At the entrance to the old cemetery of Haapsalu are two guys who remind me of Cerberus. Sparkling gold teeth, clinking beer bottles - as one imagines the post-Soviet existence. My mother and I are struggling to get out of the clothes and dive into the stillness of the place that welcomes us like a magic garden: crows scream, mosquitoes whirring, and the many crooked crosses on the graves look like a corps of ballets who delights the dead with his dances.