Actors Andres Mähar (Vahur) and Grete Jürgenson (Mirjam) in the rehearsal room at the Saueaugu theater farm on Tuesday. Photo: Urmas Lauri
On a Tuesday afternoon, the wind whips pewter clouds across the sky and the fir trees behind the house rustle so loudly that they echo into the rehearsal hall.
An hour and a half later, a cricket chirps in the grass behind the table. The first one this summer. The crest of July is not quite here yet, but the cricket chirps away as if it is in a hurry. Soon, very soon, the door creaks and fog seeps in from under the shed, envelops the theater farm and muffles the sound of the plains. Native darkness takes over.
But not yet. There’s still time. There is still the rustle of the spruce in the rehearsal hall and the vinyl record in its worn case longs for a gramophone needle to play a dance piece from the 1930s in the old barn of the theater farm.
The theater troupe is on its way to the premiere, just as the summer brush is breaking into autumn. Everything is something else.
“Everything is something else,” says Andres Mähar, Vahur, son of a famous writer.
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