Steel Notes Magazine
January 2017
She stood looking down at him , like a prosecutor pressing a witness , her nakedness both comical and enticing , “ Yeah , so what are you ?”
He stubbed out his cigarette and rose from his chair , standing next to her . “ I ’ m not your father or your teacher .”
Although she knew him well , in a very basic sense she hardly knew him at all . His name was Russian , his accent and his nationality , French . She didn ’ t really know how he earned his living . He had published poetry , but that could hardly account for the money he seemed to have . He said his family had money , and she accepted that , but he never really spoke of them ; she didn ’ t know who they were or what they did .
Nikki would have usually been more skeptical . She ’ d been let down so many times and was always suspicious , if not cynical , but for some reason she trusted Anatol more than she ’ d ever trusted anyone , except her grandmother .
His face grew serious . “ I have to leave India ,” he said , looking quickly into her eyes and then down at her beautiful bare feet .
Her mouth fell open , and breath caught in her throat . She looked up , her eyes widening . I ’ ll go with you , she thought . But he didn ’ t ask . Doesn ’ t he feel what she feels ? He must —
“ I can ’ t take you ,” he said , tamping another cigarette . *******
The sun had disappeared behind the forbidding mountains . Darkness brought quiet , but tension slithered through the shadows .
A single light bulb hung from the ceiling in the front room of a stone house on the other side of the lake . Feydor sat across from a dark-skinned man , who called out in Arabic to someone in another room . A woman , probably 40 , but looking 60 , wearing a simple sari , her head covered by a black shawl , entered . Her flat brown feet took short , quick steps . She poured sweet , milky tea into two cups and placed them before the men , retreating as rapidly as she ’ d entered .
Feydor held a chunk of hash and cut off a piece about the size of a large raisin . Holding the greenish black lump in the tweezers from his Swiss Army knife , he struck a match and warmed the little glob until it began to smoke . Blowing out the flame , he crumbled the charras into a fine , warm powder and sprinkled it over some cigarette tobacco .
The other man , dressed in dark , polyester trousers and a long sleeve cotton shirt , his heavily oiled hair neatly combed , handed Feydor a chillum . As Feydor dropped a stone into the ceramic cone , and poured the hash / tobacco mixture in on top of it , the man , speaking English with a Pakistani accent , asked him , “ The heroin is in Srinagar ?”
Feydor ’ s face was round as a snowman ’ s , eyes like small points of coal . He glanced at the two men standing beside the door , their heads wrapped in kaffiyeh , and each holding an AK-47 . He smiled .
A flame flared from the match in the Russian ’ s pudgy fingers ; light shined across the dark-skinned man ’ s sweaty face . The top of the chillum glowed bright red , as Feydor drew deeply through his hands , gripping the cone ’ s tip . His chest swelled before he exhaled huge clouds of smoke . He passed the chillum across the table , “ your turn ,” he said .
*******
Nikki , still naked , was making the bed ; her concentration seemed far too deep for the task at hand . Emotions of fear , anger and confusion passed over her face as fast as shadows . Anatol stepped up behind her , kissing her softly on the back of her neck . She tensed . But he wrapped his arms around her and turned her to face him .
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