In Wegman’s he buys some good fresh fish, a couple of onions and a bunch of dill. He could drink coffee right here. But the weather is so lovely. He places his purchases in the trunk of his car, buys a take-out coffee at the bus station, sits down on a bench between bus stop aisles, and, with pleasure, lights up a cigarette. Then suddenly he hears, in Latvian:

“I’ll come to New York ...”

What does his inner voice want to tell him? He turns sideways and sees that it isn’t the usual wind in his head. A young woman with a backpack slung over her shoulder, a travelling bag at her feet, is talking in clear Latvian on a small telephone. She looks precisely the same as all the rest of the travellers.

“No, no – don’t come to meet me. I’ll take a cab,” she says in Latvian. And then she bids a very Latvian farewell: Nu tad ar to dieviņu. – Well, then God speed.

Good bye. And there she stands – not very far from him. Having finished talking, eats an apple and then blows her nose and searches for something in her pocket.

Ar to dieviņu. She’s right here, only two steps away from him,

not the wind in his head but she has said these words.

Already a minute later the bus has hidden her from view. He waits for a brief moment, then goes onto the platform. He sees that she has settled into her seat. He’s standing right in front of the woman. When the bus starts to move slowly, he pulls from his breast pocket a big, white handkerchief and dragging his prosthesis leg, hurries along beside the bus, waving his handkerchief in farewell. He sees the woman’s surprised face in the window, how she continues for a long time to look back at him, him who, dragging his leg along, is waving farewell with his white handkerchief.

On the way back he decides to visit his wife. The care keeper at that moment is feeding her a mashed mango.

“Perhaps you’d like to feed your wife,” she says. Yes, oh yes, his wife.

Manējo, sieveni, meitieti, veco, bābieti, mūža draugu – mine, my wife, girl, old woman, biddy, life’s friend.

He takes the bowl with the mango and feeds his wife. She eats mechanically, staring at the wall, not recognizing him. The mango mash mingled with saliva dribbles from a corner of her mouth. He pulls out the white handkerchief, wipes the corner of her mouth and says:

“Ar to dieviņu.” God speed.

Notes

Page 90: “Sanskrit Lesson” – An Indo-European language, Latvian is linked to ancient Sanskrit, with approximately a hundred Sanskrit words still in use today in modern Latvia.

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