Trafficked

by Kim Purcell

“What did she do?” Maggie asked, glancing at Hannah with a mixture of awe and fear.

  “Every time you do talk to her,” Lillian continued, “I will throw out one doll.”

  “What?” Maggie said in English. “That’s totally unfair.”

  “Maggie,” Lillian barked sharply. “Russian.”

  Maggie rolled her eyes at Hannah.

  So that was her punishment. The kids couldn’t talk to her. That sucked, but Hannah wasn’t too worried. It wouldn’t last. If they couldn’t talk to her, she couldn’t take care of them. Soon, they’d drive Lillian crazy and she’d be begging Hannah to take them. Hannah grabbed the window cleaner and a rag and began spraying the windows in the kitchen.

  Sure enough, an hour after they got back from brunch, Lillian was sitting at the dining room table with her books, Michael was scooting his train by her feet, and Maggie was interrupting her every few minutes with another question or request for food.

  “Maggie,” Lillian said, in a low, barely controlled voice. “You can talk to Hannah now. She’ll get you what you want.”

  Maggie skipped into the living room where Hannah was vacuuming. “Can I have strawberry compote, with some cheese and crackers?” They shared a smile, and Hannah went into the kitchen to make her the snack. “And take them outside,” Lillian shrieked. “I can’t get anything done.”

  Hannah went outside to play soccer with the children, relieved but also worried about her minimal punishment. She worried Lillian had something else planned. After they’d been playing for half an hour, it started to rain, and they came back inside.

  Hannah glanced into the open dining room. Lillian wasn’t at the table studying. There was a stack of her textbooks next to an open pad of yellow paper, half-filled with notes.

  The book. She’d forgotten to hide the book.

  She hoped Lillian was in the bathroom, but she heard sounds coming from the garage. Something being thrown. The sound of fabric tearing.

  Maggie ran ahead of her down the hall. She lurched to a stop at the doorway to the garage. “Oh my God, Mom,” Maggie said in English.

  Hannah came up behind, filled with dread. Lillian was ripping out the inside of her father’s suitcase. The garage was in shambles. Hannah’s things had been thrown all over the concrete floor, which was never clean no matter how much Hannah swept it. The toys had been pushed off the shelves. The pictures of her parents and Katya were missing too. Sergey’s book was next to Lillian’s foot, along with a stack of the underwear that he’d given her. Evidence.

  Michael ran into the garage and grabbed a truck from the ground, as if nothing were wrong. He vroomed it across the floor, over the stack of Hannah’s clothing.

  “What are you doing?” Maggie asked her mother.

  “I’m looking for Hannah’s documents,” Lillian grunted, tearing at the fabric. “She’s a liar, Maggie. Don’t believe anything she says.”

  Maggie glanced at Hannah, raising her eyebrows at her to show her that she thought her mother was acting crazy.

  Hannah could smell the old dust that had made its way to the inside of her father’s suitcase. It was one of the few things she’d had that had belonged to her father in the end, but if she got angry, Lillian would win. If she acted like it didn’t matter, Hannah figured she’d win. So she sat on the sofa and watched Lillian impassively. He was already dead. Nothing Lillian did would change that. Actually, nothing Lillian did could hurt her, really. The worst had already happened—her parents had been killed. No matter what anybody did, nothing was worse than that.

  She looked for Michael’s fire truck and saw it in the corner of the garage, next to the chained-up garage doors. It was turned upside down and the seat was up. The ball and Goodnight Moon were missing, but Lillian must not have noticed the documents in the book or she wouldn’t still be looking.

  Lillian lifted her head, lips pressed together, and surveyed her damage. “Maggie, take Michael upstairs. Hannah, stay here.” Her tone left no room for argument, but Maggie gave Hannah a quick, scared look before she pulled Michael out of the garage.

  Hannah listened to their footsteps going down the hall as she scanned the mess, searching for Goodnight Moon, and her documents.

  Lillian snatched up the stack of underwear and shook them. “How did you get these?”

  “I bought them,” she said.

  “A village girl from Moldova does not go to a lingerie shop in America to buy eight-dollar underwear.”

  “I’m not from a village. I’m from the capital city of Moldova, in case you forgot.” She paused. “Sergey gave me fifty dollars.” She realized too late that Sergey gave her that fifty after the bus trip, but Lillian didn’t catch on.

  “You sent that fifty dollars to your grandmother.”

  Which you stole. “He gave me another fifty,” she said.

  “Why would he give you another fifty?” Lillian asked.

  Hannah shrugged. “To be nice.”

  “My husband is not nice,” Lillian said. “He only acts nice to a woman if he’s screwing her or he wants to screw her.” She flung the panties to the side and they landed near Goodnight Moon. It was closed, her documents safely hidden. Ha, she thought. My documents are right there, out in the open, and you’re too stupid to see them.

  Lillian lifted another book from the floor—Anna Karenina, in English—Sergey’s book. Hannah’s stomach clenched. “When did he give this to you?” she asked.

  Hannah stared at the book, trying to think of a plausible excuse, besides admitting she’d snuck into the office.

  “He didn’t give it to me. I found it,” she said. “It was on the coffee table downstairs.”

  “Are you trying to tell me he was reading it?” Lillian asked. “My husband doesn’t read.”

  Hannah shrugged.

  “What did you give him for his little gifts?” she asked.

  “He didn’t give me anything,” Hannah said.

  “Don’t lie to me,” Lillian roared.

  “I haven’t done anything with your husband. He didn’t give me the book—I found it. My panties were ripped and falling off of me, so I asked him for money. He gave it to me, and the next day, when I went to the Russian store for the madeleines, I bought the panties at the store across the street. It’s not a big deal.”

  Lillian’s eyes bugged out of her head and made her look like the cockroach in Kafka’s Metamorphosis. “He convinced me to allow you to go on the bus that day,” she said, her voice filled with betrayal. She stepped toward Hannah and grabbed her arm. “I know something happened between you. Stop lying to me!”

  Maggie ran into the room. “Mama, stop!”

  Lillian’s voice was shaking, barely under control as she spoke. “Maggie, go back upstairs. Now.”

  “She’s not lying, Mama. She’s had those panties for ages. I saw them a long time ago and she told me the same thing, that she bought them at that store.”

  Hannah gaped at Maggie. She was sticking up for her. Lying for her.

  “This doesn’t have anything to do with you, Mag—”

  Maggie rushed on, her large hazel eyes blinking. “Papa didn’t do anything to her at the park. They didn’t even, like, touch or anything. She just helped, like she does at home.”

  Maggie thought she was helping, but she really wasn’t. Lillian hadn’t even mentioned the park and now it was clear that Maggie thought something had happened. Hannah remembered how embarrassed Maggie had seemed about that silly foot rub, and she wished she’d stopped Sergey earlier. Her face began to heat up.

  “Nothing happened in the park?” Lillian’s face was set in an expression of ill-masked fury.

  “She wouldn’t do that, and Papa loves you, Mama,” Maggie said. “I think you’re just imagining things ’cause of that other woman.”

  Lillia
n stiffened. Hannah worried for Maggie then, scared that Lillian would strike her, and if she did, Hannah knew she’d protect her.

  “How do you know about this?” Lillian asked slowly, an odd tone to her voice.

  Maggie’s eyes widened. “I heard you and Papa arguing.”

  Lillian let go of Hannah’s arm and lifted her chin proudly. “Maybe you’re right, Maggie. Maybe I am paranoid because of that other woman.” She strode out of the room, her back stiff, but Hannah wasn’t fooled.

  Lillian was just biding her time, until Maggie wasn’t watching.

  Chapter Forty

  It didn’t take long.

  The next day, Hannah was scraping the grout in the downstairs bathtub with an old kitchen knife. Earlier, Lillian had made her iron all the bedsheets. On top of her other work.

  All day, while she was cleaning, she talked to Colin in her head, asking him his favorite color, favorite sport, favorite food, favorite everything. She was trying to entertain herself, but it only made it more obvious to her that she’d never been so lonely in her whole life. She wasn’t the kind of girl who normally needed an imaginary friend.

  She put the knife on the side of the bathtub, grabbed the rag, and sprayed it slowly with cleaner. No point in hurrying. Finally, she understood the Russian expression that it didn’t matter how fast you pushed the broom, there was more work all the same. If she worked fast, Lillian would just find something else for her to do.

  She moved the rag in slow circles across the bathroom floor, unable to avoid the homesick ache in her gut any longer. She thought about the regular things her friends were doing every day. Passing notes in Russian lit. Laughing about Madame Volchuk’s purple bouffant hairdo. Getting felt up under the secondary stairway. Going out for pizza after school. Talking about what classes they were going to take in university. Copying one another’s math homework. She used to be the math expert. Now what did her group do? Daniil wasn’t bad, but he didn’t let anyone copy. Maybe his new girlfriend let them—Lera was good at math too. That thought was so depressing, Hannah stopped cleaning and stared down at the too-clean floor.

  An out-of-place smell drifted into her thoughts: Paavo’s cologne. That yeasty body odor. She twisted and looked up. Paavo’s square frame filled the doorway. His shirt was tucked in tight to hold in the mounds of flesh, and his silver belt buckle in the shape of a bull shone down at her.

  She looked past him, down the hall. Lillian had left home a little while ago. Usually the door was locked.

  “What are you doing?” He leered down at her, as if she’d gotten on her hands and knees for his benefit.

  “I’m cleaning.” She wanted to add, What does it look like, you pig? “Did you come in with Sergey?”

  He stared at her. “No.”

  Her face flushed. “How did you get in?” she asked, standing up, clinging to the rag.

  “The door was open. Lillian said you’d be home.”

  This was Lillian’s punishment. She cleared her throat and stood tall. “Sergey will be back soon. I’ll tell him you were here.”

  “I didn’t come to talk to him.” He stuck out his belly, blocking her exit. “Lillian said you’re misbehaving; I offered to talk to you.”

  She gestured with her chin toward the hallway. “I have to get something in the kitchen. You can talk to me in there.”

  “I don’t think so,” he said, the corner of his mouth curling up.

  A quiver of fear passed through her. She searched for a way to escape. The kitchen knife she’d used to scrape the grouting was still on the edge of the bathtub. Maybe she could grab it in time. He might rip it away, but at least she could injure him—right where it would hurt the most.

  “What’s a girl like you doing cleaning floors?” he asked, stepping toward her. She glanced toward the tub and realized she wouldn’t get there in time. He continued, “You could be making a lot more money dancing. More for your family, more for yourself. You could buy some nice clothes for that pretty little body of yours.”

  Hannah was wearing her monkey T-shirt with her sweatpants, and he was staring at her as if she were naked. She wished she was wearing the black baggy T-shirt, but it was dirty.

  “I’m not interested in that. Excuse me. I need to get the bleach.” In fact, she didn’t use bleach because Lillian was paranoid about Michael getting poisoned. Instead, she used an organic, orange-scented bathroom cleaner, which barely worked. Her hand tightened on the rag. Even if it was earth-friendly, it would probably hurt if it got in his eyes.

  He didn’t move. “That little shirt. You are trying to tease Sergey, I think. Does he come down to your room at night so you can give him a little pleasure?”

  “That’s disgusting,” she said, even though it was true that Sergey had come down to her room. But she hadn’t done anything with him. “I am here to take care of their children and clean their house. Now, if you will please move, I can continue with my work.”

  “I’m willing to pay,” he said.

  Hannah stood very still. “I don’t want your money.”

  “Really? I can help you,” he said. “In other ways.”

  “I would never do that for anything.”

  “Lillian told me about your little adventure the other day. Who’d you meet?”

  “I didn’t meet anyone.”

  He hummed. “Sergey didn’t want me to help him find a girl. He said he had one already. You two have something on one of his business trips?”

  So Sergey really had requested her. She wondered if Lillian knew. “I never saw him before I came here. I’m not that kind of girl. Now will you please let me pass?”

  “What were you doing the other night? You came home sweaty, smelling of sex. You have a night job?” He leered.

  “I went for a run,” she said. “I told Lillian, and it’s the truth.”

  “Whatever you say.” He stepped to the side and waved his hand out, as if he’d always been intending to let her pass. She hesitated. His belly filled most of the doorway and she didn’t want to come any closer to him, but anything was better than being trapped in this bathroom. She took a leap past him. His arm swung out and stopped her. His fat belly pushed in, squishing her against the doorjamb. “Maybe you can show me the underwear he bought for you.”

  She lifted the rag with the cleaner and rubbed it on his face. He grunted and yanked it out of her hand. “Suka!”

  Panicking, she wiggled into the hall, but he forced her back against the cold wall. “Please,” she said. “I don’t want trouble.”

  “You didn’t worry about insulting me and my wife. You put a stinking rag in my face and then you say you don’t want trouble. Would you like me to shove that rag in your mouth? Or perhaps something else?”

  His belly squished around her and his hard belt buckle pressed into her, cold through her T-shirt, right above the top of her pants. Her heart beat in her ears and she struggled to breathe as all his weight crushed against her.

  “No,” she said. The word was quiet, barely escaping from her lips, and she remembered Volva and how she didn’t yell.

  “Sergey will be angry,” she said.

  Paavo stepped back.

  “I knew you two had something.” He sneered. She thought of the knife. It might be her only chance. She leaped toward the bathroom, but he grabbed her shoulder and pinned her against the wall, his thumb digging into her armpit. “Not so fast. If he wants my money, he can share.”

  She struggled to get away, but his hand on her shoulder was as solid as a nail pinning her to a board. “Stop!” she yelled, shoving him, but it was like pushing a wall of fat.

  “Behave,” he barked, undoing his belt buckle, and shoving her back against the wall. “Your uncle didn’t do what we asked of him and look what happened to him.”

  “What?” she b
reathed, shocked. “What did you do to him?”

  “He’s alive, for now. In a work camp. He’s my insurance.”

  “Where is he?”

  He ignored her. “Next we’ll go for your babushka. She’s old. She wouldn’t be able to handle much of a shock. Maybe we’ll push her around a little, or maybe it will only take the suggestion that you are a prostitute.”

  “She’d never believe it,” Hannah said, though her voice was shaking.

  “Your friends will. Your old boyfriend, Daniil. And I know about that pretty friend of yours, Katya. Olga sent me pictures. Many men would pay for her.”

  “You wouldn’t,” Hannah gasped.

  “I would,” he said. “People don’t cross Paavo Shevchenko.”

  She didn’t know what to do. Her whole body sagged. His hand snaked under the bottom of her T-shirt.

  “Hello?” Sergey called from the foyer.

  Paavo shifted away from her and did up his belt buckle.

  Thank God. Thank God. Thank God.

  “Remember what I said,” he murmured under his breath. “Tell him you invited me in.”

  Sergey cleared his throat. He was looking down the hall at them. Paavo gave her a warning look before he sauntered down the hall, swinging his legs wide.

  “Hello, my friend,” he boomed.

  Sergey stepped into the hall and shook his friend’s hand. He looked past Paavo to Hannah standing next to the bathroom at the end of the hall. He seemed angry.

  “Any news from the bank?” Paavo asked.

  “No,” Sergey said abruptly. “How did you—?”

  “Your girl let me in,” Paavo announced, and turned to look at her. “Right?”

  The injustice of it all made her want to scream. She wouldn’t say she’d invited him in. She glared at him, her arms and legs shaking from adrenaline.

  Paavo’s face turned to stone. We know where your babushka lives . . . your old boyfriend, Daniil . . . that pretty little friend of yours, Katya.

  Hannah never should have come to America. Not only had she put herself at risk, but she’d put everyone she loved in grave danger.