packed my schedule pretty tightly. I have a lot of work to do if I'm going to step it up and take it to the next level. I've never felt so responsible in my life. It's sort of an overwhelming feeling, like I'm walking on ice; any minute I'm going to eff up. Anyway, I want to talk about your letter, so please give me a call.

From: HEADLOCK12

To: EESTIRIDDLER723

September 4, 2009

I haven't heard from you, but I am going to chalk it up to how busy you are with CallMe. By now, you must be back in Tallinn. How are things with CallMe? Any updates? I can't wait to try it out. When are you guys going global?

I'm still feeling really weird about your last email. I'm going to keep writing to you until you write back. I'm going to keep sending you flowers and throwing stones at your window. And if that doesn't work, I'm going to stand outside your house wearing a trench coat and a giant 80s style boom box. (Did you ever see that movie?)

Paavo, man, talk to me.

From: HEADLOCK12

To: EESTIRIDDLER723

October 12, 2009

I'm really starting to feel like a needy boyfriend here. What did I do? Send me a riddle, anything. I'm desperate.

NICO

Tallinn
April 2010

It was the same and it was completely different. The air smelled the same—chilly, unassuming and somehow mysterious. But this time, Nico could pinpoint the mystery: fear. When he'd arrived in 2002, the fear was of the unknown, of this family, of the people who might or might not welcome him into their lives. This time, the fear was of what this country had become in the past eight years since he'd been here. His contact with the Sokolovs had been intermittent at best; he'd emailed with Leo for a few months after he returned home, but after a while, his own responses had petered out once he got on the campaign trail. But it was unlike
Paavo
to drop all contact. Paavo, with his puppy-dog loyalty to respond and to initiate conversations. Paavo, who has set up a multimillion-dollar organization in the back room of a two-bedroom apartment in Lasnamäe, a corporation that went public last year. A corporation that was sure to bring Estonia—and the Sokolovs—a great deal of esteem and fanfare.
Perhaps the fame has changed him,
Nico thought to himself. Not that he blamed him. Nico knew that he had changed—his temperature had cooled. He had less time for trivial matters. He returned phone calls and emails rather discriminatorily, with an unspoken underlay of
What's in it for me?

There was still no direct route to Tallinn from New York, so Nico flew once again through Stockholm, purchasing an overpriced cup of coffee at Arlanda and watching the flow of people as they settled into the gate to await the connection to Tallinn. This time, the plane was full. This time, the passengers came in assorted flavors and colors: Japanese businesspeople carrying slim laptops; tall, statuesque women who resembled models; techies wearing wrinkled cargo pants with headphones wrapped around their heads; polished, Scandinavian designers. Nico's mission was twofold. First, to find Paavo and ask him what gives regarding his cryptic emails to which he'd left no reply thereafter, and second, to have a vacation of some sort for the first time in five years.

After that first speech that Nico had delivered on the congresswoman's behalf, events had tumbled forward in great succession. The Teachers Union had responded so positively to his words that Nico was promoted to chief of communications, the congresswoman's second in command for public appearances. Nico began fielding questions for open press hour single-handedly, delivering speeches when there was a clash in scheduling, and generally providing the campaign with a great burst of youth, energy and bravado. Nico's reputation in turning the congresswoman's campaign attracted the attention of Mark Strong, the leading contender for New York Senate, and he was poached quietly and neatly out from under the congresswoman's nose to be Strong's chief of staff. People had never met anyone like Nico. He walked into a room and owned it, his confidence blooming out in front of him, owning topics that he had no background in, sometimes making things up as he went along. His ability to weave oratory was keen, skilled, patient. His voice had a calm timbre that attracted listeners, whether or not you were a believer in the agenda he was pushing.

During his time in Albany, he received multiple side requests to pen speeches—from CEOs of corporations, from figureheads asked to deliver commencement addresses; once even a hopeful Oscar Award nominee, who had heard of Nico's unique ability to sculpt words and wanted them in her clutch for the evening. He took them all on, charging exorbitant fees for his time but churning out pages and pages of inspiring text for all manner of clients.

But when Paavo's puzzling email came through, and there was no response, Nico realized that he could use a vacation. Why not Tallinn? It was where it had all started. Nico owed a lot to Tallinn for crafting him into the force he was today.

The terminal seemed to have tripled in size since he'd first landed in 2002, but then again, he felt larger, too. Not in weight or appearance, but in mentality. He'd gotten skilled. Wrestling was a lot like politics. He'd learned to use his brain the same way he used his body on the wrestling mat—negotiating releases, anticipating moves. Wrestling wasn't just about your own ability; it was about being able to read your opponent, gauging how his mind worked to be one step ahead of him to see where he wanted to go.

As Nico's heels clicked against the parquet, he noticed a huge reading space near a café.
Take a book, leave a book.
There were sections in Estonian, Swedish, Finnish. In the English section, Nico plucked
Riddle-Me-This: Brainteasers Not for the Faint of Heart
off the shelf and stuffed it into the side pocket of his messenger bag. Next to the library was a charging area where you could charge practically any device for free. And Nico's phone picked up a wireless signal almost immediately. For free. There really had been a technology revolution in this country; Paavo hadn't been wrong.

* * *

He stood on the threshold of the Sokolovs' kitchen door. He could hear movement inside and Vera's steely voice speaking in rapid-fire Estonian. Nico found himself yearning to burst through the door, but another voice responded almost immediately. That was Leo's gravelly timbre, responding in long elegant sentences. Nico could barely remember Leo speaking more than a few words at a time, much less in this language, this new language that appeared more foreign to Nico than ever before.

Nico tapped at the door. The conversation continued—rolling vowels, staccato consonants striking against the others. He tapped again, a little louder this time. Footsteps neared and the door flung open.

“Tere,”
Nico said. “Surprise!”

“Nico?” Vera stepped back. “You are here. What is it? Is everything all right?”

“Everything's fine,” Nico said, stepping into the house. It smelled comfortingly the same as it had eight years ago, like rye bread, yeast-filled and hoppy. Leo was sitting at the round table with the flower-patterned cloth in the middle of the kitchen, which looked exactly and comfortingly the same. It was as though he'd stepped back in time to 2002. “I just wanted to come for a visit. I haven't seen you guys in, well, eight years. Can you believe it?”

“Sit, sit,” Vera said, pulling a chair out. “But why didn't you call?”

“The looks on your faces were worth it,” Nico said, sinking into the chair. “I didn't mean to scare you. I'm really sorry.”

“Where you are staying?” Leo asked, reaching across the table to shake his hand. His eyebrows were up, but he hadn't smiled. Not yet.

“What are you talking about, Levya? He's staying here,” Vera said, kneading her hands into Nico's shoulders.

“No, no,” Nico said. “I've already checked in to my hotel in Old Town. I am just here to visit you guys.” He turned to Leo. “Was that you speaking Estonian?”

Leo's face broke open, and Nico nearly staggered back from the effect it had on him. Leo's smile was like a meteor shower; if you missed it, you might have to wait for days, even years to see it again. It hit Nico just then how inured to smiling he had become. It was like second nature to him. He smiled automatically, in line for coffee, on the subway, sitting behind his desk when he picked up the phone. In the public eye, if you didn't smile, it meant you were hiding something of which you were ashamed. Nico smiled so much sometimes that at the end of the day, his face hurt.

“Jah,”
Leo said. “I passed the test. I am legal now.”

“You have been legal,” Vera said. She clutched the hairs at the scruff of his neck and tugged them gently. “But yes, Leo is finally an official citizen. With a red passport to prove it.”

“Congratulations,” Nico said. “That's amazing news. How'd you do it?”

“Study, study, study,” Leo said.

“Good for you,” Nico said. “That's just incredible news. Where is Paavo?”

“Oh, no, Nico,” Vera said, her voice dropping an octave. “He did not tell you? He has moved to Prague permanently. It was supposed to be only for a short while, but CallMe asked him to stay on and use Prague as the base to open other satellite offices. He's the—what is his exact job, Leo?”

“Chief programming officer.”

“Wow. That's quite a title.”

“But you! Paavo said some time ago that you are in politics. Are you going to be president? Can we say we know you?” Vera asked. She poured a cup of coffee and slid it across the table to Nico.

Nico felt himself turning on his smile. “One step at a time. I've been pretty active in city politics, trying to work my way up to an elected seat one day. Not a big deal. But CallMe went public.
That's
huge.”

“Yes, okay.” Leo waved the comment away. “It is easy to become famous in Estonia. It is so small. But to stand out in a city like New York, in a country like America, this is truly great.”

“Right now, it is not so easy to find work in Estonia. So for Paavo to be so busy is lucky. Finding work is difficult these days, so if young people can afford it, they go abroad. Paavo was smart to take an interest in computers,” Vera said. “I don't truly understand what it is that he does for CallMe, but he has money and he is happy and that is all that matters.”

“I guess I...we haven't talked in a while.” Nico felt suddenly foolish. What had he been thinking, coming to Estonia on a whim? He took the book that he'd found in the airport out of his bag. “Will you give him this when you see him next?”

“Of course, Nico.” Vera looked at the title and smiled.

“Anyway, I want to hear about everything. The test, Paavo, Mari. I've seen the Victoria's Secret ads. She's really taken off. Is she still living in Moscow? Can I take you to dinner?” Why was he acting so desperate? It felt as if he'd run into mutual friends of an ex and was trying to glean any information he could without showing that he cared about this person he was supposed to have completely extricated from his life. He had Ivy now. It didn't matter. It shouldn't matter.

“That will be nice, Nico,” Vera said. “I can put the
sult
away for another day. Unless you would want some?”

“No, no,” Nico said, rising from the table. “Save the
sult
. Come on, my treat.”

* * *

There hadn't been a restaurant like this eight years ago. When Nico first visited Tallinn, the few times the Sokolovs had eaten out together had been to a restaurant that served more of the same kind of food that Vera made at home, so he hardly saw the point in going out in the first place. It was all Estonian missionary food, heavy roasts and potatoes, sweet and tangy jams and globs of mayonnaise. All the restaurants looked similar: wooden and oppressive, with chairs that shook the room when you pulled them out, sometimes with long, communal picnic-like tables at which you were forced to rub elbows with the party seated next to yours. But the restaurant that Leo and Vera and Nico had walked to—walked to!—in the newly built Kumu Art Museum seemed as if it could have been constructed on the Lower East Side, all light and air and minimalistic design. The food was presented in delicate portions, with ingredients leaning against one another intricately like the modern art Nico never understood.

Their stainless steel table overlooked the entryway to the museum and Nico noticed as tourists meandered up the path, clutching guidebooks in different languages. He didn't have a recollection of much tourism, even though Eesti High School was in Old Town. In the summers, Paavo had told him, the streets were filled with people from the cruise liners pulled into the seaplane harbor, spilling people onto the narrow twisty streets as they negotiated cobblestones on their wobbly sea legs. The restaurant was full; some tourists, but also smartly dressed locals and a few raucous businessmen and women were seated around a large oval table where there was clearly a lot of Viru Valge being passed around. Leo turned down the offer of a cocktail and instead chose a glass of red wine, which he proceeded to sip throughout the evening.

“So tell me,” Nico said, once their orders had been placed. “I'm sorry I've been so bad about keeping in touch. Paavo and I traded emails for ages, so I got all your news from him. But I guess with work and everything, we sort of lost contact. Tell me about the test.”

“He did very well,” Vera said, patting Leo's hand. “I was so proud of him.”

“After four tries,” Leo scoffed. “At some point, they were bound to run out of questions.”

“They make it very difficult for you,” Vera said. “It's not right. It's not fair.” Leo put his hand over Vera's and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“Well, better late than never.” Nico raised his tumbler of vodka and clinked it against Leo's wineglass. “Does it feel different?”

“Yes and no,” Leo said. “I can vote now. And I can travel without feeling like I am being denied entry to my own country.”

“You didn't tell him the biggest news of all,” Vera said. “Go on. Don't be shy.”

“What?” Nico asked. He found himself hoping it was some news about Mari.

“The chickens,” Vera said. “Say it, Leo.”

“You finally got rid of them?” Nico asked. “God, you hated those things.”

Vera laughed. “Guess again. He got his own.”

“You didn't,” Nico said. “You're a changed man, Leo Sokolov.”

After a small tussle over the check—Nico insisted on paying—they walked out. The food had been excellent—Scandinavian in its preparation and arrangement, and plentiful, but Nico got up from the table feeling hollow. What was Paavo's word?
Dusha
. Soul. The food had been bereft of it. He rubbed his stomach. He hadn't thought he might miss all that soporific meat, the leaden way his head and stomach felt after a classic Estonian meal. He didn't want to go back to his hotel room after this meal. He would feel even emptier. Why hadn't he insisted that Ivy join him on this trip? He wished he'd known that Paavo wasn't going to be here.