Flaws: Vedmykiv

[16] We Will Find Out Now

WE MANAGED to get to the edge of a trail. Igor purchased gasoline and flashlights from a villager, and we torched the van. With a pissed-off but proud old man, we began the hike in the middle of the night. The winter was not yet over.

"Who was that?"

"I called for help. We need to find place to hang on." Igor stuffed the phone back into his pocket. "I doubt they can breach perimeter. We have to go as far as possible."

We walked in the darkness through the vegetation until we reached a back road. "If you had help, why didn't they come sooner?"

"Dangerous, Joaquin. Come on. What kind of armed soldier can get that close? Only civilians, you and me. Me because I am Russian, you because they found you curious. You must know this."

We crossed dried-out sunflower fields and followed the lights hoping to find a small village, but instead, we ended up at the foot of a steel mill. The lights were on. In the dead of night, two limping foreigners and an old man in rural Donetsk would have alarmed more than one. We backtracked to the farmhouse next to the fields we had passed. Igor and the old man spoke to the family. He offered them much more money than the villagers along the hare trails received from him. It made sense. We didn't know who they were, and they didn't know us.

I was so thirsty. They were still jabbering away, politely explaining, asking for help. They, too, must have been dehydrated to exhaustion. I couldn't wait any longer. I invited myself into the kitchen, grabbed the first cup I saw, whipped its contents into the sink, turned on the faucet, and a stream of water filled the metal cup, which I drank like it was rum and coke.

Igor, the old man, and the husband and wife looked at me, puzzled. The woman pointed to a cabinet and said something that Igor translated. "The clean cups are over there."

Her finger hovered in the air, pointing for quite a while.

The old man stayed behind, talking with the husband and wife while Igor and I took turns washing up. I was exhausted, leaning against the washing machine in the bathroom next to a bathtub with four rusty legs. Orange marks stained the wet floor. Walking around in socks on the cold floor was still better than being tied up and locked away in a strip joint. "Don't lean on that," Igor said. He was right.

I called Oxana from the old man's cell phone. I had lost track of time. She was relieved to hear from me. I didn't want to alarm her, so I told her we had been arrested. She was ready to come, search for a lawyer, protest at the door of the police building, whatever it takes. But she knew the dangers. She also knew it would have been useless. She wanted to call the embassy, call Yuriy, call Sasha. I told her I would make it back home by morning, and she believed me. "I'll bring breakfast," I said. There was no exiting the perimeter now. What I should have really done was message Lillian to tell her I was going to be late, if at all. But I didn't.

"Listen, kid, this was... I am grateful to be alive." The accent of the well-traveled man was stronger than ever. He was worn out. After the shower, he looked as old as the driver. We didn't go into details, but it was clear he'd had a much rougher time than me. "I spoke with nice gentleman and he agreed to take me," he said pointing with his chin out the window to the truck. "I have to get out of here. I must make sure my wife is okay, you understand."

He had a whole life here. The city wasn't big. And even though he sent his wife away, he wanted to get back to her, make sure they wouldn't get to her first. I could understand that. If the separatists wanted to, they could find him. Now they wanted to.

"I am leaving Donetsk. You should do the same."

"You're leaving? You're leaving me here?" I was shocked, and I was upset. I also understood, but my impulses took over.