Read Swedish Tango / the Rhythm of Memory for Free Online Page B

Toivo often watched her suckle the child, trying to mask his own hunger and desire. She knew he secretly wished that she could feed the entire family at her breast. And sometimes, at night, he would reach underneath her gown and drink from her, before falling away disgusted and ashamed.
    The little girl, however, was beginning to grow weary of her mother’s milk, and Sirka saw how the child had already begun to steal scraps from the table.
    But still, she was small for her age. Tiny, pale, and white. Her favorite thing was a small toy bear, whose ear she sucked on at night.
    Sirka insisted, as all mothers do, that she loved all of her children equally. But, in her heart, she knew that she loved her daughter just a little bit more. She loved the boys too, but the three of them had grown so fast and wrestled themselves further away from her with each passing year. She saw how they had their father’s hair, his unusually dark brown eyes, and his passion for the outdoors. But this little girl was hers completely.
    She had the same blond hair and green eyes. When Sirka cradled her in her arms, she saw her own features in miniature. The cupid bow of her mouth, the straight line of her nose, and the roundness of her brow. She relished the child’s sweetness, her curiosity, and the sheer joy she displayed from discovering the simple things around her.
    So, when Toivo came home one evening with the newspaper in hand and a bouquet of winter violets, nothing could have prepared her for what he was about to ask.
    He showed her the paper’s headlines: “Swedish Government to Accept Thousands More Finnish Children in a Gesture to Its Scandinavian Brother As War Continues.”
    “The children who went there in the first wave were very happy,” he whispered to his wife. “It won’t be permanent, just until the war ends.”
    “No, Toivo. No—” she pleaded. “How could you even suggest such a thing?” In the lamplight, her face revealed her despair, her brow quivering as she spoke. “She is our only daughter…”
    “This is no life for our daughter. For anyone.” He slid into one of the chairs and propped his leg on a low wooden stool. “We have no food now. The Russians are pushing farther west. Our soldiers are basically fighting on skis in our backyard! What kind of life is this? And nobody knows when it’s going to end!”
    “It will end, Toivo. Eventually.” She began to cry.
    “The women who are volunteering for the war effort in town, the
lottas
, are taking names of children to be sent on the SS
Arcturus
in the next few weeks.” He paused. “I put Kaija’s name on the list, Sirka,” he said as he covered his brow with his hand.
    She knew even before he said her daughter’s name that she would be the one he would choose. For, not only was Kaija the only girl, she was also young enough to forget them. But, for Sirka, itwould be far more difficult. No mother could erase the memory of any of her children. Particularly this little girl with the white hair who asked for nothing but the love of her mother, her milk, and the company of her small bear.
    Sirka wept nightly and the violets beside her bed soon wilted and died. Outside their modest home, the snowdrifts piled high and the sun shone for fewer hours each day.
    Three weeks later, Toivo arrived home with lowered lids and hunched shoulders. “One of the
lottas
will be coming to pick Kaija up for the transport,” he said as gently as he could.
    She heard him, his words veiled in a whisper. She turned from him so her back faced him and her eyes wandered to the window.
    “The
Arcturus
leaves Friday,” he said sadly. “We must leave her in God’s hands now, Sirka.” He embraced her. “God will watch over her while she’s in Sweden, and we will know that at least there she will be safe.”
    That Friday, she packed a little bag for her only daughter. She washed her only dress, a little blue-checkered smock with a small white collar, in a bucket of melted