Trafficked

by Kim Purcell

  “Come on.” The boy pulled her by the elbow, she jumped up, and they ran down the aisle, away from the bee.

  The bus jerked to a stop. He grabbed a pole and steadied her. Through the window, she saw the Russian store across from the Whole Foods Market where Lillian bought all her organic things. This was her stop! She had to get off. The doors started to close and the bus rolled forward.

  She ran to the front. If she got lost, she’d be in a lot of trouble. “Stop!” The driver put on the brakes. The doors opened and she ran out.

  The silver purse—had she left it? The bus was pulling away from the curb. She yelled to stop the bus and then realized the strap was still twisted around her wrist.

  She searched for the boy on the bus. He probably thought she had mental problems after that. He was standing by the window, grinning at her. He lifted up a hand in a wave and made a face.

  She still hadn’t introduced herself, but maybe it didn’t matter. She waved and laughed with him, forgetting for a moment to hide her teeth.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The moment Hannah stepped into the Russian store, she felt comfortable, safe even, because everywhere she looked, she saw something familiar.

  A thin layer of smoke filled the room from the lack of air circulation. She gazed through the smoke at the cookies and orange juice with Russian labeling, and above her head, at the New Year’s garlands, pink fabric flowers, and Russian dolls. She breathed in the smells of vinegar eggs and salty fish and lard and felt for a moment she was back in the market of Chişinău.

  A pretty woman in her mid-thirties with dyed blonde hair, dark roots, blue eyes, and thick makeup was setting out trays of sea bass and skewered chicken. Lillian had told her not to say anything to this woman. Apparently she was a busybody who would cause her trouble. “You don’t want to get arrested,” Lillian had said. “The INS could pick you up anywhere. Or they might knock on our door one morning and we’ll have no choice but to give you to them.”

  Hannah found the madeleines and placed them on the counter. The woman finished organizing the trays and finally looked up. “What do you want?” she asked in Russian.

  Hannah ordered the salami and coleslaw that Lillian had put on her list.

  “Nothing more?” the woman demanded.

  Hannah had spotted the spicy carrot salad, the same kind her babushka made, in the glass refrigerator case. “Can I have some carrot salad?” she asked.

  The woman put her hands on her hips. “Do you think I’m going to take it out for you?”

  Hannah opened the refrigerator and pulled out the smallest container of carrot salad. Lillian would want a receipt, but if she complained about the extra three dollars, it would give Hannah a good opportunity to ask about her wages.

  The woman gave her a fork. “I’ve never seen you before,” she said.

  Hannah remembered Lillian’s warning not to speak to this woman. “It is my first time in this shop,” she confirmed, stepping away from the counter. She opened the lid to the carrot salad, took a bite, and immediately regretted spending the money. The salad was at least three days old, and the woman had added too much vinegar and not enough sugar or red pepper spice.

  “You are Lily’s girl,” the woman said, as if it was written on her forehead.

  Hannah forced herself to swallow. She wiped the corners of her mouth with the tip of her finger and shut the container. “How do you know?”

  “She brings this purse,” she said, waving her hand at the purse Hannah held. Hannah had never seen Lillian use it, but maybe this woman had an amazing memory. “I’m Berta.” She continued, “Your name?”

  She started to say Hannah, but then remembered, “Elena.”

  Berta asked, “Where are you from? Not Russia. Ukraine?”

  “No,” Hannah said, not thinking.

  “Her husband is from Ukraine. Sergey. He is your uncle?”

  “Yes,” she said, realizing her mistake.

  “You don’t sound like him.” Berta narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “You’re not Ukrainian.”

  Hannah thought she could just say that she’d grown up in Moldova but decided it was best to nothing.

  Berta continued, “He said he’s going to bring your whole family.”

  “Who said that?”

  “Your uncle.” Berta gave her a funny look.

  Why would Sergey have said he was bringing her whole family? Was it just a lie for this busybody? Or was he going to bring her babushka too? Maybe her uncle was already here. Then she remembered what the bad agent had told her, that her “sick uncle” had not listened.

  “You don’t look like your uncle either,” Berta said, blinking her long eyelashes, which had so much mascara on them that they stuck together. At first Hannah thought Berta was talking about her real uncle, but then realized she meant Sergey. “You’re a beautiful girl,” she said, gazing up and down Hannah’s body. “Good thing he’s your uncle. Otherwise, that Liliya, she would never let you stay.”

  Hannah wished she’d worn her sweat suit instead of the monkey T-shirt and blue slacks Babulya had bought her. She crossed her arms over her breasts. “Why?” she asked.

  “You must know your uncle, he’s got eyes for the women.”

  Hannah rolled her eyes like she knew. “Oh, that.”

  Berta leaned in, whispering, “Last year, he had a very open affair with a socialite. Not as beautiful as his wife. I don’t know why Liliya stayed. Must be the money.” She shrugged. “I haven’t heard anything lately, but these men, they don’t stop once they start. One cherry is never enough.” She laughed.

  Lillian’s extra cell phone started to ring from the little purse. “Excuse me,” Hannah said, unzipping the purse and pulling out the phone. It said “Home.” Lillian was calling her. Hannah’s face turned red. Now that she knew all these things, she didn’t know how to act. If she answered in the store, Lillian might suspect the woman had been gossiping. Best to go outside and say she was waiting for the bus.

  The phone rang insistently in her hand. She hoped she remembered how to answer it. Lillian had told her that all she had to do was push the talk button, but she’d never had a cell phone. She wondered if she could call Moldova on it, but figured it was probably blocked like the home phone. In any case, Lillian would know if she tried. Best to use a pay phone once she had her wages.

  It rang again. Berta looked at her curiously.

  She hurried toward the door, but before she got there, a sign on the bulletin board by the door grabbed her attention. Free English classes! On the sign, there was a phone number. She stared at it, memorizing it. Lillian had to let her go. After all, it was free.

  She ran outside and answered the phone.

  “Where are you?”

  “I’m waiting for the bus.”

  “Well, hurry,” Lillian barked, then hung up the phone.

  Chapter Twenty

  Hannah rushed through the front door of the house, placed her shoes in the closet, and put on her slippers. Feeling like she’d accomplished something big, she hurried down the hall with the madeleines outstretched in one hand.

  At the entrance to the kitchen, she heard Lillian and Rena talking in the dining room, and it sounded serious. Hannah slowed down. She’d met Paavo’s wife just once before, and she knew why Paavo had joked that Rena would kill him if he didn’t come home for dinner. She was a tiny Russian lady, but she was as sharp as a paring knife.

  “I won’t put up with it,” Lillian was saying. “If he cheats again, I’m leaving him.”

  Hannah froze. This was not a conversation Lillian would want her to overhear.

  “That’s ridiculous,” Rena said. “How will you support yourself?”

  “As soon as I pass the USMLE, I’ll get a residency. Doctors make a lot of money in Ame
rica. Why do you think I’m studying all the time?”

  “You’ve been studying for years.” Rena laughed. “Anyway, Lilichka, I wouldn’t worry about her and Sergey. If he cheats, does it really matter? He’s not going to leave you for her.”

  Lillian hummed in semi-agreement. “Still,” she said.

  Who were they talking about? Had Sergey found a new woman?

  “But I wouldn’t trust her with my children,” Rena added.

  Children? Why would this new woman be with their children?

  “What do you mean? She’s good with children. You can’t argue about that,” Lillian said. A teacup clanked in a saucer.

  “She’s illegal and she’s gorgeous. Those eyes?” It sounded as though Rena were attracted to this woman. “If she decides she doesn’t like cleaning your floors and wiping snotty noses, maybe she wants to make more money, she can go to any escort service, you know. And then she can take your children and sell them. You might never see them again.”

  They’re talking about me!

  “Sell them?” Lillian’s voice rose. “What do you mean?”

  Hannah’s mouth dropped open with indignation. It was outrageous. She would never sell a child—what did they think she was?

  “I don’t want to say it, but Maggie is a beautiful child. If the wrong man saw her, I don’t know, maybe he could talk to the girl, become friends with her, you know. Then your Maggie, she would be in danger.”

  Hannah gripped the counter. She resisted the urge to go in the dining room and shove that woman off her chair. How could anyone say that?

  “Rena, the girl isn’t all that bright, but she wouldn’t sell a child,” Lillian said, sort of defending her.

  “I’m not saying she would, but she’s already shown you that she’s shifty.”

  She hadn’t done anything “shifty” since the first day, Hannah thought, since she threw out the sirok bars. She wanted to burst into the room to defend herself, but then they’d know she’d been eavesdropping and she’d look even shiftier.

  “I don’t know,” Lillian said uncertainly. It sounded like Rena was convincing her.

  “You don’t really think a girl like that is going to want to clean and watch children for very long, do you?”

  Hannah frowned. She wasn’t some kind of supermodel. She’d never been all that remarkable. Katya had the blonde hair and the tall, skinny body.

  “Maybe not,” Lillian agreed.

  “Paavo would pay a lot of money for her,” Rena said. “And you know, it’s dangerous to have an illegal working for you right in your home. If the police come . . .”

  Couldn’t Lillian see what she was doing? This horrible woman wanted Hannah to work for them so they could make money off of her.

  “Sergey would never agree.”

  “Of course he wants her,” Rena said, laughing that mean laugh of hers.

  “Come on, Rena. He promised he’d take care of her if anything happened,” Lillian said.

  Who had he promised? And when? If anything happened? Plenty had happened. Too much in the last year. Her parents had been killed. Her uncle had gone missing. They had gotten an eviction notice. Maybe Vladi was working for Sergey in Ukraine and Sergey had promised that he’d take care of Hannah if anything happened. Or maybe it had nothing to do with her uncle. Maybe Olga had taken pictures of her and other girls, secretly, and he’d picked her from them, but then who would he have promised? Babulya would have told her if she’d talked to him.

  Rena continued, “You can handle having a beautiful girl in your house?”

  Lillian cleared her throat. “I’ll deal with it.” She sounded annoyed. “She’s not a fast worker and she’s terrible at cleaning, but the children like her and Michael’s finally taking his naps. Already, I’ve gotten more done in the last two months than I did in the last two years since Michael was born. This is why I haven’t passed the test yet—I need more time to study.”

  “Mmm,” Rena said, as if she didn’t believe her.

  “Soon I’ll be a doctor in America,” Lillian declared, reminding Hannah of herself in that moment. “Then I’ll have freedom, you know? If he cheats again—”

  “Well, if you change your mind, you can always talk to Paavo. He’ll be happy to take her off your hands.”

  Suka! She couldn’t be passed along from person to person like a television set.

  “Thank you.” Lillian’s voice was muted, and Hannah couldn’t tell from her tone if she was getting annoyed or if she actually felt grateful.

  “And don’t let her out of the house. That’s what happened with Alexei’s girl. They gave her a key, let her come and go when she wanted, and she took advantage.”

  “You’re right,” Lillian said, almost as if she were resigned to it.

  This was her life they were talking about! Hannah couldn’t let this conversation go on. If Rena kept pushing, Lillian might agree to hand her over before the end of the day. She pulled a plate out of the cupboard and banged it down on the counter. Their voices stopped. She opened the bag of madeleines and decided she would pay that woman back, in the only way she could.

  A few minutes later, Hannah slid open the dining room door. “Please excuse me. I have your cookies,” she said, making sure to use a more formal Russian, as she always did when someone outside of the family was visiting.

  Rena looked up expectantly, but Hannah gripped the plate, holding them hostage.

  “Thank you,” Lillian said, examining her curiously, as if she was wondering whether Hannah had heard anything. “There were no problems?”

  “No problems,” Hannah said.

  For once, she felt more powerful, standing above Lillian like this. Lillian didn’t know what she’d heard, what she knew, what she was planning on doing with that knowledge.

  Rena cleared her throat.

  “Lillian told me you like these,” Hannah said, looking down at Rena.

  “Yes.” Rena’s eyes narrowed as if she suspected something, or maybe she was only irritated that Hannah was still holding them.

  Finally, Hannah put them down in front of her. “Lillian sent me out to buy them from the Russian store for you. I’ve heard they’re delicious. Have one,” she said, as if it was her house and she could actually invite her to have one.

  Rena placed her teacup in her saucer, carefully, and it reminded Hannah of when guys in Moldova took off their dress shirts to show they were ready to fight. “Why don’t you have one, baba?” Rena said.

  Had she just called her baba? It was a derogatory name for a girl, less than a maid, really, but it was hard to tell if this was on purpose, or a term she always used. Hannah kept the mask on her face so as not to show her displeasure. “I would love one,” Hannah said.

  Rena waved her hand at the plate and waited.

  In the kitchen, so angry she was trembling, she’d spit on every single cookie. Hannah picked one up and ate half of it in one bite. With a full mouth, she spoke enthusiastically, just like the country girl Rena seemed to think she was. “They’re delicious. Thank you. I’ve never had anything like this.”

  The suspicion washed from Rena’s face like dirt from the sidewalk after the rain. Rena picked up a cookie and bit it delicately, as if to show Hannah how to eat a cookie. She rolled it around in her mouth. Hannah had to stop herself from smiling in triumph.

  “Now run along.” Rena flicked her hand in the air like Hannah was nothing more than an irritating fly buzzing too close. Hannah stepped out and slid the door shut. She’d had the last word, and as soon as she could talk to Sergey alone, she was going to get some answers.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  A few days later, Hannah got the chance she was looking for. Sergey was in his study. Lillian was outside, sitting in a lawn chair, underlining portions of a textbook she was re
ading. Michael was asleep, and Maggie was having a playdate at her best friend Roberta’s house. It was the perfect opportunity.

  Hannah carried the broom to Sergey’s study, rested it against the doorjamb, and listened at the door. He was talking to someone on the phone about an order. He gave the person some numbers. Said it was late. Boring stuff. She waited until he hung up and then knocked softly.

  “Yes?” he asked.

  “It’s Hannah,” she said, pressing her cheek against the wood, talking quietly into the crack. “Can I talk to you?”

  His office chair creaked and he swung open the door. “Come in,” he said.

  She’d never been in this room before. There was a huge mahogany desk by the window, which took up half the room. On the desk, he had a cordless phone, a few yellow lined papers, a dirty coffee cup, and a jar covered with painted ice cream sticks—probably Maggie had made that.

  There were also two huge bookshelves filled with all the literature she could want in both languages. She walked toward the books and ran her hand along the spines. He had her favorite Russian books by Tolstoy, Dostoyevsky, Gogol, and Chekhov. And he had some books by Hemingway and Faulkner, which were hard to find in Moldova. She wondered if he’d read them.

  Sergey cleared his throat and she jerked her hand back. “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “Don’t worry about it,” he said, sitting down in his office chair, which creaked in response. “If you want to borrow one, go ahead.”

  She couldn’t get distracted—she didn’t have much time. “Can I ask you a question?”

  He nodded that she should go on, his eyes flicking down for the briefest of moments at her monkey T-shirt. Was he reading it or looking at her breasts?

  “Lillian said you promised someone you’d take care of me.” She paused to see his reaction. He seemed startled. “Who did you promise?” she asked.

  His blue eyes squinted with what looked like pain, then turned hard, even a little cold. He looked out the window, through the half-closed blind. “I, um, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”