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August/September
1991, Thailand
The civilian
clothes were the strangest thing about it. Vadim still had
the set of clothes he'd bought in England to not stand out
too badly, nothing special, dark blue jeans, a grey tee. Carrying
a bag in one hand, determined to get anything else he needed
when they'd arrive. The main things were passport and wallet,
and that alone was enough. Beat the hell out of body armour
and stuffed ammo pouches. He didn't wear the sunglasses, they
reminded him of the desert, had even changed the watch - for
the same reason. What he needed easily fitted into a light
bag, no bigger than one used for fencing.
Waiting
for Dan to show up, Vadim noticed how the other mercs noticed.
Occasional stares from somebody who had never seen him in
anything but camo, naked, or a towel. Krasnorada has a life,
is what it seemed to say. Nevertheless, Vadim was strangely
optimistic. Travelling wouldn't be too bad with Dan, he figured,
would give them time away from all this shit here. Mildly
optimistic. He didn't expect much, didn't expect anything
to grow back, apart, maybe, from respect. Dan had made clear
whatever he felt, he just couldn't, and Vadim knew his safest
bet now was to find enough to live for, somehow, to make this
worthwhile. Two weeks should be enough time to work out if
there was anything left. At least no Jean, no Donahue, no
duties. Repay Dan a small amount.
When
Dan finally came out of his hut, whistling, he looked exactly
as he always did. T-shirt, knee-length shorts he must have
found in an army surplus store - at least this time not the
cut-off ones, and desert boots. He didn't actually own anything
else, had left everything that reminded him of the past in
storage in the embassy. He wore an open shirt on top, in a
non identifiable faded olive green with darker rectangles,
where the torn-off patches had lived. And, of course, the
obligatory shades. Bergan thrown over his shoulder, he had
a water bottle clamped under his left arm, while the right
resided in his shorts pocket. Grinning as he came closer,
ignoring anybody else and their curious stares. "Ready
for take-off, Russkie? Let's just hope I won't get shot down
this time."
Vadim
grinned. "Ready for take-off." Dan's 'traintracks'
distracted him, the massive scar across his leg. He turned
and headed towards the waiting vehicle that would get them
to the airport. He wondered what the others thought, all this
was too much out in the open, too visible, but that was the
timing of the plane, and of the camp, and why should he care.
It had made the rounds so often, the novelty had to wear off
at some point.
Dan re-shouldered
the bergan, lightly packed, there wasn't much he had that
was even worth taking, and climbed into the Landrover. Opening
the door to hang out at the last minute, shouting across the
camp, "See you in two weeks, girls, keep your blue balls
for me, don't think I'll miss your pretty arses!" Laughing
his head off as he slammed the door shut, getting the driver
to speed off with screeching tires.
There
he was, then. Sitting in a Lannie once more, right beside
Vadim. "Beats the last time, aye?" Dan grinned sideways,
"no insurgents as far as I can see."
"And
no stuck Yank pigs bleeding all over my camo", said Vadim,
and showed teeth to take the sting out of the words.
"Fucking
bastard." But Dan's grin bordered on tenderness. "The
kid's surviving."
Vadim
knew Dan had a tender spot for them. Well. Screwing with one
of them likely did that. He shook his head, tried to not think
of Donahue, nor how pretty the kid was. He stretched out his
legs, used the space he had, but couldn't keep his eyes from
searching the landscape. A habit. Professional paranoia. "Thanks
for coming along, by the way."
Dan simply
shrugged. "As I said, thanks for inviting me. It'll be
good …." He paused, eyes behind the shades flickering
off the other's face, fixed for a moment on the landscape
that went past. "Good to be, away, you know."
"Yes."
Very good to be away. He had to tread carefully; 'be nice'
as Jean had called it. Be friendly. He'd make an effort. Vadim
inhaled deeply, scanned the landscape, while his mind was
thankfully blank.
Dan didn't
say anything for a long time, settled back in the seat, the
airport approaching. Just before they arrived, he said added,
quietly, "Fucking missed you, but you know that."
Vadim
gave a smile, didn't trust his voice to keep stable. Missing
didn't begin to cover it. He nodded, throat tight, then got
out to carry the bags again. Things from there went smoothly.
A connection to Dubai, then with civilian airlines towards
Thailand. First class - and all the privileges that came with
it. Better than a Herc, and Dan, for one, enjoyed himself
with the free drinks, the nibbles, the comfort of the extra
cushioned seats, and the fact they treated him as if he was
wearing the suits that the Baroness had him wear, although
he looked as scruffy as an aging squaddie.
The moment
they set foot into Thailand, Dan was taken in by the heat
and the colours. Those damned colours that seemed to glow
in the sun. Blues and yellows, greens from luscious vegetation,
and even more blues from sea and sky. He hardly had enough
time to look around before they were chaperoned into a waiting
taxi to take them to their waiting bungalows.
Phukeet
airport, and then a 50 minute commute in air conditioned busses
to the Mukhdara Beach Resort. Secluded bungalows, two of which
Vadim had reserved, and he couldn't believe how easy and how
different everything was. From the small, oddly friendly people
to the whole relaxed gracious place. "Well, that's it,
then." Vadim nodded to himself, acting as if he actually
had expected the photos to tell the truth. He hadn't, and
it was hard to bear.
"Holy
shit." Dan dropped the bergan right there and then, looking
around the huge airy room of his bungalow. Two identical ones,
with over-sized beds which were large enough for tall men
like them. Everything light, made from warm coloured wood,
open sky and the sea. "I'm going to get lost in here."
Vadim
smiled, enormously pleased it had some impact on Dan. He crossed
the room and opened the blinds, so that the ocean became fully
visible. Palms. White golden beach, cast into dramatic light
by the dying sun. "Just call them for food. There's the
buffet somewhere ... near the central pool ... or order something
to the room." He inhaled. "Think I'll start with
a shower. See you later."
"OK,
yes." Dan was too distracted to answer coherently. Everything
was too big, too grand, and just about too much luxury. It
had been fun in the plane, but this? Heaven and hell, he wondered
if he should buy himself new clothes straight away, to fit
into the décor, or if he should just run around naked.
Vadim
headed to his bungalow, maybe, what, sixty yards away, and
found a very similar place. Different décor, different
wood carvings, the bungalow facing the sea at a different
angle. He set the bag down on the bed, then headed into the
bathroom - hardly smaller than the bedroom - for a shower.
Feeling mellow and tired, and above all, not trapped for fucking
once.
Dan in
the meantime took a shower as well, fiddling with the plastic
bag over his hand, at least they had renewed the sticky bandage
and given him a few more to make sure the plaster wasn't going
to come off. He'd been asked to check back that week, but
heck, if that meant he'd have to stay in camp they could stuff
it.
Freshly
showered, wet hair tousled and body back in the other pair
of shorts that he had taken with him, Dan found a shirt that
didn't look too ruddy, but couldn't manage to fiddle the small
buttons into the button holes one-handed. He had to leave
it open, then. As long as he had his shades he could ignore
any ill-disguised stares at his scarred stomach. He pondered
going over to that buffet thing to catch food and booze, but
mostly, he was bored. Already. Where to go and what to do?
It was beautiful, peaceful, stunning in fact, but there he
was, standing on the patio, staring at the sea and …
everything was just so big and … empty.
Back
in the other bungalow, Vadim slipped into the bathrobe, which
amused him, because he was clearly too tall for it. They were
generously cut, but it still looked like a miniskirt. He leafed
through a short guide to the park, and apparently, everything
was provided, and what wasn't would be at the drop of a hat.
He opened the doors to the veranda, and glanced over to Dan's
bungalow. Neatly arranged that he couldn't actually see what
was going on. He frowned, thoughtfully, then headed back to
Dan's place, walked across the white sand and rapped on the
veranda door. "Dan?"
Dan turned,
couldn't help the relief showing when he saw Vadim. Noticing
far too quickly what Vadim was actually wearing - and that
was damn little. Shit.
Vadim
stepped in, showing Dan the leaflet. "What about ordering
the tailor for tomorrow?"
"Why?"
Tipping the shades up over his eyes, they balanced on Dan's
forehead. "What for? Don't they have swimming trunks
on sale?"
"Yes,
but you travel just as light as I do. Having something to
change into would be good." Vadim grinned. "Swimming
trunks they should have in the tourist shop. I need some,
too."
"Aye,
but can't imagine I need anything tailored."
"It's
not about needing." It's about wanting. As always.
Dan shrugged
and grinned, while lighting a cigarette, "Fair enough,
I go with the flow." Pointing at Vadim's attire, "you
sure as hell aren't going to the tourist shop in that, are
you?" Slowly walking around the other, as if checking
the goods. He tried to crack a light-hearted joke, but all
that came out in the end was a quiet, "never saw you
in one of those." Not even in the hotel room, the last
night. So many firsts, he hadn't realised they had a whole
lifetime's worth of firsts - they'd never had the chance.
Vadim
stood, felt his shoulders and back tense, like an inspection,
funny, that, and funnier that he didn't mind. "I think
I'll put on something more. Just didn't want to put the same
clothes back on." He turned his head, and grinned at
Dan. "You've seen me with nothing on. Does this look
so ... ridiculous?"
"Actually,
yes." Dan grinned, exhaling the smoke away from Vadim,
without thinking. The habit had stuck, and the deep seated
knowledge that the other didn't like the nicotine smell. "Maybe
not if it fit, but this one makes you look like wearing a
skimpy dress. Not a good look on a hairy bloke." Not
that the legs he saw were particularly hairy, nor the arms,
nor … oh shit. He hadn't seen the body for two and a
half years. Didn't know if he wanted to - lest it felt like
yet another sucker punch to the guts.
"Was
good after the shower", Vadim murmured, and gave a self-conscious
grin.
Dan grinned
back. "Anyway, come shopping with me? Need something
other than combat boots or flip flops and I guess the ragged
old shirts I got aren't really for general consumption either."
"Yes.
Let me change - will be one minute."
Dan took
a deep drag, watching the smoke curl out of his nostrils,
"and if I don't wear anything I'd probably make the food
go off and the children run away screaming. What with the
scars and all. I'm not what one could call particularly pretty."
Unlike you, Vadim and your goddamned perfection, except for
a word cut in blood and flesh.
Vadim
shook his head, already retreating towards the open door.
"Pretty is different", he murmured. "Pretty
has no scars. You are ..." Jaw muscles tensed again.
"Like the morning sky in Afghanistan. Not 'pretty'. Word's
'breathtaking'." In more senses than one. Choking, strangling,
intense pain that forbid breathing.
Dan stared
at him, silenced by a few words, forgetting the fag that burnt
between his fingers, even forgot to breathe. He remembered.
Remembered everything, no matter how hard he'd fought to forget
the memories. Too painful. You are, and then Vadim
had stalled, beautiful. Beautiful. Lapushka. And every
touch and kiss still echoing in his body. He watched Vadim
leave without another word.
"I'll
pick you up. Two minutes." Somewhat hurriedly, Vadim
retreated to his bungalow, cursing himself for saying that.
Jean called it 'flirting', but it was gut-wrenching, really,
speaking his mind when he had very little hope of getting
anywhere near what they'd had. Not that it had to happen,
nor that it was even very likely: whores were easy to come
by - he knew the stories from Jean's crew - youths, children,
even, both genders, and a couple very odd combinations if
he trusted the stories that floated around camp. Finding something
to blow steam with was easy, and if he didn't want to go out
hunting, there was always the number of porn channels. But
of course, he couldn't help feeling that most poisonous of
feelings, the one that had been almost worse than the isolation,
that small, resilient hope that Dan would one night be drunk
enough, so he had a chance. Even if it was just that night,
or the holidays, before they'd return, and Dan would also
return to Donahue and Jean the bastard, and maybe get posted
somewhere else. It was nostalgia, thought Vadim, shrugging
into his clothes and giving himself a last glance in the huge
mirror with the carved wooden frame. He didn't look like a
civilian at all, the tightness about his features, the unblinking,
impassive gaze, like a soldier on parade. There was still
the nagging hope.
Dan was
standing on the terrace, smoking, already on the second cigarette.
Staring out over the beach and its sun drenched beauty. Sky
and sea, more blue than he could ask for, and yet it would
never compare to the endless skies above the unforgiving mountains
in Afghanistan. Breathtaking. Beauty, that's not what
he was. Beauty was what he remembered - Vadim.
"There
you are." Dan turned when he heard the other approach,
tried a smile, but the light-hearted fun was coming harder.
"I tried to close the shirt, but the damned buttons are
a nightmare one-handed. You either help me, or you'll have
to go out with me scaring children away."
"You'd
find children are far tougher than you think." Vadim
stepped closer, into Dan's personal space, close enough to
smell him. Keeping his eyes on his hands, not on Dan's skin,
not on Dan's face, not the throat that moved when he swallowed.
Closing the buttons. Remembered Katya dressing him, a few
times, brushing over his shoulders. Odd tenderness from one
so tough. The thought helped doing this.
"Let's
go, then."
Dan nodded,
said nothing, the lump in his throat made talking difficult.
The shops
were open late, Vadim couldn't see any opening times, small
wooden huts with reed roofs, stacked in gaudy colours, as
crammed and colourful as he had expected. Diving gear, bright
shirts, bracelets, card and board games, drinks and snacks,
and so many things that Vadim's eyes needed several minutes
to take them in. Sort information that was important from
information that wasn't. A tiny Thai woman gave them a bright
smile, and Vadim had the feeling the smile for him was brighter,
which was strange.
"Can
I help you, gentlemen?"
Dan hadn't
noticed her, he was staring at all the stuff on display. Just
like super markets back in Blighty. Too much, and the choice
was getting annoying. At least when it came to food he just
grabbed anything, and he figured he'd do the same with clothes.
What else could he do, since his staples at the Army Surplus
shop weren't available in this place and they didn't seem
to have straightforward denims, either.
"Uh
…" Dan stammered and shrugged. Eyes hidden behind
the shades, desperately trying to pick things out. "I
need something to wear." Something - anything. What did
it matter, unless … "I haven't got a clue. Shirts,
shorts, swimming trunks, some kind of shoes. Just stuff."
He shrugged.
"Of
course. If you would follow me, gentlemen." Assuming,
unspoken, that Vadim and Dan belonged together. She led them
deeper into the shop - it was a smart design where the small
huts were interconnected and the actual shopping space filled
several of them, while it looked smaller and picturesque from
outside. Here were actual clothes, leisure things, mainly.
Shirts, shorts, swimming trunks and bathing suits, security
belts and neck pillows, and she stood there, smiling, ever
so willingly helpful.
Vadim
decided finding trousers was the main issue, and spotted some
light trousers that were suitable for jungle expeditions but
also looked presentable. "What's your size?"
"I
have no fucking clue." Dan stood stunned like a nun in
front of a nudist club.
"Hmm.
Think you should be close enough to mine." In trousers,
anyway. Shirts would be slightly wider on Dan, but still fit
nicely. After careful consideration, Vadim handed Dan a selection
of colours - tan, sand, grey, olive. "Try these. I'll
have a further look." He glanced at the shop assistant,
who gave him a little bow, lingering a very polite distance
away so she could help when necessary.
"OK."
Like a meek raw recruit who was all too thankful to obey orders,
Dan vanished behind the curtain of one of the changing booths.
Stepping out with the sand coloured pair of trousers on, which
fit perfectly, the grey ones over his arm. Looking around
for Vadim, who came back with more garments, which made Dan
roll his eyes.
Vadim
had found jeans - dark blue and indigo, and those colours
worked well for Dan, too. Checking the prizes, all seemed
fairly affordable anyway, and he spent some time rifling through
clothes, selecting those he would want to see on Dan.
"I
don't like grey." Shaking his head, Dan held the pair
out to Vadim. "Shit colour."
The right
shade of grey would be great with that darkened skin, thought
Vadim, but that thought ceased when Dan, standing like a very
awkward mannequin, lifted the shirt above the waistband. It
seemed to say: Look at my scars, and I'm sure you're willing
to suck me off now. Lacking, as usual, underwear, and the
trail of dark hair was visible.
"OK?
Didn't bother with the button. Too awkward with just one bloody
hand." Dan's voice sounded long-suffering, even though
he'd only tried on one pair. "Are the others the same
size? In that case I'll just buy them. I hate shopping."
There was a definite whine creeping in.
Vadim
took the pile of trousers and handed them to the shop assistant.
"Shirts." He'd found some he liked, T-shirts, undershirts,
proper button down shirts. "Put on just one and get the
ones you like the colours of."
"Cheers."
Dan grinned, relieved, managed to wriggle out of his shirt
without having to negotiate the buttons, and tried one of
each of the items on, except for undershirts, he refused to
wear such things. Wifebeaters belonged onto the legionnaire,
he'd stick to t-shirts. Picking the same colours as for the
trousers, with the addition of charcoal. Arguing with himself
it wasn't really grey, when several blues caught his eye,
and he held one out to Vadim to add it to the pile. "Here,
that one as well." It was a special blue, lapis lazuli.
The same colour as the string of prayer beads, left with the
Baroness in Dubai. He'd chucked them into the bin in his room,
before he'd left to catch that Herc.
At socks
and underwear, Dan protested, claiming he wouldn't need more
than a couple of pairs anyway, refusing to wear such things
as briefs, let alone boxers. Vadim then investigated about
a different set of shades. The ones Dan wore still made him
look like a merc, reminded him of 'Mad Dog'. Too utilitarian.
Dan shook
his head, "What's wrong with mine?" He liked them,
they'd survived sand, heat, brawls, fucks, halo jump and helicopter
crash, yet he grudgingly chose a pair that made him - in his
opinion - look the least like a pretentious twat, failing
to realise they gave him a rather sophisticated air, which
Vadim relished.
Piling
everything up, Vadim pulled his wallet out and flicked it
open. It was a new thing, the credit card still stuck to the
black leather. "I'm paying this. All inclusive, yes?"
While the shop assistant folded everything and explained there
was laundry service available and lovely tailors that would
tailor suits, linen, wool, cashmere, whatever they wanted,
and they were happy to come out here.
"What?"
Dan came to the checkout a moment later, wearing the sand
coloured trousers and a khaki shirt, the new shades over his
eyes, while the transaction was already underway. "I
thought I'd pay. I wouldn't have chosen such a fucking great
pile if I'd known you paid. Besides, when should I wear all
that stuff? Sure as hell not in Kuwait."
Vadim
shook his head. "I said all inclusive. You can always
throw the stuff away when you're done with it." Doubting
Dan would lug the clothes around the world, but that was no
reason to not get them. Watching the shop assistant deal with
his credit card. As good as cash. Covered, with credit.
"I
could get used to this", Vadim murmured. "And don't
worry, I'll get my stuff tomorrow morning, before breakfast."
Feeling oddly happy about how easily some problems could be
solved, and about Dan's new looks. And the fact he could pay
him back - if just a little.
Looking
over the pile Dan sighed, pointing at it, "You know what's
missing? The swimming trunks. And shoes." God, he bloody
hated shopping.
Vadim
grinned while the shop assistant wrapped the purchases up
and took the number of the bungalow. Everything would be delivered.
"Back over there." He pointed in the direction where
he had seen the trunks. Not sure he wanted to see Dan that
exposed. Yes, he did, of course, but seeing a body he wanted
and couldn't have ...? "Or do you absolutely need help?"
"No,
I'll be fine." Dan shrugged, wandered over, "I'll
just pick some, they should fit, but what about shoes? I don't
care what I wear, but figured these flip flops are falling
apart."
"I
care what you wear", muttered Vadim under his breath,
then louder: "Let me have a look." He headed towards
the area of shop, ever shadowed in the most friendly manner
by the shop assistant who had taken a liking to him - or the
credit card, which made more sense - and went through the
shoes. Sandals, trainers, light loafers, nothing great, but
better than military boots. He selected some for Dan, knowing
he wore two sizes smaller than Vadim's 'paddles', as Katya
had called his feet semi-affectionately. Found a different
design for himself, and they did have his size. All that went
on the pile as well.
Dan picked
two pairs of swimming trunks at random, all in black. One
was shorts and the other a briefs style little thing. He had
no idea how comfortable any of them were.
Vadim
waved the things over and paid again. "There. Kitted
out for holidays." He'd do his shopping without Dan.
More time, more calm, and too much of Dan's attention made
him wistful.
He left
the pile with the shop assistant, then looked at Dan. "Have
a walk towards the buffet? I could use some protein."
"Sure."
Dan left his battered flip flops on the pile, refusing to
throw them away, and slipped into black canvas trainers, liked
the fact they had an old fashioned feel to them and a round
white logo on the side. On top of that they turned out to
be rather comfortable. "I'm looking forward to check
out their cocktail and dessert menu." He grinned while
walking beside Vadim, couldn't help but looking at him, now
and then.
"Cocktails
is a good idea. I think I'll get wasted today. And sleep long."
Ultimate luxury for Vadim: being in a state unfit to fight,
and breaking through the five o' clock waking. He'd wake up,
unless he drank too much, but he would just turn round and
sleep on. Decadence.
"This
is odd." Dan gave another glance, "walking like
this," he peered, "in broad daylight, and no one
there to threaten either of us." He could get used to
this, if only … if only he'd have a fucking clue who
Vadim had become. Was this man beside him still the man he
had craved and loved? Yes, and no. And it drove Dan slowly
mad.
Vadim
grinned. "Wait till we get to the buffet. But yes, guerrillas
and bombs are unlikely." Still, part of him expected
something, anything, some primal part of his brain was always
tuned into his environment, expected sudden movements, and
checked passer-bys for concealed weapons. Paranoia was a habit.
He saw access routes, fire corridors, escape routes, and noticed
and evaluated cover.
"Any
..." Vadim paused, and the sentence 'any plans for tonight'
didn't come out. Drink, eat, sleep, that was the plan. Anything
beyond that was none of his business. Frowned, looking to
the side to hide the sudden insecurity. "I hope you'll
enjoy this place." Whatever you do, have fun.
"Aye,"
Dan grinned, "I sure am determined to, and think you've
got an excellent idea. Getting pissed on cocktails sounds
just brilliant. Race you down and up the cocktail menu?"
Vadim
nodded. "But we have wildcards, just in case one of them
is really horrible." Knowing Dan's taste for sweet stuff,
Dan would be fine. He himself wasn't too sure, even if he
had no idea what the vast majority were.
They
reached the buffet area, where just about everything imaginable
was spread out. Small tables scattered on the patio, all in
view of the beach and the sea and the spectacular sunset that
was beginning to approach.
Vadim
looked at the piles of lobster, ice sculptures, daintily carved
carrots and melons that looked like exotic plants, and prepared
fruit he had never seen in his life. Nowhere. No magazine,
no nothing. Just completely alien. "Let's grab some food,
and then get wasted."
Dan grinned,
snatched a plate and started on the seafood end. After the
first helping he went onto the chicken and other winged birds,
and the third round dug into the meat selection. Only nibbling
on the odd piece of fruit, he preferred dead animals, as he
lovingly called his platefuls. Vadim mainly stuck to fish
and lobster and seemed almost guilty at the amount of lobster
he ate.
Ravenous,
Dan stuffed himself, ending up at the dessert bar, and heaping
a helping of each of the delicacies onto his plate, as if
there was no tomorrow.
They
sat on one of the small two-person tables, candles and flower
arrangements between them. The spectacular sunset bathed beach
and sea in a fiery glow, and the gentle sound of the surf
was lapping against the sand. It was fucking picture postcard
perfect, so good, that when Dan sucked on the double-straw
in his garishly coloured and decorated sixth cocktail, he
took the shades off. Looking at the man opposite to him, who
licked some lobster juice off his fingers. "Another first."
He smiled, busied himself with his drink.
"First
what?" Vadim wiped his lips with the back of his hand,
then saw another tourist look disapproving at him and took
up the cloth napkin to wipe his lips again.
Dan was
licking some running chocolate off his hand, that was threatening
to make its way into the cuff of his brand new shirt. Lapping
with his tongue at the sticky sweetness. "Eating, like
this." He rubbed the last bit off with his napkin. "Eating
outside. Just this …" he put his spoon down, looking
at Vadim for a moment, "together. Not having to hide."
That was it, that was what kept getting to him: they didn't
have to hide, they could just be.
Vadim
looked down at the lobster mass grave. "And not being
ashamed." He paused, curious how that feeling had crept
into his life, but then it hit him, and he shook his head.
Dan's
head shot up. "What?" His stance suddenly changed,
alert, uncomprehending. But he should, really, shouldn't he?
Understand. He knew what they charged Vadim with in the end,
but he just couldn't go there.
"I
mean … I'm not … a traitor, you are not collaborating.
There is nobody who … will fuck us up. Still, we …"
manage quite nicely on our own, fucking us up. "…
have reflexes, yes? It's too deep."
"Of
course you are not a traitor." Dan's hand clenched into
a fist, involuntarily. The booze was keeping him somewhat
mellow, but hell, he couldn't just let this slip past. Shaking
his head, "you are right, though, everything is too deep.
You are, I am, we are. You're in my bones, my blood, and in
my being." Covering any other thoughts by quickly turning
round and waving to a waiter, ordering two more cocktails
of whatever was next on the list.
Vadim
watched the waiter clear away the plates and the last big
glasses with their remaining fruit peel and residue of sugar,
and some mint leaf amidst melting shards of ice. "I …"
He looked up, then shook his head. "Shouldn't make this
mistake. I shouldn't. I should fucking … keep things
… civil. Normal, but … I can't keep it up."
Muttering under his breath, while Dan looked at him, alarmed,
yet Vadim's thoughts went straight to the tongue. "You're
the only thing I … miss, the … one thing that makes
sense. If you … can't … can't stand me anymore,
that's … alright, if all you want to do is fuck, that's
alright, if all you want to do is talk, yes, but … more
difficult. You call the shots. You call all the shots. Your
decision. Your call." Vadim felt his chest was too tight
to properly breathe with. "And I fucked it up again.
Bravo, you stupid fuck." Groaning.
"Oh
shit." Dan's hand surreptitiously opened and clenched,
needing to feel the polished wood to gather his thoughts.
Damned cocktails, they made everything so much brighter, and
muddled the words at the same time. "It doesn't work
like this." He hardly noticed the waiter who put two
more glasses down, neon red this time. "I can't just
fuck around with you, it would finish me off. Didn't you listen
to what I told you on the rooftop?" He felt desperate,
no matter how much he understood - or tried to - Vadim's own
desperation.
Yes,
but it didn't make any sense. Wanting and not wanting, hating,
loving, it was all a mess and Vadim was unable to think clearly,
not with all the contradictions, not with Dan being there
and not being there. The past, fucking past, and the inability
to start over or break it off, trapped in stasis like insects
in amber. Vadim bit his teeth together. Still some kind of
no. He wasn't good at it, and he had ruined the evening, the
meal, the plan to get pleasantly drunk.
"If
I touched you, that'd be it." Dan shook his head, "Damn,
how the fuck am I going to make you understand?" Pleading,
almost, "You are everything, don't you get it? You are
the Afghan mountains, the damned red dust, the endless sky.
You were my home, and more often than not, also my reason.
You are unlike all the others, unlike anyone I shag, because
when I touch you it's not just a touch, it's eleven years
of heaven and hell."
The others.
And again the past. Vadim wished it had never got that far
- they'd just met, different circumstances, indeed nothing
but two men with a taste for other men, strong ones, without
all the shit, the darkness, without the guilt and shame and
debts. Only then he would never be able to compete with guys
like Jean, or Donahue. In the looks department, and in the
charms area, he was pathetically outgunned by either of them.
"You are same", he said, tonelessly, felt like he
was being choked, and noticed he'd dropped the article.
Dan looked
down onto his hand that had flattened on the surface, palm
pressed against warm wood. "I told you I love you and
that's why I hated you; only you could bring me that far."
His voice quietened, "I'm not even saying it is your
fault. I realise that there is too much I don't understand,
and that's why I need to get to know you. Who are you now,
Vadim? I want to know you, I need to understand."
But I
don't understand myself. I don't know how and why I broke
and why I just don't heal. I don't get what they did to me,
and what I allowed them to do. Understanding was impossible.
How did Dan expect to work him out after all this?
Leaning
closer, Dan's voice had softened to almost a caress, "Give
me breathing space, and give me a chance." His smile
bordered on sad, "that's why I came with you, hoping
that here, away from everything, we can scrape the shit back
together."
Time.
More nights, more longing, more of that aching, empty, pointless
pain. "You have time." Two weeks. Pathetic. It wouldn't
work. But then, a week could be forever, if spent alone in
the mountains. Torture only took a few hours. Who are you,
Vadim? I have no idea. "They just ... fucked me up worse
than I ever was. This is ... not me. This is my broken bones."
"I
am beginning to see that." Dan said quietly, "but
I haven't had a chance yet to really understand. I was too
hurt and too angry; I was too blind."
Vadim
forced himself to breathe, looked at the cocktail, and swallowed
dryly. He wanted to be safe, and sitting here exposed didn't
work. He should be scurrying for safety, and knew that no
hotel room was big enough that he wouldn't feel trapped. One
thing he could do to not feel himself that badly right now.
Go swimming. Escape into the ocean. He was drunk, but not
too badly. If he could walk, he could swim. "You have
time. I'm sorry. Was a mistake, bringing it up."
Dan shook
his head but said nothing, didn't know what. He'd verbalised
his thoughts best he could, but even the thoughts were confused.
What he did know for certain was how hard it was to sit that
close and not to touch, while all he wanted was touch. He
settled back in the chair again, tried another smile at Vadim,
before sampling the cocktail. He'd get drunk tonight, come
what may.
Vadim
nodded at that smile, didn't have enough control to return
it, and stood. "Thanks for the company. I ... appreciate
it." Sounded wrong and formal, but he needed the distance
now, and could only fall back on his manners. "Jet lag.
I ... should lie down." Placed his hand flat on the table
for a heartbeat when Dan nodded. "Give me a call when
you want. Good night."
He moved
away, forced himself into complete stoicism on the way to
the bungalow, where he shed the clothes, again sickeningly
pulled towards the mirror, looking at himself when he undressed.
Didn't look broken. Nothing showed what was going on inside,
only that haunted, pained expression in his eyes. "Fuck
you", Vadim muttered, and meant the torturer, and himself.
Then
he headed out onto the beach, kept his shorts on, he didn't
want to expose himself completely, bad enough as it already
was, and headed into the ocean that lapped at his feet, ankles,
knees, thighs, warm and alive. Much, much better than he remembered
it, and he dove into the waves, the moon bright enough to
find his way and tell land from sea.
*
* * * * * *
Dan watched
Vadim retreat until he could not see him anymore, then emptied
his glass in one go, before starting on the one Vadim had
left, while ordering another. The sun had long set and the
terrace was aglow with the light of candles in coloured glasses,
creating jewelled patterns on the wooden decking. Dan sat,
his shades back on, looking out over the beach and the ocean,
listening to voices around him and the sound of the surf,
the one constant amongst the chaos. Sky, sea, and yet he was
missing the mountains.
At some
stage, a lady came up to his table. A tourist like him, smiling
and asking if he minded company, but while he tried to be
polite as he declined, Dan couldn't bear to sit and attempt
small talk, least of all when there was no chance of suitable
sex afterwards. But even sex seemed stale. He wasn't sure
if right now he'd want to fuck around with Matt or Hooch,
not even Jean. They all had either someone or no one, black
or white, and not this fucked up sense of longing, need, and
equal measures of dread.
When
he was drunk enough and the coloured lights began to swirl
with the rhythm of the ocean, he made his way back to the
bungalow. Couldn't help but look out for Vadim, or at least
light from the windows, but saw nothing. Perhaps it was simply
too late; the night, the time and their lives.
He fell
asleep on top of the bed, naked, sprawled across, not anymore
noticing the itching beneath the plaster cast, and hardly
neither the one feeling that had been increasing steadily
since they'd boarded the plane: desire.
*
* * * * * *
Dan slept
long the next morning, was neither woken by sunshine streaming
into the vast room, nor by an attempt to deliver the clothes
Vadim had bought the day before. Not even by birds chirping
as if there was nor tomorrow, and neither by hunger, thirst
nor heat. Booze was a great tranquilizer and he'd done his
best to kill himself off.
When
he finally emerged into the sunlight, smoking a cigarette
on the veranda, he blinked into the light, despite the shades.
Half-woken himself by a shower, he wore the new swimming shorts
from the pile that had waited in front of his door, and a
t-shirt over it to avoid curdling milk and blinding innocent
children with the scarred look of his body. Feet in brand
new flip flops, the old ones reluctantly discarded at last,
he pondered to search for brunch himself, ask for room service,
or get down to the beach to soak in the sun and do just about
nothing, or to try and see if Vadim was around.
He was
cursing himself when, predictably, he went for the latter
and was calling out Vadim's name from the veranda.
Vadim
was still in bed. He had managed to sleep through the five
o' clock threshold. Doors and windows were open, a gentle
breeze coming into the bungalow, making palm leaves rustle
outside.
Dan calling
his name got him awake instantly, and he cursed himself for
not having followed his original plan to go shopping before
Dan would, most likely, appear. Then again - no schedule,
no fixed times, no deadlines. "Come on in." He got
out of the bed, grabbed the pile of clothes on a carved stool
and vanished into the bathroom, earning himself a perplexed
look from Dan, who didn't get the haste.
"Bored
already?" Vadim called, starting to get dressed. Knew
his body would betray him if he was too close, and he wanted
to keep things ... less intense. And showing Dan what lying
semi-awake and somewhat lonely did to his body, with blood
in the wrong parts, would be a great way to 'be friends' for
the moment.
"Why?"
Lighting another fag, Dan scratched his stomach, looking for
somewhere to sit and settling on the bed. Drawn to the tumbled
sheets, still warm from the body, and still harbouring the
scent.
"Just
... asking."
"Wondered
if you wanted to go for brunch, didn't expect you to be still
in bed."
"Took
me a while to fall asleep. I was swimming."
Dan's
hand kept gliding over the sheets, "I won't be able to
do much other than lying around on the beach, anyway."
Smiling to himself. "Woe is me and all that."
Vadim
checked himself in the mirror, tried a number of different
'positive expressions' - grin, smirk, smile - then opened
the door. "Well, there's a number of activities. You
don't have to get fat and lazy here."
Dan grinned,
"wouldn't mind a bit of the 'fat' thing. It's a hell
of a job to keep the weight on." Fuck, that reminded
him, he'd forgotten to take his pills, two days in a row.
"Well,
you certainly gave it a go yesterday." Vadim stepped
out and gave positive expression number three: a smile - which
faltered a little with Dan sitting on the bed. Would love
to kiss him and get him to stretch out, with him on top. "I
was planning to get the whole full body traditional Thai massage."
"Sounds
good to me," Dan turned his head to look at Vadim, smiling
in return. "Unless they go heavy handed on the bruises."
Fag between his lips, he used his right hand to swiftly lift
his t-shirt, showing off the truly spectacular arrangement
of blues, greens, yellows, purples and browns. "Think
it'd do that stuff any good? I look like a human camo pattern."
Lines
of muscles, and scars, and ... well, more colours than was
painless. "It would. There are few things in the world
that a good massage can't make better." Vadim grinned,
and his grin broadened suddenly. Afghanistan. Mass grave.
And 'massage'. Too precious an opening to not use. "Of
course, the Thai girls have much smaller hands."
It took
Dan a second to cotton on, but when he did he almost choked
on his own fag. Dropping the shirt back down, he didn't know
what to do with himself. "Aye." The most intelligent
answer he could find, "guess so." He remembered
to take the cigarette out of his mouth, gazed at the growing
ash, and got up. Flicking the ash off was a great excuse to
get onto the veranda and away from the memories. As if. "Food
first, then. Massage after that, and whatever those Thai girls
can come up with."
Vadim
kept his features carefully neutral. Embarrassing Dan, even
if it was just an attempt at banter, wouldn't get him further.
"I need to buy a few things … clothes, so if you
want to start with breakfast, I'll join you in a few minutes?"
"Sure,
I'll see you later, then." Casting a swift smile at Vadim,
Dan headed off to the buffet area, where he started a long
and complicated meandering pattern through all the delicacies
that were laid out amongst fresh flowers, crushed ice and
beautifully carved fruit. He was taking his time, working
his way through plateful after plateful, as if he were a hoover.
Never satisfied with enough food, yet never gaining weight.
Vadim
forced himself to go to the shop, where the little Thai woman
tried her utmost to help him without being pushy, and he found
himself relish the kindness that was both completely innocent
and heartfelt - without the trace of idea what he was, or
who he was, or what he was capable of doing.
It might
be like that one day, he thought, when retiring. The old men
in the Moscow Metro, some of them had been killers once, killing
Germans, but now they just were old and spent and some of
them kind, but no one thought of them as killers anymore.
Or maybe in a place as far removed from everything as Thailand.
A country without Cold War, and without the memory of one.
He bought
what he thought he needed, rather one shirt more than too
few, swimming trunks as well, clinging things that traced
the lines of his hips and sat there like second skin. Dark
blue, two of them, because he liked the cut, and a somewhat
more daring one with far less cloth and far more expensive.
Now, that was displaying the wares.
Dan was
getting dreadfully bored with looking at the scenery through
his shades, when he finally caught a glance of a tall, blond
man. Strange, how suddenly something jumped from stomach to
throat, his insides entirely occupied with churning over while
gazing at Vadim.
Vadim
found Dan almost immediately and headed towards his table.
"This place available?"
Dan's
face broke into a grin and nodded, while pointing at the bag
Vadim carried. "Took an awful long time to buy very little.
Anyway, what is it?" Trying to take a peek.
Vadim
shook his head. "Just swimming gear." Keeping the
bag covered when Dan shrugged. "I thought about a swim
after the massage. If I can get up again. You're finished
already?"
"I'm
stuffed full, you better play catch-up before the little Thai
girls get their hands on us."
"Good
idea." Vadim left the bag with Dan, didn't think he would
actually check it, and gathered a pile of bites - some of
this, some of that - before returning. "Not a real English
breakfast, hm?"
"That's
probably a good thing. After all, if you can't have square
sausage and black pudding for breakfast, then you shouldn't
bother." Dan grinned, lit a fag, but kept it out of Vadim's
reach and blew the smoke the other way.
Vadim
shook his head. Square sausage? What was that supposed to
mean. And pudding. Typical of Dan to start breakfast with
a dessert.
"How
long did you swim last night? I checked if there was light
when I got back, but your place was dark."
"I
don't really know. A couple hours?" Yes, the moon had
been somewhere else when he returned, and he remembered nearly
crawling through the surf, deliciously exhausted."I tend
to lose track of time. Like in the athlete school. You were
finished when the coach said 'finished'."
"The
coach ... that's not the masseur, is it?"
"Oh
no. No." Vadim laughed and shook his head. "The
coach was a bastard. He said we'd become proper swimmers,
or drown. We were young enough to believe him."
"How
young were you anyway? And how the hell did you get into swimming,
or sports, in the first place?" Dan was leaning closer,
beginning to realise there were whole worlds worth of information
about Vadim he didn't know.
"I
was good at sports in school. And there were … head-hunters
around. I don't know how exactly all that worked in my case,
but they offered us a 'special school', 'special training',
and the potential to join the official team, while still finishing
school properly. Well, I trained to become a swimmer. And
I was then later mustered for the two years military service,
and kept up my training - becoming spetsnaz and an officer
was a way to combine both. Many Soviet athletes had a military
background, it was their idea. But I wasn't good enough, overall.
Not as a swimmer, anyway, and the Pentathlon team … well,
you know the story. But I was an officer, and spetsnaz, so
they sent me to Tadjikistan, later Afghanistan."
Dan listened
attentively and nodded occasionally. He wanted to ask questions
about Vadim's family, and most of all The Bitch, but he couldn't,
lest his painful secret should ever come out. "Aye, and
that was that, then. We started our story eleven years ago,
on a goddamned horrible night in Kabul."
A small
smile ghosted across Dan's face, twisting the scar into darkness.
"I never asked … but is it correct that you were
taken out of Afghanistan the very same morning of the kidnapping?"
Two and a half years in blindness.
Vadim
put the fork down, didn't want to eat with that subject between
them. Would only taste ashes and dust, anyway. "Yes.
Straight to Kabul airport. Rushed out of the country, left
with what was probably the very first plane leaving. I couldn't
see anything."
Dan nodded,
his voice lowering, as if using too much volume would make
the past even more unbearable. "I thought so. I just
about made it to the embassy, but we could not find any trace
of you anymore, and I wasn't able to get out of the compound."
He had just about finished his fag, lighting another. Taking
a deep drag, Dan stared at the smoke. How apt, it all curled
in tendrils into nothing. "They had KGB killers in the
hotel."
Vadim
looked up. "They were comrades. If you killed them, you
killed men that were trained …" along the same lines
as I was.
"If
they lived I wouldn't be alive." Dan looked at his hand
that was holding the fag.
"They
deserved what they got. If I'd had any chance to kill any
of them, I would have." Vadim rubbed his neck, remembering
the horror of being dragged around half the world only to
enact some petty revenge for a crime he'd never committed.
Pure spite. No justice being served. Just because they could.
Just the KGB saying 'fuck you' to the Interior Ministry.
"I
have always wondered for how long they had known. The whole
setup …" Dan trailed off, it made him sick to think
of the camera, of others dissecting the pictures like vultures.
"Fucking film." Murmured.
"Yes.
Might have been my superior. Might have been somebody wondering
… I have no idea. I was careful. Maybe they didn't expect
us in that room, or were spying on you as the head of security.
They never told me …" Of course not. Keep the interrogated
guessing as much as possible.
Dan shook
his head, "I don't know, have no idea. Maggie was the
only one who knew about us, but fuck, she'd go down with the
Titanic if she had to." He shrugged, inhaled the smoke,
"I just don't know." It took him a while to get
up the courage to ask, and Dan's voice was getting flatter.
"So your … father told you the 'story'?" He
swallowed, and a thought crept into his mind. If it was too
hard for him to talk about this, how would it be for Vadim?
But there was so much that had never been said, how could
they go anywhere if they were stuck three steps behind?
Vadim
looked to the side. Sun, beach, tourists checking their cameras,
smiling Thais. Not Moscow. Not the Lubyanka. Not trapped,
beaten, fucked up. "He did." His father. Tears of
shame for the man, tears of sorrow for the son. Vadim struggled.
"It was … relief. They were fucking with my head.
Getting confirmation you'd made it … I thought I was
ready to die … when I heard you'd made it."
"I
…," what, Dan. Are glad that the father told the
story? Thankful for The Bitch that she had kept the end of
the godforsaken bargain? "I wanted you to know that I
loved you." Funny, swallowing had become nearly impossible.
"It was … the last thing I could do, when …"
you were about to die and I was screaming inside, ready to
give up living and instead just exist. "I could never
thank your father." Barely above a whisper.
Vadim
closed his eyes. "I knew. At some point … all I
did was hope you'd … go on. You know. Find … somebody
and live." He inhaled deeply. "My father asked me
what it meant … why I …" was crying like the
most wretched soul on the planet. "I told him it means
that … if they kill me, that's the price to pay. I never
believed in anything he believed in, all his ideas about Russia's
true soul … he was disappointed I was unprincipled, with
no higher aspirations in life. He said I was a true Soviet,
and that was not … a compliment. I told him I finally
knew what I wanted, and had for a while." Vadim swallowed.
"He asked me whether it was correct that … I'd,
you know. Had sex with an enemy. Whether it was true. That
I'd lied all the time."
Dan didn't
want to interrupt, hardly dared to move, let alone make a
noise. Waited until nothing further seemed to be forthcoming
before he quietly asked, "Lied?" Vadim's family?
The wife? That life that had nothing to do with him, Dan,
except for those dreadful hours in Hungary, one and a half
years ago.
"Lied
about … Katya, and who I was." Vadim kept his eyes
in the distance. "I told him yes. I'm a liar, a faggot,
a killer, a war criminal … and not the good man he tried
to make me. That I didn't have his convictions. His faith.
That all I had was my … emotions." Vadim shook his
head. "He said he couldn't understand how I could shame
him and my family in this way … on top of all the others.
But that he'd forgive me … I'm his son, whatever I do."
"Shame?"
Dan felt cold anger creeping up on him, from behind and right
through the heart. "What fucking shame? The fact you
fucked me? Loved me? Wanted me? Or the fact you are gay? I
remember distinctly you told me once, a long time ago, that
that was just the way it was and I shouldn't get uptight about
it." Or maybe he just imagined it, probably, but what
the hell did it matter.
"That
I admitted to being gay. Publicly. I have no idea what it
meant to my family. There were … lots of emotions involved.
Spite. There is no free press. Not even the other Afganets
got involved, or the 'peace activists'."
"You
are not a war criminal, Vadim. You're just fucking gay, that's
hardly a crime." And they would have thrown him out of
the British Forces, dishonoured, if they'd ever known. "Whatever
lies are on a piece of paper with your signature, I know as
much as you do, that you never committed any crime. Not with
me anyway."
Vadim
looked up. "No. The other things I did. A disgrace to
the Soviet Army and my fellow officers."
"'Other
things', you mean the sex? And raping silent conscripts wouldn't
have been a disgrace?" Dan's eyes were on fire, but hidden
behind the shades.
"No.
That was one of them. One of the crimes." Or a few dozen.
He had no idea how many. Couldn't remember. They'd been just
bodies, not even numbers. Something he had committed because
he was gay.
"What
were those crimes? I want to know." Demand even. Needing
to bloody well understand.
Vadim
shook his head. "Fighting the war the way we did. The
conscripts were just tools. The murders, the assassinations,
the … meatgrinder. The beatings. The fact we put these
children into this place and watched them get … fucked
up."
"And
your family? They used you as much as you used them."
What about them, what about the fucking Bitch whose head Dan
still wanted to rip off.
"That's
too simple, Dan. Family sticks together. My children. My father.
His family, cousins and uncles … It's all connected,
all one. It's not about using, it's about helping."
"Then,
answer me that, how much did you help them, and how much did
they help you in return? It's damn easy to be self righteous
when you get money sent from the fool out there in hell."
"It's
my duty as the son and husband to provide if they need something.
My father raised me. I owe him respect, as much as we disagree
on politics. And there were good things, too. He taught me
a lot. It's family, Dan. The money doesn't matter."
"Fucking
bullshit!" The cigarette long finished, Dan's fist slammed
onto the table, causing some of the patrons to glance over,
perturbed. "A man fucks a woman." Or vice versa?
Not go there. "A child grows in the woman. The child
is born. And the child is supposed to be bloody thankful for
that? So, would it have been better if you had topped yourself,
way back, when you realised you were gay? Because then you
wouldn't have brought the dishonour of having a homosexual
son, cousin, uncle, father, goodness what into the family?"
Vadim
swallowed. "This way I could belong, Dan. It was my shot
at a life. Something more than killing people. Be … respected.
Have a part in something." He shook his head. "They
would have never known about me, if they … if the KGB
hadn't decided to make this agony. They tried to kill me in
all ways. Even in … the hearts of my family. Of course
they asked what they had done wrong. How they could have helped
me."
That
shot right into his guts and poured acid in Dan's heart. Agony
and killing in all ways, in his heart as well? "Who
asked, your family? Your father? Your … ex-wife?"
He could hardly say the word.
"My
father. Katya knew. Katya always knew. She was the only one
who knew. Played along for the family, too. Hers, and mine."
"Hers,
as in her children?" Too thin the ice, and Dan
shook his head. No, not this subject, and he looked at his
hand, flat on the table now.
"Her
parents. She fooled everybody." Vadim shook his head.
"I just hope it didn't catch up with her. But she should
be safe."
Dan shook
his head, couldn't go on. Not this subject. Too close, and
far too personal. He looked up and shook his head again, like
a wet dog. "Anyway, the Thai massage?" Yes, he was
a coward for changing the subject like that, but there was
too much he had to think about.
Vadim
nodded and stood. Relaxing would be good now, just maybe drift
off to sleep, and forget all that. At least for a little.
Until he could face it again. They headed towards one of those
reed covered huts, carved, golden shimmering wood, where the
Thai girls awaited them.
Just
a little later, Vadim was flat on his back on a wooden massage
bed, a towel wrapped around his waist, and smelt oil and something
more aromatic, herbs, flowers … sandalwood? He had no
idea.
Dan was
lying close by. Two of the four massage beds were unoccupied,
and they were alone, both stripped, and lying down. Dan had
his eyes open, watching the girls, the shades still on his
face. They hadn't reacted much to the sight of his torn body,
the politeness impeccable, and nodding with understanding
smiles when confronted with the bruises. Dan was trying hard
not to look at Vadim, too great the temptation, but eventually,
while they were working on him with skilful hands and warmed
oils, his head fell to the side and his eyes drooped onto
half-mast, unable to stop looking. The body, just as he remembered
it, yet different to the thin and pale man who had come out
of the woods at the Finnish border. No, not thinking about
that night. If he did, he wanted to carve the loss into Vadim's
flesh and he'd done that before. A decade ago.
Vadim
relaxed almost immediately - and it was very different from
the massage he had known. The small girl used her whole body
to work on him, moved him around, at some point she was using
her feet, standing on him, and he groaned when something in
his lower back moved into place, a locked vertebrae, most
likely, or something about his hip bone. After that, he was
hers.
They
were a lot gentler with Dan, working gently on the bruises
and giving his body the symmetry back that his muscles had
lost when he got battered in the crash. He couldn't help but
relax until he fell asleep, lying on his front, and snoring
quietly.
*
* * * * * *
The rest
of the day was spent with doing 'the touristy thing' as Dan
called it, taking a ride inland to look at temples, statues,
and whatever else was considered to be worth gazing at, until
Dan had enough after a few hours. His attention span clearly
overstretched after the third temple and the umpteenth sculpture
of smiling gold. When they got back, he opted for an afternoon
on the beach, lying in the sun and sipping more of those sweet
cocktail concoctions. Soaking up sun while covering up the
worst of his scars, while Vadim went out into the ocean once
more, swimming.
That
night, at dinner, Dan had made an effort after his shower,
and dressed in something other than shorts and flip flops.
Instead he had gone raiding the pile and pulled out a pair
of khaki jeans, more or less blindly searching for a top,
deciding on a sand coloured shirt, and went for the Chucks
once more. He even stopped for a moment to look at the mirror
before heading out to the buffet area to meet Vadim. He even
took the obligatory shades off, once he had reached the table.
Vadim
was wearing a pair of light trousers and an open white shirt
which showed his skin was reddened, but not burnt yet. Another
day like that, and he would, so he planned to have more 'treatments'
as they called it, massage, waxing, he might even take part
in a couple of the classes, meditation, and yoga, which seemed
to be a very fashionable thing to do. He looked up from the
Thai interpretation of a Caesar's salad. It was already easier
to be around Dan - no awkward formality. It just seemed to
fall back into ways he knew - or at least could deal with.
Dan smiled,
grinned at the reddened skin, remembering all those times
Vadim had complained about the sun, back in Afghanistan, then
sat down. He wasn't going to skirt around the subject tonight,
and when he tucked into a bowl of shrimps, he launched the
first attack. "I think it's time we find out what on
earth happened in the meantime. For example, I'd like to know,
how the fuck did you actually get here? I mean, how did they
put you back together? You look like you used to look, not
the pale skeleton from over half a year ago."
Vadim
put the fork down and reached for the water, drinking a huge
glass of cold water, gathering his thoughts. "I think
it's the baroness who's to blame. I had some ... trouble in
Sweden, and somebody there convinced me to ... face my past."
Vadim grinned, shaking his head, when Dan rolled his eyes.
"Or something. To deal with it. I ... found her and was
in touch, to ... let you know, and maybe find a place to live,
somehow. She was far more generous than I hoped, and gave
me a ... chance to live. Passport. Something to do. I was
trained with the Royal Marines, and passed SAS selection.
Wasn't easy on these old bones. Apart from that, I improved
my English, too."
"You
fucking bastard!" Dan exclaimed with a grin. His equally
surprised and impressed expression contrary to the words.
"You passed selection? At forty-one?" Shaking his
head while muttering, "only you, you butt-fuck
crazy Russkie."
"I
had a head start over the kids, though. I know survival. The
interrogation part, that was hard. But they prepared me well:
Medical supervision, diet plan, counselling. A very nice older
doctor made sure my nutbox of a brain complied. Training was
hard enough to forget a great many things ... not thinking
is a luxury. Be all you can be, isn't it? They got me back
into ... well, almost back into what I would have been like
if it hadn't happened. I hoped they would send me where you
were ... to ... apologize. To ... tell you I'm fucked up and
that's why ... I left you. I just couldn't walk, let alone
... run, I could feel nothing. I didn't feel myself. I couldn't
even think, really, wasn't the ... wasn't me. And I hated
... myself for having ... these problems. I kept thinking
of the bullet. Would be a great deal ... less difficult."
Dan swallowed,
put the fork down, wiping his greasy fingers. "And here
I was yelling at you, calling you a fucking cunt and being
ready to smash your face in, even wanting to kill you. All
because I was so goddamned hurt." He dropped his gaze,
taking in a deep breath before looking back up. "I am
sorry, Vadim. I did not … could not understand."
Vadim
lowered his gaze and felt his throat constrict. If he wasn't
careful he'd start crying, and he just couldn't. "It's
alright. I fucked it up, too. I should have stayed. But I
just couldn't feel."
Dan dropped
his eyes once more when Vadim looked away, staring at the
other's hand, which lay curled into a loose fist on the table.
His own so close, palm flattened, all he wanted was to reach
out across the few inches and touch. But he couldn't, knew
what would happen if he touched Vadim. He'd never let go again
and he didn't quite dare yet. "I don't know … what
that's like. It's hard to understand ... to understand you.
What I can do, what I can't; what you feel, what you can't
stand, and why … you scream." If he touched, would
it all cease to matter? Trying to catch Vadim's eyes, and
Vadim seemed reluctant, no, ashamed to meet his gaze,
on the verge of turning away.
"I
don't remember when I wake up. Only ... hazy things, like
... fear. I fear going mad. I fear nothing's real, and I'm
still in that ... box."
"I
wish I could tell you what I felt since you were taken."
Vadim
nodded, silently, fighting that wave of nausea and pain, the
darkness that welled up. "Yes."
Yes?
Dan frowned. Yes. This time, that meant a 'no'. "OK."
But it wasn't. None of this was, neither he nor Vadim nor
the whole situation. If only he could free himself from this
man, but he had drunk the poison, all those years ago, and
he would never be able to wash it out of his system. Best
face it, Vadim was in his bones, his blood, his thoughts and
his heart. The crucial question was simply 'how', not 'if'.
"I
guess I … get some more food." His plate still mostly
full, Dan stood up and turned away.
Vadim
suddenly reached out and put a hand on Dan's arm, trying to
hold him back before he turned away. "I just ... feel
guilty as fuck." He stood while Dan stared silently at
his hand.
Sitting
there, eating, Vadim couldn't manage. He wanted to run, to
swim, to exert himself. "And I shouldn't be ... jealous.
I wanted you to find somebody else. Now that you have ...
I should be glad for you. No use trying to force anything."
"I
haven't 'found anyone else'. What the fuck makes you think
that?" Vadim's hand on his arm felt like a searing presence.
He wanted to claw at it, take it, hold it and press it against
his skin. Did nothing instead. "I'm blowing off a bit
of steam with some guys. Hell, how many blokes did you fuck
with, raped conscripts excluded, with whom you were nothing
but mates?"
"Four."
Sasha, Vanya, Gavriil, Platon. But Sasha had been far more
interested in Katya. Platon had been the only one with whom
he'd spend any significant amount of time - up to the point
that Platon's comrades had thought them friends. That memory
didn't hurt, didn't trigger shame, it was just there, with
a faint bit of regret, didn't really touch him. "But
Jean is better for you. Or the Yank. They don't hurt you."
Dan's
voice was getting angry, "where in all the fuck's name
did you get that idea from?"
"I
have eyes. And there's always the bullet, Dan. It's not just
words. I have no idea how much it cost you. I guess it was
worse for you ... all I had to do was ... somehow get through
it."
"What?"
That was it, and Dan exploded. Shook the hand off his arm,
and caused several of the tourists to turn their heads. "Are
you fucking mad? Don't talk to me about suicide, you bastard.
Don't you dare take yourself out of the gene pool, not now,
not again. And what if it was 'worse' for me? Who knows, I
don't, and we will never find out. I wasn't tortured. Fuck,
all that matters is that you are alive. Remember the bullet?
The one that you gave me on the roof? You'll live, you understand?
Fuck you, to all hell and back, you'll bloody well live!"
Several
people had dropped their forks and knives, and conversation
in their immediate surroundings had stopped. Vadim was too
stunned to do or think anything.
Dan even
forgot his shades when he stormed off, towards the beach,
fuming with frustrated rage.
*
* * * * * *
Dan was
roaming the beach in moonlight, until he had calmed down enough
to gather a coherent thought. He couldn't understand that
Vadim just wouldn't get it, that no matter what he said, the
other would only understand a strange gobbledegook, some weird-ass
transliterated meaning that kept coming back again and again
to 'you are a failure you lost him you hurt him he doesn't
want you' or similar shit. It was like speaking in an alien
language that no matter how hard Dan tried, would only ever
translate into something negative.
How could
Vadim misunderstand everything? Words like 'I love you and
always will' or 'if I touch you I am lost, I want you I need
you', and 'they are buddies, the sex means nothing except
for fun', how the fuck could they all end up translated into
something Dan had never meant and did not even understand.
It hurt, and he was helpless, but when it came down to it,
he knew he would never be free from Vadim. He could either
make this hell, or take at least what he could.
Dan finally
made his way into town, found some night clubs, tried a pussy
one first, then ventured into a 'ladyboys' one, not quite
sure what on earth that meant, only to fend clusters of beautiful
'girls' off, who, no matter how male they were beneath, did
not spark his interest in the slightest.
It was
well into the early hours of the night, when he returned to
his bungalow, with several drinks inside, but no closer to
clarification, let alone a solution.
*
* * * * * *
Vadim
sat on the veranda - not his own, but Dan's. Simply because
he couldn't really observe Dan's bungalow from his own veranda.
Dan was gone when he'd checked, and Vadim assumed he would
be back. He hadn't checked out, hadn't been on any transfer
buses or taxis to the airport. For all their unobtrusive near
invisible service, these Thais sure saw everything.
He had
tried to read, but couldn't concentrate. It was like the words
went right through him, like concentration failed, his mind
didn't grasp the words, and he didn't want to read something
that didn't require attention, so he sat on Dan's veranda,
watching the oddly luminous surf lap at the beach, and the
stars above. Didn't feel hungry or thirsty, just sitting there,
shorts, shirt, swimming trunks underneath just in case he
needed to escape into the ocean. What he liked about the ocean
was the fact that it was the direct opposite to a wall. Or
a room. It just went on, for as far as he could reach, and
further.
He heard
steps.
Dan had
just lit another cigarette, the sizzling sound of burning
tobacco and the smell of nicotine preceded his arrival. Walking
up the couple of steps he stopped dead, seeing a shadow sitting
in one of the chairs. No, not shadow, too light the hair,
and those eyes reflected the starlight.
"Hey,
Russkie." He murmured a greeting.
Vadim
turned his head to face Dan fully, then smiled. "Hey,
Dan. You alright? I couldn't sleep." Hey, stranger, fancy
meeting you here. Any plans for tonight? If it only was that
easy.
"Aye."
Blowing smoke into the air, Dan looked at those ey |
