“Yes, Mama, don’t worry. Go, and maybe lie down on a proper bed for an hour or two. You need to keep your strength up.”
Papa was still sleeping, so Bela settled herself down in the chair and took out the book she’d brought with her. She looked at the cover, admiring the glossy photo on the front. It was Michael who was getting her to read books; she hadn’t really read much before. Ever since he’d introduced her to the Christian bookshop run by their church, she couldn’t seem to get enough, and had been devouring a book a week. This particular book was written by an American and translated into Russian. Someone called Yancey, and something about grace. She was learning such a lot about her new faith, but the more she read the more she realised she had to learn and the more questions she had. She sighed. She’d never catch up to where Michael was. There were so many new concepts to learn, and so many old beliefs to expose and replace. She realised how wrong she’d been about God for so many years.
Papa stirred, muttered something, but sank back into a deep sleep again. The door opened and Azamat came in. He looked at Papa and slowed his steps, not wanting to disturb him, but there was something in his eyes that made Bela’s heart start to race. She jumped up and followed Azamat into the corridor, where they could talk more openly.
“What is it? Is there news?”
“Yes. They’ve caught him!” Azamat looked jubilant.
“How? Where?”
“He was trying to board an overnight bus to Moscow, and he fit the description I gave the police, so the driver kept him talking until the police arrived. He’s being held in the main police station here in Shekala, and they’re questioning him right now.”
Bela was stunned and a little shaken. She’d been so focussed on her father’s recovery that she hadn’t given much thought to the motive behind the shooting.
“Do they know why he did it?”
“No, not yet, but it looks like he was acting alone.”
“How do you know all this?”
Azamat smiled slyly. “Let’s just say, I have friends in high places.”
Bela didn’t press him further. Either he knew someone who shouldn’t have been telling him so much, or he’d been passing money under the table. Either way, she didn’t want to know.
“Is there anything else?”
Azamat laughed. “Just that the idiot is claiming that Papa is his father. Can you believe that! People will say anything to get themselves off the hook. I mean, how ridiculous!”
Bela felt the blood drain from her cheeks. She stumbled back towards the wall, her mind whirring.
“You said, before, that he was a young man. About twenty-one?”
“Yes, perhaps. I would have put him younger, maybe about nineteen. What? What is it?”
“And he was boarding a bus to Moscow?”
“Yes. What is it Bela? You’re scaring me now. Do you know something I don’t know?”
“Oh, Azamat. Is his name Pavlik? That is, I guess he’d be going by his full name, Pavel, now.”
Now it was Azamat’s turn to go pale. He stared at Bela in disbelief. “Yes,” he said quietly. “He gave his name as Pavel Aslanovich Shatinov. How would you know that?”
Bela looked at her brother and sighed. “I think it’s time I told you something. A secret I’ve been keeping quiet for too long.”
Chapter 5
Bela
By the end of the week, Papa was doing much better and would be released into Mama’s care at home in a few days’ time. Bela couldn’t stop thinking about Pavel and what he’d done. What he’d tried to do.
Lord, what would drive him to try to kill Papa, a man he’d never really met? What was he trying to gain? I don’t understand.
Her thoughts swirled round in her mind no matter how much she prayed about it. At least it was keeping her mind off the whole pregnancy thing, or rather the lack of pregnancy. She broached the subject of Pavel again with Michael that evening, when Angelina was tucked up in bed and they were sitting together, just the two of them, on the sofa in their living room.
“I just feel like I should do something.”
“But what? What can you do?” Michael was always so logical about everything. “Pavel’s in custody and the police are waiting for your father to press charges.”
“He’s taking his time about it. When he found out who it was who’d shot him, he went all funny. You should have seen his face. It was like he’d seen a ghost.”
“Surely they’ll convict Pavel anyway, whether your father presses charges or not? He did try to kill a man.”
“Yes, but my father has a lot of power in the local government. He could get Pavel’s case dropped just like that if he wanted to.”
“You think he’s hesitating because it’s his son?”
“Yes, of course. Family is everything here, even estranged, deranged sons who try to kill you. Maybe Papa’s feeling guilty about cutting Pavel out of his life. Do you think that’s why Pavel tried to kill him?”
“What, because your father cut him out of his life? I guess it’s possible. He sent money though, didn’t he?”
“I don’t know. I know he sent a little, back when I was in Moscow in 1999, because I was the one who had to hand deliver the envelopes.”
Bela paused. A memory sprang to mind. That time when Pavel’s mother, Maria, had confronted her in the entrance hall of the apartment building and told her about Pavel’s illness. The extra money that Papa had sent for the hospital bills had ruined Bela’s chances of going to England and effectively ended her university education too.
Michael stroked her hair and kissed her on the cheek. “I think it’s late and you need to get some sleep.”
“I’m going to visit him!” Bela blurted out, suddenly. “I’m going to visit Pavel in the police station.”
“Are you sure that’s wise?” A frown of concern fell over Michael’s face, but somehow it only made Bela feel more determined.
“I just have to know what drove him to it. I have to know more about his past. He is my half-brother after all.”
BELA’S HANDS FIDGETED under the table while she waited for the guard to bring Pavel to talk to her. She glanced at Michael, who had insisted on coming with her. He seemed on edge too. Was she making a mistake coming here? She hadn’t seen her half-brother since he was about three. It had been the first time she’d found out that Papa had a mistress; that he was being unfaithful to Mama. Maria, Pavel’s mother, had turned up at their home in the village and demanded money from Papa. He’d driven them away quickly, but Bela had overheard the conversation and had seen the terrified little boy clutching his mother’s legs. The woman had looked very different when they’d met in Moscow eight years later. If Papa had been sending them money, he hadn’t been sending very much.
The door opened and a guard walked in, followed by a thin youth with unkempt, unwashed hair. His eyes betrayed both nervousness and defiance at the same time. There was no mistaking he was related; it was like looking at a younger version of her brother Azamat.
Bela stood up but then sat down again. What was the proper etiquette when you were visiting potential prisoners? She probably shouldn’t shake his hand, so she placed hers on the table. The guard motioned Pavel to sit down in the chair opposite and then stood at a slight distance.
“Who are you?” growled Pavel, looking first at Bela and then at Michael.
“I’m Bela. I’m your...” She glanced at the guard. Did they know that Pavel was her father’s son? Pavel had claimed he was, but had her father confirmed it? Or was she about to give away a family secret? She hadn’t really thought this through.
“I’m Aslan Kadirovich’s daughter,” she said eventually. “You shot my father.”
Pavel’s eyes widened as he took in this news. He looked at her with a new interest, obviously realising now that she was his half-sister. How much did he know about his other family? His eyes darkened and his gruff demeanour returned.
“Why are you here?”
&nb
sp; “I... I just wanted to know why. Why did you do it?”
Pavel rolled his eyes and slumped back in his chair, his arms folded. “That man ruined my mother’s life. He ruined my life.”
“How? How did he ruin your life?”
Pavel straightened up and leaned forward. He looked Bela in the eyes, perhaps trying to work out how much she knew about the situation. Bela instinctively sat back a little. He scared her, but she didn’t want him to know that.
“Because of him my mother and I grew up in poverty,” he growled. “She never managed to pull her life together. She... we...struggled to get enough food, while your father,” he sneered as he said those words, “was living the high life down here.”
“But it wasn’t like that!” Bela glanced at the guard again and checked herself. “I’m... sure it wasn’t like that.”
“How would you know?” Pavel looked at her with such hatred that Bela shuffled backwards in her chair. She was suddenly glad the guard was there. Michael grabbed her hand and held it tightly. What might Pavel have done if she’d been alone? Would he have tried to hurt her too? Did he think that she was part of some big conspiracy to ruin his life?
“We’re done here,” said Pavel suddenly. He got up and indicated to the guard to open the door back towards his cell. Bela was going to object but stopped herself. There was no way they were going to have a proper conversation here with the guard listening. How could she defend herself and defend Papa without betraying Papa’s secret? She stood up and let the guard escort Pavel away. When they’d left she noticed both her hands were trembling. She clung tightly onto Michael’s arm to steady herself as they walked out of the building. What a relief to be back outside on the street again, safe.
Chapter 6
Azamat
Azamat listened to Bela’s story of visiting Pavel in police custody, the muscles in his jaw and fists tightening. How could she have done such a stupid thing? That guy was a dangerous lunatic. What was Michael thinking, letting his wife do that, even if he was there with her? Didn’t he care about Bela?
Of course he did. Azamat took a deep breath. He would try to hear Bela’s side of the story before he did anything rash. He’d learned that, at least, over the years; that it didn’t pay to be hasty and act in anger.
“But, Azamat, he’s our brother. I just felt I had to see him.”
“Half-brother. Apparently.” He still couldn’t believe the story that Bela had told him, about Papa having a secret mistress and child all those years ago.
“I kind of believe him, though. I saw his mother, remember, all those years ago. She looked haggard and awful. She was desperate for money.”
“Of course, she was. She was probably spending it on drugs.” Why did Bela have to always see the best in people? She was so naïve.
“But even if she was, what drove her to that? What would it have been like for Pavel to grow up in that kind of environment?”
“So, you’re saying he tried to kill Papa because Papa hadn’t given him enough money?” Azamat was struggling to keep his temper at bay. How could Bela be defending this idiot, this madman?
“Something like that.”
“And you believe him?”
“I don’t know what to believe. What makes a young man want to kill his own father? Especially a father he doesn’t even know?”
Later that evening, as he lay on his bed, Azamat couldn’t get Bela’s words out of his head. What did make a young man so angry at a father he never knew? A chill ran through his body, and he sat up, his heart thumping loudly inside his chest. What if his own son was already incubating this kind of anger inside him? Was his own situation any different? He had walked away from his own son because Milana had told him to, but what kind of repercussions would that have later down the line? Would his own son seek him out and try to kill him too?
He shook his head and stood up. He was being stupid. His son, Alikhan, if that really was his name, was being brought up in a respectable, well-off family. Milana had assured him of that. Her words echoed in his mind. “It’s for the best, Azamat. It’s best for the baby too. It will be well looked after. It’ll have a stable life.”
But even so, did he really want his son hating him? What had Milana told Alikhan about him? Would he know how much Azamat had longed to see him over the years, how painful it had been to keep his distance, how he had wanted to be that baby’s father right from the start? Who would tell him that?
He felt such an ache in his chest it was like his heart was breaking. Come on, it had been fifteen years. Why was it still so painful to think about? Was the father-son bond really that strong? Oh, he’d been so stupid just to walk away. He should have stayed. He should have insisted on having a part in Alikhan’s life. He’d been weak and too easily swayed by Milana’s arguments. Walking away had seemed like the brave thing to do at the time, but now he could see that it had actually been the cowardly option.
Argh! Azamat hit his fist on the table. Just when his life was turning around. Just when he’d started feeling truly happy. Why now?
The conversation with Michael just before his father’s shooting replayed in his mind. Forgive himself, Michael had suggested. Azamat had assumed Michael was talking about Beslan, but maybe he was talking about more than that.
Azamat sat back down on his bed and held his head in his hands. He’d done some stupid things when he was younger - stealing, breaking into a car, messing around with drink and drugs. But it was when he walked away from Milana and his unborn child that things had really spiralled downhill. Was that why he’d been drafted so easily into the terrorist organisation? Because he hadn’t had the guts to face his own failure as a parent? Because he hadn’t forgiven himself for walking away? He’d just buried the past deep inside, not wanting to deal with it. Not wanting to face his demons. Perhaps he’d been wrong. He needed to ask Michael more about this forgiveness thing.
Azamat gritted his jaw. But that still didn’t change the present situation. He’d walked away from his son fifteen years ago, just like his own father had, and history was on its way to repeating itself. He needed to find his son before it was too late. He had to. There was no way he was going to repeat the mistakes his father had made. There was no way he was going to end up with a son who hated him so much he wished him dead. Besides, he had a right to be part of Alikhan’s life, didn’t he? He’d let Milana push him away, but no longer. He just had to figure out a way to slot himself back into his son’s life, and that wasn’t going to be easy.
Chapter 7
Milana
It was the day of the regionals. The dance ensemble had had their final rehearsal the previous day, and Alikhan had come home sweaty and exhausted. Milana had done her best to encourage him, but secretly she was glad that the pressure would soon be coming to an end. It was the middle of September, but the weather was still stiflingly hot outside, and the ensemble director seemed to have no pity. If he wanted them fresh and rested for the big day, then he would have let them go home sooner.
Milana settled in her seat next to Madina and turned her attention to the stage. Behind the curtain the young people would be stretching and practising their dance steps one last time. The girls would be fixing their tall hats on their heads and arranging their long, white veils so they flowed down their backs, covering their long plaits. She felt a yearning to be part of that again. Being able to move gracefully around the dance floor, her feet hidden under her long dress so that it looked like she was floating on air. Delicately moving her hands in and out, out and in. Now spinning, now swapping sides. Demure and delicate but also strong and proud. She had loved dancing, why had she given it up? She’d preferred spending time hanging out with her friends in the park. Hanging out with Alikhan’s father.
The musicians suddenly sprang into action.
“They’re starting,” whispered Madina. She seemed equally excited.
Milana watched the accordion player sweeping the sides of the traditional instrument in and out
, out and in. The drums beat time to the music and beat deep into her soul also.
The first two group dances went perfectly. Soon it was time for the boys to show what they could do. Milana recognised one of Alikhan’s friends, Medik. He leaped high into the air, arching his back so that his toes almost touched his head, and then landed on his knees before leaping up again. She winced as he hit the floor. She knew how much it hurt, though Medik didn’t show it. Each boy was proud to be a member of Talinka. Proud to be Circassian. Proud of their culture, their heritage. They were brave; they were warriors.
Now it was Alikhan’s turn. Milana held her breath as she watched her son spin around the room on his knees, perfectly in time to the music, perfectly in control. He reached the end and leaped up to a round of applause, bowing proudly, his head held high and his arms lifted up, elbows out, one fist to his chest, the other arm now straight. She felt sure she must be the proudest parent in the room, as she clapped fiercely, almost rising out of her seat, but the dance was continuing and she would have to wait till the end.
Madina had applauded Alikhan loudly too, but her attention would be on her own daughter. Milana’s eyes scoured the stage seeking out Alyona and found her near the front of the group of girls on the right. She had grown into a real beauty, that girl. She couldn’t believe she was sixteen already, and her own son already fifteen. The two women shared a smile and then focussed back on the dancers. They’d done really well, the Talinka ensemble. Surely, they were in with a chance of winning the whole thing.
Madina leant over and whispered, “Seems like only yesterday they were both in prams, doesn’t it?”
Milana smiled and nodded. There were two more dance ensembles to go. This current group was good, but not as good as Alikhan’s, she was sure of it. She allowed her thoughts to wander, her interest no longer held by the performers on the stage. Her son was such an amazing dancer, so talented. He got that from her, obviously. Murat, on the other hand, seemed to have two left feet. Alikhan certainly didn’t get it from him. But then... She caught herself. Of course, he wouldn’t, would he? He didn’t get anything from Murat, really. Murat wasn’t Alikhan’s real father.
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