hat
Lè li klere sou mwen ke li reyèlman te Estoni ki te tonbe, toted moute kesyon yo nan tèt ou. Mwen te chita pou yon moman lontan bò tab la kwizin ak regardant nan ti kras ti liv sa a piblisite amateur sou kanpay la ak pwofesyonèl ti liv sa a pi plis Estoni, kounye a aparamman kouche sou maren an Baltik yo. Prèske reyèl ak yon ti kras twoub, mwen wè de bwochi yo pandan y ap Mwen te eseye mete tèt yo ansanm foto a nan sa ki te pase. Panse mwen te ale nan Leif Svensson. Menm lè li frape m 'ke mwen ta dwe rele madanm li, Sara. Li pa ta ka ale sou vwayaj la tan sa a, kòm li te pafwa te fè sa. Li te gen, pami lòt bagay, ki te swiv pa riga sou vwayaj la menm mwen sou yon lòt okazyon. Men, fwa sa a, li te chwazi yo rete nan kay la. Mwen leve soti vivan telefòn wouj Corydon m 'ak konpoze nimewo a 036 Jönköping.
eng
When it dawned on me that it really was Estonia who have fallen, toted up the questions in your head. I sat for a long moment at the kitchen table and stared at the little amateurish advertising brochure about the campaign and the much more professional brochure Estonia, now apparently lying on the Baltic seabed. Almost unreal and slightly blurred, I saw the two brochures while I tried to put together the picture of what happened. My thoughts went to Leif Svensson. Suddenly it hit me that I should call his wife, Sara. She would not go on the trip this time, as she sometimes did. She had, among other things, followed by Riga on the same trip I on another occasion. But this time, she had chosen to stay at home. I raised my red corded phone and dialed the 036 number to Jonkoping.