“You are pure,” she cries. “You must be!”
I say nothing.
“Don’t you understand? They will beat your father to death for our failure. Then your sister, brother and I will truly be in trouble.”
I stare at her. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, we have eaten their money for years. There will be punishment for not delivering.”
“What if we pay them back?”
“Pay them back?” she repeated. “Have you gone mad, child? Where will we get that kind of money from?”
“I could go to Moscow. I could work there and send money back. We could pay them bit by bit.”
“Katya. What are you saying? Look at you. A country girl who has been sheltered all her life. You know nothing about life in the big city. It is full of violent gangs. Do you know what they do to girls like you? They kidnap them, gang rape and beat them, then traffic them to Europe to work in the worst brothels. I have heard of our girls being forced to sleep with up to forty men a day. And those that do not obey are not killed. They just have their tongues and nipples cut off as a lesson to the other girls.”
I take a step back from the horror of the images Mama has drawn.
“But we don’t need to be talking about such atrocities … not while you’re still pure.” Her voice is full of desperation.
I don’t answer.
“Tell me you are pure,” Mama implores, almost breaking into a sob.
I look into Mama’s terrified eyes and I find myself unable to tell what I have done. Not being a virgin is not just the deal-breaker I thought it was, it is actually something that could have tragic and far-reaching consequences. I’m used goods, something the beast who wants me can’t abide by. He accepts only the pure. My pretty face won’t be enough. I’m sordid and filthy. Although it is possible Mama is exaggerating, I cannot take the chance that Papa will be beaten to death for not doing his job, then Mama, my brother and sister will starve in this little house. I love my family too much.
“Yes, I am still pure,” I whisper. I tell myself I will think of some other way to get myself out of this situation. Maybe after the men pick me up I will run away. Then they cannot punish my parents. They did their job properly. The fault will be totally mine. For the moment, I will pretend I’m still a virgin. My parents deserve that.
My mother beams happily at me, all the doubt and fear vanishing like mist in the morning sun. “I never doubted you. Of course not. You are a good girl. A good daughter. Go upstairs and wash while I make you a big birthday breakfast.
Wordlessly, I go into the room I share with my siblings. They are both fast asleep. I take off my coat, crawl under the covers, and close my eyes. What a mess. I wonder if I can hide a knife in my bag. It won’t do much, but a knife is a good thing to have. I think I can use it if I have to.
Katya
My breakfast is two fried eggs, the yolks unbroken, topped with sliced sausages, cheese; and blinis with wild honey. It’s my mother’s acknowledgment of my birthday. With the plate of food comes a card, something purchased from a store. This is something I should keep because it will be my last birthday in my little town. I know that.
My parents know that too and they’re trying their best to make something of this birthday. My father gives me a kiss on the head, and that’s the first one in a year. It’s his way of showing that he’s proud of me. My mother prompted him, but I don’t care. It’s his last kiss. There are a lot of ‘lasts’ today.
In fact, if I believe Mrs. Komarov, this will be the last I will see or hear of these people again, and that isn’t even taking into consideration the added complication of my lack of a hymen. I catch my mother staring at me and I can see worry lines on her face. She isn’t sure anymore that I’m still the little virgin girl she raised. I smile back confidently because I don’t want her to feel bad. I don’t want her to worry. I won’t spoil her day. I won’t spoil her dream of living the next five years in relative luxury.
But there will be no more money coming unless I find a way to get a job and send it. I am not afraid of the city. Thousands of girls leave their villages and end up in the cities. They all don’t end up in the hands of traffickers. Somehow, I will survive. I’m old enough to do anything I want.
For a moment, I remember the night before, the sex.
The American came along at just the right moment, right for me. I gave myself freely and I suspect that it will be the last time that happens. From now on, I’ll never give myself like that again. I’ll never give another man the chance to make me feel so cheap and used. Last night, I had wished the American would have ordered me to stay with him. Taken me by the hand and walked me to his car, or the train station or wherever. I wish we were now on our way to the embassy. It wouldn’t matter where. I wish it had happened that way. The American seemed to know me better than I know myself.
I can’t believe I’m actually missing him. Stupid.
Because he clearly doesn’t want me. That hurts most of all. When I really examine it, he treated me badly. He took what he wanted and then turned me out. While I’m angry, I can’t be too upset. I was the one who chose to go to his room. I was the one who saw my actions as a way to avoid my fate. It was me, not him, but he could have acted better.
He could have been kinder.
After breakfast, I go back to my room and get ready for the trip. Both my brother and sister sit on my bed and watch me packing. They’re somber and quiet. I try to lighten the mood, but I don’t feel too happy myself. My wardrobe is meagre, but I don’t take much. I leave my best dress for my sister. She starts sobbing when I give it to her. I tell her I will buy better ones in America.
She brightens up at that. “Will you buy a dress for me too?”
“Of course,” I say with a big smile.
“What about me? Tatyana already has more clothes than me,” my brother complains.
“Tatyana is always going to have more clothes than you. You better get used to it,” I tell him. “But if Mama tells me you were a good boy, I’ll send an American toy for you.”
His eyes light up. “What kind of toy?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I’ll have to see what boys your age play with in America.”
He clasps his hands together with joy.
It occurs to me then that I should only run away once I am in America. The thought electrifies me. Maybe I could make this work.
At that moment, Mama calls my siblings to help her bring in the firewood so they run off.
I place the last item I own into my bag and look at my face in the mirror. I haven’t dressed in my best clothes, but something that will keep me warm and is suitable for travelling. I know I don’t need to look good for whoever comes for me. I doubt they will care one way or the other. I’m just some woman to be picked up, hauled away and delivered someplace else.
I pull out all my money from its hiding place underneath the floorboard and carefully hide it in a secret pocket inside my clothes. If I manage to escape, I will need it. Then I take a last look around my small room. The crucifix over my bed reminds me I committed a sin last night, but I don’t feel particularly guilty. I had a good reason for my sinful behavior. There is a short stack of books in the corner. I’ve read them all several times; they brought comfort on the long, winter nights.
When I was younger and even more stupid than I am now, I thought I could have a storybook life. Prince Charming would come and sweep me away. I’d live in a big house with maids and servants … the best of everything. They’re just stories, just fantasies.
This is reality.
My leaving is reality.
I walk over to the bureau I share with my brother and sister to look at the picture of St. Therese, the patron saint of Russia. My mother hung it there to remind us to be good children. I’m afraid I haven’t lived up to St. Therese’s standards, but St. Therese never had to march off to slavery with a smile on her face. I make the sign of the cross and close the doors. I’ve wasted enough
time in my room.
I should go downstairs and make my final goodbyes.
On the table, there is a small Western style birthday cake, the type that is only sold in a nearby town. My heart aches. My parents must have saved for weeks in order to afford the extravagance.
My sister is jumping up and down with excitement and my brother is licking his lips. Smiling, my mother lights the single candle. My father leads in the singing of “Happy Birthday” but my sister’s voice is the loudest.
I feel tears sting the backs of my eyes. It’s not only happy birthday but goodbye. We all know that. When the song ends, I go to blow out the candle, but my sister screams for me to make a wish first. And though I know wishes are for fools. They never come true. I close my eyes and make a wish. A crazy stupid wish. I wish for the American. I open my eyes and blow out the candle. I might as well have asked for Prince Charming to rush into the house and carry me off to the castle.
There is no gift. The cake is my gift.
My mother cuts me a generous piece. It’s good cake and it’s the last cake they will ever give me. From now on, they won’t be there for me. I’ll have to take care of myself. I look at my brother and sister greedily scoffing their slices and the benevolence in my father’s eyes. I feel sadness well up inside me. When I was younger, I thought leaving the village would make me giddy with joy. Who wouldn’t want to escape this? Now that I’m about to leave, I desperately want to hold onto this.
I blink hard and my mother looks at me with tears in her own eyes. My father bites his lip.
At that moment, I realize they both know what is going to happen to me, but are too poor and helpless to change it. For one wild second, I stare at them and I wish one of them would simply refuse to honor the arrangement. I wish they would defend their daughter with their very lives. But both my unhappy parents let their eyes slide away. Suddenly, I feel so hurt I want to leave immediately, before the scene becomes something I will regret. As if on cue, there’s a loud knock on the door.