Anatoly’s Baptism in Blood
Moscow, Russia
Kapotnya District
Winter 2008
A fter a few minutes of torturous, quiet, reflective thought, Anatoly Medlov had a depressing epiphany as he flicked his menthol cigarette down into the dirty snow by his scuffed leather boots and forcefully pushed the smoke out of his lungs against bone-chilling winds.
Without a trial, he had been, charged, convicted and sentenced to a miserable life of clandestine incarceration. He must have been. What other explanation made sense?
The entire district of Kapotnya was a fucking prison without bars for criminals and innocent alike, because everyone who lived here was guilty of at least one thing – being dirt poor.
Poverty was a sentence all in its own. Little food. Little shelter. Little life. They lived off the scraps of the world, eating down crap and begging for more, while the rich looked down on them from their high-rise apartments, pissing on all their heads.
So, his question was simple, why not be a criminal? At least in being a crook, there was a chance at getting rich. Being a hump had not seemed to get anyone that he knew anywhere. All the pitiful squares working 12-hour shifts to put food on their tables and living by the law of the land still had nothing to show for it, including his blessed saint of a mother.
At least being a criminal gave him some sort of gratification.
And what about the scenery or lack thereof in this place?
There was not one decent apartment in the entire district.
Just a bunch of towering, shit-stained ghettos built with the sole intention of blotting out the sun.
It was as if the person who created this place wanted it to be as depressing as humanly possible – void of hope, joy or peace.
Well, that person – that mad architect- had succeeded. This place was shit, and Anatoly was thoroughly depressed.
Had he been a weaker man, he would have put a bullet in his head years ago, but despite his gloomy future and his disheartening path, he dared to have a small bit of hope. And where hope failed to be sufficient motivation, there was an innate familial responsibility.
Anatoly had younger half-siblings to help his mother raise, people who were counting on him every single day. His mother couldn’t do this alone, even if she had hinted at it before. She worked long hours at the Moscow Oil Refinery and toiled all night when she was home, cooking, cleaning and worrying. The only other person that she could depend on in this life was him, and he refused to let her down.
There was no man in their little twisted picture. His father was just an urban legend, and the man who had donated sperm to his mother for his other siblings had long since run off with some other woman who had fewer obligations and much more money.
Now, they were all alone.
Dependent upon each other.
So, if he gave up on his family, where would they be? It was a question that he didn’t dare want answered.
Even now as he stood on this corner peddling crack cocaine, trying to make ends meet, he wished for a better life, one closer to the city’s Garden Ring and further from the only place in the world he had ever known – Kapotnya.
Regardless of his mid-day fantasy, for now, he had to take things day-by-day or in this place, hour-by-hour.
Instinctively rubbing a hand over the stolen gun inside of his shabby leather coat, he shot a glare down the street as a familiar car approached.
Time to work.
Casually, Anatoly made his way to the edge of the street as a battered, rusty Honda Accord with three regular tires and one worn-out donut pulled up to him and rolled down its driver’s side window.
It was a girl he used to go to senior school with before he quit in the ninth grade to be a drug dealer full-time.
Back then, this girl was a real looker. He even remembered having a slight crush on her – okay, maybe more than slight.
Now, she was just another dope fiend looking to get over.
It was a damn shame what drugs did to the female persuasion – made them old and haggard before their time, much like working in the oil refinery.
The sad thing was that no one knew which lifestyle had the shortest life expectancy – crackheads or humps.
Hell, this bitch could possibly outlive them all.
With cracked thin lips and spacy gray eyes, the girl stuck a balled-up wad of Russian rubles out of the car window and placed it in his hand.
“It’s all there,” she said, irritated that he began counting it in front of her.
“Da, da. We’ll see.” Quickly, he shoved a small baggy in her hand and nodded toward the road. “Alright. Get out of here,” he said, not making eye-contact. He didn’t want her hanging around too long. It could cause trouble.
“What can I get from you in return for a little head?” she asked, raising a brow suggestively at him.
In need of a bigger, better fix, the girl’s hidden desperation began to show. She remembered a time when her charms worked, and they still did on some men, just not always on ones as beautiful as Anatoly. Still, she had to try.
Anatoly sucked in a breath through his nearly frozen, red nostrils and looked down into the car at the eager woman. Oh, the offering of fellatio.
It was a classic crackhead move.
What happened to self-respect? He might have been a drug dealer, but he wasn’t a bum. Getting a blow job from a crackhead was one thing he would never lower himself to do.
Besides, his boss respected him more than dealers, because he always came through - never short, never late - and everyone knew that he never, ever accepted favors in exchange for product.
“So, what do you say?” she asked again when he did not answer immediately. She needed that hit right now. She needed him to say yes.
Anatoly let out a sigh. “I say that you’d have to pay me to give me head; now get out of here before you piss me off, eh?” He slammed his hand hard on the top of her car and startled her.
“Go. Ubiraysya otsyuda,” he ordered.
Immediately, she took her small foot off the break and pressed down hard on the accelerator. “Fuck you!” she screamed as she sped off in a junky-rage.
Anatoly wasn’t surprised or offended by the girl’s outburst. He knew that she’d be back tomorrow to buy more crack like nothing had happened, because the high was always more important than anything else. He could hear his favorite movie, Scarface, in the back of his head as he moved away from the corner.
“She’ll love me in the morning.”
***
A glance at his watch confirmed that it was time for Anatoly to head back to the apartment for his daily routine.
His siblings would be home soon, and he had to put something on the stove for dinner and start doing their homework with them before his mother got home.
Slipping his balled-up fists into his jacket, he hiked through the snow to his small apartment building and dashed up the garbage-littered concrete stairs, past winos and prostitutes, to their tiny flat on the fourth floor.
To his surprise, he heard chipper little voices as he approached the door.
Evidently, his brooding clan had already arrived from school.
It normally took them longer to get home after a heavy snow, but sometimes the chill in the air would serve as its own motivator.
He closed the front door behind him and pulled off his coat, scanning the small living room to count the children.
Immanuil, his littlest brother - a short, skinny, dark-haired boy on the verge of puberty and pimples, with jet black hair and big brown eyes, sat in front of the television Indian-style with a box of off-brand cereal, eating it by the handfuls and making a mess on the floor.
Arseny, his middle brother, was perched on the sofa with the cordless phone pressed to his ear, talking to his little girlfriend. Already in puberty with a squeaky voice, a brown crew cut that brought attention to his less-than-flattering bony nose, thin lips and bug brown eyes, he was just a little taller than his smaller brother, but still very petite in stature for his age.
“Get to your homework now,” Anatoly urged, headed for the kitchen to put on left over soup from the night before. “And turn that television off.”
Kicking off his boots and throwing them in the closet, Anatoly looked around the messy room again. Wait. He was missing one kid. “Where is Anastaysia?” he asked.
“Relax. She’s on the swing set outside,” Arseny answered, begrudgingly hanging up the phone before his girlfriend could hear him get screamed at by Anatoly. He swore his big brother hated him for having a life outside of this stupid family, but he hated them more for having to be a part of it.
“She’s outside alone?” Anatoly asked. The scowl on his face said that he didn’t approve. “You left her alone?” He had just had this conversation with Arseny last week.
Arseny shrugged in indifference. “Yeah. What’s the big deal? It’s a bunch of kids out there?” He rolled his eyes, tired of his big brother’s ever-constant protective attitude of their little sister.
“I told you not to take your fucking eyes off her,” Anatoly admonished, grabbing his boots again. He shoved his feet into them forcefully. “The playground is getting too bad for her to be out there alone.”
“It was good enough for me at that age,” Arseny yelled.
“You’re still that age, you big fucking baby,” Anatoly scoffed. “I asked you to do one thing, and you couldn’t even get that right.” He knew the insult would wound the small manhood Arseny had.
“I can do stuff right!” Arseny snapped.
“I’ll go with you,” Immanuil offered, putting on his coat. He always loved spending time with his big brother. It was better than being home with Arseny.
“No,” Anatoly said, holding up a hand to Immanuil. “Go do your homework. Both of you.” He shot Arseny a glare. “When I get back, I’m going to kick your ass, Arseny.” And it wasn’t just an empty threat. He meant it.
“For what?” Arseny yelled. “Like I said, she’s on the stupid swing set in the courtyard.” Crossing his arms, he rolled his eyes as the door slammed behind Anatoly.
There was history there…
It was quite easy for Arseny to simply dismiss Anastaysia. He had never been held responsible for anyone except himself, even though he was second to the oldest. The fifteen-year-old brat had always hidden under the shelter that Anatoly provided and did so with a certain air of privilege that irritated everyone around him. He shucked his chores, pushed the blame off on everyone else and whined excessively to his mother about all of them.
To boot, Arseny had always held a grudge against his big brother for his good looks and the apparent favor their mother felt for her oldest son.
In Arseny’s defense, Anatoly was exceptionally beautiful, more so than any of his other siblings. At six-feet tall with a blocky, muscular frame, thick neck and capped shoulders, brooding ice blue eyes, a wide set rose-colored mouth, a strong square chiseled jaw and wheat blonde hair, Anatoly stood out in a room and had done so since he peaked at age sixteen.
He was angelic in his physical features, like God had carved him from the most beautiful clay in His entire collection. It was clear that he was superior genetically to his brothers, who had thin, almost non-existent features and frail forms, but Anatoly was also mysterious, never saying much to anyone, keeping his own council always. His demeanor only made his mother love him more – love him best, in Arseny’s opinion. Not only did their mother love Anatoly best, but so did Anastaysia.
Their bond was unmistakable, and it was clear that the only reason that Anatoly stayed around was for the women in the family.
So Arseny let them have their blonde-haired savior. He didn’t lift a finger for them, and he didn’t worry about their needs. That was Anatoly’s job, and he seemed to take it on with great pride and possession.
***
Anatoly had that bad feeling again – the feeling of a bad omen coming to fruition. He couldn’t get his coat on quick enough. Dashing out of the door, he headed down the long hall to the staircase that led out of the back of the building to the courtyard. It seemed like a million miles away, but it was barely around the corner.
Son of a bitch!
He had told that spoiled-rotten brat, Arseny, a million times before not to leave Anastaysia alone out there, but it was like talking to a brick wall. The boy never listened. He was too caught up in his own life and much too selfish to think of anyone but himself. Anatoly was certain that Arseny had gotten that stellar trait from his worthless father.
Anastaysia was small for her age and was too friendly around strangers. He always worried about her, especially in a housing project full of degenerates and former prison hounds.
At twelve years old, Anastaysia was starting to be too old for toys but still too young for boys. Her little breasts had started to bud and her hips had started to form, which in Kapotnya loosely translated into trouble.
Biologically, Anastaysia was his half-sister, but in Anatoly’s mind, he was her father, even though he was only six years older than her. At least, he had been the only father that she’d ever known. Her father had left before she could remember him and in his absence, Anatoly had taken up the role, doing everything from walking her to school and doing her homework with her to chasing away the boogey man. He had been there for her first steps, for her first lost tooth, for her first day of school in the absence of their mother and so many other things until he could no longer count them all.
Which was why it did matter to him if she was alone in the courtyard…
The snow crunched under his boot as he stepped out of the door of the complex and into the square. The sun was starting to peak out over the horizon of heavy dark clouds and the wind gusts ripped passed his face like sharpened blades.
Despite what Arseny had reported just a minute ago, there were no other children playing about. She was alone, or nearly alone, as he had feared.
There with her back to the entrance of the complex, she sat on the rickety swing, both little gloved hands grasping the braided metal, looking up at a stranger as he gently stroked her blonde ponytails.
Just the sight of the man infuriated Anatoly. What sane adult male would touch a little girl left alone on a swing set? Something was wrong. He could feel it deep in his gut.
Quietly, Anatoly made his way to the two of them, although it was hard to go undetected in the snow. He kept his movements light and held his breath.
The stranger was talking in a low, easy baritone to Anastaysia as he pushed her swing, but the acoustics of the boxed-in concrete yard made it much easier to cipher what he was saying.
“Why don’t you come up to my apartment? I have more candy there,” the man said with a filthy, yellow-stained smile on his face. His eyes gleamed with malice. “We can have a cup of hot cocoa, and I can show you my collection of…” The man’s voice trailed off as he caught on to the fact that he was being watched.
Slowly, he turned away from the girl to see Anatoly behind him.
Oh shit.
Standing in a khaki trench coat with a multi-colored sweater, loose fitting jeans and a raging bald spot, the stranger adjusted his thick-rimmed glasses and nodded toward the teenager with a nervous smile.
Without ever having said a word to Anatoly, he knew exactly who the boy was – a local drug dealer known for being a lone wolf who was unusually brutal when he had to be. What he didn’t realize was that this young thug knew the young girl he had been eyeing and fantasizing about for weeks.
This could be a problem, the man thought, realizing that he had possibly met his match.
Anatoly didn’t nod back. Instead, he spat on the ground and zeroed in on the man. Fucking suka. He knew about this sleazy little shit bag. He had just gotten out of jail, serving a stint for selling kiddy porn, and was a known pedophile.
To Anatoly, this was the worst kind of person, preying on those who could not protect themselves. Now, it seemed the man aimed to prey on his sister.
Anatoly’s voice boomed. “Anastaysia, come here,” he ordered motioning toward himself. He could literally hear his own heartbeat in his ears as his anger ramped up at the thought of what the man might have done to his sister, if left alone.
“Am I in trouble?” she asked, gripping the gold-wrapped chocolates in her pocket. The look on Anatoly’s face told her that she was, but what had she done wrong?
Anatoly smiled at his sister, so sweet and innocent, and felt the paternal instinct in him begin to rear its ugly head.
“Of course, you’re not in trouble,” Anatoly said, noticing something glistening on her ponytail.
Grabbing her ponytail, he pulled her closer to examine the clear sticky substance laced in her hair. Could it be what he thought it was?
“Ouch,” Anastaysia protested. “What are you doing?”
Anatoly’s head popped up as his face turned red. “You sick son of a bitch,” he growled at the man. “Anastaysia, go inside, right now.” Walking past her, he pointed at the guy, who had turned and began to walk away. “Hey! Hey you!”
The stranger stopped and reluctantly turned around. “Can I help you with something?”
Anatoly was not going to let him get away today.
Closing the distance between them, he lunged toward the man and grabbed him by the collar. Snatching the man, he pushed him against the cold surface of the apartment building’s exterior wall.
“Hey, I don’t want any trouble,” the man said, throwing up his hands in surrender. His eyes told the story that his lips would not dare utter. “What’s your problem, man? I was just talking to the girl.”
“To my sister!” Anatoly yelled in his face. His nostrils flared as he clenched his jaw. “To my baby sister!” Trembling with anger, Anatoly pushed the man harder into the brick. “You rubbed cum into my baby sister’s hair, and you want to tell me that you were just talking to her, eh? Well, I’m just talking to you.”
It was evident to the man that denying what he had done to the girl would not work. Anatoly had the evidence on his hands. It was also evident that the boy meant him harm, so he tried to level with him, appeal to his sense of reason before he beat the shit out of him.
The stranger nodded in defeat. “I didn’t know she was your sister. I swear.”
Like that mattered. Anatoly pushed him harder against the wall, knocking the wind out of the pedophile.
When he saw Anatoly was beyond words, he continued. “I’ll stay away from her. I swear.”
But they were far beyond a point of restraint.
Pulling the gun from the small of his back in one fluid motion, Anatoly put the barrel in the bastard’s eye, pressing it against his eye ball.
This just got real.
Suddenly the smug predator went from being completely oblivious of the situation to vomiting his confession.
“I’m sorry, man. I’ve got a problem. I just can’t help myself. Okay. I’m sick. I’m sick. I know it, man. I’m fucking sick. Just let me go, and you’ll never see me again.”
Anatoly’s right eye flinched. “You like touching little girls, huh?” It amazed him how sick some of these fuckers were. They all needed one thing – extermination.
“I’m sorry, man. I’m really sorry.” The man could see the inevitable approaching as Anatoly cocked the hammer back on his .45 caliber pistol. His mind raced, trying to find the right words to calm the boy down.
“You’re sorry?” Anatoly asked, stepping back and lowering the gun. His voice calmed. “Really?”
“Yes, I am sorry,” the man said, wiping his tears. He was so afraid until he was certain that he had pissed himself. Taking a deep breath, he prepared to bargain with Anatoly. Surely the young man would take payment or something for his mistake. Surely, he had something to offer.
Anatoly took a deep breath and relaxed his tense shoulders.
“Yeah, well, fuck your sorry.” Anatoly aimed at the man’s genitals and pulled the trigger, shattering his pelvis and blowing a hole right through his balls.
Blood ran down the man’s legs as he dropped to his knees in agonizing pain. The screams were stifling, but Anatoly couldn’t hear them.
“Scream!” Anatoly yelled. “No one is coming, you sick fuck.”
Blinded by his tears and choking on his own breaths, the man grabbed his bleeding injury and looked up at Anatoly in disbelief. “Please, don’t,” he begged, seeing his life flash before his eyes. Was it possible that this would be his end? He could not wrap his mind around it.
“You don’t want to do this. Just let me go. You’ll never see me again,” the man begged in his last-ditch effort. He prayed that the gunshot was all that he’d have to endure. Even if he had lost his manhood, it was better than losing his life.
“Oh, I do want to do this…more than you know,” Anatoly seethed. He stood above his wounded target, triumphant in his attack. “See, you’re just trying to figure out a way to save your miserable life, but me…” Anatoly smiled deviously. “I am enjoying this.”
“I’ve got money in my apartment. I’ll pay you. Just please let me go,” the man bargained.
“Thanks for letting me know.”
Anatoly swallowed hard and suddenly could only see red. A cold gust of wind ripped through his lungs and before he could catch himself, he instinctively pulled the trigger and shot the man dead square in the middle of his forehead.
The back of the pedophile’s head exploded as the bullet ripped through his frontal lobe and exited out the back of his brain. Eyes bright with shock, he hit the ground with a thud, dead before he could blink. He slid back against the wall, hands splayed out beside his fat, limp body. His coat flew open to reveal an unzipped fly and poetic justice.
The silence of the courtyard returned and Anatoly was alone listening to the sounds of the city as it kept moving even after his irrevocable sin.
I’ve just done murder, Anatoly mused, looking at the man.
It was not as bad as he had imagined, but maybe that was because he had exacted death on someone who deserved it. And maybe it was because he was a natural-born killer, much like the man his father had been described as to him by his mother. Either way, he didn’t run from it, and it didn’t frighten him.
Conversely and in great fear, Anastaysia screamed, ignorant to what had really transpired, oblivious to the fact that she had just been victimized and that her brother had just defended her honor.
Turning, she ran with tears in her eyes toward the entrance of the building and disappeared behind the metal door.
Walking up to look down into the man’s fading eyes, Anatoly pointed his smoking gun and shot him one more time in the balls. He observed the tender flesh, exposed and mingled in the man’s pants, and felt a warm sensation rush over him.
“Now, you’ll stay away,” Anatoly said, spitting on the man. He kept his gaze on his first kill a second longer, feeling more powerful at that moment than he had ever felt in his entire life.
Alas, he was baptized in blood.
***
When Anastaysia came running through the front door of their shabby apartment with hot tears in her eyes, Anatoly’s mother, Alexandria, had already arrived home from work and was washing dishes.
Hearing her daughter’s cry for help, she turned from the sink to rush to her aide.
“What is it?” Alexandria asked, dropping to her knees and palming her daughter’s reddened face. “What happened?”
Impulsively, she searched the child for wounds.
Arseny and Immanuil came running from the back bedroom to see what had happened as well. Confused, they watched on as their sister screamed and their mother tried to pull an answer from her.
“Anatoly…” Anastaysia said on bated breath. She pointed a trembling finger toward the door like at any moment someone would come barreling through it.
Oh God!
“What happened to your brother?” Immediately, Alexandria thought the worse. Someone had killed him. Someone had finally killed him. Her heart dropped into her stomach. “Is he dead?” she asked, eyes watering.
“NO! He just shot a man,” Anastaysia explained, straining to breathe. Her eyes blinked hard, but she could not believe what she had just witnessed. She wanted to pry the memory from her mind, but it was there indelibly etched for all eternity.
“Where?” her mother asked, shaking her. “Who did he shoot?” She prayed it had not been one of Dmitry’s enemies.
Snot and tears mingled on the girl’s saintly face. “In the courtyard. A man gave me some candy and was playing with my hair and then Anatoly came out and shot him.” She drew in a deep breath and continued to cry. “Why did he do that, Mama?” She begged for an explanation.
The clueless girl could not put the pieces together, but before she could finish her sentence her mother had. She felt the wetness of something slick and slimy on her daughter’s ponytail and pulled her hand away. “Oh my God!” she exclaimed, disgusted by what she knew the man had done.
“Why did he kill him?” Anastaysia asked again. Anatoly had always been her knight in shining armor, but suddenly, he was a monster.
Rubbing her trembling hands on her denim apron, Alexandria closed her eyes briefly and stilled her beating heart. Now was not the time to fall apart. Her babies needed her. “Go take a shower and wash your hair,” she ordered her daughter. “Wash it twice like a good girl.”
“Why?” Anastaysia cried.
“Go! Now!” her mother snapped. She didn’t have the strength to explain what had just happened to her and what could have happened if her brother had not been there to save her.
With half a granola bar hanging from his mouth, Arseny stepped out of the door to see Anatoly approaching from down the hall. “He’s coming,” he warned his mother.
With a slow stride and little urgency, the blonde protector made his way into the apartment and slammed the door behind him. Wiping sweat from his face, Anatoly looked at his mother and saw what he dreaded the most - disappointment.
“What have you done, Anatoly?” Alexandria asked, snatching him by the arm. “You shot him? Why could you have not just beat him up or something? Did anyone see you? Do you know what could happen if anyone saw you?”
Anatoly voice barely rose above a whisper. He threw up a hand to silence her rambling. “I know, Mama. I know.” The act itself had not scared him, but on the way back up to the apartment the idea of the consequences did.
“You’ve already had far too many run ins with the police here. This will be just one more reason for them to kill you,” she said, nearly hysterical. “They could put you away for the rest of your life, Anatoly!”
“Let me figure that out. For now, you should probably tend to Anastaysia.” Anger started to boil again. “He put semen in her hair.”
“I know!” She clasped her hands together while tears formed again in the corner of her eyes. She looked over at her younger sons and sucked in a breath. “Go to your room,” she ordered in a stern voice. “I need to talk to your brother alone.”
“Why?” Arseny snapped, inside feeling guilty for not going to get his sister and watching her like Anatoly had asked. This was all his fault.
“Go, dammit!” Anatoly screamed at them. “Stop asking so many questions!” He scowled at Arseny but avoided making eye contact with Immanuil.
Arseny could feel Anatoly’s contempt for him without saying a word. “Come on,” Arseny said, snatching his little brother’s arm. “Leave them to it.”
When they were alone, Alexandria went to the kitchen window and looked out toward the courtyard. While she couldn’t see the swing set from her vantage point, she knew that someone else had to have witnessed the murder. Someone had to have called it in by now. She had to protect her boy, get him out of this place.
“You can’t stay here,” she said, running to the fireplace in the living room.
Removing a loose brick by the mantle, she pulled out a wad of dirty money. “It’s not much, but it will help you.”
“Ma, what are you doing?” Anatoly asked, watching her frantically move about like she had lost her mind.
“Take this,” she said, shoving the money in his chest.
“No,” he protested, frowning.. “You need that money to take care of you and the kids.” Besides, he knew of another place that he could look for cash now that the pedophile was dead.
“Take it.” Her eyes demanded that he not argue. Running back to the kitchen, she pulled out black garbage bags from under their sink. Slamming the cabinet door, she rose back up and took a deep breath. The room began to spin. “You don’t have time to think, Anatoly,” she said, wiping frustrated tears. “You have to go.”
“Go where?” he asked as she shoved him down the hall toward the bedroom he shared with his two brothers. He walked into the room and stopped her by placing both hands on her frail shoulders.
He could feel her trembling under his touch, afraid for him and his future. “There is no place to go. I’m staying here. I’ll face the music, if I have to, but leaving you is not an option.”
“You have to go!” she screamed at him, already seeing the defiance in his eyes.
“You can’t raise this family without me!” Anatoly snapped. “Tell me that I’m lying.”
“I am the mother. I am the parent, not you!” Her eyes watered at the thought of losing her baby so suddenly. God, she wasn’t ready. Her voice broke into a thousand pieces along with her heart. “Now, you will leave this house before the police come and drag you out. I won’t watch it. Do you hear me?”
Arseny and Immanuil watched on from their jumbled-up bunk beds in confusion and fear. Where was their brother going and for how long?
Arseny tried to scowl, to fight the tears welling up in the sides of his eyes with misplaced anger, but his bottom lip started to quiver and his feelings began to show.
Anatoly walked over to the bunk bed and ran a loving hand over the top of Arseny’s head. “Don’t cry,” he said under his breath. Even then, he knew that he was serving as an example to his siblings and must maintain a certain amount of decorum, regardless of the situation.
However, Anatoly’s kindness only made his brother more embarrassed about his tears. “I’m not…” Arseny pushed his face down in his pillow, unable to accept that he had caused all of this. If he could have, he would have taken it back, but even he was old enough to understand that nothing about their new unforeseeable circumstance was fixable.
“Mama, where is Anatoly going? What happened?” Immanuil asked, voice raising an octave. He grabbed his big brother’s hand and gripped it with all his might, quietly begging him to stay. “Where are you going, Anatoly?”
Anatoly couldn’t answer, because he didn’t know. This entire situation was quickly getting out of control. How could she even suggest him leaving this place? “I’m not going anywhere,” he said, putting his foot down.
“You are!” Alexandria took a deep breath and started to frantically gather her son’s things. Every second counted. It would only be a matter of time before the police were knocking at her door. “You are going to your father in the United States. He can keep you safe there. He can help you figure this out.” It was her only true hope and her son’s only option. She had never asked Dmitry for one thing, never once used his name for personal gain. As far as she was concerned, he owed her now.
Anatoly scoffed at the ridiculous prospect. He ran a hand through his hair and then balled up his fists. Watching her rush around the room only made him more agitated. “Are you insane? I’ve never even met the man. I have no idea where he is. For all I know he’s a figment of your imagination, Mama.” In his mind, that is all Dmitry Medlov was…a figment…something to tell during bedtime stories when he was a boy. Dmitry was no more real than the boogey man or Santa Claus.
“How dare you?” his mother said, yanking his clothes out of the bottom broken drawers of their dresser. “He. Is. Not.” Taking a deep breath, she turned to her son and lowered her voice. “Dmitry Medlov is not a figment of my imagination. He is your father.”
“I don’t need some absentee father right now. I need a good lawyer. I need to stay here to keep you safe. Do you realize what you are asking me to do? You want me to run away just like all the men in your life before me did. Mama, I won’t do that to any of you.”
“The police will never be fair to you. You’re just some dope-slinging bastard kid from a poor community and even poorer mother. You can’t stay here, and you can’t be taken into custody by the police. They will throw you in gulags.”
Anatoly shrugged at the idea. It was better than running. “What? You don’t think I’ll survive? You don’t think I’m tough enough.” She had always treated him like he was something special, something fragile, but he was far from it, and it was time that she acknowledged that fact.
Alexandria may have been just a lowly factory worker, but she knew her son’s worth. “Someone will find out who your father is, and no, you won’t have a chance. They will murder you in prison, and I will not have my son pay the consequences of his father having enemies.”
Anatoly wasn’t convinced. “Mama, I can’t go running to another country. You say that you need me, but what about me, what about what I need?” And there it was. The truth. He was more afraid of leaving them alone than facing the gulags or even another country. They were all the family that he had. If he lost them, then he had nothing left in this world.
“My brave boy,” she said, walking over and grabbing his face in her hands.
Leaning in, she kissed his cool cheek. Her tears transferred to his face. “We will be fine. You’ve done enough. You’ve done too much. Now, you have to go. And you’ll be fine. You’ve always been destined to do something better and greater with this life. Now is your time to find out what that something is.” She tried her best to sound optimistic.
“What about Anastaysia?” Anatoly asked, hearing the water in the adjacent bathroom as his little sister ran her shower. “Who is going to take care of her? Who is going to take care of you?” The tears flowed down his cheeks into his mouth now. Heart racing, he tried to make her see. “Momma, please.”
“You’ve done enough,” his mother said softly. “You quit school even though you had high marks; you turned your back on boxing even though the coach said you had promise; you raised another man’s children because you loved their mother. You have done enough, my son. Now, it’s time for you to go. And never come back.” The idea made her sick, but she knew that there were no other options. She had to save her sweet boy, no matter what. She had to give him a chance.
Anatoly frowned, wiping tears as fast as they fell. “You can’t be serious?” he asked even though he knew that she was.
Her face went slack, heavy with the burden of her new reality. “There is nothing here for you, Anatoly. If you just find your father, he can help you.”
“What can he help me do?”
“He’s a very wealthy man. I’ve heard through old friends that he is in a place called Memphis, Tennessee. He owns a restaurant called Mother Russia. Go there. Ask for him. Don’t let anyone turn you away. He will help you, Anatoly. He will. I know it.”
“If you knew where he was this entire time, then why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you reach out to him for help to take care of these fucking children? Why now?” His questions were endless, but this was all that he could muster.
Such a conversation would take too long and they were pressed for time.
Alexandria shrugged in defeat. She had finally run into a brick wall. “It was my job to keep you safe. I thought I was doing that by keeping you here away from all of his troubles. Your father is a very complicated man, Ana, but now I know he’s the only one who can help you.”
Anatoly swallowed hard and pulled away from her. There had to be other options. “What you are asking me to do is impossible.” Leave his family? Leave her and his sister? Who would be there the next time that something happened? Arseny? The idea sent a chill up his spine.
“I’m asking you to save yourself, Anatoly. I’m begging you to trust me for once in your life.” She knew that over time, she had switched the roles and allowed him to be more of a father than a son, but now, it was her job to save him. “You have to go,” she said, barely above a whisper.
He looked toward the bag that was now filled with clothes in her small hand and took it. “I should at least wait and say goodbye to Ana…” He was stalling for time, any time to spend with his family. The man in him told him that he had no choice; the boy in him wanted to curl up in his bunk bed and simply sleep the pain away.
“You can’t,” his mother protested. “You must go now before the police are able to identify you. There is a man, Kirill Derevenko, who can help. Do you know him?” Even though she pretended, she knew the men that he worked for selling crack cocaine on the streets and she was certain that they would remember her.
Anatoly frowned. “Yes, I know of him, but, how do you?” Kirill was a high-level member of the Vory v Zakone. He basically ran Kapotnya.
“He was your father’s old boss before you were born. Go to his bar tonight in the Garden Ring. It’s called the Fire Pit. Tell him that you need to get to Memphis. He will help you.”
“How are you so sure?” Anatoly asked, shocked by her sudden awareness.
“Because Dmitry is his boss now,” Alexandria said, clenching her jaw tight. “He won’t have much of a choice in the matter. Tell him that you need his help. Tell him that I’ve already reached out to Dmitry and that he’s expecting his assistance. Tell him whatever you have to tell him to get out of here.” She’d suffer the consequences of her lie later, but for now, she had to get Anatoly safely out of Moscow and Kirill was the only man who could do it.
“Why would he believe me, Mama?”
Alexandria smiled despite her son’s apparent doubt. She knew that after years it was hard to believe, but… “I didn’t always look like this. There was a time when I was a young woman and your father was a young man.” She nodded despite the pain the memory brought forward. “And he loved me very much. You have to trust everything that I’m saying to you. Kirill will help you. Dmitry will help you. But you must go now.” She leaned in and kissed her son’s sweet face one last time. “I love you, Anatoly.” She meant it from the bottom of her heart.
“Don’t make me do this. If you love me…”
“It’s because I love you that I must do this and if you love me, you’ll listen for once in your life.” She could hear Immanuil crying behind her.
Anatoly stood up a little taller. “I’ll come back for you,” he promised.
She shook her head. “No. It’s your time, now. Time for you to go into the world and be the man that I know you are capable of being.”
Sure, he had dreamt of getting out of this hell hole. Just today he daydreamed about it, but now the dream had become a reality, a necessity, and he was afraid of how chasing that dream might end. What if he failed? What if the only thing that awaited him in America was more heartbreak?
Alexandria pushed her son out of the room – heart breaking with every single step. She kissed him one last time as she led him to the front door.
He leaned in and kissed her forehead, savoring her smell one last time. “I love you, Mama.”
“And I will always love you, no matter where you are in this world, no matter what you do. But you must go, and you must never, ever come back – not even when I die.”