Aperture on the East

by Meris Lee

  Ana placed the leftover food from earlier in the day into to-go boxes and cups, and then secured them in several plastic bags. The kitchen of Quan Bien Dong always prepared more rice, spring rolls, and soup than could be consumed, and Mr. Tran’s policy was that food from the lunch batch would not be served at dinnertime. His motto was that everything would be made fresh. He directed the kitchen staff to throw away leftovers. He was not a fan of composting. Nobody could take leftovers home, either. One must be a paying customer to eat the food from his restaurant.

  Ana had grown up in the desperate final years of the Soviet Union, and come of age during the post-Soviet depression era in Russia. She had stood in long lines for bread and soup with her grandmother, trying to stay warm with only layers of ragged shirts and a wool coat, staring up at the faces of men and women who showed nothing but despair. She collected empty vodka bottles from the unemployed neighbors who occupied themselves with alcohol, and turned them in to stores for small change, which her grandmother would use to buy whatever vegetables and meats available in the market. The small amount of vegetables and meats would invariable get preserved somehow to last through what seemed like a hundred meals.

  Ana couldn’t understand Mr. Tran’s policy when it came to the leftovers, as she was sure that Mr. Tran must have lived through periods in Vietnam when the economy was less than ideal and many people had to go hungry. Ana didn’t want to get in trouble with her boss, but she just could not see all that food go to waste. Several times a week when Mr. Tran was not in the restaurant, she gathered the food and handed it to the needy that came to beg at the backdoor. Only Mai, being in charge of the kitchen, tried to discourage Ana; the rest of the kitchen staff helped Ana keep it a secret.

  “Ana, what are you doing?”

  Ana heard her name called as she handed the bags of leftovers to two scrawny kids in the back alley. She looked behind her, and there was Mr. Tran!

  The two kids quickly ran away with their loot.

  “Mr. Tran, h-how are you?” said Ana with a shaky voice. Mr. Tran was not expected at the restaurant that day.

  “So it’s true. You are handing out leftovers,” said Mr. Tran harshly.

  “I am sorry, but those kids are starving. They are skin and bones.”

  “They are skin and bones because their parents are lazy. Those kids you just gave the leftovers to, I know their parents,” said Mr. Tran. “They are drunks.”

  Ana was dumbfounded for a moment.

  “So, you are just making their problems worse,” said Mr. Tran. “Don’t give them any more food.”

  “But the children are innocent. And what about the others? They can’t all be drunks,” said Ana, defending her position.

  “The children are learning to be beggars, too, with your help. I have lived here all of my life, and I know just about everyone in this neighborhood. I tell you, there is no legitimate reason for anyone to go hungry in this town,” said Mr. Tran.

  Ana didn’t have anything to say back to Mr. Tran, as she conceded that he probably did know everyone in this town. She was about to go back into the kitchen when Mr. Tran stopped her and said, “Were you late today, too?”

  Ana wanted to find a hole and disappear into it right then. Not only was she caught red-handed violating her boss’s policy, but she was indeed late to work, for the third time this month.

  “I don’t want any excuses. I pay you to be here at four o’clock, but you don’t come in until almost six and you can’t even come up with a good excuse. Two days ago you didn’t show up and we didn’t hear from you until the night was almost over. You are almost as bad as those kids’ parents. Is this an example you are setting for your children?” said Mr. Tran scathingly.

  “I wanted to call sooner but I was too sick—”

  “If you are late one more time,” said Mr. Tran, “you are going to be fired.”

  Ana was bracing herself for more tirades from Mr. Tran when someone called him away.

  “Ana, are you okay?” said Mai when Ana came into the kitchen.

  Ana didn’t answer. She took a drink out of a bottle in her purse, and sat down at the kitchen counter to repose herself.

  “I told you not to give out the leftovers,” said Mai. “Mr. Tran visited a friend and the family next door was eating leftovers from here. They were sitting out on the street and Mr. Tran saw them and asked them what they were eating. They gave you away.”

  Ana shook her head in disbelief.

  “Ana, we need you at the front. We are getting bombarded,” said Olga, who gave Mai two order slips.

  Ana took a deep breath and followed Olga out of the kitchen. Mr. Tran spotted them and called them over to help take orders from a large party, all seated at a round table. Ana immediately recognized Vo, with Kim seated to his left. Vidal was at the table as well. Between Vo and Vidal there was a woman, perhaps in her late sixties, to whom Vo bore a resemblance.

  Ana wasn’t sure if she should greet Vo. Vo looked up and saw her; he didn’t say a word, either, but acknowledged her with a nod. He was wearing a suit and tie. Kim was in a pink áo dài, a traditional Vietnamese dress that Ana knew was worn for special occasions.

  Mr. Tran said, “Ana, Olga, you two know my investor, Mr. Pham.” He pointed to a portly man with his face fixed in an ear-to-ear smile. “Mr. Pham’s daughter Kim is getting engaged tonight. We are honored to help them celebrate. Mr. Pham also just booked our entire restaurant for an official engagement banquet later.”

  Ana’s heart skipped a beat when she heard it. She looked at Vo again. Vo’s mouth was half-open, as if trying to say something.

  Mr. Tran helped Mr. Pham select dishes for the auspicious event. Ana hurried to write down the orders as Mr. Tran named them off, while Olga took everyone’s drink orders and other requests. When Ana went back to the kitchen to hand Mai the orders, she suddenly felt hot and dizzy. She had to sit down again.

  “Ana, you look really pale. Is everything all right?” said Mai.

  “I’m fine,” said Ana, her lips trembling.

  “I know Mr. Pham’s daughter is getting engaged today. Mr. Tran will make sure we put in extra hard work for that,” said Mai.

  Just now Mr. Tran walked into the kitchen, and saw Ana sitting at the counter. He frowned and said, “Ana, there is no time for sitting. There are more customers out there. You want to work or what?”

  “Mr. Tran,” said Mai, “can’t you see that Ana is not feeling well? She had to call in sick two days ago, remember? Do you think she’s completely recovered already? I don’t think so. Why don’t you let her go home and rest?”

  Mr. Tran’s anger was mitigated somewhat, after he took a closer look at Ana.

  “What am I going to do with a sickly waitress?” said Mr. Tran. “Go home, go home. Come back when you feel better. I guess I have to wait on tables, too.” With that, Mr. Tran exited the kitchen again.

  Mai asked Ana if she could manage to go home on her own. Ana reassured Mai and thanked her. As if trying to escape from some abominable calamity, she picked up her purse and scurried out the backdoor.

  Chapter 23

  Irisa Petrovskaia was nine years old when her father died during an accident at work in a shipyard in Komsomolsk-on-Amur, Russia. Her mother raised her and three other siblings alone, working in the same shipyard as a cook. Irisa could not tell whether being a cook was safer than being a construction worker, which was her father’s job description. He died when a concrete block fell from a crane and hit him in the head. Irisa grew up worried about whether her mother would die on the job as well, and she made up her mind that working in a shipyard would definitely not be a career option when the time came.

  Irisa was the first person in her family to finish university, and completed the certification to become a school teacher. However, as fate would have it, she met a shipyard worker while out with friends one night, fell in love and married him within three months. The night that she gave birth to her son, her husband fell to his death from
one hundred feet up while servicing a tower crane. Irisa had a nervous breakdown, and after months of extended maternity leave she could not return to teach at the school any longer. Her mother, retired from the shipyard now, became the main caregiver to her son, Igor.

  When Irisa recovered mentally and physically, there were no teaching positions available. After a difficult and futile job search, she decided to babysit for money. One day, she ran into an old friend, Vladimir, from her university days. They started to meet for afternoon tea, and before long they became intimate with each other. Irisa longed to leave Komsomolsk-on-Amur. She had a feeling that something tragic would happen to her son if they were to stay. This was often the topic of conversation when she lay in Vladimir’s arms.

  One afternoon, Vladimir introduced Irisa to his cousin Vera. Vera was visiting from Australia, where she was a successful businesswoman, owning a chain of clothing shops in Sydney. Vera was in need of an assistant manager to help her oversee the operations. She had come home to recruit because she wanted to give someone from her hometown an opportunity at prosperity. Irisa wanted to take the offer, but she could not leave her son; Vera had said specifically that she could only pay for the travel expense, room and board for her future employee, and no one else.

  Irisa changed her mind when the mother of a six-year-old boy rudely cursed at her and kicked her out without paying for a weekend’s work. Irisa had kept the boy while his parents went on a trip. When the parents returned, the boy had an egg-sized bump on his head; he had tripped and fallen down the stairs. Irisa was unjustly blamed for the incident and let go at once. Infuriated and frustrated, she called Vladimir; she would go to Australia with Vera.

  Irisa’s mother didn’t want her to go so far for a job, but Irisa’s mind was made up. Igor, who was eighteen months at the time, was to stay with Irisa’s mother until Irisa could bring him to Sydney, hopefully within the year. Irisa held Igor so tight the night before she was to leave that he could hardly sleep himself. When morning came, Irisa dried her tears, kissed her son and her mother goodbye, and went to the hotel where Vera was staying. Vladimir was there to see her off, and after he told her that he’d wait for her, they sealed their lips in a last kiss.

  Irisa was surprised to find that she was not the only one traveling with Vera that day. Vera had gathered a number of other young women to work in various positions in her shops in Sydney. Irisa thought that Vera must be doing extremely well to be hiring so many people at once. Irisa had assumed that they would fly out of the airport in Khabarovsk, but Vera explained that, in order to save money, they would drive all the way down through China to Hanoi, Vietnam, where they would then board a boat to take them to Sydney.

  It took them many days to reach Hanoi even though they drove both day and night. Irisa was excited to see the sights from inside the van as they drove through the eastern parts of China. They didn’t stop to eat in restaurants or shower in hotels; they used the facilities in gas stations and rest areas when available. It was a long and arduous journey, but Irisa and the other women endured it with optimism and hopefulness.

  When they finally arrived in Hanoi, Vera announced that they would spend a night in a hotel before boarding the boat to Sydney. Irisa and the other women were happy to hear it. Vera fed everyone a delicious Vietnamese sandwich and iced coffee on the way to the hotel. Irisa devoured the food, and was soon asleep due to exhaustion.

  Irisa had strange dreams that night. She was fishing with her father and he was telling her jokes, when she remembered that he was dead. As she was wiping the tears from her eyes, she saw her husband fall from the top of a tower crane, but when he hit the floor his face turned into that of her son’s. Irisa felt something painful and screamed, but was soon calmed when she heard a lullaby. She thought that perhaps her mother was singing it, but she couldn’t see her face anywhere.

  When Irisa finally woke up, she had a pounding headache, similar to the ones she had during a hangover once or twice before in her life. She felt disoriented, and it took her several minutes to remember her mission. She panicked for a minute when she thought that she had missed the boat for Sydney. She tried to stand up, but her legs could hardly bear any weight.

  She looked around her and saw that she was alone in a small room with no windows. She could not recall walking into a hotel at all. She was sitting on a simple bed, and there was hardly any furniture except for a small armoire and a dresser with a mirror on it. She struggled to stand up and walked to the door, and found that it was locked from the outside. There was a device that seemed like an intercom mounted next to the door frame, and she pushed the button on it.

  “Vera? Anybody?”

  She heard footsteps and someone came to open the door, but it wasn’t Vera. It was a skinny man in a white suit, accompanied by two burly bodyguards. A plump woman holding some towels and a dress was standing behind them. Irisa felt her heart sink.

  The skinny man introduced himself as Dmitry, and informed Irisa that Vera had left her in his charge. Irisa was to wash up immediately, and get dressed for her first client. Irisa was to do everything Dmitry said if she wanted to see her son again. He had possession of all her personal belongings, valuables, and travel documents. Her family would not be looking for her because Dmitry’s men would be in touch with them to give the impression that she was doing all right in Sydney; her family would even get a small amount of money for a few months to ease their concerns. After a few months, Dmitry’s people would contact her family to let them know that she had gone missing, possibly running off with a new lover. However, if Irisa would cooperate and even excel at the trade, Dmitry would consider releasing her back to Russia at the end of three years.

  Irisa listened to all of this in a drunken stupor, which she now realized was likely the effect of sedatives Dmitry’s people had mixed in the sandwich or the coffee. She saw the bruises on her arms and thought that they had probably injected her with more sedatives repeatedly on the way here. She was numbed in the beginning and couldn’t give much of a fight, but when the plump woman tried to get her into the bathroom in the corner of the room, she suddenly regained her strength and tried to run. The bodyguards held her into the bathtub while the plump woman scrubbed her down, dried her with towels, and forced her into the skimpy red dress. Irisa was kicking and screaming, with tears running down her cheeks, but the bodyguards took her to the bed and tied her down.

  Irisa could not tell if it was day or night, because there were no windows. All she could recall was that she was raped by one man after another. At first she counted and tried to remember the faces, but she soon lost track. The plump woman would come back with the bodyguards every so often to clean her up and put her in a different dress, and then tie her back up. They would force soup down her throat to keep her alive, and then the same horror would repeat itself for what felt like eternity.

  Eventually, Irisa gave up fighting. Dmitry removed her restraints and let her out of her room. She was in some kind of a two-story building. She saw other women, but none from the group she traveled with from her hometown. They weren’t allowed to talk, so they just looked at one another with the same despondent eyes. They were allowed to walk in the yard around the building twice a day. When Irisa felt the warmth of sunshine again she was moved to tears. The air was balmy, and the sky was too pretty. She sobbed silently while surveying the surroundings, trying to figure out where she was. She heard waves, so she knew she was near a lake or an ocean, but that was all she could figure out. She tried to go through the faces of her clients, but they seemed to be from all over the world, speaking different languages with all shades of skin colors. She couldn’t speak anything but Russian, but she seemed to get only non-Russian clients.

  One day Dmitry determined that she was ready to go to the nightclub in the city to attract potential customers. A tracking device was placed under the skin of her arm, and then she was put on a boat with a few other women, under guard.

  They arrived at a fishing pier at night,
and were transported to a nightclub after they were given specific instructions. They were to be posted here and there inside the club, and when they were approached by interested men, the manager would broker a deal. They were to take the men out the backdoor where a car would be waiting to take them to a nearby apartment building. Afterward, the customers would put cash payments in envelopes, leave them in a designated drawer, and go from the apartment building to their desired destinations in another car provided by the manager. The women would be transported back to the nightclub to continue their work. Irisa was told not to touch the money; someone else would collect it. At the end of the night, the women would be brought back to the island, or at least an island was where Irisa thought they were kept. Some of the customers, Irisa noticed, would later come to the island directly, sometimes with their friends.

  Irisa was told that if she were to try to escape the tracking device would give away her location immediately. She would be caught and once again tied to her bed for weeks until she would behave again. The device was also some kind of a recorder so that everything Irisa said to another person would be transmitted to Dmitry, and if she valued her life she would not dare talk about her situation to anyone else, not even to the other women held on the island.

  She was allowed restroom breaks while at the nightclub, however, and it was the only time she could go without the constant monitoring by Dmitry’s gang. She checked the restroom all over, and made sure that there was not a single device that even remotely looked like a camera. She would think about her son to give her strength to get through each night. Occasionally she would weep, thinking that she had forgotten what her son looked like. Then she tried to remember the last night she held her son in her arms, his restless warm body curled up against hers. He even laughed during his sleep, as if dreaming of something sweet. Irisa tried to remember the sound of her baby laughing, but all she could hear was his crying instead.