Lola Smirnova - Twisted

Despite my constant comatose state, I settle on a plan of my own. During one of my nights out, I bump into Inna, one of my school friends. It turns out she is regularly contracting in Istanbul. When she hears about my situation, she suggests that I go on the next trip with her. She explains that no paperwork or waiting time is required to go there, and the ‘business’ is easy, describing it as a free-rider’s paradise. She is planning to go back in two weeks herself.

Just a few more shots of tequila with Inna and I make up my mind.

In the meantime, Lena’s Michel decides to come to Ukraine for a holiday. She is ecstatic – she distorts her interpretation of his visit in her usual manner, deducing that he is coming all the way here to propose to her.

Aargh… what a hopeless dreamer…

Natalia and I just roll our eyes and don’t even try to convince her not to draw such a forward conclusion so quickly.

Michel’s difficulties begin when he first starts to plan his vacation. Besides the fact that there is no functioning airport in Kherson, and that from Kiev he has to take a train, bus or taxi, turning a four to five-hour journey into a trek of 15 hours or more, the only hotel that he finds online is the three-star Soviet-era-pride inn, the Liner. When Michel sees the pictures of its rooms and ‘suites’ on the Internet, the scene plunges him into serious doubt. But the idea of spending some time with his Lena, and a chance to experience the country famous for its beautiful women, ancient and glorious cathedrals, and the spirit and taste of a life that was hidden by the iron curtain and soaked in communist utopianism for more than 70 years, keeps him firm about this adventure.

They both are very excited when he arrives, spending the days lollygagging and the nights partying.

Michel is getting the sought-after post-Soviet experience in full – from the local restaurants (including some trendy ones that even have menus written in English, where they serve salads drowned in mayonnaise, or chips with suspicious meat, proudly called sirloin steak, that float in a puddle of burned sunflower oil on the plate), to becoming familiar with the public toilets of ‘perestroika-collapse’ Ukraine.

When Michel gets off the train and waits for Lena, he realises that he very much needs to do a number two. He waits until Lena shows up, hurriedly hugs and kisses her on the cheek, asks her to watch his luggage and canters towards the sign – туалет [13] Russian, ‘Toilet’ – that is thoughtfully adorned with little stick figures of a man and a woman.

The toilet is a small, single-level brick block about 50 metres away from the central train station building. When Michel jumps inside, the stench hits him – a mixture of urine, crap and chlorine that burns his eyes, nostrils and throat. An old lady – the paymistress – sits in a small anteroom next to a little wooden table with a roll of greyish toilet paper and a pair of scissors in her hands. A metal plate with coins, a sign saying 50к, [14] Russian, short for ‘cents’ and a few pieces of evenly cut toilet paper folded next to each other decorate the table.

Michel searches his pocket, without taking his wondering eyes off the woman, grabs a handful of coins and places it on the plate. She glances at him, mutters ‘спасибо’ [15] Russian, ‘Thanks’ and hands him one of the toilet paper pieces. Michel slowly takes the sheet, staring at it, and starts shaking his head, knowing that it wouldn’t be enough for his morning evacuation. He thinks for a second, impatiently shifting from one foot to another, and then takes a €10 bill from another pocket. He waves the bill right in front of the old lady’s face while pointing at the roll in her hand. The woman smiles, takes the money and hands him the whole roll.

Michel, satisfied with himself, walks into the loo holding the toilet paper as if it’s some kind of trophy. The scenery inside makes him stop in a complete shock. There are no toilet seats – instead, there are only four tiled holes in the floor, separated by brick walls with no doors to give people any privacy. The floor around the holes is smeared with dirt, crap and urine; huge green flies hum around and enliven the picture.

Ha ha! Poor Michel! His spoilt European eyes never saw anything like that before!

The rest of his vacation goes quite pleasantly until the day before his departure.

He and Lena are walking back to his hotel after having a romantic dinner in one of the restaurants. At the hotel’s entrance they stop to have a cigarette. They’re busy discussing something, and don’t notice the teenager who walks out of the darkness and heads towards them. The young man asks for a cigarette, and when Lena pulls one out of the box, he thanks her and leaves.

A few minutes later, the same guy comes back, with another five yobbos of the same age, holding cudgels. They approach the couple too quickly for Lena and Michel to realise that they are in trouble. They punch Michel without any warning, throwing him onto the pavement and kicking him with their boots. Then one of them starts searching Michel’s pockets and pulls out his wallet and passport. Lena begs them not to take his passport and credit cards, hysterically explaining that they would not be able to use them anyway. The one who asked for a cigarette, probably the ‘big brother’, pulls a knife, points it at her and threatens, ‘Shut up bitch! Let’s see what you’ve got in your purse?’ They take all their cash, their watches and my sister’s gold earrings, but they listen to what Lena said and throw the passport and the cards back onto the ground. The one with the knife directs again, ‘Come on guys, let’s get out of here.’ Before they disappear, he scornfully utters, ‘Don’t cry, baby, your fuck will not grow poor; in the meantime, we also need to eat.’

Lena helps Michel off the ground and they both hobble to the hotel’s lobby, where she calls a cab and they go to the nearest hospital. The doctor in the emergency room checks Michel and X-rays the parts of his body that hurt the most. Turns out that he has a small crack in his rib, minor bruises all over his body, and broken glasses. He also twisted his wrist when they knocked him down onto the pavement.

The doctor gives Michel some painkillers, a sling for his arm and a written report for the police. Lena calls another cab and they go to the police station.

It is late, and the station is empty and quiet. When the officer on duty shows up, he looks at the couple as if they’ve disturbed his slumber. He tries to put some interest and concern onto his face while Lena tells their story, but he still can’t hide his testiness. When she finishes, he smirks, narrows his eyes and looks at my sister.

‘What is your working nickname, miss?’ he asks knowingly, staring at her.

Lena, thrown off balance, lifts her eyebrows. ‘Excuse me?’

‘Well, miss, what I see here is a slightly different version of the story you have just told me. It’s obvious to me that you are just some local prostitute, who works that area to hook up with the hotel guests. First, you wormed yourself into the confidence of this Mr Rich Foreigner, then you gave him away to the gang of young yobbos you work with. Am I right, miss?’ He pauses condescendingly, looking very satisfied with his deduction skills, and continues.

‘Would you still like to proceed with your statement and with letting us investigate this robbery? Or maybe you should go back to the hotel and fuck your client as you are supposed to, and stop wasting my time and the taxpayers’ money?’

Freaking Hercule Poirot!

The words shove Lena into shock and she can’t find words to answer him. Her face goes pale and her eyes fill with tears. ‘Lena, sweetheart, what is he saying? Why are you upset?’ Michel is so confused.