by A. E. King
The sun has gone down. But the work continues. It’s back-breaking and heartbreaking work. My hands are dirty from cleaning filth off floors and beds. Many times, adults have had to walk outside so that the young ones wouldn’t see their tears. We just keep washing and soothing, and still it doesn’t end. Babies that should be crawling and walking can barely roll. The medics call it “failure to thrive.” The brain didn’t develop because it lacked the interaction needed to function. I’ve held babies that stare at me like it’s the first time they’ve been rocked. Every one of us works together long past the point where our bodies want to cooperate. We keep moving, motivated by the unspoken agreement that no child will go to bed filthy or hungry. It’s the best we can give them. We exchange looks of horror. But no one says a critical word. The steady blink of the Peredacha in every room is enough to keep lips shut.
“Yulia Vladomirovna.” The colonel waves me over to speak with him. The day is winding down. The facilities are nearly clean. We still have many children sleeping on floors without proper bedding, but it will take weeks to sort everything out. All things considered, I’m pleased with our efforts.
“Thank you for your help, Colonel. Your men and women were invaluable.” It’s inadequate; nothing can express how my heart swells with gratitude for all he has done.
“I need to discuss a sensitive issue with you, away from the children.” His eyes dart toward the Peredacha for an instant before connecting with mine. I nod.
“It concerns that group of girls over there.” He motions, and I see a group of forty or so of the older girls, ranging in age from maybe eleven to fourteen.
“Follow me.” My chest tightens in anticipation of his bad news. I know it will be bad, because what good can come from this place?
We step into the hall full of men and women. Each of the rooms has a mother in it to watch over the children while they sleep. Everyone else is finishing work in the hallways.
I wave to Zhenya and Dimitri to join me. They’ve both proved their value today. I lead the way into the storage closet. The colonel sweeps the room, looking for the blinking light.
“This room is unconnected,” Dimitri confirms.
The colonel scowls at Dimitri.
Colonel Volkov and I have worked together on many projects, and I’ve come to view him as a sort of grandfather with his silly jokes and fondness for giving me life advice. But today I see the soldier. He’s formidable in his ability to direct and organize action. Today his kindly eyes are hard.
“That group of girls will need more consistent medical care,” the colonel says flatly.
“Are they ill?” I wonder where in the world we could quarantine them. We’re filled beyond capacity already.
“They’re pregnant,” he says, scowling at Dimitri as though he’s personally responsible.
“No.” After all the horrors we’ve seen today, I didn’t think anything else could shock me. But this breaks me.
“Yes, and all of them in their first trimester.” The colonel’s voice quakes with rage. “And this leads me to ask a critical question.” He turns to Dimitri. “Where are the ones who are farther along?”
Dimitri does not shrink under the colonel’s scrutiny. “The protocol was abortion, sterilization, and transfer.” He’s an emotionless void.
“Da pomozhet nam Bog.” Zhenya crosses herself.
“I think we’re beyond God’s help now,” I cry half in anger, half in hopelessness.
The colonel steps inches from Dimitri. He’s shorter in stature but mighty in presence. Dimitri stands at attention, eyes trained straight ahead, his spine stiff.
“Does the law still exist?” the colonel shouts in Dimitri’s face, and droplets of spittle cling to Dimitri’s cheek. He doesn’t wipe them. The colonel continues: “I sacrificed brothers for this country. I buried men and women and brought others back damaged and broken. And this is what you do with that sacrifice?”
Rape. Robbing girls of any possibility of future families, and more rape. Compassion be damned. Nothing can make this forgivable.
Dimitri is silent.
Zhenya is not. Always steady Zhenya, who bears every hardship with a grunt, cannot contain her wrath.
“Filthy Kozyoli!” She shouts to no one and everyone. “If the Myatezhniki saw the evil in this place, it would be enough to wake them up!” I’m not sure what surprises me most, the fiery response of the woman who is always steady in any situation, or the mention of my mother’s assassins, the Myatezhniki. My mouth hangs open in shock.
“You mention a group so lawless that they would rob this country of Yelena Bituskaya?” The colonel’s voice is hard, and he looks at Zhenya as though coming across a bear while hunting for deer.
“I don’t need reminders about who killed Yelena!” She shakes her fist at him, her cheeks red and blotchy. I place my hand on her arm to calm her, and she shakes it off. Zhenya limps stiffly toward the door, her body revolting against the exertion no one her age should have to give.
“Let her go,” Dimitri says to me. “She’s exhausted, and so are you. Maybe it’s time for the two of you to go home. I’ll finish up the work here tonight. Colonel, you may get back to attending to the young women.”
The colonel clearly resents being dismissed by Dimitri. “Protect this facility. Don’t let this happen again.” He pushes his finger into Dimitri’s chest. Dimitri nods. The colonel disappears, slamming the door behind him.
“I’m not leaving,” I shout at Dimitri. “You leave. You’ve done enough damage here. Or maybe there are more sterilizations you need to oversee?” I storm toward the door, and he places his hand on it.
“You’re crying,” he says softly.
“I’m fine.” I grit my teeth in anger.
“You’re not. These kids have enough to worry about; your tears will make them uneasy. Sit down and take a break.”
“How could you?” I accuse him.
“Yulia, I asked you to trust me.” He lowers his voice, pleading.
“This is exactly why I said I couldn’t.” I fight the urge to be sick.
“I wasn’t involved with the abortions or the sterilizations.” He grabs my arm. “Think about it rationally. Why would I be going to all this trouble if I supported the system? I could have hidden all of this from you.”
I shake my arm loose from his, but he does not let me go.
“I’m a high-ranking official. I’m valuable to your father. I wouldn’t normally even be involved with what your father sees as routine tasks.” He implores me to believe him.
“So rape and sterilization are routine to you?” I shout, my voice quaking.
“Not to me. But to him, yes.” He wipes away the tears that I refuse to acknowledge.
“I involve myself so that I have information. So that I can help when possible. I impede when I’m able. I don’t know where all of the children who have left this orphanage are, but I know where they went and who they left with. That’s worth something.” He petitions me for absolution from this particular crime. I’m not sure exactly why, but something in my gut tells me I can trust him, at least in this one case. I nod, and he leads me toward a chair.
I slump into it, completely deflated. I feel as though my anger toward him was the only thing holding me up.
“Yulia, you’ve done so much today. This is a lot for anyone to handle. Zhenya is exhausted. Take her home, and I’ll finish up,” he invites.
“I can’t, Dimitri. I can’t leave them like this.” I wipe my eyes and nose on my filthy sleeve, wishing I was stronger but feeling so utterly broken.
Dimitri grabs a chair and sets it next to mine.
“Look how much we’ve done in one day. You can come back tomorrow and the next day. It’s a lot to take in.” He looks at me, concern creasing his brow.
“No one else is falling apart and leaving early, and neither will I,” I answer him.
“Yes, but no one else is seeing this for the first time. We’ve all experienced similar scenes
at one point or another.”
“So, I’m weak and sheltered,” I sniff. He’s probably right.
“No.” He places his arms on my shoulders and turns me to face him. “You’re incredibly strong. I wish more people had your heart, but I hate seeing you hurt and not being able to do anything about it.”
One nod of my head and his strong arm would be around me. After the repugnance of this day, I feel like we’ve both earned a moment of comfort. But instead of leaning into each other, we sit separated by the inches of space that signify the gulf between us. Both of us heavy with the weight of someone else’s sins.
“Thank you for your help today,” I tell him softly.
“It might be the best day at work I’ve ever had.”
I raise my eyebrow, questioning.
“It’s awful, but at least it’s something I can fix.” He sighs. “And we accomplished it together. That’s something.”
I want to test the strength of this new alliance and see what it actually means. My life has been full of questions that no one wants to answer. I wonder what he will say to the question nagging in the back of my mind right now.
“Why did Zhenya say that all of this would wake up the Myatezhniki?” I ask him.
“Because she’s exhausted and emotional,” He avoids my gaze.
“Is there anything to wake up? I thought they had been eradicated.” I touch his cheek and turn his face until his eyes meet mine.
His dark eyes are full of stories. “I thought you didn’t want to be involved with anything illegal,” he answers with a steely determination.
I drop my hand, understanding the rules of our tenuous alliance better than if he had written them down. I don’t ask questions or cause trouble. In return he offers me protection and a little comfort, but tells me nothing. And together we’ll do some good.
“Fair enough,” I say, not pressing for more. His lack of answer gave me all I needed. The Myatezhniki were not extinguished. They’re just sleeping.
“You showed great leadership today. I couldn’t have done this without you,” he encourages me. “Take a break.” He pats my arm awkwardly. “You’re the only one who hasn’t had some rest.” And then he leaves me alone.
I shiver, alone with my thoughts. I have never considered the idea of finding my mother’s murderers. Even the word Myatezhniki made me tremble as a young woman. I was told they were terrorists. Assassins. Thieves who stole the most brilliant jewel. I was taught to fear them. I believed that until they were gone, none of us were safe. That story was my life.
Now, I consider the story through a different narrator. I hear it in my own voice instead of my father’s. His corrupt, vicious, and lawless reign was the target of the Myatezhniki’s efforts. What I once saw as reprehensible is now understandable. I might attempt the same, given the chance.
What would happen if I woke up the Myatezhniki?
Chapter 15
I stretch my arms, rolling the stiffness out of my shoulders as I pull my legs up and curl into my sofa.
I’m no stranger to busyness. My father frequently packs my schedule with public appearances and social events. Busyness always leaves me empty. This week, full of long days at the orphanage, is different. Every sore muscle is earned. Every meeting is meaningful. Every task is worth doing. I find myself weary but strangely full.
I’m wearing my most comfortable leggings and my softest old cotton shirt. I’m preparing to celebrate the week’s victories with my favorite book when I hear the knock on my door. I sigh at the interruption, set my book down, and stand to open the door. Dimitri waits on the other side, dressed in his work clothes, holding a large pastry box with an opened envelope on the top.
“I intercepted Zhenya in the hall.” He smiles at my old shirt. “She mentioned she was heading this direction, and I figured that if I served as delivery man, I might get to see you for a minute.”
“It’s been a busy week,” I respond.
“Too busy for me, even. I’m glad to find you here” He smiles at me, and I take his hint. Our performance, or lack of performance, has been noticed.
I step into the hall to meet him. Once I have him in a good vantage point for the cameras, I lean over the box to give him the obligatory kiss.
The cardboard crinkles awkwardly between us. He stiffens and hesitates half a heartbeat before kissing me back. Maybe it wasn’t a hint. I back away with heat in my cheeks, embarrassed that I misread him.
“I’ve missed you.” He gives me a slight smile. I fold my arms and fight against the discomfort that has crept back into our interactions after a week apart.
“I’ve missed you too,” I lie. I’ve thought about him often, but I wouldn’t count obsessing over all of my unanswered questions as longing.
“Do you want to see what’s inside the box? I’m told a wedding caterer sent samples. I thought maybe we could try them together?” He looks through my open door, eying my book and blanket. “But if you’d rather relax, you can taste them on your own.”
I’ve wanted more information all week. Zhenya was useless. Every time I tried to ask her questions, the only response I got was, “Words are silver, silence is gold.” So I gave up.
I doubt Dimitri will be much better, but I have a theory begging to be tested.
Every time Dimitri has lowered his guard, it’s in response to me lowering my walls. When he comforted me after the ball, he listened to me the next morning. When I’m icy toward him, he’s guarded toward me. There is an undeniable attraction between us. I imagine both of us would get rid of it if we could. Every time we touch, it’s a mixture of desire and sickening guilt for me. But maybe he doesn’t have the guilt, and I’m curious if I could use that attraction to my benefit.
Would he trade information for a little affection? I wish I were slightly better dressed for my first attempt at seduction.
“Come in, and I’ll get changed,” I say awkwardly.
“Don’t change; it’s just us.” His eyes are soft. “And a huge box of mystery pastries.”
I open the door and motion him in. He sets the box on the coffee table and sits down. The note slips off, and I pick it up, read my name on the envelope, and give myself an extra moment to steel my courage. I set the note down and wipe my palms against my legs.
I’m convinced he knows about the Myatezhniki, and I’m tired of being in the dark all the time. I need information so I can decide whether I should attempt to reach them.
Dimitri picks up my book. “The Sun Also Rises. I never understood the draw with Hemingway.”
I plop the envelope on the table and sit down next to him, closer than I normally would, retrieving my book. “No one writes like Hemmingway.”
“Thank heavens.” He laughs and I hit him with the book. “Those characters are not even likable people.”
“They’re real, multi-dimensional, and flawed. You want them to win. But just like in real life, sometimes no matter how much you want something, you have to take the cards you’re handed.” I defend my beloved book, and he smiles at me.
“I love seeing you like this,” Dimitri says.
“Like what?” I laugh, “In a sloppy old T-shirt?”
“That is, admittedly, adorable. But no, I meant happy.” My heart thumps a little more enthusiastically than it should, but I push through the familiar urge to block him out.
“It feels good to be making a difference.” I smile at him and nudge his arm. “You promised me desserts. How long do I have to wait for this magic box to open?”
“Let’s see if they gave us anything good.” He grins back at me, opening the lid. The smile fades from his lips, and I can feel him tense beside me.
“That bad?” I ask him, peeking into the box. I recognize the Armenian cookies, the bite-sized Napoleons in their light blue wrappers, and the cannolis. The pastries come from a little international market in Moscow. I went there a few times with my mother because I loved the bakery. It was only a metro stop away from the fashion district. The
shop would be forgettable except for one life-changing event. It’s the place we picked up Dima.
Mama and I went by ourselves that day without security so that Dima wouldn’t be scared. He barely spoke two words to us. Mama had us pick out a massive box of pastries to take home, hoping to cheer him up.
Maybe I’m not the only one trying to manipulate tonight. Buying your fiancée sweets from the first place you met is too romantic of a gesture for a relationship void of sentiment. Did he reach out to the bakery as an attempt to soften my dislike toward him?
He looks into the box as though examining its contents for something long forgotten. When he speaks, he’s a little too cheerful. “It looks like someone did their homework and uncovered all of your favorites.” He takes out a Napoleon and passes it to me.
I want to grill him about his intentions. Instead, I smile and play his game. “What’s the name of that shop again?”
“I’m not sure where it came from. Probably somewhere in town,” he answers as he settles on a cannoli. He takes an extra-large bite, avoiding my gaze.
Now he’s lying about the pastries’ origin?
“They’re from the international grocery in Moscow,” I say slowly, trying to understand his denial.
“Yulia, there are hundreds of international markets in Moscow and several here. There’s a new one that opened up on Nevsky Prospect. We should go sometime,” he mumbles, his mouth full of cream.
I want to argue, but I’ve known him long enough to understand how impossible he can be to pin down. Instead, I try a different tactic.
I reach up and place my hand on his cheek, forcing him to look at me. “Do you really think I could forget the place we met?”
He looks deep into my eyes and sets down his cannoli in the box.
“Maybe I would rather forget,” he answers softly.
“Then why did you order them?” Once again, his complexity confuses me.
“I didn’t.” He says, and I can see the tightness in his jaw. I don’t want him to be grumpy and guarded tonight. The unlikely coincidence isn’t worth arguing over when I’m hungry for information.
