Sofi Oksanen - Purge

“I went all the way to Turaida.”

“Where?”

“Turaida. You can see it from the embankment there.” “What embankment?”

“Where the cable car leaves from. Beautiful view. You can see to the other side of the valley from there. There’s a manor house and the Turaida castle.”

Pasha turned up the music.

“I went there by taxi. The manor house was a sanatorium -I took a taxi from there to Turaida.”

“What? Is that what took so long?”

“The taxi driver told me about the Turaida rose.”

Pasha hit the gas. Lavrenti’s voice trembled from vodka and emotion. Pasha turned the music up louder, probably so he wouldn’t be able to hear Lavrenti, who was leaning against Zara’s shoulder. The liquor on his breath smelled cold, but the voice that came pushing out of it was heavy with melancholy and longing, and suddenly Zara was ashamed of having recognized that in his voice. It wasn’t a person’s voice, it was her enemy’s voice.

“There was a grave there-the grave of the rose of Turaida. The grave of the faithful lover. A wedding couple was just leaving, and they left roses there. The bride had a white gown… They brought red carnations, too.”

Lavrenti’s voice broke. He offered the vodka bottle and Zara took a swig. Lavrenti dug the bread out from somewhere and offered her some. Zara broke off a piece. He had softened toward her. People pay less attention when they’ve softened. She might be able to slip out of Lavrenti’s hands. But if she tried to escape now, she would have to go somewhere else, not where Pasha and Lavrenti were going. And she couldn’t get there any other way.

Pasha laughed. “Does the rose of Turaida have blue eyes? Does she make the world’s best sashliki ?”

Lavrenti’s bottle hit Pasha on the forehead. The car swerved suddenly to the edge of the ditch and then across to the other side of the road and back again.

“You maniac!”

Pasha got the car back under control, and the trip continued, with Pasha ranting about his plans for Tallinn.

“And casinos like they have in Vegas. You just have to be fast, you have to be the first-Tallinn lotto, Tallinn casinos. Anything’s possible!”

Lavrenti drank his vodka, chewed his bread, offered some to Zara, and the bass from the stereo shook the car more than the potholes in the road. Pasha went on and on about his own Wild West-that’s what Tallinn was to him.

“You idiots don’t understand.”

Lavrenti puckered his brow.

“Pasha’s heart misses Russia,” he said.

“What? You’re crazy!”

Pasha smacked Lavrenti, then Lavrenti smacked Pasha, and the car was headed into the ditch again, and Zara tried to hide on the floor. The car swerved and wove, the woods flew by, black pines, Zara was afraid, there was a slurp of liquor-soaked spit, the smell of Pasha’s leather coat, the fake leather seats of the Ford, the pine tree air freshener, the car rocking, the squabbling continuing until it leveled off and Zara let herself drift into a doze. She woke up as Pasha pulled into the yard of a business associate. Pasha spent the evening visiting with his associate; Lavrenti ordered Zara to come with him to his room and got on top of her, repeating Verochka’s name.

That night, Zara carefully removed Lavrenti’s hand from her breast, crept out of bed, and leaned against the window latch. It looked like it would be easy to open. The road visible between the curtains was a thick, enticing tongue. In Tallinn, she might be in the same old locked room again. Things were going to have to change someday.

The next day they came to Valmiera, and Lavrenti bought her some prianiki cakes, and they drove from Valmiera to Valga. Pasha and Lavrenti didn’t talk any more than was absolutely necessary. Estonia was coming closer. The road itched and beckoned, but Estonia was already near. And she wouldn’t run away. Of course not. She couldn’t.

When they came to the border at Valga, Pasha dug a crumpled map out of his pocket. Lavrenti snatched it away from him. “Don’t go through the checkpoint. Go around it.”

The car rattled over the country road, past the wooden pillar that represented the border, and they were in Estonia. Lavrenti’s hand lay on Zara’s thigh, and suddenly she had a powerful urge to curl up in his arms and go to sleep. Her debt was so great that she had lost the ability to count it. Someday.

The night before, Lavrenti had promised that once Pasha got his casino business going, Zara could work at the casino and earn many times more than what she did now. She could pay it all off. Someday.

It was an accident, really.

She had made a few good videos in Tallinn. Or at least good enough that Lavrenti played them for himself when Pasha was out. Lavrenti said that Zara had eyes just like Verochka’s, just as blue. Pasha suspected that he was sweet on Zara and teased him about it. Lavrenti blushed. Pasha nearly died laughing.

A few of the videos were so good that Pasha showed them to his boss. The boss got excited about Zara. He wanted to meet her.

The boss was wearing two enormous signet rings and Kouros cologne. He apparently hadn’t washed his genitals for several days, because there were white clumps in his pubic hair.

The heels of Zara’s shoes were wrapped in gold and tied with a gold bow on the back. Their sharp pointed tips pinched her toes. Silver butterflies peeked out of her stockings at the ankles.

The boss put on the video and told her to do what was on the screen.

“I suppose you know you’re a slut?”

“I know.”

“Say it.”

“I’m a slut and I’ll never change. I’ve always been a slut and I always will be.”

“And where is this slut’s home?”

“Vladivostok.”

“What?”

“Vladivostok.”

“You said it wrong. This is your home. Here with your master and your master’s cock. A slut has no other home, and she never will. Say it.”

“Because I am a slut, my home is here, with my master’s cock.”

“Good. You almost got it right. Now say the whole thing.”

“I’ll never have any other home.”

“Why is this slut still dressed?”

She heard a snap. Maybe it came from outside. Or inside. The boss didn’t notice anything. A little snap, like the sound of a mouse’s back breaking, or a fish bone. It sounded a bit like the gristly crunch of a pig’s ear between your teeth. She started to undress. Her plucked, goose-bumped thighs shivered. Her German panties dropped to the floor; their delicate elastic lace fell in a heap like an empty balloon.

It was easy. She didn’t even have time to think about it. She didn’t have time to think about anything. The belt was just around his neck all of a sudden, and she was pulling on it with all her strength.

It was the easiest fuck ever.

She wasn’t sure if he was dead, so she picked up a pillow and held it over his face for ten minutes. She watched the familiar heavy ticking of time on the gold face of the clock. They had clocks like that in Vladikki. They must be made in Leningrad. The man didn’t move once. Not bad for a beginner. Very well done. Maybe she had a natural talent. The idea made her laugh. Ten minutes was enough time to think of all kinds of things-she had been slow at learning to read, and she had never been able to keep up during morning calisthenics, never had the posture that the teacher demanded, her Pioneer salute was never as snappy as the others’, and her school uniform was always bedraggled for some reason, even though she was constantly straightening it. She had never been good at anything right from the start, except for now. She looked at her own body reflected in the dark window, her own torso on top of the fat man, pressing the pillow, squashed with sleep, over the man’s face. She had been made to look at her own body so much that it was strange to her. Maybe a strange body worked better than your own body in some situations. Maybe that’s why it had gone so well. Or maybe it was just that she had become one of them, the kind of person that this man was.