Master

by Catherine Taylor

  “I will pick you up at noon.” Natasha told her. “But now I have to go.”

  “You haven’t finished your coffee,” Lena pointed out.

  “He never makes it the way I like it.” She looked at Jahn as she stood up. “Are you going to walk me to the door?”

  Jahn followed her out into the hallway and frowned at her. “Satisfied?”

  Natasha nodded. “She’s like a flower ready to bloom, about to burst with new life, right in the middle of the dreary world you have made for yourself. I think if anything happened to her now, it would be like losing your soul.”

  “I wouldn’t have worded it so dramatically,” Jahn grinned. “But yeah, I like her being around.”

  “Dramatic will be when you tell her how you really feel.”

  Jahn sighed. “Fuck off, Natasha. I’ll see you at noon.”

  He listened to her laughing as she descended the stairs, before going back inside.

  Lena wasn’t looking so confident when Jahn locked the door and turned back to her.

  “It was alright with you, wasn’t it?” she asked nervously. “If you don’t want me to go…”

  “Then you wouldn’t be going,” he finished for her. “There are things you don’t understand about Natasha and it’s not up to me to tell them to you, but it doesn’t make any difference. If you like her, then like her for who she is. She is the only person I would trust to take you out and that says a lot of how I feel about her. I hope you will remember that.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You will. Shopping with Natasha is usually eventful.” he smiled as he came nearer to her, his eyes wandering over her. “When I left you this morning, you were naked. I would like you to be that way again, right now.”

  Lena gasped and shivered, and felt her legs shaking. “I’m a little bit sore inside.”

  “Is that right? Then you are going to need a full medical examination. Go into the bedroom, remove all your clothes and wait while I get my instruments.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  He was already running, overtaking the screaming woman, as the pram rolled to the edge and plunged into the pond, sinking down rapidly into the water. He had no time to judge the depth as he leapt in and found himself under the surface, but with his feet touching the bottom. Pushing up, he caught the carriage, turning it and taking hold of the baby, clutching it to him and resurfacing.

  There were several people waiting to help pull him out and the woman was clawing at him to claim back her infant. He ignored her as he cradled the baby and turned it face down over him arm. Water seeped out of the mouth, but for a moment there was no movement. He turned her back and using his fingers began to compress the tiny chest.

  Those that knew what he was doing had to hold the woman back, but as the baby began a choking, spluttering gargle, she froze and stared fearfully. He turned the baby to her side and within a minute there was a loud, screaming bawl of distress.

  Jahn smiled and held onto her until he was sure her breathing was well established. The baby opened her eyes and screamed louder as she looked at Jahn. Satisfied, he handed her back to her crying mother.

  “Take her to the hospital and have her checked out,” he told her.

  The woman nodded, still crying as she reached out and seized a handful of Jahn’s soaking jumper, pulling herself against him. Jahn awkwardly allowed her to embrace him, while the other people patted and praised him.

  “Don’t mess around,” he told them crossly. “The child needs to be seen to.”

  The moment he was released he walked away, ignoring the shouts of thanks. The old man stood at the top of the rise and applauded him as he approached.

  “Well done, my friend.”

  “Yeah, right,” Jahn growled. “Now I’m fucking wet.”

  “Come, we will sit in the sun and you can dry off.”

  They walked out to where some of the trees had been cut down and their huge stumps provided seating. Jahn began to pull objects from his pockets and toss them down in disgust.

  “We’ll get you a new pager,” the old man grinned as he lit up a cigarette.

  Jahn pulled off his jumper and singlet and draped them over another stump. Pulling his boots off, he emptied water out and then pulled off his socks.

  “That was an incredible act of kindness,” the old man smiled. “You saved that baby’s life. I doubt anyone else would have been so quick.”

  “An expensive act of kindness.” Jahn shook his head as he removed notes from his wallet and examined his silver box.

  “What is that?”

  Jahn grinned at him. “This would have told me if you’re wearing a wire. I don’t suppose you want to volunteer that information.”

  The old man laughed, stood up and spread his arms out. “You are more than welcome to check.”

  “I’ll take your word for it.”

  Sitting down again, the old man frowned. “Is there anything you have to relay to us?”

  “Not at this time.”

  The frown deepened. “Some of my colleagues are worried, Jahn. They want you to hand over the girl now, so they at least have her secured.”

  “That’s not going to happen.”

  “There is talk. A fight that is going to take place on Friday night. I take it that you are one of the participants.”

  “And if I am?”

  “We’re just finding all of this hard to understand. The first one, yes, you got the girl, but why this one?”

  “Just part of the operation. If you want Makarov, then I have to maintain my cover until he makes an appearance.”

  “Which there are no guarantees that he will. This could go on for weeks. Do you intend to keep fighting?”

  “If I have to.”

  The old man shook his head. “The Party can’t accept this. They want the girl. You have to deliver her by Monday.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  “Jahn,” the old man entreated. “I am one man in all of this, but over the last five years I have seen a side of you that doesn’t normally exist in a man who does the work you do. The side of you that rushes down a hill to rescue a baby. Some of my colleagues don’t trust you, simply because of your obscure past. I find it hard to believe that having this girl in your possession hasn’t had some affect upon you. Would I be wrong?”

  “She is a hostage. I maintain her welfare and that is it.”

  “That’s good.” He paused to light another cigarette with the butt of the other. “You should know, this fight, there are rumours. Our men at the mine, they are hearing of some big Belarusian that is going to be in the cage with you. From what I understand, you have quite a fight on your hands and the betting is going to be considerable, another thing the Party is not happy about”

  He smirked. “Me, personally, there’s still a man in me that would love to be there to watch.”

  Jahn frowned. “Is there a name for this Belarusian?”

  “Sasha somebody.”

  “Sasha Rabinov?”

  “Yes, that’s it. You know him?”

  “I know of him.”

  The old man shifted to look directly at Jahn. “I don’t like that look on your face. You’re worried. Has it even occurred to you that you might lose?”

  Jahn grinned. “No.”

  “Looking at you, I wouldn’t have a doubt either, but I haven’t seen this man.”

  “He’s just a man.” Jahn watched the old man draw heavily on his cigarette. “You seem to have something else on your mind.”

  “It’s nothing,” he laughed weakly. “Wives, children. That is a battle you don’t want to come up against.”

  “Your daughter?”

  All the mirth was gone, replaced by a trembling hand as he smoked. “She hasn’t come back. She’s never been gone this long. We’ve contacted her friends. No one has seen her.”

  “Have you got a picture?”

  The old man nodded, getting his wallet out and taking a photo from it. He handed it to Jah
n. “I wanted to ask you… This is not your affair, I know…”

  Jahn stared at the pretty, smiling face of a girl of about eighteen. “Her name?”

  “Marisha.” He puffed again. “You hear things, I know. I can’t ask this of you…”

  “I’ll make some enquiries. Can I keep this?”

  “Of course, and thank you.”

  Jahn put the photo down with other things. “You want Lena on Monday. You’ll have her, so tell your colleagues to back off or they’ll get fuck all. How many men have you got stationed at the mine?”

  “Three, and yes, I will do my best to let you get on with your work.” He got to his feet and smiled at Jahn. “Good luck, my friend. Fight well. I’ll have a new pager left in the usual place later today and if you should hear anything…”

  “You’ll be the first to know.”

  Jahn remained behind as the old man headed back to the path. His jeans would be wet for a while, but the sun was warm enough to dry out his other clothes. It felt good on his naked shoulders and back, and it wasn’t often he had such a peaceful place to be alone. His mind was filled with images of Lena’s body exposed to him.

  Thinking of her made him grin as he remembered their morning. She loved that thermometer, though she had felt obliged to fuss and struggle so that he would have to smack her arse to keep her still.

  She was still in control, but he no longer cared. He loved her fantasies and the way she giggled at him. Her carnal desires ran deep and there was so much more he could teach her if time had been on their side. A few days could barely tap her nature.

  He found himself thinking about his mother and sister, and how much they would have liked Lena. They were all alike, soft, gentle, and hearts filled with compassion. Lena would have been an answer to their prayers for him.

  He remembered how much his brother had hated it every time his mother and Kristina had prayed together, telling them in no uncertain manner that no one was listening. Even that morning, when everything had changed, they had begun their day with prayer.

  Like most twelve year old boys, Jahn was cheeky.

  “Ask God to let me win the tournament today,” he called out, causing his mother to look up and frown at him, though there was a grin on her face. His sister was not so forgiving.

  “God does not want you fighting,” Kristina scolded. “You are a rude little boy and should be asking God to make you a nicer person and want to help people, not hurt them.”

  Taras looked up from his breakfast and scowled. “He should be given a good hiding and made to sit in his room and learn something useful, the history of his homeland and the pride of being a comrade of the Soviet.”

  His brother’s rants never failed to inspire a comical irreverence.

  “Maybe you should shave your head, Taras,” he grinned. “Then you could be as ugly as Lenin.”

  Taras launched to his feet. “You little bastard.”

  Their father finally looked up from his book. “Taras, sit down. Damyen, apologise to your brother.”

  Jahn could still remember his father addressing him by his real name for the last time. He could also remember how he had responded.

  “I am truly sorry that Taras has no sense of humour.”

  “You see what your lack of discipline has created?” Taras leant down and glared at his father across the table. “And what do you expect? You took him away from a civilized world to this primitive shithole. You teach him nothing of our heritage and talk of your betrayal as if it was something to be proud of.”

  It was not often that Jahn had seen his father get angry, but that day he had exploded.

  “I am proud that I turned my back on the Soviet.” He was on his feet and shouting at Taras. “It is just another entity that wants to create war and misery. They want to control their people and spread their ideology and won’t listen to anyone. They wanted me to make weapons that would inflict immeasurable suffering on innocent people. I owe nothing to the Soviet. We are Ukrainian. Do your own history and see how our people suffered under Stalin.”

  Taras snarled back at him. “The only ones who suffered were peasants and whores and traitors like you.”

  The slap was loud and vicious. It was the most violent act Jahn had ever witnessed in his father, and was his cue to run out the door, before he got dragged into it. He had looked back long enough to see Taras striding from the house, yelling abuse at the top of his lungs.

  Jahn held a lot of regrets about that day, especially his own part in inciting the confrontation, but mostly he regretted that his last moment with his family had been a bitter one. Later that day he would look upon their lifeless bodies and launch an attack upon the strangers standing over them.

  In seventeen years he had never learned what had become of his brother. His memory of him was of a man similar in many ways, the height, the black hair, the stark blue eyes, and yet so very different. They were eight years apart and didn’t share anything that might have inspired brotherly affection. Taras was too serious and dwelt in the past, making judgements of anyone who didn’t conform to his standards.

  Jahn was too involved in his fighting to care about family squabbles or a bad tempered brother. He was obsessed by a need to push his body to its limits. The next two years in a boy’s home had given him plenty of opportunity. It was the last place where he would be known as Damyen.

  The skinny boy who had escaped with him, had taken on the name Natasha. Lacking the same imagination, he took a name from the cemetery that had hosted their first night of freedom.

  “It is disrespectful,” Natasha had complained.

  “He is not using it anymore where he is. I will do it proud. Jahn Zaleski. It is a good name, and it will do until I can think of something else.”

  Over the next fifteen years his real name had never been used again and soon Jahn Zaleski would cease to exist. Whatever name he took next, he wanted it to be his last. It would be the start of a new life and hopefully one that would finally bring him some peace.

  Jahn Zaleski’s life would end without resolution. He would never know why his family had to be killed the way they were, or what happened to his brother. These were the questions that were supposed to be answered when Makarov was on his knees, begging for his life, screaming from the torture he had planned for him, and now it was over. He couldn’t even summon the hatred he had harboured for seventeen years.

  Makarov was the only chance Lena had. Once he had her, he would be out of there and she could hold on to her new passion for life. The years would go by and even her baby would no longer be such a tormenting memory. Maybe she would even be able to track her down. One positive outcome of glasnost was better record keeping. It wouldn’t be that hard to find her.

  He dwelled on that thought for a moment, but quickly dismissed it. Friday night would be the last he would see of Lena. It could very well prove to be his own last night, coming up against Sasha Rabinov.

  It was a smart move bringing in a fighter that had never been defeated. It was just like Makarov to do everything legitimately, to keep the miners happy, make a lot of money and take revenge on the man who had taken his granddaughter, and Rabinov was certainly the man to do it.

  Jahn gathered his wet clothes. They would have to do until he got home, but first he had another job to complete. At least somewhere in the world, some alcoholic derelict was lying in an abandoned factory, feeling slightly more miserable than he was.

  * * * *

  Lena was admiring a dress when the sales assistant, a young and cropped haired girl, approached them. The contempt on her face was clear as she addressed Natasha.

  “You will have to leave,” she snarled. “We don’t cater to your sort. Get out before I call the police.”

  Natasha looked at her indifferently and spoke in a pleasant voice. “I’m sorry. I was certain when I saw you that anyone could shop here, or is it dyke exclusive?”

  “Get out.”

  The assistant hurried back to the counter and p
icked up the phone. Natasha grabbed Lena’s hand and grinned. “Let’s go.”

  Lena found herself hoisted along as Natasha’s heels clicked rapidly along the pavement. Once they had rounded the corner, Natasha stopped and laughed at Lena’s confused face.

  “I’m sorry, Lena. I shouldn’t have gone in there. The fucking bitch knows me from some of the clubs. You would think with her own bent, she would have a little more understanding.”

  Lena shook her head. “I don’t understand what happened. Why was that woman so horrible to you?”

  Natasha sighed. “You don’t have a clue, do you? Jahn should have said something.”

  “About what?”

  “Does the term ‘transsexual’ have any meaning to you?”

  Lena shook her head.

  “I was born a boy when I should have been born a girl.” “Natasha sighed. “I’ve rarely felt like a boy, I don’t want to be a boy, and eventually I won’t have the parts that make me a boy.”

  “I don’t understand. You’re a girl. How can you be a boy?”

  Natasha smiled sadly. “Because if I dropped my underwear, you would think very differently.”

  It took a moment for Lena to comprehend what she was saying, and as it dawned on her, she backed away, staring up at her fearfully.

  “You see,” Natasha shrugged. “That’s how most people react. I can take you back to the apartment if you want.”

  “I’m sorry,” Lena swallowed. “I shouldn’t have reacted like that. It was rude.”

  “The reactions are usually a lot ruder.”

  “They shouldn’t be,” Lena frowned. “You’re a nice person. I’ve had fun with you for the last few hours. I’ve never had a friend to shop with, and you’re funny and exciting. You make me laugh. Why should it bother me because you have a few extra bits that you don’t want?”

  Natasha gazed at her affectionately.

  “That woman was going to call the police.” Lena frowned with confusion. “What crime have you done?”

  “I’m afraid that if you’re not heterosexual in this country and only engaged in the missionary position, then you don’t get the same rights as everyone else. It is not illegal being who we are, as long as we not loud about it.”