“Your papa’s making money… Don’t take it too hard,” Zoyenka muttered rather guiltily. “We all roll any way we can. And we don’t live badly… the plasma TV, the éclairs. Hey, your papa’s got his eye on a car for you and now he can even afford a driver. And he’ll buy it for your eighteenth birthday, have no doubts about that. What kind do you like, girly ones or bigger ones? Red or white?”
Shurka was hiccupping and fighting off waves of bile, but she listened and consented. Why should she be so surprised? This was better than shooting up junk… The sounds in the living room made sense now and for that reason she could hear them better. Her imagination obligingly brought up a picture: her former classmate (they’d dropped out at approximately the same time, only Svetka had mysteriously come into money right away) down on all fours under the Doberman Voldemar… Voldemar was an aristocrat, of course, but he jerked on her just as ridiculously and clumsily as any guy, and he was also grinning and whimpering.
Shurka quickly made her peace with Kolyan’s secret and even decided it was good, creative work, not like sitting in some shop or at some construction site. But something changed imperceptibly in Kolyan himself. His demeanor became even heavier and more intent, and sometimes at supper he would put his good hand on her knee. Under the table, naturally, so Zoyenka wouldn’t see. At first he just let it lie there, then he started stroking, pushing between her knees. This scared the shit out of Shurka.
Then Kolyan lost it. He got ripped with his faithful comrades Arif and Roman on cheap swill from the nearest bar. They howled songs and smashed furniture. Shurka slept in her own room, Zoyenka either in Roman’s or Kolyan’s—they both liked her, though Kolyan was cooler, of course. Kolyan barged into Shurka’s room and started confessing. Still barely awake and not understanding a thing, she huddled at the corner of her bed, pulling her blanket up and trying to hide behind it. Kolyan grabbed her by the feet and started stroking her ankles and begging her for something. Then Zoyenka ran in and she and Roman led him out into the living room. Shurka heard Arif give Kolyan a serious and stern talking-to about Allah. Soon after, Zoyenka returned and hugged Shurka around the shoulders, rocking her.
The next day the house turned into a besieged fortress. Kolyan drove Arif out, Roman left on his own volition, and Zoyenka and Shurka were locked up in the half of the house where they used to eat pastries at night. They sat there like scared little mice, but in the evening he came to them and with a wave of his arm ordered Zoyenka: “Get out.” She shook her head, locked gazes with him, and stayed put. Then he simply grabbed her around her body with his good arm and flung her out the door, slamming it behind her.
“Look, child,” he said, perching on the edge of the table. “No one but them knows that you… that we… well, you understand. Without me, who are you? Homeless, the spawn of a lush. Before you know it they’ll be carting you off to an orphanage, assuming you don’t fuck yourself up first and start getting handed around. I’m suggesting that we live together. And I won’t rush you… I’ll wait… a little while. You’ll live here as always. You’ll be in charge of the house. I’ll give you a fur coat. I’ll buy you a car. Ask for anything you want. Then, when you’re of age, we’ll register. Cross my heart! The Uzbek says Allah ordered us not to… but what’s Allah to me? I sent him fucking packing. Who does he think he is? But me—I’m king here, and I’ll throw out anyone I want. If people love each other, what’s the difference?… You do love me, right? Do you love me…?”
He leaned toward her abruptly and grabbed her face, drew it closer, and stared at her, crazed. Shurka got blasted in the face by the reek of alcohol.
“Anything you want, all you have to do is ask, child, dear child, my little sunshine… Do you love me…?”
The door swung open and Zoyenka appeared on the threshold holding an electric drill. Tear-stained. “All right, back off, you goat! You horny shit!”
Nikolai started laughing and cleared out, landing a good swing at Zoyenka as he left. She went flying into the room, and the drill fell from her hands.
Shurka was sucking a hard candy and listening to Zoyenka, whose eye was gradually swelling shut. Zoyenka wrapped ice from the refrigerator in a napkin and pressed it to her face.
“You said it yourself—he’s going to buy me a car,” Shurka objected soberly. “And later we’ll get registered. That means he’ll buy me a dress too. He said anything I want.”
Zoyenka looked at her as if she were a space alien. “Fool! You haven’t even started your period. He’ll rip you in half. And he’s your papa, for god’s sake!”
She started crying again.
The next day Nikolai came.
“Well,” he said to Shurka, “what have you come up with?”
The girl was sitting on the sofa with her legs folded under her. She clicked the remote. The channels changed on the screen—MTV, cartoons, all kinds of news in Russian and other languages. “A fur coat,” she said. “I want one.”
Kolyan positively glowed. He rubbed his palms and pressed them between his knees. “A fur coat! What kind of fur coat? My little girl…”
“From Voldemar. His fur is so… nice to touch.”
And she shot her blue eyes at him, the bitch.
Kolyan gritted his teeth. “Well, all right.”
To be honest, she thought he would just drown her now. Under the bridge. Because she hadn’t seen Zoyenka since yesterday, and instead a new guy had come—another Azeri, only with lackluster eyes and swollen veins. She recognized the expression right away. A druggie, a goon. He grabbed her by the arm, just the way she was, wearing a T-shirt and shorts, not letting her take her hoodie, or skirt, or jeans, and led her into a small, windowless cell with a mattress on the floor and locked her in.
She lost track of time, but several days passed for sure. There was a cooler in the room and she drank water. Then the lock clicked, the door opened, and Kolyan was standing on the threshold. He was swaying. Shurka backed up toward the wall. Kolyan grinned and threw something at her that smelled of beast and blood. Voldemar’s hide fell heavily on the mattress.
“Tomorrow,” he shook his finger at her. “I’m coming for you tomorrow.”
Zoyenka returned to her that night. She had been thoroughly abused, beaten, and she was missing some teeth. But she had the key.
As she spirited Shurka out of the house under the Vantovy Bridge, she lisped slightly: “You can’t rithk Rybathkoye. I don’t have any money. Go to town on foot… or… there’th a boat in the th-thed. Ith really thkinny… it’ll cut right through!
Zoyenka’s thoughts were confused. “Write me a letter when you get there,” she said. “My name’th Rybina, to Rybathkoye, general delivery. Or find me on v-Kontakte, I’ve got a page there.”
Together they dragged the boat out of the shed, an old Pella. They even found oars. They waited for a barge, and Zoya went into the river up to her knees and gave her a push. Shurka sat in the boat until she was carried off, and then she started rowing. She was strong, little Shurka. The long barge’s sidelights lay on the water and trembled in it. The poplars’ crowns and Catherine’s stela were reflected in the river. Jaguar cans and other trash floated with the current.
On the morning of the second day they made out something stirring in the load of coal. The captain sent Styopa to investigate.
“What is it? Some kind of hide… A dog’s, looks like.”
Styopa gave the hide a kick, and a grimy little towhead crawled out from under it.
Hi, my deer byuteeful Zoinka. Our barge arrived at the port in Vysotsk. It’s on the Finland gulf, not very far from Vyborg. You remember, I temed foreteen in August and got my passport. But I rote down I was sixteen. So now I have a rezidence permit, for the provins. Styopa sez he’ll marry me too, but I like him more than Kolyan. They lode cole and oil here, and I werk in the caféteria. There’s the sea here, and pine trees, and even more ships than in Rybatskoye. I like it heer. Sending kisses and wishing you luck. So dos my Styopa.