Can't Let Her Go

Katya

I know something about this area of Russia. There are no mountains here, no great forests. There are patches of woods here and there, rolling hills, and flat plains now covered in snow. From what I remember from school, this is a fertile and lonely farm country. In fact, I can’t see a house or anything, and I can easily see a kilometer or two. Of course, there could be a town or village over the next hill. We can’t know. We can only walk.

“What was your favorite subject in school?” he asks.

“I thought we weren’t going to talk.”

“We have to do something to kill the boredom. Otherwise, we’ll go crazy out here. It’s either talk, or sing, and you don’t want to hear me sing.”

I laugh. “I don’t want to sing either.” I glance over, and I spot a hint of pain in his face, a bit of grimace. He’s hurt worse than he lets on. “I liked school,” I admit. “I wasn’t the smartest girl in the class, but I was smart enough and my teachers liked me. Math wasn’t my best subject. I preferred literature. I read every book I could. When I was reading, I didn’t hear my parents arguing. I didn’t feel so hungry either. I was someone else, someone that everyone loved or respected. I remember long afternoons in my room with a book and some tea. My favorites were mysteries. I loved mysteries. I still do. I love how detectives figure out everything, even when I couldn’t. Everything changed for my family when I was twelve and I joined the program.”

“Program?”

I glance sideways at him. He really doesn’t know anything. “The program is when a girl is chosen by Anakin to come to America.”

He looks astonished. “You were picked when you were twelve?”

“Yes. We all are. Once I was enrolled into the program, my parents were given money and our lives improved greatly. A teacher came two times a week to teach me English.”

The wind blows hard but not as hard as last night. It’s cold, and I know we can’t last a night in this wind, even if we can keep walking. How many kilometers can I walk? I’m not sure, but I guess perhaps twenty or thirty. No, that’s probably too many in the snow, I don’t think I can do more than fifteen. “What about you? Did you like school?”

“I didn’t go to school.”

“What? Don’t all Americans have to go to school?”

He winces. “I guess they do, but I didn’t.”

“Why not?”

“It’s a long story.”

“Well, I’ve got time,” I say softly.

“I guess it’s because I was sold to Anakin when I was four years old and he didn’t think school was what I needed.”

I’m so shocked I stop walking and stare at him in astonishment.

He stops too.

We stare at each other.

I take a deep breath. “Hunter, I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

He shrugs. “Don’t be. I would probably have hated school. Besides, I liked hanging around on the corner.” He starts walking again.

I follow him “The corner?”

“That’s what we call the streets. You go out and be with wise guys, criminals. If they take a shine to you, they teach you what’s going on.”

“What did they teach you?”

“How to use a gun, how to avoid the cops, how to deal drugs, how to hold up a liquor store. You can learn a lot on the corner.”

“Did the police catch you?”

“Couple times. Nothing I couldn’t chisel down.”

“Chisel down?”

“In America, they always charge you with the worst crime they can. So, there’s always room for a lesser crime. You get caught for dealing drugs, and they charge you with a big felony. But if you’re not an asshole, they’ll chisel it down to possession only. Then, you pay some money. In my case, Anakin does and you don’t go to prison. It’s a game. The prosecutor gets a conviction without much work, and I get to go back to the corner and carry on working for Anakin.”

“So you enjoy working for Anakin?” I say slowly.

“I don’t know anything else,” he says simply.

I watch him intently. “Have you ever killed anyone, Hunter?”

He hesitates, and I think I already know the truth. He will probably lie, but I will know. He has killed. That changes him a little in my eyes. I have never met a killer before.

“I’ll tell you the truth. I’ve killed. Mostly, I don’t even need a gun. I’m strong and pretty good with my hands.”

“Hands?”

“I can handle myself in a fight. Comes in handy cause you don’t want to kill someone. And if you’re carrying a gun, the cops don’t like it. They charge you with more crimes.”

“That you can chisel down,” I finish for him.

“Yeah.” He grins. “There’s that.”

“When I was five, I wanted to be a ballerina,” I tell him. “I think every active girl in Russia wants to be a ballerina or a gymnast. That dream only lasted until I understood my parents weren’t rich enough to pay for lessons.”

We reach the top of the rise and we can see a good way off. Far away, I spot a town, some decent sized buildings or houses. Or it could be just something in the air, some sort of mirage. I can’t be sure.

“See it?” he asks.

“Yes,” I answer. “A town.”

“How far?”

“I don’t know. A long walk.”

“Yeah, I figured that.”

We start down the hill, and I wish we were closer. Hunter isn’t doing all that well. His limp is getting worse and I can hear the pain in his voice. It’s funny how the voice changes when there’s pain involved.

“Where do you live in Detroit?” I ask, hoping to take his mind off his pain.

“On the north side.”

“I’m glad it was you Anakin sent to pick me up,” I say.

“It’s not over yet,” he mutters.

I know that. Anakin sent him to bring me back. If he doesn’t do that, he’s in trouble. Do I care if he goes back and Anakin hurts him? Yes, I do. I don’t want him to get hurt. Before we leave Russia, I will try to convince him to run away with me. I’ve heard that America is rich, so rich anyone can live like a king. Florida, I think we should run away to Florida together.

“No matter what happens, I’m glad it was you,” I say softly.

We hear the vehicle before we see it. It’s coming from behind, so we move to the side of the road and hold up our hands. We need the ride if we can get it. It’s a large truck, and it slows as soon as it sees us. We must look awful. They pass us and stop. We walk to the vehicle as a man climbs out and faces us. He doesn’t smile.

“What are you doing out here?” he asks in Russian.

“Our car broke down. We barely made it to the road.”

He opens the rear door. “Get in, get in. This is no day to be out for a walk.”

We slide into the backseat and the driver eyes me in the mirror. I don’t know how much he can see since I am well bundled. The American simply sits, as if he doesn’t know anything. The other man climbs into the front, and the truck starts off.

“I’m Dimitri,” the driver says.

“And I’m Vasili,” the other man says.

“I’m Katya,” I tell them. “And he’s Igor.”

Vasili looks sharply at Hunter. “What’s wrong with him?”

“He’s deaf.” I poke Hunter and make some hand signals. It’s nonsense, but I don’t think the men up front can tell.

Hunter signs back with just as much gibberish.

“You related?” Vasili asks, his eyes sliding over my uncovered hair.

“He’s my cousin,” I reply. “I was taking him to Moscow because they might be able to do something for his hearing.”