Botvin got in the driver’s seat. He started the engine.
“Wait.” Neilands strode over to the birch tree. He unzipped his trousers, spread his legs.
Nikolaeva moaned weakly.
“She’s coming to. Diar!” Neilands smiled.
A stream of urine hit the birch.
Con
Nikolaeva woke up from a touch.
Someone naked and warm was pressed to her.
She opened her eyes: a white ceiling, an opaque light fixture, the edge of a window behind a semitransparent white curtain, curly blond hair. A smell. Aftershave lotion. A male ear with an attached earlobe. A male cheek. Well shaven.
Nikolaeva moved. She glanced down: the edge of a sheet. Under the sheet her naked body. An enormous bruise on her chest. Her legs. A dark, muscular male body. Pressing to her. Entwining her in its arms. Turning her on her side. Powerfully pressing her chest to his.
“Listen...” she said hoarsely. “I don’t like it that way...”
And suddenly she froze, stupefied. Her body shuddered. Her eyes closed halfway and rolled to the side. The man also froze. He shuddered and his head jerked. Pressed to her, he too was stupefied.
Thirty-seven minutes passed.
The man’s mouth opened. A faint, hoarse moan escaped him. The man moved. He flexed his hands. Turned over. Rolled off the bed onto the floor. He stretched feebly and let out a sob. His breathing was heavy.
Nikolaeva shuddered. She rolled her legs over, sat up, and let out a cry. She held her hands to her chest and opened her eyes. Her face was crimson. Saliva drooled from her open mouth. She whimpered and began to cry. Her shoulders heaved. Her legs trembled restlessly on the sheet.
The man exhaled with a moan. He sat up and looked at Nikolaeva.
She was crying hard, her body shaking helplessly.
“Want some juice?” the man asked quietly.
She didn’t answer. She looked at him fearfully.
The man stood up: 34 years old, a slim muscular blond, with big blue eyes and a delicate face, handsome and sensitive.
He walked around the bed. He took a bottle of mineral water from a nightstand and opened it. He poured it into a glass.
Nikolaeva watched: his tanned body, golden hair on the legs and chest.
The man caught her look. He smiled.
“Hello, Diar.”
She didn’t answer. He drank from the glass. She unstuck her lips, swollen and scarlet with blood.
“I’m thirsty...”
He sat down next to her on the bed and embraced her. He put the glass to her lips. She drank greedily. Her teeth chattered against the glass.
She drank it down. She exhaled with a moan.
“More.”
He rose. He filled the glass to the brim and brought it to her. She gulped it down.
“Diar...” he said, stroking her hair.
“I’m...Alya,” she said. She wiped her tears away with the sheet.
“You’re Alya for ordinary people. But for the awakened, you are Diar.”
“Diar?”
“Diar,” he said, looking at her warmly.
Suddenly she coughed. She clutched her chest.
“Careful.” He held her sweaty shoulders.
“Ow...it hurts...” She moaned.
The man took a towel from the nightstand. He placed it on her shoulders and began to dry her off carefully.
She examined her bruise and whimpered.
“Oy...but...why did they...”
“It will pass. It’s just a bruise. But the bone is intact.”
“Jeezus...and that...what was that you were doing...jeezus...why the fuck were you doing that? Huh? What the fuck was that for?” She shook her head. Held her knees to her chin.
He embraced her shoulders.
“I’m Con.”
“What?” she said, looking at him with confusion. “A Con?... Artist?”
“You didn’t understand, Diar. I’m not a con, I am Con.”
“An ex?...The regular kind?”
“No,” he laughed. “C O N — three letters. It’s my name. I’m not a con artist, and I’ve never been a convict of any kind.”
“Really?” She looked around, bewildered. “What’s this? A hotel?”
“Not exactly.” He pressed against her back. “Something like a rest home.”
“Who for?”
“For the brothers. And sisters.”
“Which ones?”
“Ones like you.”
“Like me?” She wiped her lips against her knees. “You mean, I’m a sister?”
“Yes, a sister.”
“Whose?”
“Mine.”
“Yours?” Her lips trembled and grimaced.
“Mine. And not only mine. Now you have lots of brothers.”
“Bro-thers?” She sniffled. She grabbed his hand. Suddenly she screamed at the top of her lungs — hysterically and for some time. The scream turned into sobs.
He embraced her, held her close. Nikolaeva wept, burying her face in his muscular chest. He began to rock her like a baby.
“Everything’s okay.”
“Why...again...why...oooo!” She sobbed.
“Everything, everything will be all right for you now.”
“Ooooo!! How could...oy, what did you do to me...Christ...”
Gradually she calmed down.
“You need to rest,” he said. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-two...” she whimpered.
“All these years you’ve been sleeping. And now you’ve awoken. It’s a very strong shock. It’s not only joyful. It’s frightening as well. You need time to get used to it.”
She nodded. And sobbed.
“Is there...a...handkerchief?”
He handed her a tissue. She blew her nose loudly, crumpled the tissue, and threw it on the floor.
“Jeezus...I sure cried my eyes out.”
“You can take a bath. They’ll help you to collect yourself...”
“Uh-huh...” She looked fearfully at the window. “But where...”
“Is the bathroom? They’ll take you in a minute.”
Nikolaeva nodded distractedly. She glanced over at the lily in the vase. At the window. At the lily again. She took a deep breath, jumped up off the bed, and ran for the door. Con didn’t move. She threw the door open wide and flew out into the hall. Ran. Bumped into a nurse smoking a cigarette next to a tall brass ashtray. She smiled at Nikolaeva with her blue eyes.
“Good morning, Diar.”
Nikolaeva ran toward the exit. Her bare feet slapped along the new, wide parquet of the hall. She ran up to the glass doors, pushed the first one, and leaped into the entryway. She pushed the second one. She ran across the wet asphalt.
The doctor looked at her through the glass. He folded his arms on his chest and smiled.
A fair-haired chauffeur in a parked silver BMW gazed after her. He was eating an apple.
Nikolaeva ran naked through Sparrow Hills. Bare trees stood all around. Dirty snow lay on the ground.
She tired quickly. Stopped. Squatted. She sat for a while, breathing heavily. Then she got up. She touched her chest and frowned.
“The bastards...”
She walked on. Her bare feet splashed through puddles.
A big road was visible ahead. Now and then a car drove by. A wet spring wind blew. Nikolaeva stepped out on the road. Immediately she felt the intense cold. She shivered and hugged herself tight.
A car went past. The middle-aged driver smiled at Nikolaeva.
She raised her hand. A Volkswagen passed her. The driver and the passenger opened their windows. They looked out and whistled.
“Assholes,” muttered Nikolaeva. Her teeth were chattering.
A Zhiguli came into view and stopped.
“Are you one of those polar bears or something?”
The driver opened the door: 40 years old, bearded, with glasses, a large silver earring, and a black-and-yellow bandana on his head. “
The ice has broken up already!”
“Lis-s-s...sten...t-take...meee...they...s-s-stole...” Nikolava’s teeth chattered.
“You got mugged?” He noticed the large bruise between her breasts. “They beat you?”
“They b-b-b-eat the sh-sh-shit outta...m-m-m-e...bas-s-s-tards.”
“Get in.”
She climbed in and sat down. Closed the door.
“Oy, shit...it’s sooo cold...”
The driver took off a light white jacket. He threw it over Nikolaeva’s shoulders.
“So, where to, the police?”
“No way...” She frowned. She wrapped herself in the jacket. Shaking. “I d-d-don’t deal with thos-se j-jerks...take me home. I’ll pay you.”
“Where?”
“Strogino.”
“Strogino...?” he said, in an anxious voice. “I have to get to work.”
“Oy, it’s so cold...” She trembled. “Turn-n-n the heat up...”
He slid the heat up to high.
“Why don’t I take you as far as Leninsky Prospect, and you can catch another ride there.”
“Come on, how am I gonna...again, I mean...oy...damnit...take me home, I’m begging you,” she said, trembling.
“Strogino...that’s completely out of my way.”
“How much do you want?”
“Hey...that’s not the point, luv.”
“That’s always the point. A hundred, one fifty? Two? Let’s go for two hundred. That’s it.”
He thought a minute. Changed gears. The car took off.
“Gotta smoke?”
He offered her a pack of Camels. Nikolaeva took one. He held the lighter for her.
“Why did they...they took your clothes and left you in the woods?”
“Uh-huh.” She took a deep drag.
“All your clothes?”
“As you can see.”
“Wow. That’s hardcore. Shouldn’t you report it?”
“I’ll handle it myself.”
“What do you mean, you know them?”
“Something like that.”
“That’s a different story.”
He was quiet for a while, then asked, “Are you one of those, um, er, ‘butterflies of the Moscow night’?”
“More like...daytime...” She yawned sleepily, exhaling smoke. “A Cabbage White.”
He nodded and grinned.
Semisweet
12:17, Strogino, 25 Katukova Street
The Zhiguli drove up to a sixteen-story apartment building.
“Come with me,” Nikolaeva said, getting out of the car. She walked up to the front door and dialed an apartment number on the intercom: 266.
“Who is it?”
“It’s me, Natashka.”
The door beeped. Nikolaeva and the driver entered. They took the elevator to the twelfth floor.
“Wait here.” She handed him his jacket. Rang the doorbell.
Natasha, sleepy, opened the door: 18 years old, a plump face, black hair cut short, a red terry-cloth robe.
“Give me two hundred rubles.” Nikolaeva walked past the girl into her room. She got the same kind of red robe out of the closet and put it on.
“Jeezus fucking...What’s up?” Natasha followed her.
“Two hundred rubles! To pay the driver.”
“I only have dollars — two one-hundred-dollar bills.”
“Aren’t there any rubles? Do you have any rubles?!” Nikolaeva shouted.
“Hey, no, what are you screaming for...?”
“Or small bills?”
“Two one-hundred dollar bills. What is that, what happened to you?” Natasha noticed the bruise on her chest.
“None of your business. Does Lenka have any?”
“What?”
“Rubles.”
“I don’t know. She’s still asleep.”
Nikolaeva went into another room. Two women were sleeping on the floor.
“What, Sula came over too?” said Nikolaeva looking at them.
“Uh-huh,” said Natasha, looking out from behind her. “They crawled in late last night.”
“Then — fuck ’em...” Nikolaeva said, annoyed.
“So, what’s up?” The driver stood at the open front door.
“Come in,” Nikolaeva said.
He entered. She closed the door behind him.
“Listen, we gotta big problem with rubles. How about I give you a blow job?”
He looked at her, then at Natasha. Natasha grinned. She went back to her room.
“Come on.” Nikolaeva took him by the hand.
“Well, actually, um...” He stared straight at her.
“Come on, come on...in the bathroom. What can I do, we’re flat out of dough, you can see for yourself. And if I wake those bitches up — I’ll never hear the end of their shit...” She tugged at his arm.
“I can go and change money,” he said, stopping.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” She turned on the light in the bathroom. Pulled him by the hand. Locked the door. Squatted. Began unbuttoning his pants.
“Uh...how long have you...um?” he said, looking up at the ceiling.
“You ask a lot of questions young man...Oho! We’re quick on the uptake...” She touched his stiffening member through his pants.
She unfastened his belt and unzipped the zipper. She pulled his gray trousers and his black underwear down.
The driver had a small, crooked penis.
She sucked him quickly, grasping his lilac testicles in her hand. She began moving rapidly.
The driver stuck his backside out. He leaned over slightly and rested his hands on the washing machine. He snuffled. His earring swung as he moved.
“Wait...hon...” He put his hand on her head.
“It hurts?” she asked spitting out his penis.
“No...It’s just that...I’ll never come that way...let’s...uh...the normal way...”
“I won’t do it without a condom.”
“But I...I...don’t carry them with me...” He laughed.
“This is not a problem...” She went out and came back with a pack of condoms. She unwrapped one and slipped it on him quickly and deftly. She threw off her robe, turned her backside to him, and set her elbows on the sink.
“Go ahead...”
He entered her quickly, grabbing her with his long arms. He moved back and forth rapidly, wheezing.
“That’s good...oy, good...” she repeated calmly. She examined her bruise in the mirror.
He came.
She winked at him in the mirror.
“You rascal, you!”
She looked at him attentively. Suddenly her lips began to tremble. She covered her mouth with her palm.
He breathed hard through his nose, his eyes closed. He put his head on her shoulder.
She stretched out her arm and closed the drain on the bathtub. She turned on the water, barely able to restrain her sobs.
“Okay. That’s it. I...I...I need to get warm.”
He had a hard time turning her around. He opened his eyes. His penis slipped out of her vagina. The driver looked at it.
“In...in the loo,” she suggested. She grabbed a half bottle of shampoo off a shelf and dumped it in the bathtub. She sobbed out loud.
He glanced at her glumly.
“What’s wrong? You feel bad?”
She shook her head — then grasped his hand. She went down on her knees, pressing his hand to her chest. Her sobs grew stronger, and she squeezed her mouth shut.
“What is it?” he said, looking down at her. “They mistreated you, is that it? How come you’re...”
“No, no, no...” She sniffed. “Wait a sec...wait...”
She pressed his hand to her chest. She wept.
He looked sideways at himself in the mirror. He stood there patiently. The sperm-filled condom hung from his shrinking penis. It swayed in time to her sobs.
It took her a while to calm down.
“It’s...It’s all...so...that’s all..
.go...”
The driver pulled up his trousers and left.
Nikolaeva got into the bath and sat down. She hugged her knees and rested her head on them.
The sound of flushing water came from the loo.
The driver glanced into the bathroom.
“Is everything all right?” asked Nikolaeva without raising her head.
He nodded. He looked at her curiously.
“If you want, come by again sometime.”
He nodded.
She sat motionless. He wiped his nose.
“What’s your name?”
“Alya.”
“Mine’s Vadim.”
She nodded into her knees.
“Are you...in big trouble?”
“No, no.” She stubbornly shook her head. “It’s just...just...that’s it...bye.”
“Well, bye.”
The driver took off. The front door slammed.
The bath filled with water. It reached Nikolaeva’s armpits. She turned the faucet off and lay down.
“Lord...CON, Con, Con, Con, Con...”
Bubbles fizzled around her tear-stained face.
Nikolaeva dozed off.
Twenty-two minutes later Natasha stuck her head into the bathroom.
“Alya, get up.”
“What?” Nikolaeva opened her eyes, annoyed.
“Parvazik’s here.”
Nikolaeva sat up quickly.
“Fuck! You ratted on me?”
“He just showed up on his own.”
“On his own! You viper! Well, just try and ask me for more sheets!”
“Go to — ”
Natasha slammed the door.
Nikolaeva ran her wet hands over her face. She swayed.
“Oh, shit...What a little cockroach...”
She stood up with difficulty. She took a shower, wrapped her head in a towel, and dried off. She put on a robe and went out into the hallway.
“Have a good soak?” she heard from the kitchen.
Nikolaeva went in.
Two men were sitting there.
Parvaz: 41 years old, small, black hair, swarthy, unshaven, with small facial features, dressed in a gray silk jacket, black shirt, narrow gray trousers, and boots with buckles.
Pasha: 33, heavyset, light-haired, pale skin, a meaty face, dressed in a silvery-lilac-colored Puma leisure suit and light blue sneakers.
“Hello there, beautiful,” Parvaz said, lighting a cigarette with a match.
Nikolaeva leaned against the doorjamb.
Ice Trilogy Page 31
