“Training,” she said. “I want to be a cosmonaut, but the way things are …”
“There will be cosmonauts again,” the bald man said. “Even women cosmonauts. They’ll sell advertising space to Coca-Cola and keep sending rockets to burn up in the sun. Only now the Americans will pay for it. They will send pretty girls up so they can sell their pictures to American and French magazines.”
Iliana laughed.
“There is a
The bald man looked at Iliana now and adjusted his glasses yet again. Then he looked forlornly once more down Rusakovskaya.
“You have money for a cab?” the man asked.
Iliana shifted her backpack and pulled a worn wallet from the front pocket of her coat. She opened it to reveal bills, not too many, but enough to show the man she could pay. There were more rubles, some deutsche marks, French francs, and six American dollars in her backpack, but she kept them hidden from her victims, who might well have wondered where a schoolgirl got so much money.
“My father told me to take a cab if the bus didn’t come,” she said, returning the wallet to her pocket. “If I miss another day, they’ll throw me out. Girls are barely tolerated at the Polytech.”
The bald man ran his tongue over his teeth and made a decision.
“All right,” he said.
“Good,” said the girl. “Let’s hurry.”
“I can’t run,” said the man. “My heart.”
“We’ll walk,” said Iliana, moving into step next to the man. “Your name is …?”
It was always good to know the name of the victim, in order to use it-to threaten to tear it away from the one who bore it, to make him think that she would scream it to the police, the newspapers, the man’s wife, mother, or lover.
“Yevgeny Odom, Dr. Yevgeny Odom,” the man said, looking straight ahead and moving briskly.
“Here, we go this way,” Iliana said cheerfully, patting the knife in her pocket.
“I know,” Yevgeny Odom said.
“You live close by?” asked Iliana as they entered the park on the gray concrete path.
Odom grunted.
They were still too close to the street for the Yellow Angel to make her move. She had learned from experience in … what was the town? No matter. She had learned to be patient, to be sure no one could see or hear, to pick the right hour. Late morning was perfect. The only ones who might stumble onto her committing a crime would be some old
Odom stopped.
“Tired already?” she said, looking back down the path.
A little farther. She had to get this soft one with the bad heart a little farther into the park. She could get him behind some bushes with a sexual suggestion, make him go to his knees, show him the blade so that he would be happy to turn over his watch and his money. It would be fast. She would warn him that if she were caught she would deny the robbery, claim that she had run from the bald man when he made sexual advances, thrown her behind the bushes, demanded that she do obscene things. She would also take the man’s shoes and stuff them into her backpack.
Iliana knew enough about the police to be sure that her claims of sexual assault would not be believed, but her carefully selected victims would not know this, and she was sure that they would prefer to take the loss, hide their shame, and go along with their lives, which were difficult enough without dealing with underpaid and surly policemen.
“Why are you stopping?” asked Iliana.
“I live there,” Odom said, pointing over the tops of the trees toward a group of apartment buildings. “I have a car. We can drive. I don’t think I can make it to the cab stop.”
“You have a …”
“There’s no place to park where I work, and it costs too much for gas.” Odom was panting. “My manifold is …”
“Fine,” said the Yellow Angel with a soft smile. To get to the apartments they would have to leave the path and go into the trees. “I’ll pay for gas.”
Odom nodded and started off the path and onto the grass.
“This way,” he said.
She followed him and was pleased that he was leading her into a dark copse of birch trees. The birds were noisy. The path was well behind them.
“Stop,” she said and stepped in front of the man.
“What?” asked Odom, trying to catch his breath.
“This is far enough,” she said, dropping the backpack and the economics book to the ground.
The man blinked, then looked around as if to see whether anyone else might have stumbled into this secluded spot to witness the girl’s strange behavior.
“You’re a prostitute, aren’t you?” the man panted.
Iliana shook her head slowly as she removed the knife from her pocket, careful to keep a few feet between her and the frightened man. Everything was going perfectly.
Crows-huge, fat, gray-black, and ugly, perhaps two or three-went wild in a tree above them. Neither man nor girl looked up.
“What are you doing?” asked Odom, holding his briefcase in front of him like a shield and taking a step back.
“Not what I am doing,” said Iliana. “What you are doing. You are giving me your wallet and your watch. Now, quick.”
She lifted her knife toward Odom’s face. The man took another step backward and almost tripped.
“Quick,” she whispered, looking toward the path beyond the trees.
Odom was sweating through his gray suit now. He pulled out his wallet, handed it to Iliana, who pocketed it in her coat, and then removed his watch and handed it over.
“The briefcase,” said Iliana. “There are valuables in it.”
“I … yes,” said Odom.
“Open it,” she said, holding the point of the knife inches from Odom’s nose.
Odom gulped, and Iliana, her heart pounding, tried not to laugh. The man looked like a cartoon character. He removed his glasses and placed them in his coat pocket. This seemed funny to Iliana. She would enjoy telling this whole adventure to Anatoli and the others as soon as she could.
As Odom opened his briefcase, Iliana said, “Just dump it out and drop it. Then take off your shoes.”
The man stopped with his hand inside the briefcase. He looked at the girl.
“Now, Kola,” the man said. “You are free.”
“What?” asked Iliana. “What is it? What do you have? Hurry up,” she commanded, shifting nervously from foot to foot.
“Only this,” said the bald man. He leaped at her with a black metallic blur.
Iliana did not understand what happened next. It was a rush of heat and pain. Something snapped in her wrist as the black object hit her, and she dropped the knife.
She screamed in pain and stumbled backward. The bald man had dropped his briefcase and was advancing on her in a half crouch. He was smiling horribly and making a rough sound like a hungry dog.
“No, wait, stop,” Iliana cried, holding up her unbroken arm to protect herself. The raging man in the gray suit was pounding her with his fists.
Iliana went to the ground and tried to curl into a ball.
“Please,” she said, and the blows ceased. “I’m not a thief. I’m hungry. I wasn’t going to hurt you. I’ve never done anything like this before, nothing, ever. My god, you broke my arm. But it will be fine, fine. I’ll tell you what. Let’s go behind the bushes. I’ll take off my clothes.”
She struggled with her unbroken arm to pull down her sweater. The pain was screaming with
