Bitter Sweet

by Mason N. Forbes

  ‘That’s right, Tina,’ Mike said, putting a hand under my chin. He gently lifted my head, looking into my eyes. ‘Every bit of sleaze that can be found will be dragged out. Jake, the bus driver, a man you met for a mere ten minutes, and Liz an unknown voice on the telephone, will their opinions be changed, be influenced?’

  Mike cupped my head in his hands. ‘I know you for what you are,’ he said. ‘But prejudice and public opinion are another matter.’

  ‘I can’t let this happen,’ I said, pulling my head back. ‘Where’s the recording device from Martha’s place?’

  ‘In the safe in my office along with the laptop. Everything from the recorder, all the surveillance stuff we did, all the texts and phone calls from Erjon’s phone, it’s all been copied and the originals are in my safe. Duplicates of everything are in another safe with my friend who lent me the equipment.’

  ‘You’ve been busy,’ I said, giving Mike a hug.

  ‘As soon as you’ve written down your statements, and I’ve recorded the girls’ stories, that will be duplicated and be placed, separately, in the two safes.’

  ‘Then we’d better get started.’

  16

  I helped Mike set up the camcorder on its tripod, whilst Ivonne prepped the girls as to what was wanted of them.

  Mike started; ‘I, Mike Marshall bear witness that to the best of my knowledge the following deposition is true and correct. No interference or coercion has been exerted. The deposition is freely given and is witnessed by Tina Thompson and Ivonne Adamoviča.’

  Mike looked at his watch. ‘It is 8.45pm, Wednesday the fourth of May, 2012.’

  Maria looked up in shock. ‘It’s already May? I’ve missed my mama’s birthday.’ She took hold of a cushion from the sofa and hugged it to her chest, rocking back and forth.

  After a while, Ivonne went over and squatted down beside her. ‘Maria?’ she said.

  Maria looked up.

  Ivonne pointed to the camera. ‘Can you go on?’

  Maria nodded, blew her nose and cleared her throat.

  She looked at the camera. ‘My name is Maria Vanev and I am twenty-one. I am from Bulgaria, from a village called Borino – it is dirt poor.’

  She stared at the camera for a moment. ‘It might have been better had I not been born,’ she said, and hugged the cushion. ‘I am a fool. Despite having heard the rumours, I fell for it.

  ‘It’s trust and the poverty. We have no money. Any travel is a luxury. We are trapped in poverty, forced to trust those we know and that is a weakness. The evil ones know exactly how to manipulate that vulnerability. I learnt that too late.

  ‘I’d heard that a woman from the next village had a contact for jobs in the West. I met her; she seemed like a normal person. I could see no reason not to trust her.’

  Maria looked at the other two girls. ‘We all trusted. Olga thought she knew what was happening. She is very pretty; she was approached to be the mistress of a rich man, just one man. She knew what that meant; she accepted that, the money on offer was too good.

  ‘For Yana it was a whirlwind affair. She met the boyfriend when he was home on holiday, persuaded her to come with him to the West. As soon as she arrived the boyfriend beat her, raped her and sold her into prostitution. A young girl, her first love affair . . .’

  It was base, vile. I’d heard of such stories before, but this was a whole different ballgame; this was tangible being in the presence of the victim. The tenderness of love and infatuation, the implicit trust, it was a wonder that Yana hadn’t gone insane. I summoned the courage to look at her. She sat with her hands knotted, staring at the floor. I glanced at Ivonne, my face frozen in shock. Mike had his eyes closed.

  ‘Maria,’ Mike said softly. ‘Please tell your story, okay? Yana and Olga will tell theirs later.’

  ‘Okay,’ Maria said, squeezing the cushion. ‘It had been a hard winter. My father had been injured in work. There was no sick pay. There was little, sometimes no money coming in. Then my little sister fell ill, she is eight. The little money saved went to pay for her medicines, but it wasn’t going to be enough.

  ‘I knew I had to look for work. That’s when I contacted Nataliya, the contact for nannies. The deal was €500 a month with free food and board. I knew if I worked hard and did not spend anything I could easily send home €400 a month.

  ‘I had to make my way to Smolyan, the next biggest town. There at the bus station two other girls were waiting.

  ‘Nataliya turned up. She asked for our passports. We handed them over, trustingly. What a mistake!

  ‘A van pulled up. I didn’t like the look of the driver – he was called Yuri – he had a shaven head, a big man with big muscular shoulders and arms. He glanced at us as if we were pieces of flesh being inspected. He ran his tongue around his lips. Nataliya told us to get into the back of the van. I thought she was going with us. She didn’t, but by that stage it was too late, we were locked in.

  ‘Later, I spent a long time wondering why she’d done it – a woman, selling other women. It’s against the laws of nature; women care and nurture. But when I learnt that she’d been trafficked and forced to recruit – the traffickers had her daughter – I realised that even nature and nurture are weaknesses the traffickers exploit.

  ‘Daylight began to fade. We drove for an hour and then Yuri pulled into a lay by. The cab of the van was separated by a metal panel with a window. I saw Yuri make a phone call. He looked annoyed and spat out of the side window.

  ‘Half an hour later the van started up and we soon reached the Greek border. The customs officer greeted Yuri by name. He held out our passports. The customs officer opened the top one and deftly removed a banknote. He did not bother to look at the passports, nor did he look into the back of the van.

  ‘That was the moment when my suppressed doubts connected to my instincts. We were being trafficked.

  ‘I looked at the other girls; their eyes reflected the same realisation. We didn’t speak, not wanting to give substance to our thoughts. Hope is a strange thing, because it can deceive. In my heart I knew I had been deceived, but by hoping, I deceived myself.

  ‘We had entered Greece, illegally. We were now inside the European Union. And we who live along its borders know full well that inside the European Union there are no border controls, at least not within the European landmass and within the Schengen Area. A freedom of movement which cut both ways, and I was on the wrong side of the cut.

  ‘The long day with all its tensions and fears faded in the darkness of the night with the hum of the tyres lulling us to sleep.

  ‘The sleep and the self-deception came to an abrupt end when the van stopped at a port on the Adriatic.

  ‘I awoke to the sound of the key turning in the lock of the back door. The doors were flung open. Yuri stood, grinning at us with two other men – stereotypes.

  ‘Yuri grabbed the girl nearest to him by the hair. She screamed. He struck her, full force, open handed across the face and she crumpled on to the floor of the van.

  ‘Yuri jumped into the van, kicking the girl to one side; he grabbed the girl opposite me by the hair. She whimpered as he dragged her to the back of the van. He shoved her out the back. She fell to the ground. One of the other thugs reached down, grabbed her hair and yanked her on to her feet.

  ‘Yuri turned to me. He grabbed my hair and ran me towards the back of the van, laughing. I tripped over the girl lying on the floor, and fell. I put my hands out, trying to cushion the fall. I yelped as my hands slid across the sharp stones on the ground. A boot came down on my right hand; pain shot through my hand and up my arm.

  ‘The thug grabbed my hair. “Get up,” he laughed, his boot still on my hand and pulled my hair.

  ‘The thug lifted his boot; I staggered to my feet, holding my hand. He twisted me around by the hair. I caught sight of a small ship. A hood was yanked over my head and I was pushed. I stumbled forward, blind. Another push, and so it went on until I tripped. I was jerked back up. I reached
out with my hands, touching a metal-guard rail and a boot landed on my backside. “Get your ass moving,” the thug cackled.

  ‘Maria,’ Mike interrupted. ‘Do you know the name of the ship?’

  ‘The Zyros.’

  ‘Can you go on?’

  ‘I had always dreamed of seeing the sea,’ Maria said. ‘Blues seas and white waves breaking on sandy beaches. Through the hood I smelled the salt, but also the stink of diesel and the stink of rot and decay.

  ‘We were pushed down a stairway; only the rails stopped us from falling. A door clanged shut. My hood was removed. I stood in front of a metal door. One of the thugs pulled it open and I was shoved into the tiny cabin, three metres by two. There was no window, just a light bulb behind a mesh screen. The room contained a bed with a grey and stained mattress. The only other object in the cabin was a dirty looking pot on the floor. The cabin stank of sweat, urine and faeces, and something else. It was the first time that I had smelt that smell, but it was often with me in the months which followed; fear.

  ‘Hesitantly, I ran my fingers over the mattress, unwilling to lie down upon it, but knowing that I had no choice.

  ‘The ship shuddered from bow to stern as the engines were run up, and with a tremor the boat began to move. Hours passed, hours of confinement, hours filled with dread, hours filled with thoughts as to what fate lay ahead. All of that day the ship trembled to the vibrations of the engines. Hope did not have a place in that cabin.

  ‘Towards evening – I still had my watch – the engines stopped and the boat rolled to the movement of the waves.

  ‘The silence was broken by the sound of steel doors being opened and closed. I feared the worst; our captors were coming to our cells. I heard shouting, followed by the sound of an engine. Not the dull thump of a ships engine, but of something with high revolutions at full throttle.

  ‘There were more shouts and the engine noise receded to a burble, overlaid by the noise of a chain running through cogs. After a while this stopped.

  ‘A scream split the air. Then a burst of raucous laughter. Whimpering, coming closer. Footsteps on the stairs, unsteady footsteps, followed by the tread of boots. Doors clanged open. Gasps and whimpers. Doors clanged closed.

  ‘Our numbers had just swelled. I lay back on the bed and stared at the flaking paint on the ceiling, my apprehension growing.

  ‘It wasn’t long before the door at the top of the stairway clanged open. Boots thumped down the stairs, but this time the door clanged closed.

  ‘I heard them talking. Yuri laughed, the others joining in.

  ‘I stayed on the bed, staring at the ceiling, not seeing it, my mind numb. The ship vibrated to the thud of the engines, but somehow, I sensed a silence emanating from every cell.

  ‘Boots squeaked on the metal floor. The door next to mine clanged open. A girl screamed. The men laughed; their laughter had a feral quality.

  ‘The first slap reverberated through the steel wall. A scream. The slaps continued, interspersed with the dull thump of heavier blows. The screams gave way to moans of pain. All of a sudden the screams returned; high pitched and magnified.

  ‘I held my hands to my ears, but the screams zipped into the core of my being.

  ‘The screams became moans and sobs. I knew what was happening. In all it happened three times.

  ‘The door clanged closed. Yuri’s voice echoed through the walls: “We’ll be back tomorrow night. Who will be the lucky girl?”

  ‘The boots went up the stairs; the door clanged closed. One of us had been beaten and raped. And in the ensuing silence there was no escape from what had happened and what was going to happen.

  ‘I brought my knees up to my chin, curling into a ball and rocked back and forth on the bed as my mind hovered on the verge of escaping into the realms of madness. Eventually, utter paralysis descended providing merciful respite.

  ‘The night passed. No solace or comfort could be given or received.

  ‘I do not know if our captors realised that they had created a living hell. There was no means of physical escape, but with nothing to do the mental anguish increased with every passing hour. Would it be my turn next?

  ‘The men came again that evening. My door remained shut. The screams and moans were less intense – we knew what to expect. At first I was relieved to have been spared, however, this was tinged with sadness for the victim. Finally, I began to wonder if it was not better to get it over, rather than to suffer the hell of waiting for the hammer to drop.

  ‘That night the steady beat of the engines was the single calming reality in my life.

  ‘The next day I awoke, knowing that there was no God. It was a singular and all encompassing realisation. No father figure exists, there is no whatever out there to provide solace or salvation, now or in the future.

  ‘I fell into utter despair. Maybe that helped me, because they came for me that night, the third night. I closed my eyes, and mercifully my mind went numb as my body suffered.

  ‘The next morning I awoke to the conclusion that I alone was the means for my own salvation.’

  ‘In total,’ Maria continued, ‘we were seven nights and eight days in that hell-hole of a ship. It was on that last night, well past midnight that the engines slowed and the ship anchored. Not in a port, but close to a shoreline. Two powerboats came. We were packed in amongst the bales of drugs and warned that if we created trouble a cold grey death awaited us.

  ‘The coastline of northern Italy loomed in the darkness. We waded ashore to be met by another van with different drivers. Had one set of depraved keepers been swopped for another? That fear kept us cowed.

  ‘The van sped off. This time there was no window between the cab and the rear compartment. We stopped twice, in the course of the day, on both occasions the drivers chose out of the way locations. One by one we were ordered to relieve ourselves in an adjoining field. We were given water and tasteless sandwiches.

  ‘After fourteen hours of confinement, the van stopped. The faint odour of the sea seeped in through the van’s doors, and the cold.

  ‘I heard the rumble of a large diesel engine and the crunch of tyres. The back doors were thrown open. We were ordered out and told to climb into the back of the lorry parked beside the van.

  ‘The drivers followed us up. One of them manoeuvred a pallet truck under the nearest pallet and moved it to one side, revealing a narrow walkway. We were ordered into the walkway, one driver preceding us. The walkway, towards the front of the lorry, opened into a small square. On three sides of the square, wooden boxes were stacked and secured on top of each other. One of the drivers opened the sides of the boxes at floor level. He ordered the first girl in the line into the box. I was next.

  ‘There was just enough room, lying flat, to turn from side to side. I tapped at the walls of the box – there was a dull thud. The boxes must have had some sort of double skin which meant that screaming and shouting would have no effect. The traffickers had thought of everything.

  ‘Eight hours later other men opened the boxes, unpacking their cargo. Again, the men had the same appearance as Yuri – we were flesh to be tasted.

  ‘Another van, this time a short ride to a big old terrace house.

  ‘Maria,’ Mike interrupted. ‘Do you by any chance know the address of the house?’

  ‘Yes,’ Maria said, ‘Hawthorne Road.’

  ‘A house number?’

  ‘No, it’s an end terrace.’

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘The front garden is concreted. That’s all I know. The van reversed up to the front door. When I got out I caught a glimpse of the next house in the street light, it had a small garden.

  ‘We were taken upstairs to a room with mattresses on the floor and told to sleep.

  ‘At first I couldn’t sleep. I had been wearing the same clothes for ten days, my hair was greasy, nor had it seen a comb in all that time. I didn’t know where my possessions where, nor did I know which country I was in. I guessed it was England, beca
use the lorry had been on a ferry.

  ‘I did sleep, only to be woken by the sound of a key turning in the lock. It was midday.

  ‘Two of our captors entered; again they had the same appearance as Yuri. They stood on either side of the doorway, allowing a smaller, wiry looking man with a shaven head to enter.

  ‘I knew instinctively that he was the boss. His cold grey eyes surveyed us, one at a time. He was inspecting the product, sizing up our potential. That was the first of many times I was to see Erjon. I learned later that he had been orphaned as a child, and had grown up, literally, fighting his way out of deprivation. In one of his many fights he had received a head injury which had never properly healed.

  ‘There were no pleasantries. Erjon informed us as to why we were here – to work as prostitutes.

  ‘One girl, the physically strongest of us, started to protest. Erjon nodded once to the men standing at the door and they lunged for the girl.

  ‘She sprinted towards the window and yanked the curtain back, revealing metal bars. Metal bars or not, it was too late anyway. The two thugs grabbed her by the arms and started to drag her back towards the door. She twisted and turned, kicking and fighting. One of them made a grab for her hair, but she was faster; she bit at his hand. Involuntarily, he let go of her wrist. Her arm, freed of the restriction swung upwards, striking Erjon on the side of the head.

  ‘Erjon was fast, amazingly fast. He danced backwards and in a blur of speed struck her in the face. The force of the blow threw her head to one side with a crack. For a moment I thought her neck had been broken. Her head lolled on her shoulders, but the two thugs continued to hold her upright.

  ‘Erjon turned and went outside, returning with a roll of tape. In no time at all, the girl was bound at the ankles and her wrists were wrapped in tape behind her back. Then she was dumped on to the floor.

  ‘At Erjon’s command one of the thugs left the room. He then placed a hand on his head where the girl had struck him and at the same time pulled out a bottle of pills and popped a couple into his mouth.