“Hello,” the girl said in Russian. “I haven’t seen you around the vineyards before.” She was relatively short and well built, like many of the peasants he’d seen in the fields that day. Her long, rough skirt and her blouse were similar to the others. A colorful scarf covered most of her blonde hair. Her face glistened with perspiration, little droplets beading on her upper lip. High cheekbones set off the loveliest blue eyes Cobb thought he’d ever seen.
“Hello,” he muttered in reply, mopping the back of his neck. There was no time to become acquainted. Besides, he felt insecure enough that he didn’t want to become involved in extensive conversations.
“Is there any water left in your bucket?” she asked.
Cobb shook his head, tipping it upside down to show it was empty.
“It’s very hot. May I use it, please?”
He nodded, rising from the cistern and extending it in her direction. She waited hesitantly, then reached out to take it from him. Perhaps she had hoped he might dip it for her. The friendly smile remained on her face, though now it reflected slight disappointment.
There was no need for such rudeness on his part. It was a perfect way to attract attention. He smiled back. “Here,” he said, lifting the wooden cover. “Let me get some for you.” He took the bucket back and dipped it half full.
“Thank you,” she murmured, raising the bucket to her lips. Her smile was most pleasant, Cobb thought, unlike the dull, sour faces he’d noticed most of the day. “Um, that tastes good.” After drinking her fill, she knelt beside the cistern, bringing water out of the bucket with her hands and rinsing her face in a much more ladylike manner than he would have expected.
“Yes, it is,” he replied. “At the end of the day, a nice relaxing shower…” He stopped. Not only did he not want to talk, but he was sure few peasants in this area had any idea what a shower was.
She looked up at him from where she was kneeling with an amused smile on her face. She was really quite pretty, he realized. The blue eyes above the high cheekbones twinkled when she smiled. “You are not from around here, are you?”
He shook his head. “Georgia — near Kutaisi,” he answered, referring to the republic and city at the eastern end of the Black Sea.
She looked him up and down, still smiling, then rose slightly to sit on the cistern. “And not a field hand I should expect, at least not if you’re used to showers after a day in the fields.”
Cobb cursed himself for saying the wrong thing to the wrong person. “I was sent to a school once, to study the grapes. They had modern conveniences there.” He grinned back at her. Perhaps it was a good idea to talk with her, to learn as much as he could from someone who seemed to have a knowledge of the area but was more sophisticated than the average peasant. “You’re right. A lot of men had no idea how to use them. Some of us learned and grew to like them. Others dipped water out of the toilets.”
She laughed at that. “I’ve seen the same thing myself.” Then she looked at him more quizzically, tilting her head to one side. “But you don’t talk as if you are from Georgia, either. We have had others from there before.”
“You do not have the local accent either.”
“No,” she shook her head. “I am Polish.” This time she studied him a bit longer, with an inquiring look on her face. “You really are a stranger here, aren’t you?” Without waiting for an answer, she continued, “There are many of us here in the work party. We were students in Warsaw — until three months ago,” she added bitterly. “Many of us were rounded up and sent to this damned country, and I don’t know whether or not we’re the lucky ones.”
“Lucky?”
“I don’t know how many are still alive,” she responded, her voice now deep and bitter, the sparkle gone out of her eyes. “We are forced labor,” she added.
This was something Cobb hadn’t expected. Nothing like this had been mentioned in his briefing. He had seen no indication that there were prisoners around Keradin’s dacha — no guards or guns. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t aware…” Perhaps this was the reason for those unknown buildings in the far corner of the compound. Neither he nor the photo interpreters were familiar with their purpose. He now realized they had been constructed in the last six months for slave labor.
This time when she looked up at him, there was anger in her eyes. “I suppose you are one of them—” she gestured toward the main house, “—spying on us.” But the bewildered look on his face reassured her that this stranger was not one of “them.” And after all she had learned about the peasants that toiled in this particular vineyard — they were the only natives she had come in contact with — she also sensed this stranger was not one of Keradin’s men. “Forgive me. You’re much too naive to be looking for an evening with me.” It occurred to her that this man should be cultivated. Perhaps he could be her means of escape.
“An evening?”
She looked up at Cobb, her eyes squinting against the glare of the sun. Her gaze swept up and down his figure, taking in the clothes, stopping at his hair. She lifted one of his hands, which he quickly pulled away. “Perhaps I should just go back to the barracks.”
“Barracks?”
She pointed down the hill to one of the buildings in the far corner. “That’s where they lock us up at the end of the day, except when Keradin or one of his men wants an evening. That’s what we call it — an evening. Then they send the foreman down with one of the guards to bring us back.” She grimaced. “About the only good thing I can say for it is the shower.” Now she grinned again. “Imagine that. After a while, you’re willing to trade yourself for a shower. They like us clean, not like the smelly peasant girls.” Cobb said nothing. Again her head tilted to the side. “If you had been around here even for a short time, you would have known all about that. The peasants won’t pay attention to us.” She pointed at the bucket. “They wouldn’t even have dipped water for me.”
“What’s your name?” Cobb asked.
“Verra.”
“That is Polish,” he nodded. “Very pretty.” Looking around to make sure that no one was paying attention to them, he continued, “I haven’t seen any guards. I’m sure I would have noticed.”
“Keradin doesn’t want to make a big thing about it — not in front of the peasants. The foreman — a GRU in charge of security — works for him, along with some of the others. They keep a close eye on us. There’s no way we could get away, at least not during the day, and they keep us locked up at night. That’s when the guards come out.”
She stood up then, her hands on her hips, and half circled him, studying both the man and the clothes intently. She had promised herself that the first time there seemed to be a chance, she would take it. Verra was not about to accept the existence offered to her at the dacha. She had only accepted it when the other choice was prison. Pursing her lips and nodding to herself as she stopped in front of him, she determined that the gamble had to be taken. “And you — what is your name?”
Down below, near the main shed, the foreman stepped out into the sun, looking up the slope. Cobb stood up, pouring the remainder of the water over his head. Hoisting his half-full bucket of grapes, he said, “Come on,” indicating the foreman down the hill with a jerk of his head. “I’ll teach you a little bit about grapes.” He moved to the edge of the arbor, noting over his shoulder that the foreman still hadn’t moved. “I’ll tell you my name,” he added when she hesitated.
She moved into a row above his so that she could watch both him and the foreman below. Good for her, he thought. She doesn’t trust a soul. “You can call me Cobb.”
“Cobb… Cobb?” She rolled the name over her tongue with difficulty. “That isn’t Georgian or even Russian, is it?”