Morgan Stone - The Russian Factor

Not only that, but exhaustion. I shook my head to keep from falling asleep on my feet and stared into our fizzing wake. Decided, talking might help. “That catamaran can go a lot faster than us. This might not be over.”

Anna looked at me but didn’t respond.

I was thinking of turning the yacht toward Rhodes Island, into Greek waters, where we’d at least not be the only radar target around. Visions of running Shadow aground and making a break for it were mysteriously attractive. I imagined that catamaran coming out of the darkness, both engines roaring.

Following her disappearing act, I wasn’t sure of Anna’s motivations anymore. Would she run from mama and the cousins or run to them? “Why did you take off like that?” I asked. I couldn’t stand the silence between us.

“I’m sorry to take off. The pictures, they made me sick. What she did to us makes me sick. I couldn’t speak to anybody about it. I needed to be alone, to think it over.”

“But, you left me the package with your mother’s letter.”

“Of course, I knew you didn’t do it. That’s why I left it there for you. The letter was so you would know what she had written to me, what she was saying about you.”

“Hell, Anna, I could’ve left without you. In fact, I did leave without you.”

“Sorry, I didn’t know what to do.”

“I guess I would have stopped there,” I nodded toward lights on the shore of Rhodes Island, “and come back looking for you.” Lights on a forbidden shore look so good.

Anna shook her head very slowly. “That would have been such a disaster. I just needed to be alone without a bunch of people around me. I knew they couldn’t help and I didn’t want to… I could not share my thoughts with them.”

“Where did you go?”

“I bought some pastry and went to the top of the hill, the one beside the castle, and sat there looking at the bay. It seemed so huge to me, so dark, so uninviting.”

“Jesus Murphy, I thought you’d gone to your mother or your cousins. Then again, maybe you did .”

“No! I didn’t want to see her, are you kidding. After what she’s done to me. It did seem appealing to tell her what I think of her, but it wouldn’t solve anything and it sure wouldn’t change her mind. And I don’t want to see my cousins either! I had never had any common ground with them and by now I know the nice little reunion with them would be a trap. How stupid do they think I am? I wrote a letter to Mother instead and gave it to the guard, the one who feeds the fish. He’ll pass it on to Anton and Victor tomorrow. So that’s my goodbye to them.”

“Wow, that’s bold, what did you write in the letter?”

“You probably can guess. I told her that she doesn’t leave me any choice but to run. That she is a nasty woman and that I don’t believe she attacked me because she wants to help me.”

“You really told her she’s a nasty woman? Not very Russian-like to express feelings like that, is it?”

“No, it isn’t. But why not? If somebody is a bad person, even though she is your mother, why not to tell her this? Why should I spare her feelings if she hurts me? Besides, in the end openness like this solves many problems. You’ve told me this, yourself. I need to have this freedom to assess her actions and to tell her what I think of them. Just because I am her child doesn’t make me her speechless slave!”

“I imagine she would have one hell of a time with you back home, in Nizhny Novgorod, considering the way you look and behave now.”

“That’s for sure. I myself wonder what she would do to me if they succeeded with my kidnapping. She would definitely have to isolate me somehow. I wouldn’t be the proper daughter anymore. Nothing to brag about — not married, no makeup, free-spoken.”

“She must have come up with some kind of story to explain your disappearance. Something face saving to tell people at work, friends, relatives and fellow countrymen.”

“Absolutely. That’s exactly what I’ve written in the letter. One thing for sure is that you, my kidnapper would be a man in my mother’s retelling of events. She would not allow people as much as a guess that her daughter got together with a woman. Her daughter may never be this way. Never be that wrong and perverted. And our colleagues, relatives and friends will always believe that she is a poor mother and I am a stupid and ungrateful daughter who ran away with some crook or got kidnapped by a white slaver.”

“I am sorry, Anna.”

“Why?”

“It’s all awful. I mean you loosing your country, you home, friends.”

“We’ll see who laughs last. I am the winner in reality, Jess. I run with you to sea because it is better than being in Russia among people like my mother and my so-called friends. I’m serious. I am terrified of course, in fact I more than likely will cry when you go down-below, but I am with you and I am free! They didn’t get me!”

“Oh Anna…” My eyes were stinging. The engine droned reassuringly below us. I ignored the lump in my throat and concentrated on every nuance of sound it made.

Anna looked up at the sky. “Don’t worry about me, Jess. We’ll survive. Look around us, it is the most gorgeous moment I’ve ever had. A yacht, the person I love, the Moon, we are underway, going home. Life is great!”

The wind was picking up. Hoping it would stabilize the boat and move us through the miles faster, we raised the sails. When I turned off the motor, it was somewhat quieter, but we still had to raise our voices to be heard over the rushing water, slapping lines, breaking waves, whining wind generator, and the sounds of things crashing and shifting below.

Standing and walking were close to impossible. Sitting required hanging onto something. Anna tried to sleep and was launched from a cockpit bench. It proved that lying down was downright dangerous. Dragging herself up, she looked at me, tried to say something, and doubled over vomiting. I was feeling sick myself, but hadn’t acknowledged it until Anna expressed her grief so viscerally. I mean, how can someone embarking on a sea voyage without an end in sight be seasick? And in the first twenty miles at that!

By two thirty in the morning the wind was strong and gusty. Infuriatingly, it was blowing from where we needed to go — southwest, into the international waters east of the Greek islands of Rhodes, Karpathos and Crete. In the sheltered waters of Marmaris Bay, sailing into the wind was exciting and fast; in the middle of the night, in open water with the boat bucking over choppy belligerent waves, it was exhausting. The bow reared up on each foaming crest then plunged into the following trough with a shuddering crash. Water and spray flooded over the deck into the cockpit. As much as I insisted, Anna refused to go below to check the hatches, moaning from the cockpit floor that she was too seasick to move.

The wind direction was forcing us toward Alexandria instead of Crete. It would take several days to reach Egypt, but the thought of working with the wind instead of against it was compelling. So was landing in Africa and just walking away from it all. My mind and inner ear yearned for land. My body begged for sleep. I was at war with my basic needs and worried about Anna. I asked her to at least take the wheel so I could go below and close the hatches.

She muttered something like, “Pleeeeez, just let me die.”

I let it go. It was just too damn bad if water was coming in through the hatches. I couldn’t leave the helm. We’d end up wallowing broadside to the waves or worse. I didn’t actually know what would happen but I wasn’t going to find out. Instead I gave the manual bilge pump handle a few good strokes every now and then.