Osvalds Zebris “Māra” [Mara] Excerpt Translated by Uldis Balodis Published by Dienas Grāmata, 2019 More information: [email protected]1 Biography: Osvalds Zebris (1975) is a Latvian prose writer and publicist. Zebris’ first book – a collection of short stories, Freedom in Nets (2010), brought him instant popularity among readers and won him the 2010 Annual Latvian Literature Award for Best Debut. In the Shadow of Rooster Hill (2014) is his third book. His novel, People of the Wooden House (2013), was shortlisted for the 2013 Annual Latvian Literature Award 2013. In 2020 Zebris published novel Māra. Synopsis: Māra is a novel about a group of sixteenyear olds. It tells of their first encounter with pivotal choices and decisions. Māra, the protagonist, has been close friends with three classmates—Edgar, Paul, and Mārtiņš—since first grade. In high school, she is forced to deal with problems resulting from two new classmates, and with her friends’ betrayal. Then, the longcherished friendship suddenly shatters. When even her own home isn’t safe anymore, when the old foundations have disappeared but she doesn’t yet have new ones underfoot, Māra ends up making a desperate move. This is a story about courage—about Māra’s journey from selfawareness to her acceptance and manifestation of that awareness. Excerpt It’s Christmas time and it’s freezing. I’m standing at the edge of a freshly dug pit near a mound of yellowish sand, which has appeared on the hard, trampled snow. When I’m given the signal, I toss three handfuls of it, the ground is also stiff, almost frozen, and it rattles loudly against the wooden box – down there. Someone coughs, I look back – it’s a greyhaired man without a hat, the tip of his nose is red. He is tall, recognisable, bitter. He’s standing close to me, a trembling drop is hanging from his giant nose. It falls and now it’s gone. Some people are hanging their heads, a woman next to me is sniffling – it’s her chubby sister – Aunt Bauska. Then there’s Edgars, Mārtiņš, and Pauls. Anna. Augusts didn’t
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Osvalds Zebris “Māra” [Mara] Excerpt Translated by Uldis Balodis
Published by Dienas Grāmata, 2019 More information: [email protected]
1
Biography: Osvalds Zebris (1975) is a Latvian prose writer and publicist. Zebris’ first book – a
collection of short stories, Freedom in Nets (2010), brought him instant popularity among
readers and won him the 2010 Annual Latvian Literature Award for Best Debut. In the
Shadow of Rooster Hill (2014) is his third book. His novel, People of the Wooden House
(2013), was shortlisted for the 2013 Annual Latvian Literature Award 2013. In 2020 Zebris
published novel Māra.
Synopsis: Māra is a novel about a group of sixteen-‐year olds. It tells of their first encounter
with pivotal choices and decisions. Māra, the protagonist, has been close friends with three
classmates—Edgar, Paul, and Mārtiņš—since first grade. In high school, she is forced to deal
with problems resulting from two new classmates, and with her friends’ betrayal. Then, the
long-‐cherished friendship suddenly shatters. When even her own home isn’t safe anymore,
when the old foundations have disappeared but she doesn’t yet have new ones underfoot,
Māra ends up making a desperate move. This is a story about courage—about Māra’s
journey from self-‐awareness to her acceptance and manifestation of that awareness.
Excerpt
It’s Christmas time and it’s freezing. I’m standing at the edge of a freshly dug pit near
a mound of yellowish sand, which has appeared on the hard, trampled snow. When I’m
given the signal, I toss three handfuls of it, the ground is also stiff, almost frozen, and it
rattles loudly against the wooden box – down there. Someone coughs, I look back – it’s a
grey-‐haired man without a hat, the tip of his nose is red. He is tall, recognisable, bitter. He’s
standing close to me, a trembling drop is hanging from his giant nose. It falls and now it’s
gone. Some people are hanging their heads, a woman next to me is sniffling – it’s her
chubby sister – Aunt Bauska. Then there’s Edgars, Mārtiņš, and Pauls. Anna. Augusts didn’t
Osvalds Zebris “Māra” [Mara] Excerpt Translated by Uldis Balodis
Published by Dienas Grāmata, 2019 More information: [email protected]
2
come, he doesn’t go anywhere unless there’s a good reason. Hats and kerchiefs cover only
the women’s heads and I have to wonder who taught these men and boys that they have to
stand bareheaded in a cemetery? They’re not like us. My gaze comes back to the gaping
hole in the ground. I pull my hat down lower over my ears, light-‐coloured grains of sand
trickle down my cheeks, I realise my carefree days are being buried here. It will be different
now, a metamorphosis, it has been decided.
When the flowers and wreaths have been arranged, when the fat candles have been
lit – they make me think of that wonderful night at Anna’s – and some have already said
their farewells (staring straight into my eyes, of course), it occurs to me for the first time
that I’m saying goodbye to her forever. I don’t really understand any of it yet, that
understanding will come later. I bid farewell to me forever, my fall and ascent up the
mountain, which lasted nearly four months, is now over. I fall on the ground with a thud and
rattle like the frozen sand against the thin wooden wall separating me from mom. For now,
it’s still just an empty word, memories will fill it from near and far, until one day, on some
hot summer evening, when I pause for a moment in the shadow of the storm-‐snapped
willow, she will be far enough away for me to understand it. A dog barks somewhere in the
distance – it’s Joe, a stray, saying hello. A brilliant mother-‐of-‐pearl button is in my pocket, a
cow nods its head in the bare birch branches. All of it has come to pass. Hungry little ravens
trace out loops above our heads, Pauls and Edgars help keep me upright, I’m stronger now,
finally I can feel the pain.
Osvalds Zebris “Māra” [Mara] Excerpt Translated by Uldis Balodis
Published by Dienas Grāmata, 2019 More information: [email protected]
3
Māra and fear
I count to ten, but don’t make it past four. The inseparable quartet, yeah, that’s still
our story. It could be our story. I want to tape over this place and time, to wind it forward.
But this moment is like a heavy stone, and I’m at the centre of it, frozen. I see, I know, but I
can’t move.
Tram No. 1 just stopped around the corner, some people get on, others get off,
someone’s head hits the glass, a loud thud, he jolts awake. He looks around – are we at the
market yet? No, the bridge is still to come, just sleep, doze. I see all of them, there, at the
end of Bell Street, these happy, contented people whose minds have never been corrupted
by the wicked idea of getting on stage, in the light, to show off. An arrogant breed of
mountain climbers. Revolting pride, take a hard look, here come the fruits of your labour. All
of them rotten to the core.
I’m standing on stage – luckily, in the shadows – the floodlights have caught,
captured the two of them in a circle of red-‐green light. They have moved to the centre of
the auditorium, of course, they are on the same level as the audience, emphasising my
hopes and the ill-‐suited nature of speeches delivered from stage for our times. They had
prepared music, costumes, dancing, all of it had been rehearsed! Edgars and Mārtiņš are
sitting on the edge of the stage, swaying to the rhythm, in time with the two of them.
“Māra, we’d need…”
“No!”
Osvalds Zebris “Māra” [Mara] Excerpt Translated by Uldis Balodis
Published by Dienas Grāmata, 2019 More information: [email protected]
4
The stone keeping me frozen begins to shift, I come to my senses. There’s tall Elīna
with her trembling hand, I push her aside and walk down. Three steep steps next to the
audience, Laura looks at me, I can feel her staring, pointing at me with her long finger, the
audience is muttering and murmuring something about failure, about it being the pinnacle
of it all. I’m at the door, I look back. Wide smiles across their faces, thunderous applause for
them, there are many filming and taking pictures, no one is murmuring or staring. Because
I’m not there. There’s nothing to stare at, nothing to mutter about. “I have to take my time,
I can’t act too fast or I won’t get it right,” that’s probably what my mom and grandmother
would say, but I have to take this step on my own.
Māra
Pauls, I’m dying. Shave me!!!!!
No answer. I notice the “h”, almost laugh out loud about shaving, then correct
myself: “Save me, i mean”. I should run, try to get out of here, jump on a tram, cross the
bridge, the river, the whole city, just get out. Find people who don’t know anything about
any of it. Lots of them. But this time the tram leaves without me, I guess this is what they
call feeling like you’ve turned to stone. Except that it actually feels more like turning into a
tree. A stupor. You can lean forward and back, fall on your knees or ass, but can’t take a
single step anymore. Your roots run so deep into the ground that you have no choice but to
stay right here, right now. The day has been stolen, it will never be mine again. And the
Osvalds Zebris “Māra” [Mara] Excerpt Translated by Uldis Balodis
Published by Dienas Grāmata, 2019 More information: [email protected]
5
thought about those two girls, those thieves that robbed me, the deep well I’ve fallen into,
how weird – it suddenly feels so sweet, so close. The music is booming through the walls, I
sit down on the wide steps at the end of the hallway and return to thinking about my failure
of a self. Was there even any way to fail more, to humiliate myself more? No, I need to drink
in this evening completely, I need to tumble down to the bottom of this pit, even if just to
see where and how it starts. Pauls isn’t here, so I’ve got no choice but to plummet into this
darkness alone. How deep into the ground do my roots really run?
The official part of the evening is over. There are some groups of people milling
about in the classroom with glasses of “juice”, someone calls my name, it’s hard to hear
their voice over the music. Mārtiņš and Edgars are over by the window at the far end of the
room rubbing up against those two, but I don’t care anymore. I probably should have
laughed in a really loud and exaggerated way. Oh, look, some nobody is coming my way. I
could kick him so he’d get out of my sight, the stench of a loser eats through you fast. Some
dark-‐haired dude, his face twisted into a saccharine grovelling grin (who is he, why don’t I
know him), pours me a shot, it’s sour.
“Shit! I’m so sick of your... your name!” I whisper into the ear of this stranger staring
at me like a dog at an empty bowl. He’s crushed. If a girl gets on tiptoe, while 5 Seconds Of
Summer is playing, to whisper something in your ear, it shouldn’t include the word “sick”. A
freak in a skirt, let’s toast the new “me”.
“OK, guys, fix your hair and count to ten. Because. We. Are. Going. Hunting!” Finally,
I manage to sound decisive and talk without my voice shaking. My glass is empty, the
stranger is gone, but, luckily, Mārtiņš is right there and he’s always ready to fill it up. “You
Osvalds Zebris “Māra” [Mara] Excerpt Translated by Uldis Balodis
Published by Dienas Grāmata, 2019 More information: [email protected]
6
really want another one?” He’s about to ask me again, but my face probably looks like he
should just pour it without asking any more questions.
“Sure! We’re going in a second, just a quick smoke, and then we’ll roll,” Mārtiņš says.
My glass is cool and heavy again, the music is booming, we raise our voices even
more.
“He couldn’t be that far away, probably hanging around by the garages.” Edgars
leans thoughtlessly in my direction.
“By our garages,” I manage to really draw out each word as I sing them almost in
rhythm with the music. In an instant, wine glass in hand, my arms, which apparently don’t
know what they’re even doing, are hugging him. It feels like a really bold move to me,
shockingly sexy. I can’t stand that word, but right now, yeah, it seems different somehow –
just more to the point?
He looks confused – he freezes, wriggles out from my embrace, so awkwardly.
“You’re going for a smoke, yeah, I’ll have one too...”
“Well, Māra, sweetheart, you just can’t keep up. We’ll be quick. Just stay here, count
to fifty-‐five, and we’ll be back. Fine?”
Edgars smiles at me, winks, but he can’t fool me. No, not tonight. I look him as
straight in the eyes as I can. I flash my teeth at him.