by Lou Gallaher

Daughter of the Sun was weaving
capes as in mid-air she stood;
she applied two drops of pure gold,
and the third drop of pure silver.

✿

Saule gathers her daughters at her side, and together, they bring life to the world each dawn. This particular day, the daughters sit at their looms in companionable silence and weave gold into linen.

In the Baltic villages and surrounding farms below, shutters open and stoves are lit. Līga dresses and goes to her garden. Standing in the damp grass, she hears a rooster crow. Soon the village will celebrate the Midsummer Festival of Jāņi by making crowns of wildflowers and oak leaves, building large bonfires, and celebrating the triumph of light over darkness. Līga and her fiancé, Jānis, will marry in St. Catherine's Lutheran Church, whose foundation was first laid in 1252. The pastor will bless their union before family and friends. And, if the Gods are willing, Saule will shine her light on them.

Jānis opens his eyes this morning to dread. With warmer weather, the students in his classroom pay little attention to the lessons. Chalk dust has settled in a fine layer over everything. He tastes it even when he is at home, and it sours his suppers. He spends each night unable to fall asleep as the Soviet authorities hunt nearby for the Forest Brothers, resistance fighters hiding throughout the countryside. Around the edges, destruction waits.

✿

Sun, oh Sun! And Earth, oh Earth!
Why are thee not even-handed?
Some live lightly, some have hardships,
others have iron hands and feet.

✿

Spotting something amiss, Saule's youngest daughter cries out, "Mother, come look!" A dust storm moves low over the fields. Saule knows this is not the work of Pērkons, the God of Thunder and guardian over the skies—he only brings storms meant to purify and awaken the earth. Red Army soldiers kick in doors. They yell, "Enemies of the people, come out!" Screams fill even the tiniest nooks in the sky as they round up men, women, and children. Her daughters cover their ears and beg, "Mother, please make it stop."

Līga is in the barn when her neighbor runs into the yard, shouting, "They have taken Jānis." She runs for the village as she begs Pērkons for a wind at her heels to carry her there faster. She is too late. She stands in the village center, gasping for breath. The butcher runs out of his shop to pull Līga away from prying eyes. He touches her arm gently before whispering, "Jānis. Taken. East." The world tilts on its axis. Līga comes to on her knees in the dirt. As her eyes focus again, the butcher helps her stand. She cannot formulate words to thank him.

The soldiers cram prisoners into the backs of trucks, pressed so tightly they can hardly breathe. Jānis feels something small press against his chest—a baby. He doesn’t know what to do with it until a woman calls out from the tangle of bodies, “My baby!” He lifts the child toward the sound, and someone takes it. The trucks stop and soldiers order them out. A freight train stands in front of them. For a moment, everyone stands in stunned silence before the shouting begins—soldiers wave rifles and bark commands. They drive them toward the open cars.

When the storm passes, the daughters are left dazed. The eldest approaches Saule and says, “Mother, we can't possibly weave light on this doomed day.” Saule tells them to rest. Both daughters retreat to a corner of the sky where she grieves for those suffering below.

25 MARCH 1949 — OPERATION PRIBOI

IMPLEMENTATION OF THE SECOND MASS DEPORTATION FROM THE LATVIAN SSR

42,125 PERSONS RELOCATED TO SPECIAL SETTLEMENTS IN REMOTE AREAS OF THE USSR EXECUTED IN ACCORDANCE WITH DIRECTIVES OF THE MINISTRY OF STATE SECURITY

✿

Oh, dear masters and rich folk,
do not flog a man at night,
flog him in the morning sunshine
so the Sun can weep for him.

✿

Months have passed and autumn nears. Līga walks to the river and sits on a bench near the weathered footbridge. It was Jānis's favorite spot for picnics—he would fish while she read aloud the now-banned poems of Aspazija. Līga would call out to him, “Red flower, where are you blooming?” Now she sits alone. None of the missing have returned, and no letters have been received. But bread must be baked, the garden tended. It is only alone near this river that she can cry. She throws her head back and releases a loud and wretched sob.

The eldest daughter's loom shudders, golden thread snaps mid-air. She calls Saule over for help. The two peer through the clouds searching for the source of the interruption. Saule's eyes fall on Līga. She weaves a flaxen linen to envelop Līga and the forest around her.

Wiping her eyes, Līga looks up and realizes the sun is shining. Daisies and cornflowers grow before her eyes, reaching towards the sun's rays. Līga raises her arms with them as if to embrace the sun. With certainty, she says out loud, “Jānis lives.”

✿

Oh, sweet Sun, thou shimm’ry one,
where didst thou step o’er the sea?
Did not see thee walk the bridge,
not even tiptoeing a plank.

✿

Refusing to lose hope, Līga takes daily comfort from the sun. As leaves begin to fall from the birch trees, she receives a letter. Jānis writes that he is a prisoner and received a sentence of five years of hard labor in the forests of Tomsk in Siberia. He tells her, “Go on with life without me.” And, “I love you.”

Jānis sits on his bed, his body a single ache after endless days felling trees. He wonders if he will ever feel full again. His pen hovers over the paper as he thinks about home. He remembers Līga as she was at their last picnic. She was sitting on a rough bench, still wearing her coat, surrounded by budding oaks. He looks up from this reverie and out the small window near his bed. He sees the stars, and it's as if they wink only at him.

“I spend my days thinking of you.” Līga writes, “There’s a shortage of teachers since the deportations, but I guess there are fewer students as well.” She describes the meager harvest despite the sun that appears every day. Soon, the sun will fade as winter settles over them.

✿

Rise, sweet Sun, oh rise, sweet Sun do!
Shine also on our dear place;
truly thy dear brightness for us
is so badly needed.

✿

With the arrival of another spring, Saule approaches her daughters. She whispers, “Time to wake, the land depends on us.” Together they weave their golden linens. The eldest daughter seeks out Līga and finds her in her kitchen, hunched over a cold stove. She sends light across the floor planks.

Months have passed since Jānis received Līga's letters. Despite the days getting longer, each morning he counts to ten before he forces himself upright. “What did we do to deserve such sickness and rot?” he wonders. And, “I will not survive" is his last thought before he falls into restless sleep at night, where Līga whispers, “Red flower, where are you blooming?” Some nights he wakes to find himself calling back to her in the dark.

In a letter, he writes to Līga that he is fine and includes news of others taken from their village. She brings this news to their families. Jānis doesn't say if he has been sick, if he is warm, or if he is full. Līga walks out to her gate, letter in hand, and lets the light soothe her.

✿

All is well when I sleep
in the white burial hill;
sweet winds play upon the flute,
thunder rumbles his big drums.

✿

A year has passed when the daughters decide to visit Jānis. They first weave a golden blanket for him, the camp, and its surrounding forests. They plan to present him with an image of Līga reading by the fire when the God Pērkons appears before them to deliver an edict. Looking at Saule and speaking loud enough for all to hear, he says, “There won't be light today. You will stand aside for rain.”

There is a knock at the cottage door. A librarian from the neighboring town of Kuldīga clutches a letter to her chest. It is from her brother, a prisoner and friend of Jānis. Līga invites her in. With trembling hands, the librarian sets the letter down and smoothes it out. She says, “My brother writes that sickness is rampant in the camp. Jānis won't be coming home.” There is a loud rush in Līga's ears; her vision blurs.

She looks up to the ceiling and screams, "Why?" then crumples to the floor.

25 MARCH 1950 — DEATH OF PRISONER JĀNIS SERBIS

CAUSE OF DEATH: PNEUMONIA (AS STATED BY CAMP MEDICAL UNIT)

BURIAL CONDUCTED WITHIN CAMP PERIMETER
FILE CLOSED

Jānis's body will forever lie in the forests of the Tomsk Oblast in an unmarked grave. Despite this, Līga arranges a funeral for him in the same church where they were to be married. He has a small plot, a simple headstone, and a bench where Līga can sit. Singing a funeral lament for him, she lays fir branches at the site.

✿

Give, Deargod, easy sleeping
to the one we’re burying;
give a loving life to kinfolk
who are now left behind.

✿

Years pass, and Pērkons calls on Saule and her daughters. “There will be a gentle rain today for the death of a gentle woman,” he tells Saule, “You can find her by the river.”

Saule calls Līga to rise. She says, “You have lived a virtuous life. Join me and my daughters; give your light to the world.”

Līga, with her gray hair and papery skin, has waited faithfully for Saule. Tilting her head back, she raises her arms to the heavens. She breathes in and exhales a single word, “Mother.”

❀✿❀

Lou Gallaher (she/her) is originally from Des Moines, Iowa and now resides in Riga, Latvia, with her two daughters and two small dogs. She is a diplomat who has served in several countries across Latin America and the former Soviet Union. She enjoys snow and cold weather, but only when it comes with sunshine.