Traffyck (8 page)

The last time there had been any hope in the village had been years earlier when an official from a state office paid them a visit and gave a speech in the main street. Cameramen filmed the speech, and the next day the widows in the village gathered to watch the news on Tatiana’s large-screen television. The official spoke of buildings to house geneticists and botanical experts. He spoke of tourist business and perhaps a hotel in the village. He spoke of the Przewalski horses released and thriving in the region, and even of a national park visitor center.

Of course, none of this happened, and the women of the village, gaining ground on death as each year passed, had long ago lost hope. Sofya realized she was fingering the string of garlic around her neck as if it were a rosary. And as she did so, she came to a conclusion. All that remained for the women of her village was church. Nothing anyone said outside of church, especially when an official said it on television, could be trusted. And nothing told to them by the guards at the small guardhouse down the dirt road was even remotely close to the truth. Nothing had changed since the fall of the Soviet Union.

Everything in Ukraine was corrupt, and fences were put up to hide the corruption.

CHAPTER
FIVE

Although Nadia had been drugged, she was able to recall some of it. The older boys dressed as priests had rescued them from the Carpathian Mountains in springtime. She, Lyudmilla the skeleton, and another, whose name eluded her, were the three girls. Guri was the boy. The four of them packed into the back of the van with several boy soldiers on the long journey to what the boy soldiers called a camp for teens. Nadia recalled the boy soldiers giving them jeans and sweatshirts to wear, and also sedatives to take because of what had been taking place when they were rescued. Nadia was not an idiot. She knew she and the others had been grabbed off the streets for videos because of how young they looked.

This was weeks earlier in cooler weather. Now, in summer, it was difficult calling this place an orphanage
or
a camp—especially a summer camp like the ones she’d heard of in Odessa. Everyone here simply called it “the peninsula” because geographically, that is exactly what it was—a wooded peninsula with water on three sides, and a fence on the fourth side. Life here was totally unlike life on Kiev’s streets, blending in like a tourist in brightly colored clothing, searching for unbuttoned pockets and unclasped purses. Discipline here was not created from within. Here they were told discipline had roots in fertile Ukrainian soil and in orthodoxy.

Everyone on the peninsula wore the same jeans and blue sweatshirts. Not really the same ones, but that was the way Nadia said it to anyone who would listen in order to get a laugh here and there. There weren’t many laughs because of the daytime pill given to calm nerves and keep the buzz alive, and the so-called knockout pill given at night. The newcomers, called “happy campers,” performed chores much of the time and, when not drugged to the depths of sleep, they either studied the Russian Orthodox Bible on computers or cared for crippled young men and women who could not eat or wash or dress without help. Caring for cripples was not shocking to Nadia. After Chernobyl, survivors were shipped to various parts of Ukraine, and she assumed this place was simply one of many so-called Chernobyl orphanages.

More shocking to Nadia than the cripples was sitting at a computer going through Bible lessons. Even though everyone here spoke Ukrainian, someone had written Russian language game-like computer programs. At first the lessons were addictive, because as street urchins they had never been welcome in Kiev’s computer cafés. But soon the games grew boring, and when Guri asked about Internet access, several older boys laughed at him and slapped him about.

As time went on, Nadia had to admit that caring for the cripples gave purpose to her existence, making it easier to sit through so-called lectures given by Pyotr, their leader, who was old and tall and silver-haired, or by his counselors—Vasily or Tomas or Semyon, who were young and strong and full of energy.

All four newcomers had individual mentors to remind them of the horrors of the mountain, the difficulties living on the streets of Kiev, and the suffering of the cripples. Lena, Nadia’s mentor, explained the rules. Do not make waves; do not fuck with the counselors, which was not meant as metaphor but dire warning; do not touch any of the cats or their kittens; and do not attempt escape. The only way out was through good works. Lena insisted she was living proof of this, marrying good works with pleasurable trips far and wide, including some hot sex. At times Lena seemed confused, saying things had changed recently at the compound, especially the addition of Bible computer programs in Russian. When Nadia tried to correct Lena, saying the place was called “the peninsula,” Lena became angry with her for the first time. “Peninsula! Compound! Orphanage! Training camp for boy soldiers! Call it what you want, little shit!”

Even though Lena referred to the cripples as armless, they were not all armless. But they were minus something—either one or more body parts, like larynxes or feet or breasts or testicles or any variety of limbs and organs—or they had something wrong in their heads. Several appeared to be retarded children, even though Lena told her they were in their twenties. To keep things simple, most used the term “armless” because having no arms was the most visible affliction, being these were the ones able to walk around camp on their own and not cover up their disability with jeans and shoes and sweatshirts. Even those with no visible affliction who were paranoid or demented were called armless. It made things easier, like calling them pets, even though for some reason, there were no real pets here as far as Nadia could see, only the cats that hid in the woods. Perhaps, instead of calling the cripples armless, they
should
be called pets.

These were Nadia’s thoughts as she lay on her cot in the dark bunkhouse. She felt secure at the compound because here men did not come out from behind lights and cameras waggling dicks in her face … the last waggled dick blown to a stump as he turned from her…

Peace here, rest here, lovable Lena here to care for her. Safe on the peninsula after what happened in the mountains and what could happen if they returned to Kiev. Yet, as she neared sleep, Nadia wondered what Lena was thinking, or dreaming. Perhaps Lena acted her way through life so she could eventually take Nadia away with her … But where?

Finally, after lying awake only a few minutes, the potent sleeping pill took effect and Nadia dreamed the disjointed dreams of one still suffering from shock.

Vasily reclined against an upended skiff on the beach staring up until moon and stars engulfed him. The aluminum skiff was cool on his back as he recalled the old days on the peninsula. Better days when Pyotr spent more time among them—cutting firewood with them, preparing computer lessons, or lending a hand to build the cafeteria. For at least a brief time, everyone had been young and enthusiastic and full of good spirits, calling the boat he leaned against
Vasily’s Ark
because back then it was the largest boat, the one used to bring supplies over from the left bank. Better days when he brought dogs and cats from the left bank for pets. Unfortunately, all but a few cats remained because cats could hide themselves and sometimes birthed kittens beneath the buildings.

The aluminum skiff had outgrown its usefulness when the gray inflatables arrived. The inflatables were larger, faster, and stable in currents and waves. The inflatables, with their powerful outboard engines, were symbols for all that had gone wrong at the compound. On one side, Lyashko’s men had isolated the peninsula from the mainland with their fence and guards, and on the other, across the reservoir, they had taken over an old campground. Most inflatables stayed there, at the campground dock, with only one or two here on the beach.

Another change that came with Lyashko’s men was the increased use of drugs, especially when indoctrinating new arrivals. Vasily disliked the use of drugs because he knew it was spreading, being used even to sedate the handicapped they were supposed to care for with open hearts, according to the man he once admired.

Pyotr Alexeyevich Andropov was proud to share the first and second name with Pyotr Alexeyevich Romanov, Peter I the Great. Like Peter I, he was tall and with silver hair, an imposing figure to one and all, even Vasily, who knew more of his past than the others did.

Vasily knew Pyotr was once a trafficker of teenagers. Vasily knew Pyotr kidnapped teenagers and allowed traffickers down the chain to threaten their families. But Pyotr insisted he’d experienced an epiphany. Vasily knew Pyotr faked religiosity and justified it with his so-called good works in caring for Chernobyl offspring brought to the compound. Vasily had known Pyotr when the Chernobyl offspring were grotesque children no one wanted. Now they were in their twenties and needed more care than ever. Especially the ones who were psychotic.

As Vasily stared at the stars, he wondered if he could ever speak, as they say, out of two heads, as Pyotr did. From one head, Pyotr spoke of God as a comrade who sent him prompts from some kind of heavenly computer network. Perhaps Pyotr did talk to God on a heavenly Internet. Perhaps everyone did. From the other head, Pyotr spoke of God’s representatives on Earth as fools; all organized religion nothing but hypocrisy.

When Pyotr began the compound, he and Vasily had long discussions. Vasily felt Pyotr was being honest with him. These days, the discussions were not as long and, Vasily felt, not as honest. Yet Pyotr still insisted on these discussions with only Vasily. No one else on the peninsula shared this access to Pyotr in the main cabin on designated evenings.

A bat flew over, blocking out stars and agitating the air near Vasily’s face. Then there was another sound, the unmistakable flip-flopping of sandals coming down the path. Vasily slid off the boat and took a step away. He saw Ivan walk onto the beach, the green Soviet Army trench coat Ivan had recently begun wearing visible in the moonlight. The greeting Ivan gave—raising his arms like Pyotr giving a blessing—made Ivan look like an officer addressing his troops.

“Greetings, Comrade Vasily.”

“You are insane,” said Vasily.

“Of course I am,” said Ivan. “We are all insane. We save children and bring them here to become servants of Chernobyl cripples because we do not appreciate the making of art films. Good versus evil. Enemy entrails spread across this sandy beach. Their blown-off pricks like aborted fetuses bleeding in the sun.”

“You are at home here,” said Vasily.

“What is that supposed to mean?” asked Ivan.

“The vengeance is bloody, and you enjoy it.”

“Of course I enjoy it. We save lives, born and unborn.”

“So, I ask you, what are the names of the drugs Lyashko’s men have supplied?”

“One of them is called ecstasy,” said Ivan, taking out his cell phone and flipping it open. “I wish we had cell phone service here.”

“Who would you call?” asked Vasily.

“Perhaps I would call Mikhail Kalashnikov,” said Ivan. “He died a few years ago,” said Vasily. “Don’t you listen to your radio?”

“In that case, I would call his family and thank them for his invention. Do you realize that even though we use modified versions manufactured under the name AKM, everyone still calls them AK-47s?”

“I realize this,” said Vasily. “When I do not have it with me, mine is stored under lock and key. Do you have anything else on your mind this evening?”

“I would like to have access to satellite television,” said Ivan. “I believe the education would help me learn more about my future investments.”

“Investments?” asked Vasily.

“Of course,” said Ivan. “I am going to set up my own compound on the other side of the reservoir. There is plenty of vacant land. The only ones who go there are bird watchers. I will create a bird-watching lodge as a disguise for my trafficking operation … Did you know in Britain women are called birds?”

“Yes,” said Vasily.

Ivan continued. “In any case, I will set up a trafficking network to take advantage of the economic situation in cities with the highest unemployment. There are many young women begging for work. I will create my own trail heading north out of Ukraine rather than south. While everything else goes down in value, investment in young women is the wisest investment of all. Each evening, I will spend some of my capital, if you know what I mean … But above all, I will stay away from Moldova, because the traffickers there are insane. Instead of messing with them I will continue building my muscles with my exercise equipment.”

Rather than saying anything further, Vasily picked up his AK-47, walked up the beach, and then trotted along the main path to his cabin on the far side of the peninsula. As he ran, he wondered what this winter would be like when ice made travel across the reservoir impossible, even when using inflatables. If Ivan were still here, and still insane, and if Pyotr was still using Ivan and his boys as so-called soldiers, winter would be hell, especially with streetwise new arrivals to oversee. Too many new arrivals had been brought in this spring and summer, and drugs had become the only way to control them.