House on the hill
This is Europe. This is the Baltic Sea . This, holding to that sea with one short border, is the state of Lithuania. Vilnius is still unclear whom it belongs to. This is Vaižganto Street and a white brand new house - marked with number 30 and surrounded by a fence. This is the gate, framed by two brick towers. And this is me, the owner of this whole image, Akio the cat, sitting on the gate and warming up in the late autumn sun.
Vilties vartai
The Jews later began to call that gate the "gate of hope". In our time the fence is gone, but the gate remains. The inscription on them: "Visas for life. Gate of Hope"
Two little boys are playing in the yard, the older Hiroki throws the ball to the little Chiaki, who is just starting to walk, so the ball he didn’t catch is kicked by the secretary Gudze, smoking at the corner of the house. Gudze, unlike other Polish staff at the Consulate, speaks Lithuanian, but when he bends over to pet me, I can smell his German shirt, a very suspicious scent.
The ball hits the garden fence, scares the sparrows away and ruins my hunt, so I jump down to the ground. Well then, let’s go, I’ll show you around the house. This is a black arch of the coal bunker. Every time I sneak inside to check if there’s an easily caught bat or a mouse strayed from the vegetable pantry, I get scolded by the maid who cleans the rooms. “Go away, Aiko, you silly cat, you’ll stain the carpet again," she hisses, shoveling coal into the bucket and stamping down her foot, so I jump outside again.
Both on the first floor, where the Japanese Consulate is located, and the second floor, where the Consul’s family lives, the doors open inwards. This must be for the sake of the cats, because when a cat waits at the door and the door opens inwards, you won’t hurt it even by accident.
The first floor is full of muted sounds: the clickety clack of the typewriter in Sugihara’s office, the occasional ring-ring-ring of the phone. Two Poles are quietly arguing in the Assistants’ room, I can hear the names of the cities: "Stockholm... Japanese Consulate in Finland... Polish section of the British Consulate" - nothing that could interest a cat.
The Decoding room is much more intriguing, it’s forbidden to go there, but I wait for Gudze to sneak into that room, then dart through his legs and hide under the curtain that falls to the ground. Gudze, walking softly as a cat, approaches the table. The table is gently buzzing, wires are tangled everywhere.
At night I hear beeping noises coming out of this room, I used to suspect the birds, but there are no birds around: only some radios, telegraph handles, headphones, a thing that looks like a typewriter, only full of wires, also some plugs and stinky hot light bulbs.
Japanese Chiune Sugihara told the Lithuanian press that he came here to strengthen Lithuanian-Japanese cultural ties, and also to represent Osram light bulb firm, but I don't see any light bulb boxes for sale - or any ties, for that matter: only tangled wires. Gudze is hurriedly rummaging between round cards mottled with letters, writes something down and hides it in a pocket of his jacket. Sitting under the dusty curtain, I can’t suppress a sneeze. “ACHOO!"
Frightened, Gudze jumps in the air and turns around.
