My cousin’s wife, Tiina, took me to the Teadus Akadeemia Raamatukogu (Academic Library). She showed me the Välis Eestlaste Osakond (Diaspora Literature Department). I was tickled to see copies of my father’s collection of jokes, Naer on terviseks (Laughter is the Best Medicine), volumes I and II. Both books were stamped in ink overlay by the KGB, “234,” meaning “Strictly prohibited!” Another Hollywood stereotype proved true: the KGB really did not have a sense of humour. I could understand that the KGB had a file on my father, but I was astonished that they bothered with myself and my cousin (a professional singer), Epp Jürima-Sonin. Apparently, this was due to us having been mentioned in Meie Elu newspaper.
I met my father’s friend, Vootele. His ambition had been to study law, but because he had fought in the war, he was denied admission. He told me how the first apartment he shared with his wife was so small that he could reach both walls with his arms stretched out. His wife had an abortion, because they had no space for a baby and very little money. Later on, when they wanted a child, they discovered she was infertile. Vootele was my father’s age, but you would guess that he was ten years older. The cruelties and hardships the older generations had endured was etched in their faces. Yet, I was impressed by their resilience. Neighbours from my father’s farm were deported to Siberia from 1949 to 1956. The neighbour, Asta, had a daughter, born in a Gulag labour camp. At least they were among the few who had survived and returned, although their living conditions on the farm were poor.
Täismahus artikkel on loetav Eesti Elu tellijatele
Igal nädalal toome me sinuni kõige olulisemad kogukonna uudised ja eksklusiivsed lood uutelt kolumnistidelt. Räägime eestlastele südamelähedastest teemadest, kogukonna tegijatest ja sündmustest. Loodame sinu toele, et meie kogukonna leht jätkuks pikkadeks aastateks.
Hind alates $2.30 nädalas.
