7
An hour later I am outside of Nuchi’s, knocking on his door. No answer. I try again, this time a little harder. He’s got, I notice, a nice freshly painted door, white with a little green trim around the panels. Still no answer. I look up at the window. The curtains are closed. His window frames also have a green trim. Did he do that? I wonder why I haven’t noticed before. What a lousy witness I would make – I mean I don’t seem to be able to take anything in. I give it one more knock, but I’m already walking down the path to the gate as soon as I’ve done so.

I make my way down to the corner shop to pick up a spring roll and a bottle of water. As I’m waiting in line to pay, I see the update headlines on the papers.

Municipality Head Called in for Questioning by Security Police

it declares. I’m not really interested, but there’s a small queue, so I read further.

Janis Čakste, the head of Ruendale Council, was called in to explain why at the beginning of the run on NordFund, he had transferred the entire municipal account to the State LandFund - a total of 1 million 500 thousand Kaposta.

He was held for 24 hours as the security police tried to uncover the trail of events that last weekend nearly led to the collapse of NordFund – a collapse that may have led to up to 30% of the population losing any deposits over the 10,000 Kaposta guaranteed by the state.

Reinis Krumiņš, a spokesperson for NordFund, a daughter fund of ContinentalFund EK, said that although it was certainly too early to be able to comment directly on the motives of Mr Čakste’s actions, they certainly hadn’t helped calm the situation. In fact they had caused mass panic throughout the state, with FATs being emptied in scenes reminiscent of the crash of the GeneralSaver Fund just two months previously.

Finance Minister, Didzis Dombrovskis, declared that although he understood the reaction of citizens to fears of losing their savings, he was sad to see that a mere rumour could threaten the existence of a well-run fund with an excellent reputation. He also echoed the sentiments of Continental Commisioner, Van Wumple, who on Sunday evening had wondered whether the people of Lettzonia were able to be trusted with the funds. Mr Dombrovsksis said “I have sympathy with the commissioner. If we can’t trust the funds, then it means that we can’t be trusted with the funds. This means we have to show more moral fibre and more responsibility as a people. The fact that a mass panic almost destroyed a fund with a faultless reputation is extremely worrying.”

Mr Čakste had no comment to make on his relea..

“That it, mate?”
“Yeah.”
“3 Kapostas.”

I notice the pan sitting by his till.

“You got one, too?”
“We all have – it’ll soon be the law, wonit?”

I decide to give Nuchi another 10 minutes, so I sit on the window ledge of the shop and watch the life drift past. There’s a young girl standing on the opposite side of the street drawing something in the thick dust of the old General Saver Fund FAT (fund automatic teller), where, of course, you can no longer get your folding obvious.

An old lady with a country disposition approaches. I say country disposition because her forearms, face and neck are all equally weathered. She has crowfeet by her eyes, scratches on her arms, and callouses on her palms. She rolls a little as she walks in a manner which suggests she has found her natural style through calm and intelligent confrontation with the years. She really looks quite beautiful.

“Come away” she says quietly to the girl, who then skips away from her work, and starts to hop around the old lady. I don’t hear what she says as they cross the narrow street, but it seems she is trying to tell the young girl something, but it’s no use; the girl is too full of beans, and so the elderly dame waves away the effort away with a calm lowering of her forearm: another gentle gesture.

I get up to leave, and, on the way to Nuchi’s, I take a look at what the girl has been doing in the dust of the FAT: the sun, a dancing girl in a dress, and a large heart –a classic trinity of objects.

I give his door another knock: no answer. I go back to the van and call his patch: he doesn’t pick up. Maybe something’s up? One more knock just to put off any disconcerting period of reflection that might be necessary – I mean I haven’t done a run by myself, and I don’t know if I ought to, and if I don’t go, what am I going to do – go home?

I give it five hard knocks, open up the letterbox and give a sharp whistle. I then peep in and catch a glimpse of his southern mits undoing the cord of his dressing gown. A matter of seconds later, the door opens, and yes, there he is, tightening the very same cord of dressing gown around his slightly flushed plump figure.

“I just heard you knock. Have you been waiting long?”
“No, I just turned up.”
“Oh really? Then that is alright, then. You see I was busy, and I might not have heard any earlier knocking that you might have been making.”
“Right.”
“But do come in. The servants‘ quarters are through there, as you should know by now.”

He dabs his forehead with a handkerchief.

“My God, I seem to be sweating. Really!’

I shake my head as I make my way to the kitchen, where I see his wife, Jekaterina filling the kettle.

“Hi!”
“Hi, Janis. Sit down, won’t you? What’s that fool doing there?”

She puts her head into the corridor and asks, “have you finished unblocking the sink, yet?”

“Unblocking the sink!?” declares Nuchi as he ascends the stairs, gripping the bannisters with melodramatic intensity. “Is that what we call it nowadays?”

She returns to the kitchen, smiling as she does so: everything hopping and bouncing with infectious intent in the Vannuchi household.

She takes a couple of mugs off the shelf, puts her hand through her thick red hair and asks “Are all other men like him?“

I shake my head.

“You must be very proud, though”

She cackles and I feel better.

“Coffee?”
“Thanks.”
“He believes he’s been very heroic this morning. I expect he will tell you all about it later.”
“I promise not to believe every word of it.”
“Yes, that would be both very nice and very wise.”

She fills up a cup, smiling as she does so, and passes it to me. I try to relax.

“You alright Janis? You seem a bit… a bit I dunno.”
“You know – it‘s sufferable.”
“Hmm.” She taps her cup and looks out of the window.

I look around at their daughter’s work, which is tacked on to the wall behind me. Most of them are drawings in the classic 8-year old style, except for one typed story:

Once upon a time there was a girl. The girl’s name was Uva. She lived in a very rainy country which didn’t have a name because no one had remembered it to give it a name because all the people were too busy looking for the sun.

“This is good.” I say, “and I didn’t know she could type.”
“Oh I did that,” says Nuchi, who has just made his entrance in the garb for the day.
“You typed it, you mean. You didn’t write it.,” interjects Jekaterina.
“Of course. Only someone born here could write such dark and serious prose: But, being very intelligent, she is addressing this Northern perspective you have. Honestly, you are like this (he stands with his feet out wide like two legs of a tripod, cups his hands over his eyes, and leans forward as if looking intently for something in the distance). Here you all are, leaning out, looking straight ahead, completely blind to everything that you should be seeing, which is over here and over here (he gestures to the sides).”

“Yes dear (she rubs his shoulder, gives him a dishcloth, and pushes him towards the sink), but it’s not the meaning of life we are looking for, is it? We are looking where we are going, which happens to be straight ahead.”

“Why do you have to go anywhere? Life is here; beauty is here.”

“He is very poetic this morning.” I remark to Jekaterina.

“Oh I am always poetic, and I spread happiness whenever I go – look at her (he regards his wife as he dries the cutlery): she is very happy. For you (he motions to me with a handful of forks), I do what I can, but you already have a cross picked out and are looking for a man with the nails. I try to stop you, but I am only one.”

“Well, thank you anyway.”

“You think I am happy, do you?” says Jekaterina, a little challenge in her voice.

“Of course you are happy. We have a little paradise here, and this is (he turns to address me) because she knows me totally, and it is more or less clear to me what she is. Also, I chose her, you see (he wags his finger and takes a plate from the dish-rack). It is always excellent to choose your own prison guard, and I knew she would be very kind, basically.”

“I thought you said you were in paradise?” I say.

“Yes, of course. It is thanks to her, you see, that I stay here. With my hot passionate blood I could do something foolish and fall for the idea that the grass is greener, the fruit is sweeter, the wind is fresher, and…”

I finish it for him: “the money is easier”

“You pain me, but it is as you say it is, and so we must, my dear, depart (he passes Jekaterina the dishcloth). Leave your coffee - we must be away!”

We get up to leave. Jekaterina’s freckled face is impassive, and her features alter not a fraction neither when Nuchi asks where his sandwiches are (she just points to the fridge), nor when I wish her a good day (she raises the palm of her hand).