Approaching the market now, Kamila could see that it had not changed since she left for America, some of the buildings surrounding the market were still empty shells…structures with walls only on the inside, ragged dollhouses whose dolls had been blown to pieces. The pink skin of the outer walls ripped away to reveal blood-red bricks beneath. It had rained during the night and garbage skimmed across wide water-filled potholes.
All around the square makeshift tents, blue tarps held up by long wooden poles, sold everything from clothes to pots and pans. Bread was stacked eight loaves high, sold by old women with their heads wrapped tightly in old scarves. A fat man with a smiling face was selling large bags of onions. The man, like everyone else here, ignored the past and the fact that the dirt they walked on was somebody’s mother or sister. They ought to be more respectful.
On her way back to her aunt’s apartment, there had been a passing squall, but now if was quiet, and off in the west a fissure appeared in the clouds. Shafts of sunlight stretched down like great wide lasers cutting into the earth, reminding Kamila of paintings she had seen at the Seattle Art Museum. Jesus praying, hands clasped, peering into the heavens. She remembered feeling as though she were ignorant of the picture’s symbolism. What did that light represent? Even now she felt as though she were missing some sort of sign, some hint or command, some whisper beyond consciousness. Standing in front of her aunt’s building, she looked and tried to find the window of the apartment.
The clouds abandoned one another, and a gray light covered her face, warm but blinding, cleansing but tainted. In the afterglow of the burning sun, when spots silver and golden and copper filled her vision, she saw a silhouette of the girl in the basement. The girl she had protected so perfectly and honorably during the bombings. No girl should have to live without a mother, as that girl had. As Kamila had. Alyssa needed a mother too, but had none.
Kamila had been the one to care for Alyssa since Anna’s death. She hadn’t been perfect, but what parent was? It would be best to return to America with Alyssa and raise her there, but that wasn’t an option now. Marcus would take Alyssa back. But a father wasn’t good enough. A girl needed a mother.
Kamila had, in the past, imagined another route: marrying Marcus. He had money, was attractive. Sure, Marcus had been her brother-in-law. But as a child, who was it that had received Anna’s hand-me-downs? What was the difference if she got Anna’s husband? It wasn’t as though Anna could use him now. Kamila could tolerate him…as far as men go. But would he have her? After this? It wouldn’t work. The spots were growing dim. She would do this without Marcus, in Chechnya, not America. That meant going to where even the Russians couldn’t find her—the rebel-controlled highlands where her father lived.
Chapter 30
Stormy met Marcus and Dmitry in their motel room early the next morning. Dmitry outlined his plan for getting the aunt’s address from the post office. Stormy would play the part of a Ukrainian woman searching for her long lost aunt. Dmitry claimed the Chechen postmaster wouldn’t know the difference between Stormy’s accent in Russian and that of any other former Soviet republic.
The plan didn’t involve Marcus going into the post office with them, a fact that didn’t settle well with him. It took Stormy several minutes to convince him that Dmitry’s plan was better than Marcus’s idea that they storm into the building, demanding the aunt’s address.
Marcus waited at a bus stop around the corner while Stormy and Dmitry carried out the plan.
They waited in line, inside the already busy post office.
“Nervous?” Dmitry asked in English.
“Sure,” she said.
“Did you know that in 1999 a Russian ballistic missile landed right outside the door there?” Dmitry said.
“Nice.”
The next person in line turned and glanced at them. Stormy cast Dmitry a worried look, but he shrugged his shoulders dismissively. The line moved slowly, and it was ten minutes before they reached the counter.
“She is looking for her mother’s sister,” Dmitry said to the clerk. “And fortunately…yes very fortunately, the woman she is looking for is to inherit a very large amount of money.”
The post office worker was a short, corpulent man. Thick glasses covered the upper portion of his face, and a thick beard the lower portion, so that the only skin revealed was that of his ruddy cheeks. He said, “So?”
“So…here’s what you can do to help--”
“Who said I want to help. I have people in line here.”
“It would only take a second of your time.”
“Mmm-hmm,” the man said, twisting his frame so that he could see the next person in line. He looked back at Dmitry. “Is there anything else?”
“If you only listen…”
“Next.”
The person behind them began moving forward, her box pushing against Stormy’s back. The woman said something in Chechen. The plan wasn’t working, and if Dmitry kept it up he was going to cause a scene. Make a scene—that was it.
Stormy closed her eyes and tried to imagine something that would make her cry…wasn’t that what actors did? She imagined her mother’s death, her funeral. She opened her eyes. No tears. It wasn’t going to work. She thought of how much was at risk here, what would happen to Alyssa, what was happening to Alyssa because they couldn’t find her. Everything was falling apart and this was their last chance. Tears materialized, not out of sadness but out of frustration. As the first drop rolled down her cheek, Stormy approached the counter.
“What is happening?” she said, her voice wavering. “Why isn’t he helping us? My aunt…my aunt who was abused by the Muscovite filth, who lost her only son in the war against the Russians, who now needs a special operation that she cannot afford…this man is refusing to help her? Right here, we have access to everything she needs to live, to be at peace, but this Russian crony will do nothing.”
“I am no Russian, lady.”
“No Russian? Wasn’t it the Russians who destroyed our lands? I am not Chechen, I am from a free land that the Muscovites once persecuted. But my aunt is Chechen, and has sacrificed her own flesh and blood for you. Yet you sit there and just as good as sign her death certificate.”
“Give her the address,” shouted an old Chechen woman behind Stormy.
“Traitor,” one younger man said from the back of the line, his insult directed at the postal worker.
“Give it to her or we will,” someone else said.
Dmitry swept his arm toward the crowd then turned to the worker. “Well?”
“Give me the name.”
Dmitry slipped the man a piece of paper with the aunt’s name and P.O. box on it. Stormy stayed in character, although the tears had dried. The woman in line behind her was patting her back and reassuring her in Russian. The postal worker returned a few moments later with the aunt’s address.
“We got it!” Stormy said, running up to Marcus. She hugged him and he lifted her off her feet. Marcus set her down and shook Dmitry’s hand.
“Thank you, Dmitry. I should have had more faith in you.”
“Really? I thought you trusted me 100%” They both laughed. “Let’s get a cab for you two.”
“What about you?” Marcus asked.
“I’m going back to the hotel. I’ve had enough drama for one day. Besides, I don’t think this aunt will want yet another stranger in her apartment. It’s going to be a hard sell as it is.”
Stormy smiled and hugged Dmitry. “Thank you.”
“That’s what you’re paying me the big buck for…”
“Big bucks,” Stormy said.
They found a cab and parted ways with Dmitry.
They gave the cabbie the aunt’s address. “I don’t like this,” Marcus said. “Dmitry’s acting bizarre.”
“Dmitry?” Stormy replied. “He probably just needs a drink, or two.”
“I hope that’s all it is.”
Chapter 31
Kamil
a pushed the buzzer to her aunt’s apartment.
“Yes?” the aunt asked.
“It is Kamila.”
“Are you going to behave yourself?”
Kamila had to be better, for the sake of Alyssa. The aunt knew where Kamila’s father was, and it was best for both Kamila and Alyssa that they go see him, that Kamila be in a place where she could care for Alyssa. “Yes aunt. I just needed to take a walk. I am feeling better now.”
There was a long pause, then the door buzzed and unlocked.
Kamila sat down at the table in her aunt’s apartment. She began talking to her aunt in Chechen. “I want to talk to you about Alyssa,” Kamila said.
“What about her?”
“Alyssa needs a mother, but Anna is dead. Her father has died as well. The Americans forced me to return here with her because they do not want foreigners in their country. Especially Chechens.”
The aunt shook her head.
“We can’t stay here in the city, not now. Maybe after we go spend time with my father, then we can return. I know you have been good to us. But I need to know where my father is.”
The aunt stared suspiciously at her. Kamila did not want to give her time to think of a reason to refuse. “In a time like this, a girl needs to see her father.”
The aunt stared back at her for a long time. Kamila could tell she didn’t want to tell her where her father was. Kamila’s hands began to shake as her impatience rose. She could feel her face flush, her ears began to ring. A whisper of a thought. No, it was more than a thought.
“If she doesn’t tell you, you have to kill her,” the voice said.
“No,” Kamila said. “That won’t be necessary.”
Kamila stared back at her aunt, unsure whether she, Kamila, had said the words or just thought them.
Alyssa stood behind the aunt. Alyssa had a strange look on her face. Was it pity? Or was it an accusation? Kamila wasn’t sure.
“I understand,” the aunt said. “I will tell you where he is.” The aunt rose and went to her guest room where she rummaged through a box of papers. She returned and handed a paper to Kamila. “He is up in the hills near Vedeno. Has been for about a year now. This is enough information for you to find him once you reach Vedeno. It isn’t too far, but your father is hidden, up in the hills.”
Kamila looked at the paper. Yes, she knew the area well. This was one of his favorite locations—isolated and difficult for the Russians to locate.
“I know Vedeno,” Kamila said. Then, remembering to be polite, “Thank you.” She hugged her aunt and kissed her on the cheek.
“You are welcome,” her aunt said seriously, “but are you sure you don’t want the girl to stay here? Really, your father doesn’t like children, and it isn’t safe there—not for anyone but especially a little girl. And after what happened today…well, what I mean is, what do you know about raising a child?”
Kamila took a step back. “I don’t know how to raise a child? What do you think I’ve been doing for the past three years?”
“I only meant that—”
“You meant to insult me. I am more of a mother than you ever were,” Kamila said, her volume increasing with each syllable.
“You are not a mother,” her aunt said defiantly.
Kamila slapped her and the aunt staggered.
“Stop it,” Alyssa shouted. “Stop hurting people.”
“Stay out of this,” Kamila said calmly. “This is for your protection.”
“You are ill and you should not be around that child. Leave her here or I will call the police.”
“No you won’t…” Kamila raised her clenched fist and swung at her aunt again. This time the aunt moved to the side and grabbed Kamila’s arm and held her against the wall for a moment, then released her. Kamila, stunned by the aunt’s ability to move so quickly, took a step forward. This time when she hit her she would knock her down. Make sure she didn’t get up again.
Kamila stopped herself. “Come, Alyssa,” she said in English. “We have to go now. This woman has told us she wants us to leave.”
“Why?”
“She says she does not want children in her home.”
“I don’t believe that,” Alyssa said.
“If you want to be safe from this crazy woman and her friends, you better listen to me. Besides, if you disobey me, you are never going to see your father again.”
She could see that, even though Alyssa did not trust her, she was willing to consider Kamila’s statement. “When will I see my father then?”
“Soon,” Kamila said.
“You keep saying that, but you didn’t want me to talk to him on the phone.”
“That was a mistake…I promise you, I am going to make sure you see him soon. But this woman wants me to give you to the orphanage.”
The aunt and Alyssa were silent as Kamila thrust their clothes back into the bags.
Kamila motioned for Alyssa. The girl paused, looked up at the aunt, then followed Kamila. They walked through the kitchen toward the front door. Her aunt said, “You cannot raise that girl. You are not her mother—”
Kamila turned and in the corner of her eye noticed a carving knife in the sink. A vision of the man she had killed in Moscow pressed its way into her mind. The aunt had followed them and bent to kiss Alyssa on the head. “She should stay here,” the aunt said.
Kamila looked from the knife to her aunt, and the old woman took a step back.
The aunt let go of Alyssa and said to Alyssa in Russian, “Be careful little one. Be careful. I will miss you.” The aunt gave Alyssa a little push in Kamila’s direction. Kamila nodded and turned and walked out the door, Alyssa obediently behind.
Chapter 32
The aunt’s apartment wasn’t far from the post office. Had they known the way there, they could have walked. At least this time, unlike their trip to Moscow, they hadn’t wasted days searching for Alyssa only to find out she had been nearby all along. They had only been in Grozny for less than a day, long enough to find the aunt. The best case scenario was that Alyssa was there, with or without Kamila, Marcus didn’t care. The worst that could happen was—he didn’t want to think about that.
Marcus pushed the button marked 512.
“Yes?” A woman said in Russian.
“Am I speaking to Medna Zakayev?”
“Who is this?”
“My name is Marcus. I was married to your niece Anna Shishani. I am looking for my daughter.”
The woman’s gasp was audible through the small speaker at the door.
“Are you still there?” Marcus asked.
The buzzer to the front door of the apartment building sounded, followed by a click. Marcus and Stormy took the stairs to the fifth floor. A wide-eyed older woman with a pallid face greeted them at the door to apartment 512.
“Come,” she said quietly, her head down. She pointed to the couch and Marcus and Stormy obeyed her. The aunt sat in a small chair across from them. Her dress and head covering were a matching floral print of small blue and yellow flowers that had faded and frayed over the years.
“You are Alyssa’s father?” she asked.
“Yes. Have you seen her?”
The aunt was quiet. Marcus didn’t have time for silence. They had come this far and he needed answers.
“We don’t have much time,” Marcus said. “Her name is Alyssa. She is eleven years old.”
“How did Kamila get Alyssa?” the aunt asked, looking out the window at Grozny’s tattered landscape.
“She stole her,” Marcus said, with irritation. “We are from America. We’ve been looking for her for weeks—”
The aunt closed her eyes and tilted her head back. “I am such a foolish old woman.”
Marcus took her reaction as confirmation that Alyssa and Kamila had at least visited her.
“How long ago were they here?”
“She took the child from here two days ago.”
Marcus sat on the edge of the couch. Two days. Kamila must have left right after stabbing Jones’s man in Moscow. And she hadn’t stayed here long, either. She was on the move, but where to?
“Where did they go? How did they get there?”
The woman covered her face with trembling hands dotted with age spots, veins protruding through crepe skin. “I am sorry. I should have known.”
“Please hand me my handkerchief,” the aunt said, pointing to the table next to Marcus. As he did, he glanced at Stormy, telling her with his eyes that she needed to get the aunt to talk. The old woman seemed more concerned about feeling sorry for herself than helping them catch Kamila.
“I know this is very hard for you. Kamila has hurt many people.” She put the woman’s hands in her own. “Did you get to spend much time with them?”
She nodded. “Alyssa was here most of two days. She is such a good girl.” She smiled and looked at Marcus.
“Yes,” Stormy said. “But why did they leave?”
“You have to know. She told me the child’s father was dead.”
“Dead?” Marcus said. Did Kamila really believe that? No, this was just another example of her deceitfulness. Had she told Alyssa Marcus was dead? He didn’t want to believe she was that cruel. But hadn’t everything she’d done so far been exactly that—cruel?
“That her mother had died, I already knew of course. Anna's passing devastated us all. She was such a good girl.” Marcus winced and the mention of Anna’s death. The aunt continued, “Not like Kamila. She was always a little brat.” The woman glared in the direction of the kitchen, her eyes narrow and lips pinched, as if recalling a specific example. “The last day, Kamila was upset because I asked her to leave the girl with me. I told her she didn’t know anything about being a mother.”
“Mother?” Stormy asked.
“She was going on and on about how the girl needed a mother. She thought she was going to be the one to take Anna’s place.” The aunt looked at Marcus. “I’m not sure if that was the arrangement.”
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