Twisted (14 page)

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
, 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 ‘
’
¹⁵
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.

She looks at him and whispers, ‘I think we are done here, Michel. Let’s go back to the hotel …’

Totally mixed up, he gets up off his chair and mutters, ‘Of course … let’s go. Are you sure you don’t want to tell me what he said to you?’

Lena shakes her head and they leave.

The next day, Michel leaves. Lena decides to accompany him all the way to Kiev, to Borispol International. Michel’s cracked rib and injured arm make it really difficult for him to manage his luggage. Also, Lena still believes that he’s keeping his surprise proposal until the last moment, that right there in the airport he will go down on one knee, pull a little red velvet box from nowhere and make her the happiest woman in the world …

Seriously … what’s wrong with this woman?

Michel does get onto one knee when they arrive at the airport, but only to tie his shoelace. And the only vow he gives her is to call her when he gets home. When she comprehends that there will be no proposal, the tears blur her eyes.

‘Oh, don’t cry, baby. I will see you soon. Right?’

She nods her head, grateful for his not-so-piercing nature.

Another heartbreaking drama for Lena, which I very much doubt teaches her anything – again. She cries all the way back to Kherson. She has nothing left but to find a justification for why he didn’t propose to her (‘He is not ready yet’, or ‘He is just too scared of his strong feelings for me’).

She pulls herself together and concentrates on the trip to France.

Having lost the opportunity to buy the flat in Kiev, Natalia decisively jumps into research about how else she and Lena can lay out their money. This is one thing I guess I’ve always admired about my big sister – even though she is still angry with me for ruining that perfect investment opportunity that we could pull off only if all three of us threw money in, she never wasted a minute of her time on blame or regret, looking straight away for ways to solve the problem.

Since our return from Luxembourg, she’s been checking the local newspapers every day and spending hours at the Internet café digging for any tips or clues about what would work best for the amount of money she and Lena had.

A few days ago she overheard two old gossiping neighbours talking about one of their mutual friends, who was moving to Moscow to live with her boyfriend and was selling her business …

‘Can you believe it? Our bourgeoise madam peroxided her hair to a noxious white. She thinks it makes her look twenty again,’ one of the neighbours enthusiastically dished the dirt to the other.

‘But have you seen the boyfriend? At least ten years younger than her. He’s obviously after her money …’ splashed out of the other neighbour’s mouth.

Natalia politely butted into the conversation, interrogated the grannies, and a few minutes later was on her way to the business a few blocks away from our home.

It was a two-bedroom apartment on the first floor of a typical nine-storey apartment building (identical to the one that my family and all other post-Soviet-zone folk lived in), which had been turned into a not-so-fancy but clean and successful hair salon.

A metal staircase ran from the ground to a gap in the balcony wall, which was the main entrance. The balcony itself had been transformed into a little waiting area, which led to a room that was the men’s section. From there, a modestly sized passage led to the second room. It was considerably bigger than the first, fully equipped with washbasins, hooded hair dryers and big mirrors, and was reserved for the female clientele.

Natalia loved the scene and contacted the owner right away. Her name was Sophie. She was a very pleasant and intelligent woman (although the grannies were right – it did look like she overused the peroxide) and made Natalia feel like they had been good friends forever. Their conversation stayed warm and friendly, even while they negotiated the price.

An hour later, my sister had a deal she was happy with: the price was affordable and included the business, all the equipment, and the flat itself. Sophie then asked Natalia to stay for another cup of coffee and discuss a few more things about the salon’s current staff members.

‘You know, Natalia, I feel that I am kind of responsible for those people. And I will not sell my business if I am not sure I’ve protected them … they all are good people with fairly good skills …’

Natalia found this quite reasonable and agreed to sign a three-month employment contract for the staff. ‘And then, obviously, it will all depend on their professionalism and discipline,’ my sister reasoned, and they shook hands on the deal.

In any case, there was no salary involved as the staff worked on 30 per cent commission. It was a fair number, considering that the products, like shampoos and hair colours, were the salon’s responsibility. That way, Natalia and Lena could be sure that their stylists used quality products and were as motivated and interested in the success of the business as they were.

Natalia was very excited and kept sharing her dreams with Lena about how they would run their new business. When I caught one of their tête-à-têtes in the kitchen I couldn’t stop myself.
My inner green monster was out of control
.

‘Great idea, Nata! Your hairdressers are honestly going to give you your 70 per cent while you’re in France? Yeah, right! You are going to become businesswoman of the year.’

Natalia just shushed me, ‘No one was talking to you, Jul.’ And they went back to their discussion.

Nevertheless, she took my words into consideration and called our mother in Istanbul, asking her to come back and help them with the new business.

At first Mom protested, explaining that she knew nothing about hair and was scared that she wouldn’t be able to pull it off. But Natalia reassured her, explaining that the business needed a manager who would keep an eye on the staff and deal with the everyday admin work.

‘Besides, it’s been too long for you and dad to be living apart. You know it can’t last this way. This is a great opportunity for you to reunite,’ my sister added, and Mother didn’t resist for much longer. She did feel very lonely away from her family. So she agreed.

I’m finishing packing my bags as Natalia walks in to the room.

‘Rethink this, Jul. I lived in Turkey for five years. It’s not as good as your friend promises it is. Let’s go to France together. I will lend you the money. Lena and I will help you.’ Her voice is filled with genuine concern.

‘I don’t need your help! Leave me alone. I don’t want to add more troubles in your life, as you’re always saying I do.’ I continue throwing my clothes into the open suitcase on the floor.
This adds quite a dramatic effect to my words
.

Natalia sighs and sits down on the bed.

‘Don’t be like that, Jul. I care. We all care about you … and you know that.’

I try to avoid eye contact with her – I know she has expressions in her stash of manipulative tools that can be very convincing, ‘Nata, just leave me alone. I don’t have much time. I am telling you, I am going to Turkey and it’s not open for discussion … especially not with you.’

She jumps off the bed, swinging instantly from I-am-your-bestfriend-in-the-world to bitchy-furious. ‘Okay! You think you are clever? Fine, but just don’t run back here when you get into trouble. Again.’

The fact that I can make her lose it, even for a minute, makes me feel so good. I just calmly smile back at her: ‘Are you done?’

‘Julia, your cab is here.’ Father’s shout from the kitchen interrupts our clash. ‘Hurry up! Where is your luggage? I will help you to bring it down.’

I drag my suitcases and walk past Natalia without saying a word.

‘To the river port, please,’ I instruct the cab driver, and light a cigarette.

When I first hear about the transport Inna has chosen, I’m shocked. Almost two days on a small cargo ship that doesn’t take more than 36 passengers and that is going to sail through the waves – and possibly storms – of the Black Sea, doesn’t sound like a cracking plan at all. But after giving it a lot of thought I get that it’s not as bad an idea as it first looked. My suitcases can be as heavy as I need them to be, and I can take more than one, without paying anything extra. A one-way ticket is $80, twice or even three times cheaper than an air ticket. Even though our travel time will be much longer than if we flew, we still have cabins in which to sleep flat, and dining three times a day. And because it is summer, we can suntan on beach chairs on the deck. What’s more, it’s something I’ve never done before. I wouldn’t call it excitement, but I do have some kind of curiosity about what it feels like to be on the open sea.