CHAPTER 14
A fter a few minutes, or maybe it was an hour, of lying motionless and staring at each other, Sonya smiled.
“You never told me what these crazy tats mean. Or do they not mean anything at all, except that you’re the crazy one?”
“Ha ha, yes I am the crazy one, for sure. But they do mean something. They have evil meanings, things not meant for a nice girl like you to know.”
“Oh, come on, give me a break. They’re just tattoos. Are you really going to keep it a secret? I mean, will you have to kill me if you tell me?”
Sonya laughed at her own words, still under that magic spell of post-orgasmic, new-lover bliss.
“No, the meanings of these are well-known in Russia. They are not official secrets. I can tell you, if you truly want to know.”
“Yes please!”
“Okay, which one do you like?”
“Um, how about this huge one, the wild looking bird with two heads?”
“It is an eagle, like the bird of your country. And many of us in the Russkaya Mafiya in Russia do long to come to America to make a lot of money.”
“So, were you called a traitor there, for having this American eagle on your chest?”
“No, because this image is actually much older than America, it has been a Russian symbol for 500 years. And later, during the reign of the communists, we displayed it to show our rebellion against the Soviet rulers. And we still use eagles now to rebel against the government, any government.”
“Wow. I’ve never met someone with a story like that for their tattoos. Usually, if someone has a tat, they say it means ‘love and peace’ in Chinese or something.”
“Ha! There is no love or peace marked on me. That would show weakness, and weakness would mean only one thing for a man like me: death.”
Sonya still had no idea just how close Dmitri walked the line between life and death, how familiar he was with that concept, how many friends he had lost to bullets and bombs, and how many people he had sent to an early grave himself.
Often a watery grave, unceremoniously dumped into that very sea which now serenaded the two lovers with its gentle waves.
Or a grave of cement, hiding the body in the foundation of a stadium or building. Other times, bodies were burned, dumped in a swamp, or buried in the desert if done on business in Vegas.
Dmitri was not being poetic or dramatic when he spoke of death, he was speaking matter-of-factly.
Sonya didn’t know that, so she just thought it was a cool expression, “weakness means death,” like something a football coach would say.
“Okay, what’s this thing?”
“Ah, now that one is a symbol of the USA. It’s the Statue of Liberty. It was done badly, so it’s hard to tell what it’s supposed to be. I thought she was holding a sword, not a torch. My friend did it with a homemade tattoo gun when we were young.”
Sonya scrunched up her eyes as she looked at the smeared, poorly-drawn figure, then smiled when she recognized at least the basic form of the famous statue.
“You and your friends gave each other tattoos when you were kids? That’s so hardcore. What did your parents say?”
“Our parents weren’t around. It was the prison guards we had to worry about.”
Sonya laughed, thinking he was joking. Then she blushed and bugged out her eyes when she saw the pain and sorrow in his face, though he tried to hide it.
“So you were in prison? And while you were there, you dreamed of coming to America? What did you think it was like here?”
“Well, I had a hint of American life already. You see, I came here shortly after I was born. Then my father died when I was a small child, and I was sent home to Russia to live with my uncle. I got into some trouble when I was twelve and had to do a few years in the cage.”
“Twelve? I’m so sorry.”
“Yeah. You remember I said I was racing motorcycles at twelve? Well, I didn’t actually own one, so usually I was racing the police. I was good, but one time, I lost.”
Once more, Sonya didn’t know what else to say. She thought she’d had a tough life, but compared to his it didn’t seem so bad.
“Can we do another tattoo story, or is this bringing up bad memories?” she asked sweetly.
“Bringing up bad memories… no, memories such as those bring themselves up. Really, they never leave. Which one next?”
“Oh, okay. Why do you have stars on your shoulders?”
“Not just my shoulders,” he said, pointing to his knees.
Sonya looked down and saw two more stars, one on each kneecap.
“You didn’t see those before? I guess your eyes got distracted by something above my knees,” he said with a smirk and a wink.
Sonya gave him a love tap on the belly with her little fist.
“Well, what are they for? You want to be an astronaut when you grow up?”
“Ha ha, no, but I did when I was a little boy.”
“Seriously?”
“I don’t remember much from those days, when my father was alive, but I remember lying in bed at night. I always had trouble falling asleep, so I would stare up at the ceiling where dad had stuck glow-in-the-dark stars and moons. I’d imagine I was journeying to another world. I’d tell made-up stories to my little cousin, who lived with us for a while and sometimes slept next to me.”
“Wow! I had those stickers too, they’re the best! I remember finding them in an old box when I was about six or seven. They’d already been used. I don’t know by who, but they didn’t stick anymore, so I helped my mom glue them onto the popcorn ceiling one at a time. Looking up at them always made me feel safe. There was something familiar about those stars. They reminded me of the imaginary friend I had when I was little, though I don’t know why.”
“Imaginary friend?”
“Yeah, I know it’s strange. I really believed in him, even for years afterward. But eventually, my mom convinced me my best friend wasn’t real. It’s common, I guess. They say a lot of little kids have imaginary friends.”
“I never had one. But for me, it’s the opposite. Reality doesn’t always feel real to me. Sometimes the people I remember from before I went to Russia seem like I imagined them.”
“What happened to your cousin?”
“I don’t know. I had a few cousins. Well, I say ‘cousins,’ but we weren’t related by blood. They were the kids of my nanny, who lived with us. I was close to her too. My dad hired her because my mother died right after I was born. It was nice to have a family. Then I left.”
“I’m sorry, that must have been hard, to lose so many people.”
“Maybe it was good to practice.”
“Practice what?”
“Losing people. It happens sooner or later in life. In my profession, usually sooner, and often.”
“Oh, I guess so. Now tell me about this dangerous job you have.”
“We’ll discuss my work another time. Ask me about more tattoos.”
“Okay, tell me what your stars are for. They can’t be to show your childhood dream, that would be too weak for a tough guy like you.”
Sonya ran her fingers over one of the stars on Dmitri’s shoulders. There was a deep scar beside it. She wanted to ask how he got that too, but thought maybe she should wait. She didn’t want the mood to get too dark.
“Well, the stars on my shoulders show my rank. The first one I got for becoming a Vor.”
“A Vor? Is that the top rank in the Russian Boy Scouts?”
“Ha ha, no, not quite. It is like, how do they say in the Italian Mafia movies? You know, Al Pacino. Oh, a ‘made man’.”
“And the second one?”
“I got that only a few months ago. It was for my promotion to Brigadier, that’s sort of like a captain. It means I have a few guys who work for me.”
“You’re doing well, I guess. You must be good at your job.”
“Not bad. But hey, it helps when your uncle is the boss!”
“Heh heh, I wouldn’t know about that. I don’t have much family, and nobody important. Anyway, what about the stars on your knees? More promotions, or are those demotions?”
“Those represent that I will kneel before no man.”
“Not even your boss?”
“No one,” Dmitri said with a slow, solemn shake of his head.
“Well, at least I got you to talk about your job. So you’re in some sort of mafia…”
“Yes, but you still have no idea what I actually do.”
“That’s true. So that gun, have you used it? I mean, to hurt someone?”
“Are you bored with my tats?”
“No.”
“Well, like I said…”
“Okay, I saw something on your back too,” Sonya said as she tugged forward on Dmitri’s shoulder.
He allowed her to pulled him onto his stomach with a groan.
“Are you going to give me a massage?” he asked.
“If you want… I don’t really know how though.”
“No, it’s okay, I was joking. I don’t like massages. Instead, I go to the sauna to relax my body. So what do you think about the little tat on my back?”
She ran her fingertips over the image of a bearded man chained to a rock. It went from just below Dmitri’s neck to just above his ass.
“It’s the craziest one, and so big. I’m afraid to ask what it means.”
“Hmm, that one’s not so bad. Well, maybe it is. You know the Greek myth of Prometheus?”
“Sure. He stole fire from the other gods and brought it to humans, right?”
“Smart girl. I didn’t spend much time in school, but I read some books when I was locked up.”
“That’s good. Well, what have you brought to mankind?”
“Ha, I have brought nothing to no one. For me, the tattoo is about the punishment Prometheus received from Zeus. He was chained to that rock, and every day an eagle would eat his liver out of him, while he was still alive. His liver grew back each night, and he lived the same misery again and again.”
“Right, I forgot about that part. The way you drink vodka, your liver must be indestructible. So what does it mean to you, what is your punishment?”
“The life I am living is a punishment. I hate it, but I cannot escape it.”