Tom Smith - Child 44

— My name is Tanya.

It helped, at times like these, to think of herself as someone else.

The man lit a cigarette and put his hand on Ilinaya’s knee. Not bothering to buy her a drink he tipped half his remaining vodka into one of the many dirty glasses surrounding him and pushed it towards her. She toyed with the glass, waiting for him to say something. He finished his drink, showing no sign of wanting to talk. Trying not to roll her eyes, she pushed for a little conversation.

— What’s your name?

He didn’t reply, reaching into his jacket pocket, rummaging around. He pulled out his hand, his fist clenched shut. She understood this was a game of sorts and that she was expected to play along. She tapped his knuckles. He turned his fist upside down, slowly extending his fingers, one by one…

In the middle of his palm was a small nugget of gold. She leaned forward. Before she could get a good look he closed his hand and slipped it back into his pocket. He still hadn’t said a word. She studied his face. He had bloodshot, boozy eyes and she didn’t like him at all. But then she didn’t like many people and certainly none of the men she slept with. If she wanted to get fussy she might as well call it quits, marry one of these locals and resign herself to staying in this town forever. The only way she was going to return to Leningrad, where her family lived, where she’d lived all her life until being ordered to move here, to a town she’d never even heard of, was if she could save up enough money to bribe the officials. Without any high-ranking, powerful friends to authorize the transfer, she needed that gold.

He tapped her glass, uttering his first word.

— Drink.

— First you pay me. Then you can tell me what to do. That’s the rule, that’s the only rule.

The man’s face fluttered as if she’d tossed a stone onto the surface of his expression. For a moment she saw something beneath his bland, plump appearance something unpleasant, something which made her want to look away. But the gold kept her looking at him, kept her in her seat. He took the nugget from his pocket, offering it. As she reached out and picked it from his sweaty palm he closed his hand, trapping her fingers. It didn’t hurt but her fingers were trapped all the same. She could either surrender to his grip or pull her hand out without the gold. Guessing what was expected she smiled and laughed like a helpless girl, letting her arm go slack. He released his grip. She took the nugget and stared at it. It was the shape of a tooth. She stared at the man.

— Where did you get it?

— When times are tough, people sell whatever they’ve got.

He smiled. She felt sick. What kind of currency was this? He tapped the glass of vodka. That tooth was her ticket out of here. She finished her drink.

Ilinaya stopped walking.

— You work in the mills?

She knew he didn’t but there weren’t any houses around here except mill-worker houses. He didn’t even bother to reply.

— Hey, where are we going?

— We’re almost there.

He’d led her to the railway station on the edge of town. Though the station itself was new it was set in amongst one of the oldest districts, made up of ramshackle one-room huts with tin roofs and thin wood walls, huts lined up side by side along sewage-stinking streets. These huts belonged to the workers at the lumber mill, who lived five or six or seven to a room, no good for what they had in mind.

It was freezing cold. Ilinaya was sobering up. Her legs were getting tired.

— This is your time. The gold buys you one hour. That’s what we agreed. If you take away the time I need to get back to the restaurant that leaves you twenty minutes from now.

— It’s around the back of the station.

— There’s just forest back there.

— You’ll see.

He pressed forward, reaching the side of the station and pointing into the darkness. She pushed her hands into her jacket pockets, caught up with him, squinting in the direction he was pointing. She could see train tracks disappearing into the forest and nothing else.

— What am I looking at?

— There.

He was pointing at a small wood cabin to one side of the railway track not far from the edge of the forest.

— I’m an engineer. I work on the railways. That’s a maintenance cabin. It’s very private.

— A room is very private.

— I can’t take you back where I’m staying.

— I know some places we could’ve gone.

— It’s better like this.

— Not for me it isn’t.

— There was one rule. I pay you, you obey. Either give me back my gold, or do as I say.

Nothing about this was good except for the gold. He stretched out his hand, waiting for the gold to be returned. He didn’t seem angry or disappointed or impatient. Ilinaya found this indifference comforting. She began walking towards the cabin.

— Inside you get ten minutes, agreed?

No reply — she’d take that as a yes.

The cabin was locked but he had a set of keys and after fumbling for the right one struggled with the lock.

— It’s frozen.

She didn’t respond, turning her head to the side and sighing to indicate her disapproval. Secrecy was one thing and she’d already presumed he was married. But since he didn’t live in this town she couldn’t understand what his problem was. Perhaps he was staying with family or friends; perhaps he was a high-ranking Party member. She didn’t care. She just wanted the next ten minutes over.

He crouched down, cupped his hands around the padlock and breathed on it. The key slipped in, the lock clicked open. She remained outside. If there wasn’t going to be any light the deal was off and she’d keep the gold to boot. She’d already given this guy more than enough time. If he wanted to waste it on an expedition to nowhere that was up to him.

He stepped into the cabin, disappearing into the darkness. She heard the sound of a match being struck. Light flickered from the heart of a hurricane lamp. The man cranked up the lamp and hung it from a crocked hook sticking out from the roof. She peered inside. The cabin was filled with spare track, screws, bolts, tools and timber. There was a smell of tar. He began clearing one of the work stations. She laughed.

— I’ll get splinters in my bum.

To her surprise he blushed. Improvising, he spread his coat across the work surface. She stepped inside.

— A perfect gentleman…

Normally she’d take off her coat, maybe sit on the bed and roll down a stocking, make a performance of it. But with no bed and no heating all she planned on allowing him to do was to lift up her dress. She’d keep the rest of her clothes on.

— Hope you don’t mind if my jacket stays on?

She shut the door, not expecting it would make much difference to the temperature, which was almost as cold inside as it was out. She turned around.

The man was much closer than she remembered. She caught sight of something metallic coming towards her — she didn’t have time to work out what it was. The object connected with the side of her face. Pain shot through her body from the point of impact travelling down her spine to her legs. Her muscles went slack; her legs slumped as though her tendons had been snipped. She fell back against the cabin door. Her eyesight blurred, her face felt hot, there was blood in her mouth. She was going to pass out, lose consciousness but she fought against it, forcing herself to stay awake, focusing on his voice.

— You do exactly as I say.