Lovers and Lies

Lovers and Lies

By Mark L Barie

Sergey Bogdonovich worked as a laborer on a cargo ship.

He rarely spoke to his coworkers. Except for the boss, no one talked to the quiet giant from Moscow. As the largest man on the ship, Sergey stood six and a half feet tall and weighed more than 250 pounds. He wore a permanent five o’clock shadow and sported a four-inch scar on his right cheek. Ship gossip attributed the old wound to Sergey’s previous occupation. The 48-year-old hulk supposedly served with the Russian KGB, a long time ago.

Moscow was the homeport for the Kuzma, an ocean-going ship with the Mansky line. Its skeleton crew may have been pleased to be home, but not Sergey. For him there was no longer a reason to return home.

“Excuse me, Mister. My little brother and me are hungry. Do you have a few rubles for us? Please?”

Sergey turned and barked at the beggar.

“Get off the docks. You don’t belong here.”

The girl could not have been more than ten years old. She was filthy and carried an emaciated boy on her back. The kid wore a blank look in his glassy eyes; his belly distended from hunger. The small child shivered from the cold, his bony arms, and bare feet, exposed to the elements.

“I said get outa here. Now.”

The girl hung her head and trudged in the opposite direction. Sergey returned to his pallet jack, stacked high with unmarked sacks of what appeared to be fertilizer or just plain dirt. After pulling it another three or four yards, he slammed its handle on to the dock and yelled.

“Hey, kid. Get over here.”

She ran to his side, struggling to catch her breath. Sergey waived some paper money in her face.

“Here. Now get going.”

The girl stopped breathing. She had never seen a green bank note, much less two of them. A total of four hundred rubles. She and her little brother would have food for months to come.

“Thanks, Mister.”

Sergey frowned at the tiny figure, waiting until she left the dock and disappeared in the morass of warehouses and fish houses. Slowly, he searched the horizon, suspicious that someone witnessed his charitable act. He needed confirmation that no one was spying on Sergey Bogdonovich.

***

Sergey’s dacha lay just ahead.

The tiny, two-room structure was a gift from Czar Nicholas to Sergey’s father. The senior Bogdonovich, (Dimitri), was a member of the Okhrana, a much feared and secret organization which the Czar abused as his personal police force. Its only job was to protect the Russian crown and suppress dissent.

Sergey, the boy, worshiped his father. He would sit by the man’s rocking chair, mesmerized by stories of clandestine sabotage, political retribution, and secret conspiracies. All for the purpose of protecting Czar Nicholas. In the end, it was for naught. The Czar and his entire family were executed by the Bolsheviks in 1918.

Sergey’s father disappeared shortly thereafter. The 10-year-old boy grew to manhood, frustrated, angry, and disillusioned. He blamed his mother for the lack of a father and left home at the age of 16 to work as a laborer on the docks. Years later, he would earn extra money for assisting a couple of government types. They wore suits and required detailed intelligence about the comings and goings of ships and people at the city’s Northern River Terminal. In time, Sergey answered to the captain of the ship and no one else. He handled people more than he did cargo. “Enemies of the state” said the captain. And it was Sergey’s job to discreetly “relocate” those people. To remote locations, to prison, or at times, to the bottom of the sea.

***

Sergey hesitated in the doorway of his dacha, soaking up the sights and smells of his childhood. The large room, which served as a kitchen, dining area, and living room, was unchanged despite his three-month absence. An attached shed, in the rear of the tiny home, served as a bedroom. A floor length curtain made from burlap bags, offered a touch of privacy from the visitors that never visited.

He tossed his canvass duffle, filled with dirty laundry, onto the lumpy mattress and made a beeline for the outhouse. Although he searched for relief, Sergey did not go to relieve himself. He used a pocketknife to loosen a floorboard in a far corner of the smelly cubicle. An unopened bottle of Stolychnaya triggered a rare smile. The weary ship worker did not require a shot glass. He fell into a kitchen chair, opened the bottle, and gulped three mouthfuls of the 80-proof liquid.

Fortified by the alcohol, Sergey reached for his wallet. He removed a heavily creased black and white photo whose corners were bent and wrinkled. The woman’s image was still recognizable. Katarina Gribanova smiled broadly. Her crossed hands discreetly hid the décolletage of her daring cocktail dress. Her left hand prominently displayed a newly acquired engagement ring. Sergey recollected every detail of that wondrous day. At dinner, she placed his ring on her finger. In the evening, he removed her cocktail dress.

The beautiful woman’s large diamond ring no longer reflected the bright sunshine of that perfect day, almost three months ago. Instead, the ring and the dress triggered a host of cruel memories. Memories which Sergey angrily tried to smother.

A small kitchen window, covered with dust and cobwebs, focused a beam of light from the setting sun. It illuminated the tiny table, the bottle of booze, and the tear-streaked cheeks of the man who was no longer engaged to Katarina Gribanova.

***

Moments later, a stunningly beautiful woman checked her appearance one more time, took a deep breath, and knocked on the door to Sergey’s dacha.

Katarina Gribanova could smell the alcohol when he opened the door. Sergey, a look of shock covering his face, clung to the door handle so as hide his unsteady gait.

“May I come in? she asked.

Sergey scowled.

“And if I say no, will you leave?”

“Do you wish me to leave?”

“What I wish for, means nothing to you, Katarina. You will do as you wish.”

Sergey returned to his makeshift bar. Katarina stepped through the opening, carefully shutting the door behind her.

“I would like to talk,” she said.

Sergey shrugged.

“So, talk. I do not stop you.”

“I thought it was best for us if I…”

A sly smile interrupted her soft voice. She suddenly noticed the photograph. Sergey followed her surprised stare and lunged. His oversized hand hid the object of her curiosity in a shirt pocket.

“It means nothing. I found it in my dirty clothes,” he growled.

A flash of sadness crossed her face.

“That was the happiest day of my life.”

“And you, Katarina, made it the worst day of my life.”

His angry face changed from a warm pink to a flaming red. Sergey exploded. He slammed his closed fists on the table. Katarina jumped. The bottle tipped over, rolled, and fell to the floor. A bed of shattered glass in a puddle of vodka, lay shimmering at Katarina’s feet. He sprung from his chair, grabbed her by the shoulders, and shook the woman until she cried out. The giant’s voice thundered.

“Why did you leave me, Katarina? Why? Tell me why. Now!”

Katarina’s blue eyes grew wide with fear. Sergay’s grip loosened. The woman’s trembling hands brushed aside her tears. Katarina’s face slowly twisted into sorrow. Sergey’s dark and glassy eyes continued to question the woman. The broken man’s quivering lips whispered the question, once again.

“Why, Katarina? Why?”

She took notice of the vulnerable look on his face. Katarina reacted violently, snarling and pushing him away. She shoved a wagging finger in his direction.

“It doesn’t matter anymore. I have returned. And I am willing to stay, but only if you want me to stay.”

Sergey’s chest heaved. He shook a clenched fist in her face.

“No. You will not stay. I will not have you. Not until you tell me why you did this to me.”

She turned her back to him, a moment of angry silence filling the room. Her head tilted toward the ceiling as if the words she searched for were hidden in the exposed rafters. Her voice grew soft again.

“Please, Sergey. I love you. And nothing else matters, does it?”

Sergey marched to the door and flung it open.

“Leave me. And do not return.”

Katarina spun in his direction. Her angry scream filled the room.

“You! I left because of you, Sergey Bogdonovich.”

“What do you mean? Why do you blame me for something which you have done?”

Katarina shoved the man against the table.

“It was you and your evil friends at the KGB that killed my father. My mother told me so. She wanted me to return the ring and made me promise never to see you again.”

Sergey took a long, deep breath. Years of training kicked in. He hid behind an imaginary wall of cold and impenetrable logic.

“But I did not know your father. And you did not return the ring.”

She startled the man by conceding the argument as quickly as she started it.

“It no longer matters, ” she mumbled.

Sergey’s frustration returned.

“It matters to me, Katarina. And I will speak with your mother.”

“No. You will not.”

“Why? Why can’t I speak with your mother?”

Katarina’s head drooped, her voice barely audible.

“Because she died. A month ago.”

Sergey flinched and blinked repeatedly.

“I am very sorry, Katarina.”

He moved one of the chairs in her direction.

“Please. Sit.”

He escorted her around the shards of glass.

“I have nothing for you to drink.”

“I need a cigarette,” she said, exhaling loudly.

Sergey reached into his shirt pocket, careful to remove the cigarette pack and not the picture. He produced a brass lighter. She took a long drag, allowing a thick cloud of white smoke to muffle her words.

“She lied to me, Sergey.”

“What do you mean?”

“She gave me this letter the day before she died.”

Sergey eyed the letter in Katarina’s outstretched hand.

“Read it,” she said.

He scanned the old woman’s death bed confession. She admitted to having no proof that Sergey was involved in the mysterious disappearance of her husband, much less the KGB. She knew only that some strange men forcibly removed her husband from the classroom at the university where he taught philosophy. That was the old woman’s entire case. An unfounded suspicion that ruined her daughter’s relationship with a man the man she loved. Sergey sat back in his chair, visibly relieved.

Katarina apologized for assuming the worse about her fiancé. Sergey shook his head.

“I work on a ship. I do this for years. I have nothing to do with the KGB. Why did she say these things?”

“I don’t know why she accused you of these things. But I could not abandon my mother.” she said.

“You should have told me, Katarina. You should have told me.”

“I am truly sorry, Sergey. I should have come to you. I am so sorry.”

“And the ring? Why did you not return the ring?”

She leaned forward, a desperate look covering her face.

“Sergey, I refused to believe her story. I wanted to see you again. So, I prayed, my love. I prayed it wasn’t true. And I dreamed of seeing you once again.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “But you were at sea.”

She reached into her bag and gently placed the ring on the table.

“Goodbye, my love. I am sorry for what I did and for what I failed to do.”

She rose to leave. He followed her to the door.

“Katarina.”

She stopped but refused to face him.

“I must go, Sergey.”

“Katarina. Please. Look at me.”

She turned in his direction. Sergey was on bended knee. He held the ring aloft, a heartfelt smile on his face. She stifled a scream with her hands and then laughed through her tears.

“Will you marry me, Katarina?” he asked. “Please?”

Katarina rushed forward and pulled him close.

“Yes, Sergey Bogdonvich. I will marry you.”

He slipped the ring on her finger and rose to his feet, his face now inches from hers.

“I will come to you this evening,” he said, his voice dripping in lust.

“And I will make your favorite meal. Borscht and fresh baked bread.”

She pressed her lips against his and whispered.

“And then we will make love.”

***

Sergey watched until she disappeared. He rushed to the duffel on his bed, searching for his second pair of work shoes. He removed the liner in the left shoe, retrieving a beige colored paper, folded into a small rectangle. The government form was neatly typed, its contents painfully brief.

He would burn it of course, but Sergey read it one more time.

**********************************************************

SUBJECT: Ivan Gribanov

OCCUPATION: University Professor

LAST KNOWN ADDRESS: The Kuzma on-board detention facility.

NOTES: Subject teaches Philosophy at the University. Tells his students that Russian citizens are not able to criticize their government for fear of reprisals.

INSTRUCTIONS: Confirm treasonous activity. Identify friends and known associates.

RECOMMENDATION: Burial at sea.

COMPENSATION: 400 RUBLES

SIGNED: Igor Romanov, KGB Bureau Chief

***

Katarina basked in the aroma of homemade bread as she flitted from the cupboard to the table. She prepared Sergey’s borsht with great care, adding a handful of Russula mushrooms to the mixture of beets, potatoes, carrots, and tomato. Russula mushrooms were not only edible, they were quite tasty. She stirred the ingredients, tasted the concoction, and flashed a wide grin of approval. Her smile suddenly disappeared. She carefully checked the view from her kitchen window, slowly reaching into an apron pocket. Katarina examined the small glass vial and marveled at its contents. The dried mushrooms closely resembled the Russula variety but were not edible.

Amanita Phalloids, also known as “death caps”, were lethal. She required only a quarter of a cap but doubled the amount to insure its effectiveness. She dumped the “death caps” into the soup and placed the bowl of borscht, best served when chilled, into a large pan of ice. After removing her apron Katarina collapsed into an overstuffed easy chair and waited for her guest. Her thoughts drifted to Igor Romanov, her handler at the KGB. He was very direct with Katarina. Sergey, like Katarina’s mother, was a “loose end”, he argued, and had to be “eliminated”. The bureau’s special op at the terminal was no longer necessary. A seaport, such as the one at St. Petersburg, made more sense. He promised Katarina a large apartment in the city when the job was finished. And a ring. He promised to give her a ring.

Bigger and better than the one given to her by Sergey.