Free When the Doves Disappeared by Sofi Oksanen Page A

possible subjects that might come up, but he hadn’t anticipated anything like this. The man in civilian clothes was waiting for his answer. He hadn’t even introduced himself. Edgar thought he must be wondering why he was wasting his time listening to some dimwit’s report, wishing Edgar would just hand them the briefcase and get it over with. Mentzel sat examining his impeccable cuticles—Edgar would get no help from him.
    “First it must be said that I’m not really informed about the situation in Latvia and Lithuania,” Edgar said haltingly. “Estonians are very different from Latvians and Lithuanians. In that sense, the Baltic designation can be misleading.”
    “Is that so? Haven’t the Estonians mixed with the Eastern Balts as well as the Nordic races?” the unknown German asked.
    Mentzel spoke up. “You may have noticed that the Estonians have noticeably fairer coloring. So the Nordic race is dominant. A quarter of all Estonians are of pure Nordic stock.”
    “And there are more blue eyes, yes, we have noted this positive aspect,” the civilian agreed. The conversation was interrupted then by another German, apparently an old acquaintance of the Berliner’s, who came into the room unexpectedly. Edgar was forgotten for a moment and he tried to use that to his advantage, to think of what to say, what to do. Lists of Bolsheviks weren’t going to be enough, although that’s exactly what Mentzel had been interested in when they were in Helsinki. Edgar had miscalculated. He would never be invited here again. His career would go nowhere. His focus on the difficulties of his own past had blinded him, made him imagine that all he needed was the identification card under the name Eggert Fürst in his pocket. The racial characteristics of the Baltikum and the basic tenets of Reichsminister Rosenberg’s works on the significance of heredity flitted through the conversation and Edgar tried to think of something to say. He had at least had the foresight to commit thenames of Rosenberg’s works to memory: Die Spur des Juden im Wandel der Zeiten and Der Mythus des 20. Jahrhunderts . But just as he was beginning to fear that he would be asked a question about their contents, Mentzel clearly started to tire of his guests. Edgar hid his relief. He might not have made it through a discussion of complex racial issues. Now he just needed to keep a cool head. He would prepare better for their next meeting, look for people who knew Reichsminister Rosenberg—schoolmates, relatives, old neighbors on Vana-Posti Street, his colleagues from the Gustav Adolf Gymnasium in Tallinn. He would track down someone who would know what kind of person Alfred Rosenberg was, and what plans he had for the land of his birth. Once he’d learned to think like Rosenberg, Edgar would know what kind of information the Germans expected from him, what would interest them. His mind was already clicking feverishly, searching the archives of his brain for the right people, people who knew or might have known Jews who came to Estonia to escape the German pogroms or Baltic Germans who had fled to Germany and returned once the Soviets had withdrawn. There weren’t very many of them.
    Mentzel started to move toward the door to indicate that the visit had ended.
    “If I may trouble you for one more minute,” he said, gesturing for Edgar to follow him.
    As they walked down the hallway, Mentzel gave a sigh. “Herr Fürst, did you succeed in obtaining the information I requested? I’ve been eagerly expecting your list.”
    Edgar’s relief was so great that he didn’t realize until he’d stepped into the office that he was holding his briefcase in the wrong hand, his right hand. Mentzel didn’t seem to notice his embarrassment—he was focused on the list Edgar had handed him. Edgar parted his lips, trying to get enough oxygen.
    “Congratulations, Herr Fürst. We need people of your caliber outside of Tallinn, and the political police B4 section is