Disfigured Love

by Georgia Le Carre

  Reluctantly, I went to bed and lay awake for hours listening, but there were no further noises.

  The next morning I went to the outhouse and found Nikolai’s hair in the bucket. I ran out calling for him. He was in the kitchen. I touched his hair. Chunks were missing; it was roughly shorn so that in some places his skull showed. He pulled his head away from my fingers. I looked into his eyes and Nikolai was changed. He was like a stranger. He could not look me in the eye.

  ‘What is it?’ I begged.

  ‘Nothing,’ he said curtly.

  ‘What happened last night?’

  ‘Nothing happened,’ he said sharply, and walked away from me.

  I stood and stared after him. I could not understand it. Nikolai was not another person. He was a moveable extension of me. For the most part we didn’t even have to speak. We knew what the other was thinking. Always. In fact, my mother said she had never heard anybody else play a duet with such perfect timing as when we played together. It was like one person with four hands.

  *****

  When my father came home he was absolutely furious about what my brother had done to his hair. He gave my brother a package and told him to wear it. My brother went into my father’s bedroom and came out saying he would not wear it.

  ‘Do you want Lena to wear it?’ my father asked, and in his tone lurked something sinister.

  My brother went white. He went back into the bedroom and came out wearing a dress! My sisters and I stared at my brother, speechless with horror.

  *****

  ‘Let’s run away together,’ I whispered to my brother.

  ‘Where? Where will we go to, Lena?’ he asked resentfully. ‘The grand house where Anastasia is teaching mathematics?’

  I was shocked at how changed he was. It was as if I was talking to my mother. All hope had vanished. Only a bitter shell remained.

  ‘What’s wrong with you?’

  He looked at me sadly. ‘Everything.’

  *****

  The winter passed, and another chair stood empty against the wall. Nikolai and I turned sixteen. All thoughts of running away had long since been extinguished. There was no need to run away. I saw it with so much more clarity—we would be sold and that would be our escape. All that was left of our family was Nikolai, my two younger sisters and me.

  Next it would be my turn. But when the time came, my father skipped me and sold Zena, who was a year younger than me. I could not understand it. Then I was seventeen when the black Volga came for my youngest sister.

  All that were left were Nikolai and me.

  *****

  Nikolai had become a man and I a woman. He was nearly as tall as my father, but neither of us could stand up to Papa It was the mahout effect. When the elephant is a baby, the mahout will tie it to an iron post. The baby will try and try and eventually learn that there is no way to get loose. When it has grown up the mahout can tie it to the flimsiest stick and the elephant will not try to extricate itself because it has been conditioned to think that no post can be beaten. My brother and I had been conditioned to obey.

  That spring we turned eighteen. Summer came and went. It was autumn when Nikolai smiled with relief and squeezing my hand said, ‘Don’t worry. I think he is not going to sell either of us.’

  *****

  ‘Tomorrow is your turn. Be prepared to go,’ my father said less than a week later. His voice was very cold and mean.

  My brother stared at him in shock. That evening I caught my brother by the hand and took him to the side of the house, to mother’s grave. I turned him around to face me.

  ‘Nikolai, I’ll come back for you. I don’t care how I do it. I will come back. Will you wait here for me?’

  ‘No you won’t,’ he said sadly and shook his head. His eyes were defeated and exhausted. ‘I won’t wait for you.’

  ‘Please,’ I begged.

  He searched my face curiously. At that moment he reminded me of an animal. A dumb animal that was trying to figure out what you wanted it to do. I hated my father with a vengeance then.

  ‘None of the others have. Nobody comes back,’ he said with a finality that terrified me.

  ‘But I will. On Mamas grave I promise I will. Will you promise on Mama’s grave you will wait?’

  ‘I wish he had sold me instead,’ he muttered.

  ‘Don’t wish that. If he sells you I won’t know where to find you. Anyway, he will never sell you.’

  The intolerable situation he was in struck both of us. We never ever spoke about it. I dropped my eyes so I would not look at his shame.

  ‘Yes, you are right. He will never sell me,’ he agreed, and there was an odd inflection in his voice.

  I looked up at him.

  ‘Please. You must trust me that I will come back for you.’

  He rubbed his earlobes and nodded, but did not meet my eyes.

  I grabbed his hand. ‘Look at me and promise, Nikolai,’ I demanded fiercely.

  ‘I promise,’ he said. ‘I promise on Mother’s grave I will wait until you come.’

  I smiled. I had his word. I was at peace. He smiled back. I touched his cheek.

  ‘Oh, Nikolai. I don’t know what it will be like without you.’

  His Adam’s apple bobbed. ‘You will be fine, Lena.’ Tears ran down our faces.

  When the men came the next day we stood facing each other. ‘Mind how you go, beautiful sister of mine.’

  ‘Until we meet again, my darling,’ I said kissing him hard on his lips. Outside the Volga idled quietly.

  ‘Remember your promise,’ I reminded, my fingers curling around his. They were rough with work. He tried to pull his hand away but I wouldn’t let go. I stared into his eyes.

  He nodded distantly.

  ‘You must wait for me.’

  ‘I will.’

  ‘Neither fur nor feather,’ he said. His voice was listless.

  ‘Go to the devil,’ I said softly.

  And I went out into the cold morning toward the black Volga. The Volga never aged. The men were different…and the same.

  They passed my father a thick envelope. He did not open it. He simply called my name. ‘Lena.’

  ‘Yes, Father?’

  ‘It’s time to go. Obey these men as you would me.’

  I did not look at him or answer him.

  Chapter 5

  The men did not look at or speak to me after I got into the car or as we drove away from my home. I clasped my hands tightly and remained silent. Ten minutes into the journey and the man in the passenger seat turned to look at me. He had slightly slanted Asian eyes and olive skin. His eyes were so black and cold they made me tingle.

  ‘We don’t want to hurt you. If you behave there will be no need for us to hurt you. Are you going to behave?’

  I nodded. Of course I was going to behave. What else was I going to do? I was in a black Volga with two of the most dangerous-looking men I had ever seen being driven to God knows where. The driver looked into the rear-view mirror me at me. He had dark hair and cruel blue eyes. There was something low and mean about him.

  They took me to a hotel where there was electricity, running water, a toilet that flushed, and the rustle of Russian newspapers. I slept on a comfortable bed and awakened to a breakfast of strawberry jam on French bread. They did not introduce themselves, but I learned from their conversation that the men were called Timur and Borka. Timur was obviously the leader and Borka was the mean idiot driving the car.

  It was after we stopped for a bathroom break that I realized that they had forgotten to lock the doors. I did nothing. Just sat quietly at the back. Waiting. In the middle of a village near a crowded tavern where it looked like there was a celebration of some kind as men were standing around talking and drinking, I opened the door while the car was still moving, and rolled out.

  The jarring pain of the tarmac was incredible. The car sped on as I lay on the road, winded and in terrible pain. But not for long. It screeched to a halt a few yards away. I wa
nted to run, but I could barely move. The car began reversing so fast it looked like a blur to my panicked eyes. With a burst of energy and a vicious twist of pain that made me scream I forced myself to my hands and feet and, rising upright, began to run.

  I ran as fast as my wounded body would allow me to. I ran toward the celebrating villagers. There were men there. They were many and my captors were only two. They could help me, surely they would. I called out to them, and their faces turned in my direction, and they stared at me, running, hopping, limping. Defenseless.

  Then calmly, as if with one mind, all of them turned away from the troublesome sight of a woman being chased by a black Volga and looked down into their drinks. They did not want to get involved. It was none of their business.

  The force of Borka landing on me knocked me off my feet and we crashed onto the grass verge. For a while I was too winded to speak. Then he hauled me up roughly by the hair, and slapped me so hard my head snapped back.

  From the side of the road Timur screamed, ‘Don’t mark her, you fucking animal.’

  I could taste the blood from my split lip, but I looked up at Borka defiantly.

  Something flared in his eyes. Rabid lust. I had never seen anyone look at me like that before and it shocked me. The greed was replaced by ugly anger. ‘Stupid fucking bitch,’ he shouted and pulled me toward the car.

  The other man peered at my face and turned angrily toward Borka. ‘You fucking idiot,’ he screamed. ‘You cut her.’

  Borka immediately looked defensive. ‘It’s nothing. It will heal.’

  ‘If you touch her again I’ll break your fucking legs. And take that fucking look out of your eyes and stuff it up your shitty ass. Nobody is fucking spitting in my rice bowl.’

  ‘I didn’t do nothing,’ Borka muttered with a surly curl of his lips.

  ‘Damn right. And you won’t either.’

  ‘What’s the big deal anyway? I was only going to fuck her mouth or her ass. Who’s gonna know?’

  The look Timur leveled at Borka was fierce and poisonous. ‘If you want to fuck something, pick up a dirty whore tomorrow night.’

  Borka clenched his jaw in mute anger.

  Timur turned toward me. I was frightened of him. He had the eyes of a man who knows no limits. They glittered dangerously the way a sharp knife does. ‘Get in the car. Now,’ he snarled.

  I obeyed immediately. I was sore all over as I stumbled to the car. When we were in and the doors were locked, Timur twisted around to face me. ‘I give you freedom and what do you do?’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said through my swelling lip.

  ‘Do you want to be tied up and gagged from now on?’

  I shook my head slowly.

  ‘Another stunt like that and you will be tied up and gagged and put in the boot of the car. Are we clear?’

  I nodded.

  He took a handkerchief out of his pocket and handed it to me. ‘Wipe your mouth.’

  I took the handkerchief and wiped my mouth. He immediately grasped my chin with his fingers. His skin was extraordinarily soft. He turned my face to either side to assess the damage. Expressionlessly he released my chin. In the rear-view mirror Borka was watching me.

  ‘Show me your hands,’ he ordered.

  I held my hands out. They were scraped and bleeding. He twisted my wrists and saw that my hands were scraped right down to my elbows.

  Cursing, he reached down and pulled my skirt right up to my panties. I was so ashamed—no one had seen my thighs for as long as I could remember, and I wanted to cover them with my hands, but I didn’t. I knew he would be furious. One of my knees was bleeding and there were scratches and cuts on my shins. Timur cursed again and turned around. I pulled my dress back over my knees.

  After that no more was said. Borka drove silently until we arrived at a farmhouse in the middle of nowhere. There were chickens in coops at the side of the house and a barn a few yards away. I could see a well, too.

  ‘Get out,’ Timur barked.

  I got out and walked with them toward the house. The air was cold and I had a sick, horrible feeling in my stomach.

  A woman opened the door to us. She was wearing a headscarf and a dirty apron. She looked like a farmer. She must have been about forty years old. She had big, muscular arms and grit-filled nails. Her face was broad, her complexion florid, and her eyes were the color of dirty dishwater. For a flash of a second they registered surprise and something else—something I had only ever encountered in men’s eyes. Then she concealed it and focused on my lip.

  ‘What the hell happened?’ she asked. Her accent was thick and unrefined.

  ‘Ask Borka,’ Timur snapped rudely, and brushing past her went into the darkened interior of the house.

  She did not look at Borka who was standing behind me. Instead she turned her ruddy face toward me and smiled. It was an unpleasant smile. ‘Your sisters never gave so much trouble.’

  ‘My sisters?’ I gasped. In my chest my heart leapt at the possibility, no matter how remote, that I would see my lost family again. Hope swirled in my head making me feel almost dizzy.

  She narrowed her eyes and folded her thick, manly arms around her midriff. ‘Yes, all your sisters passed through here.’

  ‘Where are they now?’

  For a few seconds she did not answer me, simply looked at me speculatively. Finally, she moved aside and said, ‘Come in. We’ll talk inside.’

  Immediately, eagerly, I stepped into her house. Inside it was gloomy and stank of grease and cooking and a heady mixture of herbs. As my eyes adjusted to the gloom I saw that I was in an ordinary Russian farmhouse, one where life revolved around the stove. As my eyes swung around the poor furniture they fell upon a large metal cage with straw at the bottom of it.

  Just as suddenly as I had seen it I was shoved roughly to the ground. Before I could react, I was pulled hard and pushed into the cage. It was only about four feet long by about five feet high so I could neither stand nor lie in it. I crouched against the bars while she padlocked the door. I did not scream or shout. I knew it was no use.

  Timur sat at the rough wooden table eating bread and cheese. He ate quickly, his eyes resting on the woman.

  ‘You’ll have to clean up her wounds,’ he told her.

  ‘Don’t worry. They are superficial. They’ll heal on their own. I will keep her until she’s broken in.’

  ‘You know the rules,’ he said. There was warning in his eyes.

  ‘Yeah, she better be as good as new,’ Borka added threateningly, cutting himself a slice of cheese and stuffing it into a hunk of bread.

  After they had eaten they left and the woman ignored my attempts to talk to her or ask her about my sisters.

  When night fell, she lit the lamps and opened the door to what must have been her larder. A waft of cold air pungent with the smell of herbs drifted into the house. She came out again with some vegetables and made a stew. The smell of gristle frying made my mouth water. I had not eaten for a whole day. She passed a steaming bowl to me through a small door in the cage.

  I was starving so I ate it quickly. She must have drugged my food for I started to feel so sleepy I could not keep my eyes open.

  And then I remembered no more.

  Chapter 6

  I woke up groggy and still inside the cage, but I was naked. Some foul-smelling green medicine had been applied to my cuts and wounds. When I saw her watching me I instinctively tried to hide myself with my hands.

  ‘Do you think you have anything I haven’t seen before?’ she taunted and laughed so hard her whole body shook.

  I knew she would not hurt me, at least, not physically. The men had seemed determined to keep me in as good a condition as they could. I was worth a lot of money to them. When I said I needed to go to the toilet she heaved herself off the table where she had been peeling onions, grabbed a bowl and was about to thrust it into the cage.

  ‘I can’t go in a bowl,’ I protested, shocked.

  ‘Then you will soil yo
urself.’ Her voice was hard. She pushed the bowl through the little door my food had come in through.

  So I went in the bowl. It was the most humiliating thing that had happened to me. She stood over me with her arms folded and watched while I squatted over the bowl and pissed slowly in spurts. It was very difficult to do without wetting myself, or the straw that I would have to sleep on. Some urine splashed on my legs.

  ‘Can I have some toilet paper to clean myself with, please?’ I pleaded.

  ‘Toilet paper is only for when you shit,’ she said rudely, and carried the bowl out of the house.

  Even though the stove was on I was so cold my fingers and toes were icy. I covered myself with some of the straw and waited for her to come back.

  It was midday when her footsteps returned. She opened the door and came in. Her hands were red. She set a bucket of water on the floor. The galoshes gleamed in the dim interior of her house. She ladled a mug full of water from the pail, rinsed her mouth out and spat the water into the slop bucket. She ladled another mug of water and slowly poured it through the top of the cage. I caught it in my mouth. Like an animal.

  ‘Can I have some water to wash myself, please?’

  ‘I didn’t bring it to waste on you,’ she sneered.

  Not only was I not allowed to wash, I was forced to defecate in a bowl and clean myself with a bit of newspaper while she stood watching. I knew what she was trying to do. She was trying to humiliate me. She was trying to make me believe that I was no better than an animal. She was trying to break me. And maybe she did.

  When it was dark she lit the lamps and began to cook. She made an omelet in the long-handled pan. After she had eaten she poured some of the leftover casserole into a bowl and brought it to me.

  I stared at it in shock. Disgusting woman. It was the same bowl I had pissed in and shat in. I pushed it out of the cage, away from me. I was hungry, but I refused to eat it. She took it away wordlessly and poured it into the slop pail where I had seen her throw away last night’s vegetable peels.