Picture of Laura Vinogradova (c) Vitalijs Vinogradovs
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https://vinogradovalaura.wordpress.com/
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Upe

Laura Vinogradova, born in 1984, is a Latvian writer of children and adult literature. She studied business management at Riga Technical University and did not start writing until she was 30. Her first published book was a story for children, Snīpulītis no Snīpuļciema (Baby Long Nose from the Long Nose Village, 2017), followed immediately by two collections of short stories: izelpas (exhalations, 2018) and Lāču kalns (Bear Hill, 2018). In 2019, she published a book for children in two volumes, called Mežpasakas (Tales of the Forest). Her latest book, Upe (The River, 2020), has been shortlisted for the Annual Latvian Literature Award. She currently lives in Riga and works at the Museum of Literature and Music.

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Upe (The River)
The life of Rute is prosperous, but it is filled with an emptiness made more and more intolerable by memories of her harsh childhood, longing for a long-lost sister, painful thoughts about a mother in prison and an inability to open up to (the) people closest to her, her husband included. Rute never knew her father, but when he dies leaving her an inheritance of a country house by the river, she escapes – escapes from the city, from people, from herself. She needs not only to escape, but to try and learn to live with the pain caused by her sister’s disappearance – a pain that she has lived with for 10 years. Living in her father’s country house on the riverbank, she gets to know her neighbours, but, most of all, she gets to know the river … a river that becomes her symbolic sister.

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Translation Deals

Translation Deals
  • Bulgarian : Colibri
  • German : Paperento Verlag
  • Lithuanian : Odilé

Excerpt

Excerpt

Upe - Laura Vinogradova - Language: Latvian

Pirms

Dinai patīk pie Rutes. Tāds siltums viņas mājā. Tāds, kuram nav ne jausmas par vēju ārā. Ieejot māsas dzīvoklī, Dina uzreiz novelk zābakus, zeķes un basām kājām ilgi stāv un sildās. Rutei ir siltās grīdas, Rutei ir viss.

– Ko tu dari? – Rute smejas.

– Ārā esi bijusi?

– Nē, es strādāju. Kas tur ir?

– Vējš, mazo māsiņ, vējš.

– Te arī. – Rute atkal smejas un pūš Dinai virsū elpu.

Pēc tam viņas dzer kafiju. Rute pasūta picu. Dinas skatiens klīst pa virtuvi. Tas badīgi ķer visu skaisto, jo pie Rutes ir skaisti. Silti un skaisti. Dažreiz Dinai gribas to Rutei pārmest. Pārmest, ka viņa ir izrāvusies. Pārmest, ka Stefans viņu ir izrāvis. Jo Dina netiek prom. Netiek prom no aukstuma. No vientulības. Un dažreiz Dinai liekas, ka viņa nemaz nedrīkst tikt prom. Nedrīkst izrauties. Nepienākas izrauties. Tad viņa dusmojas uz Ruti. Jo arī Rute nedrīkstēja dzīvot šeit. Nedrīkstēja iepazīt siltas grīdas un mīļumu. Nedrīkstēja apkarināt visus plauktus ar gaismas virteņu bumbām.

Rutei uz palodzes burkā aug tējas sēne. Kad Dina to pamana, viņa aizrijas ar kafiju un smieklos klepo.

– Kas tas tāds? – Dina rāda ar pirkstu.

– Tējas sēne, – Rute skaidro.

– Kāpēc ap burku aplīmētas mežģīnes? – Dina atkal smejas.

Rute mazliet uzmet lūpu un neatbild.

– Tā man kaut ko atgādina. – Dina kļūst domīga un vairs nesmejas.

– Tējas sēni? – Rutes balss ir pilna ar sarkasmu.

Bet Dina šūpo galvu. Atved picu. Abas ēd taukainiem pirkstiem un par sēni aizmirst.

– Nāksi pavadīt? – Dina jautā Rutei, bet māsa purina galvu.

– Gribu vēl patulkot.

Viņas cieši apskaujas, Rute vēl pamet Dinai gaisa buču, un durvis aizveras.

Pēc tam viss notiek pārāk ātri, lai saprastu. Pārāk ātri, lai kliegtu. Pārāk stipri, lai pretotos. Dina izkāpj no 6. tramvaja Mārkalnes ielas pieturā un dodas uz mājām. Iela, pa kuru viņa iet, ir klusa un tukša. Ielas malās stāv dažas aukstas automašīnas un sarkans mikroautobuss. Bezsniega janvāris ir vēja pilns, un Dina iebāž galvu dziļāk šallē. Tas ir tāds īss mirklis – no mikroautobusa izlec trīs vīrieši, sagrābj Dinu un uzmauc viņai galvā maisu. Kā tādu nedzīvu lelli paceļ un iemet mikroautobusa aizmugurē. Neviena kliedziena. Nevienas kustības. Dina sastingst un ļaujas, jo kādā dzīves brīdī ir pārtraukusi pretoties.

Viņa klusi guļ mašīnas aizmugurē un mēģina domāt. Vai viņai sāpēs? Vai viņa izdzīvos? Vai tas būs ātri? Bet viņa nevar padomāt. Tas sasodītais prāts ir ieslodzīts maisā. Viss ir ieslodzīts, arī bailes. Dina tās nejūt. Tas, ko viņa jūt, ir slapjas un aukstas bikses viņai cieši klāt. Apčurājusies. Mikroautobuss, šķiet, ir izbraucis no Rīgas, jo tagad ceļš ir taisns, līgans un viņi brauc ātri. Dina guļ savās čurās, sarāvusies kamoliņā, ar maisu galvā. Pēkšņi Dina atceras, ko viņai atgādināja Rutes tējas sēne.

Dina toreiz bija varbūt desmit gadus veca. Vienā dienā māte, neko nejautādama, viņu un māsu aizveda dzīvot pie Aigara. Nē, mājās mēs neatgriezīsimies, viņa paskaidroja meitenēm un vairs par šo jautājumu nerunāja. Māte mīlēja Aigaru tikpat ļoti, cik pirms tam mīlēja Vladimiru, vēl pirms tam Igoru un kaut kad pa starpu arī Jāni. Aigars nebija slikts, viņš meitenes lika mierā. Viņš nekad ar māsām nerunāja, un arī viņas ātri vien iemācījās nerunāt. Meiteņu runāšana un smiešanās nozīmēja zilu aci viņu mātei. Māte mīlēja Aigaru arī ar zilu aci, tāpēc māsas nesatraucās.

Pašā sākumā māsām nebija savas istabas, tāpēc viņas gulēja kopā ar māti un Aigaru. Aiz skapja viņām paklāja vatētu segu un iedeva mazu naktslampiņu. Tomēr tur bija tumšs. Katru nakti Dinai bija jādzird mātes elsošana, krākšana un Aigara vaidēšana. Jau pirmajā naktī Dina un Rute savu “gultu” piečurāja. Dinai bija kauns to teikt mātei, bet viņa saņēmās un pateica. Viņām iedeva tīru palagu, bet nākamajā naktī un arī aiznākamajā notika tas pats. Dina pamodās uz slapjas vatētās segas, un uz palaga bija liels, dzeltens pleķis. Viņa uzvilka džinsus un gāja uz skolu, bet ap kājām visu dienu juta to drēgnumu. Mātei viņas vairs neko neteica, jo tik daudz tīru palagu jau nebija. Un māte bija aizņemta, patiešām. Aigars gribēja ar viņu visu laiku būt kopā. Viņam nepatika, ja māte gribēja paspēlēties ar Dinu un Ruti.

Aiz skapja māsas nodzīvoja vairākus mēnešus. Katru nakti viņas čurāja. Dažreiz nevarēja saprast, vai apčurājusies ir Dina vai Rute, vai varbūt abas. Viņas pētīja pleķus uz palagiem, lai to saprastu, bet kāda tam vairs nozīme? Tāpat palagi bija mitri. Tāpat smirdēja. Tāpat tajos bija jāguļ atkal. Pa dienu Dina atsedza palagu un cerēja, ka tas reiz beigsies, ka viss izžūs un viņa vairs nečurās. Bet čurāja. Un arī Rute čurāja.

Tad viņas tika pie savas istabas un pārvācoties māte pirmo reizi ienāca viņu Aizskapijā. Ieraudzīja piečurātos palagus. Vatētā sega, uz kuras māsas gulēja, bija sākusi pelēt. Māte klusēja, un arī meitenes klusēja. Par čurām jau nerunā.

Savā istabā bija labāk. Viņām bija pašām savas gultas un tika iedotas plēves, ko palikt zem palagiem. Pirmās dienas Dinai gulta bija sausa. Viņa bija priecīga, jo domāja, ka ir uzvarējusi čurāšanu. Rutei gan gulta vienurīt atkal bija slapja, bet māsa vēl maza. Māsa vēl neprata.

Kādā naktī Dina pamodās un gribēja uz tualeti. Bet tualete bija ārā un, ejot uz to, bija jātiek garām Aigara istabai. Ja nu viņa Aigaru pamodina un viņš sadusmojas? Ja nu spārda māti? Jo Aigars tā dara, kad kļūst dusmīgs. Tādos dusmu brīžos izskatījās, ka māte viņu tomēr nemīl, bet tas nebija tiesa. Mīlēja. Paraudāja, sasmērēja uzsistos zilumus un mīlēja atkal.

Dina domāja un izdomāja. Uz galda bija palikusi burka, kurā bija ūdens otu mazgāšanai. Viņa pačurās tur. Meitene pietupās, palika burku zem sevis un mēģināja tumsā tajā trāpīt. Viņa piečurāja burku pavisam pilnu, mazliet siltas čuras notecēja arī gar rokām. Bet tas nekas, Dina bija priecīga, ka tik labi izdomājusi. Gulta paliks sausa, un viņa neies uz skolu smirdoša. Viņa paslepus sanesa istabā vēl dažas burkas, ko atrada sētā. Piečurāja arī tās. Kad beidzās burkas, Dina iečurāja vāzē, kura stāvēja meiteņu istabā, jo Aigaram vāzes nepatika. Kad vairs nebija, kur čurāt, viņa piečurāja bļodiņu, kas palikta zem puķu poda.

Retu reizi Dina nesa savus traukus iztukšot. Tiešām retu reizi. Tāpēc piečurātie trauki kļuva tumši, pilni duļķēm. Tie izskatījās kā tējas sēnes. Tagad Dina atceras.

Mikroautobuss apstājas. Dinu izrauj ārā, un viņa cauri maisam sajūt mitro jūras gaisu. To viņa atceras, jo Vladimirs, kuru māte mīlēja, dzīvoja pie jūras. Tāpēc jūras gaiss ir mazliet arī viņas bērnības gaiss. No bērnības jau arī cilvēks sākas. Viņa ievelk dziļi sevī mitro gaisu un izgaršo to. Un sajūt asu sāpi pakausī. Tad ir tumsa.

Excerpt - Translation

Translated from Latvian by Kaija Straumanis

Before

Dina likes Rute’s place. There’s a warmth to it. The kind of warmth that is oblivious to the wind outside. As soon as she steps into her sister’s apartment, Dina takes off her boots and socks and stands for some time, barefoot, soaking up the warmth. Rute has heated floors; Rute has everything.

– What are you doing? Rute laughs.

– Have you been outside?

– No, I’ve been working. What is it?

– The wind, little sister, the wind.

– There’s wind here, too. Rute laughs again and blows into Dina’s face.

Then they drink coffee. Rute orders a pizza. Dina’s eyes wander around the kitchen. They hungrily take in every beautiful detail, because Rute’s place is beautiful. Warm and beautiful. Sometimes Dina wants to call her out on it. Tell her she’s spoiled. Tell her Stefans has spoiled her. Because Dina can’t escape. She can’t escape the cold. The loneliness. And sometimes she feels like she can’t even try. Can’t be free. Doesn’t deserve to be free. And then she gets angry with Rute. Because Rute shouldn’t be living in an apartment like this. Shouldn’t have heated floors or love. Shouldn’t be stringing fairy lights on all the shelves.

Rute has a jar of kombucha fermenting on the windowsill. When Dina sees it, she chokes on her coffee and laughs through wheezes.

– What’s that? she points to the jar.

– Kombucha, Rute says.

– Why is there lace over the top of it? Dina laughs again.

Rute pouts and says nothing.

– It reminds me of something. Dina grows thoughtful and stops laughing.

– Kombucha? Rute’s voice drips with sarcasm.

But Dina shakes her head. The pizza is delivered. The sisters eat, their fingers greasy, and forget about the kombucha.

– Walk me out? Dina asks, but Ruta shakes her head.

– I want to translate a bit more.

They hug each other tightly; Rute blows Dina a kiss, and the door closes behind her.

After that, everything happens too quickly to make sense of it. Too quickly to scream. Too forcefully to fight back. Dina gets off the No. 6 tram at the Mārkalne stop and heads for home. The street she’s walking down is quiet and empty. A few cold cars and a red minivan are parked along the side of the street. It’s a snowless, windy January, and Dina retreats deeper into her scarf. It happens in a second: three men jump out of the van, grab Dina, and pull a bag over her head. They lift her like a ragdoll and toss her into the back of the van. No screams. No movement. Dina freezes and gives in because at some point in her life she stopped fighting back.

She lies silent in the back of the van and tries to think. Is she hurt? Will she survive this? Will it happen quickly? But she can’t think. Her goddamn mind is trapped in this bag. Everything is trapped, even her fear. Dina doesn’t feel afraid. What she feels is her pants, wet and cold, plastered to her skin. She’s pissed herself. They seem to have left Riga because the van is driving straight, smooth, and fast. Dina is curled up into a ball, lying in her own urine, with a bag over her head. Suddenly, she remembers what Rute’s kombucha reminded her of.

At the time, Dina would have been around ten years old. One day their mother, without a word, had taken her and Rute to live with Aigars. No, we’re not going back home, she had told the girls, and they never brought it up again. Their mother loved Aigars just as much as she’d loved Vladimir before him, and Igor before him, and Jānis somewhere in between. Aigars wasn’t bad, he left the girls alone. He never spoke to them, and the girls quickly learned to stop talking. If the girls talked or laughed, it meant a black eye for their mother. Their mother loved Aigars even when she did have a black eye, so the girls weren’t worried.

The sisters didn’t have their own room at first, instead sharing a room with their mother and Aigars. They were set up on the floor behind the wardrobe, with a quilt to sleep on and a small night light. But it was still dark. Each night, Dina had to listen to their mother’s panting, snoring, and Aigars’s moaning. Dina and Rute wet their “bed” on the very first night. Dina had been embarrassed to tell their mother, but she worked up the courage and told her. The girls were given a clean sheet, but the same thing happened the next night and the night after that. Dina woke up on a quilt that was wet and a sheet with a large yellow stain on it. She pulled on her jeans and went to school, but she could feel that damp cold on her legs the entire day. She didn’t say anything to their mother because they didn’t have that many clean sheets. And their mother was busy. Aigars wanted to spend every second with her. He didn’t like it when she wanted to play with Dina and Rute.

The girls spent several months sleeping behind the wardrobe. They wet the bed every night. Sometimes they couldn’t tell if it had been only Dina, or only Rute, or both of them. They’d study the stains on the sheets, trying to make sense of it, but what did it matter? The bed was wet either way. It stank either way. They had to sleep there again either way. Every morning Dina would pull back the sheet and hope it would be the last time, that everything would dry out and she wouldn’t wet the bed anymore. But she did. And so did Rute.

Then they got their own room, and in the process of moving them their mother entered their space for the first time. She saw the piss-stained sheets. The cotton quilt they used as a mattress had started to grow mouldy. Their mother said nothing and neither did the girls. Urine isn’t something you talk about.

Having their own room was better. They had their own beds and were given special mattress covers to go under the sheets. Dina’s bed stayed dry the first few days. She was happy because she thought she’d conquered bed-wetting. There was one morning when Rute’s bed was wet, but she was still little. She couldn’t hold it in.

One night Dina woke up needing to pee. But the toilet was outside, and to get to it she’d have to go by Aigars’s room. What if she woke him and he got angry? What if he took it out on their mother? Because he did that when he got angry. The times he got angry like that it seemed that their mother didn’t love him after all, but that wasn’t true. She did love him. She’d cry, rub ointment on her bruises, and go on loving him.

Dina got an idea. On the table was a jar of water used for rinsing paint brushes. She’d pee in that jar. She squatted, positioned the jar under herself, and tried to aim in the dark. She filled it completely, a bit of warm urine dripped onto her hands. But Dina was pleased with her solution. Her bed would stay dry, and she wouldn’t go to school reeking. She secretly stashed a few more jars in their room that she’d found in the courtyard. She filled those, too. When she ran out of jars, she peed into a vase that was in the girls’ room because Aigars didn’t like vases. And when she ran out of places to pee, she peed in the bowl that sat under the flowerpot.

On rare occasions she would take the jars out to empty them. Very rarely. And so, the urine-filled jars would turn dark, cloudy. They looked like jars of kombucha. Now she remembers.