“I ask Andrei that too. Mikhail ordered him to leave the baby alone. Mikhail grew up in a child house. He wants to see your baby have a better life. He controls child houses, but he never sees those children. They become numbers to him on a piece of paper. He saw pictures of your baby. He thinks Andrei would be satisfied since Ethan is in prison. He thinks that would be enough for him.”
“Now, tell me why I shouldn’t kill you?” I hiss.
Tears stream down her red face as it twists in grief.
“I don’t have a good answer for you,” she whines.
“I didn’t think so. Turn around and walk to the window. And stop at the window.” Urine pools at her feet as she shifts her weight back and forth.
At my bed now—eyes focused on her, I press the button for assistance as she cranes her neck around for a peek.
“Yes, I’d like nothing better than to shoot you as you stand for all the heartache we suffered. I could kill you, making it look like self-defense, but I won’t. I’m not Mafioso, and I won’t act like them. You’ll be punished with prison or jail time, that’s enough justice for us.”
Viktoria’s grim tear-streaked face, tells me without words, that she’d rather die now.
A nurse opening the door interrupts our silent speeches to one another. Surprise registers on her too long face and shock in her too white eyes as she processes the scene.
“Turn around and tell her. Tell her that you are the one the police are looking for,” I instruct while lowering my gun.
Finally, I can look forward to going home.
42. US EMBASSY
The sun warms my skin, waking me to the dawn of the first day back with my family. Ethan is at my bedside with Zack, both are smiling, lighting up the room. Shouldering Zack, Ethan pecks me on the lips and then places Zack on my chest. His little hands feel my face. He voices his approval with a raspberry and a hug.
“Everything getting back to normal, huh?” Ethan observes.
While Zack yanks my hair and bounces on my chest, Ethan packs for me.
A soft knock before the door inches open. Natasha stands in the entryway holding my breakfast tray.
“I ask the nurse if I can bring this to you,” she says with a half smile.
“The drugs, they gave me, must have hallucinogenic side effects. I see Natasha carrying my breakfast tray.”
“You feeling better. You trying to be funny,” she quips sourly.
“Anyway, we talk while you eat,” she says as she sets the tray down in front of me.
“Apartment window is repaired. You go to apartment today because you must go to American Embassy tomorrow to obtain Visa for Zack. It’s the final step before you leave.”
***
Everyone is asleep, but me. The sun peeks through the curtains to announce the start of the day. I glance at Zack and fluff my barrier pillow before rolling out of bed. Leaning over Ethan as he sleeps, I kiss his lips lightly.
“Hey, Ethan, time to wake-up. Today, we go to the US Embassy.”
Balling his fists and stretching, he smiles.
“The last stop in Russia before we go home. What a great feeling!”
“With the “book” of documents we have, it should be no more difficult than changing a diaper,” he comments as he laces his hands together behind his head.
“Ivan will be here at 7:30 to drive us there and help us. Natasha says he’ll drive us there and wait,” I say as I reach for Zack.
***
The intended destination soon becomes clear—a tall, beige building which manages to standout, only due to the unusual uniforms of the military guards flanking the entry way. A large group of people waits impatiently outside the front door. Ivan uses the van to part the crowd as he proceeds to parallel park as close as possible to the front entrance of the building. As we walk to the entrance on slippery cement and earth, the mob offers no courtesy, no civility. Like concertgoers clamoring to move inside the gate, the throng pushes and compresses. With a growl, Ivan begins shoving his way through the mass like an enraged bear. As we enter the checkpoint area, one of several soldiers motions us his way.
“Passports please,” the soldier asks curtly.
“We’re here for our Visa appointment at 8 am,” I say, handing him my passport. After glancing at my passport and me, he uses a green light to check for a watermark; then, waves Zack and me ahead. I walk a few steps and wait for the others.
“And yours, sir,” he says as he studies Ethan.
“Of course, sir,” Ethan says, only too happy to comply.
“By the way, this is our friend, Ivan, who travels with us in Russia. He’s a Russian citizen, and he’s here to help us.”
After the scrutiny ends, he waves Ethan ahead, and Ivan steps up to take his place.
“Nyet! You cannot enter. You must leave,” the soldier says as he drops his right shoulder allowing his AK-47 to fall across his chest. He points to the door, waiting for Ivan to disappear.
“What a surprise! Didn’t expect that, but it makes sense,” I mutter.
“Me, neither. He’ll have to go back to the van and wait. I hope it won’t take too long.”
“Do you realize that we’re on our own again? The last time was in the bar. I realize we’re in the American Embassy, but I still feel uneasy. Natasha should be here with us.”
“Remember, Sophia, we’re in the American Embassy. I can’t think of a safer, friendlier place for us. By the way, do you think Natasha would really help us with this? She’s done more than enough already. Give her a break! We can handle this. She probably thinks we can handle this too.”
Putting his arm around my waist, Ethan guides me to the nearest sentry who tells us where to go, his southern drawl more beautiful than coveted, diamond, chandelier earrings.
Walking through one narrow hallway to a series of large waiting rooms, we enter a vast room with wooden pews and a room filled with sad faces.
As I look from face to face, I see fire-forged intensity. A busy bus stop terminal filled with patrons, waiting for the tardy Thanksgiving bus, couldn’t be more dismal. Fatigue and desperation stamp every face. Several vignettes play out around us—a bleary-eyed couple book-ending four children, 2 brothers and 2 sisters; a man with a tortured expression cradling and rocking a young man in his lap, curled in a fetal position; a man who looks through me, and a man who doesn’t meet my gaze.
Leaning toward Ethan, I whisper, “This doesn’t look good, it looks terrible. Everyone is tattooed with anguish.”
“After all we’ve been through, we can walk into that room and walk out with a Visa,” Ethan mutters back, his voice cracking with concern.
His arm wraps around my waist as he gently pushes me into the next room. It’s a smaller square room with perimeter seating and an entire wall with four bank teller-type windows. The lilting sing-song of Americans speaking English helps quell my uneasiness.
Easy Visa, fast flight home, easy Visa, fast flight home…
This room bubbles over with joyful chaos—crying babies, smiling babies, toddlers waddling from wall to wall shadowed by Mom or Dad. A jungle of activity all confined to one small area. Zack and I sit in one of the perimeter chairs while Ethan plows toward the skirmish at the teller windows. The din of casual chatter engulfs the room.
***
After nearly an hour of watching Ethan in line, I’m bored enough for small talk.
“So, who is that person with you? Everyone seems to have an extra person with them,” I ask another American sitting in a chair nearby.
“Oh, that’s our Russian mediator,” says the woman. “He facilitates the Visa process by using his inside experience and knowledge.”
“Don’t you have one? You really should have one. I don’t think you can get a Visa without one.”
Damn!! We don’t have one, and we don’t have the money with us to hire one. No one told us that we needed one. Natasha probably doesn’t know they exist.
Dismayed, I walk back to Ethan, he stand
s next in line.
“We’ve got a problem. Those extra people are mediators who facilitate the Visa process by using inside experience and knowledge. It seems to be the modus operandi here. This may be much more complicated than we expected. And since we didn’t bring extra money, I don’t think we have a chance of subcontracting one here.”
“Let’s see what they say. I’m here already at the front of the line,” he says confidently.
We’re this far along, and it’s still wait and wonder.
“It’d be easier if you’d sit and watch from the sidelines,” he says with a smile.
“If I stay by your side, she’ll see our beautiful baby which may somehow make things easier for us. You can’t wrestle the paperwork and the baby. Please,” I beg.
“Okay, but keep your cool. This is not the time or place to be aggressive. Bureaucracy rules the day.”
“Next,” the teller announces as she stamps a document.
“My name is Ethan Evans. I’m here to obtain a Visa for my adopted Russian-born son.”
The official at the teller window listens with a masklike expression. She glances around him, her eyes darting from left to right. Dissatisfied, she looks at him with a steely stare, her eyes now squinting.
“Where’s your mediator?” she asks suspiciously, as she sits taller in her chair.
“We don’t have a mediator. We didn’t know we needed one. We didn’t know mediators existed until a few minutes ago,” Ethan responds sincerely.
The teller sits stupefied. No words needed because her face speaks for her, her mouth gaping in astonishment.
Staring blankly at him for a few minutes, she finally speaks.
“I don’t even know what to say. I feel sorry for you.”
“Maybe, we can make this work without a mediator…,” she offers meekly.
“You need three copies of each document; then, I’ll review the complete package again.”
Ethan and I thank her profusely as we step out of the line.
“I think we’ll be okay if we get three copies of each document. I should be able to get copies here in the Embassy. You stay here with Zack and wait. I’ll take care of this in no time,” he says before I can disagree. In a flash of color, he disappears.
This should be simple and quick. After all, we are Americans in the US Embassy.
Zack sleeps while I pass the time visiting with other parents. Occasionally, I glance at the wall clock. Minutes tick by.
This is taking a long time. It’s been almost two hours. What’s the problem?
Again, in a flash, Ethan reappears.
“Well, I know you didn’t forget about us,” I say lightheartedly.
But Ethan doesn’t return my smile, he looks dismayed. “All of the people that I asked refused to let me use the copy machines. I have zero copies. I asked people on every floor of this building. I can’t believe it!” Looking down at the floor, he shakes his head in exasperation.
“That’s bewildering! Maybe, there’s a different way?”
He won’t look at me, only the floor as if it’s a chalkboard of ideas.
“I’ve got it! You wait here while Ivan and I search for a commercial copy center.”
“No,” I say firmly. “We’ve been separated enough in Moscow as a family. I’m not sitting here, wondering and waiting. I’ve had too much experience with that. As much as I’d like to do it for you, the answer is no.”
As Zack and I settle into the van, Ethan hops into the front seat, puts his hand to his ear to replicate a phone and utters Natasha’s name. Ivan dials Natasha and hands the phone over.
“Natasha, please tell Ivan we need to find a commercial copy center,” he says. “And we need to find it fast.”
***
Ivan locates a copy center a few blocks from the Embassy. As we walk in the store, he takes charge, putting some of documents on the counter and asking for a price. Zack and I sit on the sidelines observing and waiting to return to the Embassy. When Ethan takes the documents and walks to a machine to begin, the store manager rushes toward him.
“Nyet, I make copy—only me,” the manager declares.
With a roll of his eyes, Ethan hands him the documents and says, “They must stay in the same order, stapled in order for the Embassy.”
Turning to Ivan, he makes the hand signal for the phone and says Natasha’s name.
“Natasha, the store manager must make the copies. Will you tell him how important it is that the documents be in the same order and stapled the same way?”
“Yes, of course.”
I smile as I think of what she might say to the store manager. He’ll probably feel like a harpooned whale by the time she ends the conversation.
A few minutes after Ethan hands the phone to the store manager, I see him scowl as he holds the phone a few inches from his ear.
I never realized how much we have in common. I’d have done the same thing. She’s a fighter like me. I bet she has to soften her rhetoric with extra cash.
In a huff, the store manager ends the conversation and gives the phone back to Ivan. With documents in hand, he storms to a back room to make the copies. Minutes pass. Finally, the manager returns with the documents and copies. He hands them over to Ivan who pays him.
As we walk out to the van, Ethan studies the documents.
“Shit! He jumbled the order. They’re not stapled either,” he yells.
This time, we all settle in the back seat of the van surrounded by snow banks of documents that we try to organize.
“The originals and translated documents are mismatched! I haven’t even looked at the copies yet!” he shouts in frustration.
“It’d be safer to go back to the US Embassy and sort this out there in the parking lot rather than slog through this problem in the copy center parking lot,” I suggest.
With a sigh, Ethan grabs the documents stack and jumps in the front seat, slamming the door behind him.
While Ivan looks to him for direction, Ethan uses his hands to turn an imaginary steering wheel.
“Ivan, pagilista, we have to go back to the Embassy,” he says staring ahead.
***
In the Embassy parking lot, Ivan and Ethan settle into the backbench seat. Ivan locks the doors, and the heater warms the space. I sit behind the driver’s seat feeding Zack a bottle as Ethan and Ivan try to separate and match documents.
“There are 40 originals plus three sets of copies. And I don’t know how, with the language barrier, we’ll do this. It has to be correct,” Ethan fumes, running his hands through his hair.
“Wait I do know!” he exclaims. He continues. “We’ll call Natasha. I’ll read an English document to her and give the phone to Ivan who’ll find the corresponding Russian document. We’ll sort through this project page-by-page, but I think it’ll work.”
Hours tick by as the men crane over the mounds of documents. Finally, the perfectly collated Embassy package emerges.
At the Embassy, while standing at the teller window, Ethan shifts his weight nervously as the official audits the document package. I’m biting my lower lip as she slowly checks page after page.
“Well, you have the required three copies and then some. I’ve never seen some of these documents before. You actually have extra documents, unnecessary documents.” Dusting her hands, she sets aside the package.
“Okay, this is good enough. I approve your Visa. You can pick it up later tonight.”
Like a battered ship lost at sea, we finally arrive at the sun-drenched port.
43. PERPLEXING PLANE TRIP
Today, we trek to the airport in a different car as per Natasha’s instructions. Natasha declines our invitation to say good-bye at the airport, but she busies herself with the task of helping us prepare to go home. While Ethan and I pack, Natasha bundles-up Zack for the cold outdoors.
Ethan and I cluster around the large open Tumi suitcase, scratching our heads, dumbfounded as to how to pack everything.
“Let’s s
ee Russian chocolate, honey, vodka, books and Matryoshka dolls. Check!”
With a loud sigh, Natasha puts Zack in Ethan’s arms and re-positions the gifts in our suitcase.
“I travel much. This way should keep all safe.”
Taking Zack back into her arms, she gives him a kiss followed by a bear hug before she turns her face away and wipes her eyes.
“Spasibo, Natasha from all of us.”
“You are ready to go now,” she says dabbing at her still flowing tears.
“I have one last question. Why can’t we use the van?” I ask wanting to know but not.
“Sugar in gas tank. It obvious someone angry with you. You on list for revenge.”
A sinkhole of sadness opens up in the room, taking our glow, our smiles and our optimism with it.
“Are we safe?” Ethan asks hoarsely.
“As safe as we can make you.” Closing her eyes for a moment, she places her finger on her forehead, concentrating.
“Stay together. Look at faces-anyone you seen at bar.”
Peering out of the kitchen window, she continues.
“Keep luggage at your side always.”
“Now, it time to go.”
Walking to the door of the apartment, she holds it open for us.
“Ivan stay with car downstairs and waits for you.”
Following us downstairs to street side, she takes Zack from Ethan’s arms and takes him to Ivan to hold while we settle into the van.
Now, seated—baby in my arms, I turn to thank her again, but she’s gone.
Craning my neck around, I see her running through the snow—away from us.
***
At the airport, I hug Ivan and Ethan shakes his hand as we say our good-byes before boarding the plane bound for London. Ever alert, we stay close together, like nervous cats hunted by coyotes. At the gate, we stand next to the check-in counter, a small comfort should a brawl occur.
Finally, we walk through the gate to the Tarmac to board the plane. Just as we settle into our seats, Zack begins to cry, toys and bottles don’t appease him. In desperation, Ethan walks up and down the aisle with him as he wails, now the faces around us morphing from irritable frowns to stares and scowls.
Beautiful Evil Winter Page 18
