She wrote letters begging for help, to the Red Cross, the government and even the president. Endless days would pass while she waited for an answer – each time she opened the envelopes with trembling hands, her breath stuck in her throat, only to read, once again, the disappointing words: “The search will resume at the first opportunity.”
The abductors no longer called.
Apprehension tortured her, causing the woman to assume the worst. Faith was the only thing left that helped her endure the long and painful days and nights.
She waited and prayed – sometimes, so long and so hard that she prayed herself into oblivion, until she lost consciousness. She disappeared from the real world, seeing apparitions, or maybe they were just dreams – she could not tell the difference. When she came back, she was amazed how clearly she remembered all the details of her strange travels. She entered into someone’s unknown body and flew over the Earth. She watched the surroundings through someone else’s eyes. She saw her daughter, and she knew that her daughter was alive. She felt it almost physically. The hallucinatory journeys were so confusing, but satisfying. They were feeding her.
She saw the Almighty, who appeared and spoke to her without words. He was fatherly - caring and incredibly calm, instilling a sense of hope in her and faith that her daughter was alive.
After these dreams and visions, she came back to the real world with an unwavering sense of confidence. What was happening on the other side fueled her. From that other world, she drew new strength to live on.
January 1995
Grozny, Chechnya
The nights became especially difficult – the impenetrable darkness lit only by a kerosene burner, that made everything seemed even more eerie. As each endless night came in, I turned into a cave dweller. The room became my tomb. January came to an end – If I had a calendar, I could cross the fourth month of my captivity out of my life.
It was wasting away – minute by minute, I was losing it pointlessly. My situation had been bad enough, but the war made it so much worse. A gang of thugs had kidnapped me in the hope of a quick and easy score, but they had miscalculated badly. My mother didn’t have the money they wanted, and they didn’t foresee the arrival of a protracted and brutal war. Although, it was possible that they were well informed about it, long before its arrival.
The Chechen army consisted of many different units and groups, large and small. Each was supposed to report to an assigned field commander, but some groups didn’t obey anyone. They committed acts of sabotage, or pursued their own criminal ends – the sale of weapons, drugs, and slaves, as well as trafficking people in and out of the country. The war gave them cover and a pretext for their actions.
I guessed they didn’t know what to do with me now. To make public phone calls to Russia from the ruined city, under the constant threat of falling mortar shells – that wasn’t an option. The main post office building was bombed and destroyed long ago. Russian troops were moving deeper into the country and occupying cities and towns. The losses on both sides were enormous.
I was lucky. My captors were religious fanatics. They didn’t smoke or drink alcohol – I never heard a drunken brawl or a feast. How much more horrible it would have been with heavily-armed drunk men in the apartment, angry and holding a hostage in the next room. I would not have survived a week.
In moments of despair, I dreamed that a bomb would fall right onto this apartment, and smash the whole thing to hell, with me in it. My perpetual fear of the unknown was leading to a desire for someone to end this miserable existence. I drove away my own thoughts of
suicide – in my heart I still hoped to leave here one day – but what a relief it would be for all this to just suddenly… stop. Every time I thought out all kinds of options for salvation and convinced myself that it would happen soon. But I also did not know how much longer I could stand this existence.
I comforted myself with the thought that I would sooner or later be swapped in a prisoner of war exchange. Or the Russians would eventually capture the whole of Chechnya, so it would be easier for me to find the way out. Or there would be someone – some compassionate local – who would report the location of the captive to the Russian authorities. I was not even close to my goals. My dreams of escape were just that – daydreams.
Left alone in the room, I was able to live in a fantasy, waiting for rescue or some elaborate escape. During the past few months, I had been able to somehow adapt to the conditions imposed on me. It was a temporary arrangement, designed to help me survive this time, and not go insane or kill myself.
The small gang of ten people, who I had come to know by face, was growing and changing. A few had died, and others had been wounded and could no longer fight. I became accustomed to seeing the same people again and again, especially Aslan, who seemed more or less
good-natured. I had learned the demeanor of each of them. I could distinguish their voices and footsteps through the door.
But then the new faces appeared. The new people brought new fears. My heart would stop at the sight of the bearded and unkempt mujahideen. There were only a few of them – there was no mercy in them at all, and perhaps no humanity. Their eyes were blank and hard – they had come here to kill and to die, if that was Allah’s will. They spoke yet another indecipherable language. I could not understand a word they said, but I could feel the cruelty emanating from them.
Sometimes one of them would open the door to my room, stand at the threshold, and stare at me. I would pretend to be asleep, my body motionless on the bed, my face to the wall. I couldn’t move. Inside I would shake in terror – I hoped that he could not see me trembling. I just prayed that soon the door would close, and I would be left alone. The fear settled inside me, and I could not overcome it. It was rapidly destroying me.
***
Outside, the night came, and impenetrable darkness enveloped my already hopelessly gloomy room. Behind the door there were voices and laughter. In the pitch black I lay on the bed, my head covered with a pillow, trying to fall asleep, just so I wouldn’t have to hear the ominous sounds behind the wall. More than anything, I was irritated by their cheerful mood.
My brain refused to relax, and my racing heartbeat would not let me sleep. My ear was trained by now – even muted by the pillow, I could recognize all of the sounds in the apartment. Suddenly I heard a painfully familiar rustle. Someone cranked the key in the lock. I held my breath.
A man entered the room and closed the door behind him. Footsteps quietly approached. I no longer pressed the pillow over my ears. Now I listened – I listened with my entire body, my whole being. I could hear the distinct sound of a kerosene lamp placed on the floor.
I sat up, pushing the pillow aside. A circle of eerie yellow light came from the lantern, pushing the darkness to the corners. In its sinister glow, he came straight toward me. He was rank with the smell of unwashed flesh. His eyes seemed to glare red with hellfire, his face framed by a jungle of overgrown black hair.
I could not distinguish the features of his face – he was huge black mass, coming right at me, unbuttoning his pants on the way. He didn’t say a word.
I was engulfed by a fire from inside my body – it was fight or flight, but there was nowhere to run. Adrenaline surged through my system. Terror kicked into gear something I never expected – aggression. I didn’t even wait for him to reach me. I attacked.
I jumped out of the bed and into the corner of the room. I picked up the tape recorder – my salvation for so long but useless now that the electricity was cut – and threw it at him. As if that could even slow him down. He was a monster – the recorder bounced off his chest and fell to the floor.
He kept coming, his face blank, eyes like the living dead. I kicked him and punched at him. I couldn’t see anything in front of me, just my arms, my knees and feet, flying forward, churning, striking at this huge mass of flesh. I attacked him with everything I had – all of the helplessness of my existence mobilized and directed at this one targe
t.
The two of us were like one big tangle – a twisted mass of anger and venom, cruelty and hate. No cry for help escaped from me – I silently fought with all my being, and I did not care if I lived through it. A sudden sharp slap across my face burned my skin like hellfire, and threw me backwards. I hit the wall and fell onto the floor.
I seemed to lose consciousness and become immersed in a black empty abyss, just for a split second. An instant later I woke up, rushing again into the unequal battle. But I was no longer able to do it. I was on the floor, my hands restrained over my head, my body crushed under the weight of this disgusting brute. I could not move, could not breathe, and was just trying to dodge my face from the foul rank breath of the mujahid. I sobbed silently, the salty tears flowing into my mouth.
The huge body moved on top of me, trying to satisfy its pleasure, violently tearing my flesh from the inside. I felt no pain – I just wanted it to end. Finally, the man’s body trembled. His animal desire satiated, he weakened. A moment later, he got up, and I started breathing again.
Without a word, he left the room, leaving me alone, humiliated and disgraced, torn to pieces. My lips were bleeding, left wrist was covered in blood, but I still did not feel any physical pain. A strong sense of aversion filled me.
I pulled the pillowcase off the pillow and began to carefully wipe away the traces of his alien and stinking residue from between my legs. I jumped up and down, trying to drive the last remnants of him from my body.
I was crushed, flat and dead, as if someone had ripped my soul out and there was nothing left inside but emptiness. And yet, even in the immediate aftermath, even while in shock, my desire to escape remained powerful. It was still there – I could feel it.
I wouldn’t let this destroy me. Despite everything, I would not allow myself to lose my mind.
* * *
In my world, I had no friends.
I was one person, alone among my enemies. But there are moments in life that a person cannot survive by herself. I had reached my limit. I could not handle anything more. I wanted to believe that Aslan was brought into my life for a reason. Without his help, I wasn’t going to make it. Whatever feelings Aslan had for me, I needed him to act on them now – he was the most compassionate and kind among them all.
All this time, I had suffered and cried alone. But now my faith in my own strength was shaken. I could not withstand the next onslaught – and I was on the verge of insanity.
The next night Aslan came to my room. I was waiting for him and I could not resist. For the first time, I cried in front of him, desperately cried for his help. I broke down. I begged and I threatened him. I sobbed like a child and I yelled in despair.
“I’m going to kill myself!”
I did not know what effect it had on him. He was impossible to read. Maybe it was a coincidence, and he had been making efforts on my behalf all along. Or maybe he finally took pity on my plight right then.
He smoothed his beard staring through me with his foxy grin.
“You will be moved tomorrow, to another place,” he said. “You're leaving in the morning. There, you will be safe.”
For a moment, I was positive that a guardian angel was watching over me. Aslan couldn’t let me go or help me escape, but at least I would be far from this place.
Somehow I had penetrated into the heart of this man. I felt sure that sooner or later he would help me get home.
I could not sleep, thinking about where I would be the next day. I didn’t care – I just wanted to leave this gloomy apartment. There was no way to escape from it. I tried to drive away the thoughts of hopelessness, in order to keep my sanity. I had to have faith. I listened to the sounds behind the wall, lying in the dark on the bed waiting and ready to leave at any moment. Dawn had not yet come when I heard a furtive movement outside my room.
Aslan came in without making a sound, lighting his way with a burning candle. He always moved quickly and silently. As if he was on the prowl. He not only looked like a fox, he had the same habits as one. I was ready. Aslan sat on the edge of the bed, and even the old bed didn’t creak under him. He stroked his beard as always and his eyes gleamed in the dim light. In the air, I felt a weight – this moment was important. I froze in frustration:
“Something has changed? I'm staying here?”
He shook his head. “No. Just calm down. I made a promise to you, and I will fulfill it. But I want to warn you. As a friend.”
He looked like a cold-blooded killer once again. Mercy was replaced by the cruelty in his eyes.
“This is for your own good. During the trip, if we run into a Russian checkpoint, you’d better sit quietly, or better, pretend to be asleep. If you cry or ask for help… it will be bad. They will start a shootout and you’ll be the first one to die. Your mother will also die. I can’t do more for you than tell you this.”
For the first time in the many days and nights of my captivity, I felt somewhat happy, if only for a short while. It was a relief to be taken away from that terrible place, which will forever leave an ugly scar in my soul. I was as grateful for Aslan’s care as the abused and hungry dog is grateful when he is thrown a piece of bread. It was my small victory. My soul was tormented, but I continued to live, no matter what.
I did not need much time to get ready – all of my meager possessions would fit in two hands. Except for the pink robe, which was bulky and heavy, but I did not want to part with it. It was warm and cozy. Although now I only wore the long blue dress, sometimes I used the warm robe – when it was cold. I packed it in the plastic bag together with the black square of my old, folded mini-dress, which I had kept under the pillow until now. It took me about a minute to get my other belongings together – a few hygiene items, which had been a real treasure for me.
I had been ready to leave the night before, and now was looking forward to this exciting moment. I could not see myself in the mirror, but I could easily imagine my strange appearance. If not paying attention to my light green eyes, I could easily pass for a local woman. The long blue dress covered my body, and my blond hair was hidden under a headscarf. At the moment I did not care much about my looks – I could not wait to leave this godforsaken unfortunate place from which there was nowhere to go except the cemetery. I hoped that new place might bring me a chance to escape. I wanted to believe.
Aslan led me out of the dark apartment, through the even darker hallway, and outside to the green military SUV that was parked, already started up, in front of the building. There were men inside the vehicle – a driver and Shorty. The rear seat was taken by me and Aslan.
Once again, I was driven in a car into the unknown. I sat by the window, leaning my forehead against the cool glass. Outside, it was very dark, but I felt the approach of dawn. I watched as we left the suburbs, leaving behind a few of Khruschev's five-story apartment buildings, the old hulks flowing backwards and disappearing into the darkness. The car bounced up and down on the pot-holed road, not giving me a second to relax and soak up the serene beauty of the pre-dawn. I missed the world terribly, and I looked with pleasure out the window, trying to catch a glimpse of open nature. I didn’t know when, or if, I would ever see it again.
Spring was approaching. Outside the window there was a glimmer of dawn. Life went on, and what happened was not up to me. The great Chechen land was pockmarked, burned, and ripped by bomb explosions and massive gunfire.
In the midst of so much destruction, who would care about a single, lost, tortured soul?
I was torn by two opposites. On the one hand, if I tried to shout for help at the military checkpoint, I might be saved. On the other hand, if I did that, I might cause a gunfight and then I would just be killed. The militants were moving from one place to another under the guise of innocent civilians. I could tell by the way they looked. None of them carried an exposed weapon. I guessed that I was with them in the car playing the role of someone’s wife or sister.
The excitement overwhelmed me. What should I do? What if
this was a chance? What if it was my last chance?
The trip was very long – about an hour or more. At dawn, the blurred landscapes outside the window began to turn into three-dimensional objects. On both sides of the road there were sparsely growing trees, with foggy mountains on the horizon. The wild country around us was dark gray – the trees had not blossomed yet. We passed a lone house from time to time – they all seemed empty and abandoned. The people had fled deeper into the countryside to escape the war.
I was tense now. The car rolled quickly on the bumpy side roads in the gloomy dawn, as I prayed to be stopped by a military patrol. My heart beat crazily. I was ready to explode and didn’t even consider pretending to be asleep. On the contrary, my eyes were wide open, scanning for movement, for soldiers, for anything. I had decided, for myself, for everyone – I would scream for help at the first Russian army checkpoint. For once, my actions would seal all of our fates.
Time passed, and nothing was happening. The militants kept quiet, not speaking a word. The gray morning did not get any lighter. Everything was shrouded in a thick, ominous fog. The spirit of war was in the air and made it heavy. Would I manage to survive this nightmare? When would it be over? And how would it end?
CHAPTER SIX
March 1995
Gurchuloy, Chechnya
Soon, the car entered a village. The vehicle moved slowly along the muddy narrow road between rows of tightly packed houses. I was struck by the high green iron fences. The homes stood close to each other and each house was protected by one of these iron barriers. Each of the fences was connected to the next, almost all of them painted green, and this made it seem like we were driving past one long wall of solid iron. Behind them, I could just see the roofs of the houses, covered with slate. From the ground to three feet up, everything was caked in dark gray dirt. I could only guess what was going on behind the high iron railings.
Girl, Taken - A True Story of Abduction, Captivity, and Survival Page 10