I hung onto the arm of my chair as our lounge room seemed to rock. I looked down a second time at his name on the back of the small white envelope – RUDIS MASENS. Milda and Rudis Masens on their wedding day on October 1939 in Latvia.
Slowly picking up my letter knife, I started to cut, but the blade caught and ripped the far corner. The sight of the torn paper made me wince and I went even more carefully, until I could ease out two very thin pages. I tried to read his letter, but my eyes kept jumping forward before I could finish each sentence.
. . .
I survived the war . . .
. . .
live in Riga . . .
. . .
such a joy to hear you are alive . . .
. . .
one true love . . .
. . .
found out your address from Stefans Feldmanis . . .
. . .
I want to come to Australia to see you and the boys. Everything came flooding back. The hours I had spent looking at those square cards on the noticeboards at Hanau DP camp for a message.
The days I’d spent on my bed in the dormitory, wishing he would appear. It felt as if the last 30 years fell away, as if I was a young woman again. I had such a rush of warm feelings towards him.
I thought, “How is it possible that he now shows up like this? It must be our fate to meet again!“ I knew immediately that I would write to tell him to come. I headed downstairs to the garage and found Edgars standing beside his old Ford in his blue work overalls. The news almost burst out of me.
Pride filled my chest like a rush of air at the thought of Rudis see.