The Cruelty by Scott Bergstrom

Author:Scott Bergstrom
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Feiwel & Friends

Sixteen

With my phone plugged into the wall and the power cord stretched as far as it can, I lie on Marina’s couch, staring at the screen and the three unanswered messages I’ve sent to Christian:

Bist du ok?

Bist du ok?

??????????

I typed the first on the U-Bahn back to Marina’s, and the second an hour later, and the third an hour after that, the whole time wondering in what ways Paulus was torturing him. The fact is I need Christian. He was my way in. Then I screwed it up for both of us. Without him, there’s no more access to the men who took my dad.

And while the thing inside me worries and clenches its teeth at the strategic loss, my heart, my human heart, aches for the boy, just a little. He’s a thug, and a sloppy, grabby drunk, but he was brave in the end. He stood up for me. That’s worth something, right?

After a long while, I’m able to sleep in fits and starts but wake up every so often to phantom vibrations of the phone resting on my chest. I get up just after dawn, pace the living room, and send Christian another sad, hopeless Bist du ok?

I brush my teeth and shower, phone turned all the way up and resting on the edge of the sink. But no reply comes in. As I brush my hair and get dressed, I hear Lyuba and Marina moving around in the kitchen. When I open the door, however, I see a third person standing between them. He has a scrubby red beard and a round, bean-shaped belly. Lyuba points to me, and he cocks the lapels of his denim jacket, taps the toe of his cowboy boot on the floor.

For a while, he and I look at each other silently. Then he turns to Marina and sends a hard slap across her cheek. She lets out the high-pitched but undramatic yelp of someone who’s used to this. I watch as she shrinks back, slouching near the kitchen door, the confidence she always wears gone.

The man steps toward me, and I step back into the living room, keeping a few meters between us. Better to be here in an open space if I’m right about what’s going to happen next.

“I’m Leo,” he says in Russian. “And you call yourself Sofia, is that right?”

“That’s right.”

Leo nods, steps closer. I don’t retreat this time. “The protection tax is three hundred a week. Which is pretty fair, right, Marina?”

She looks up, her cheek red from the slap. “Yes, Leo.”

“What’s that now?” he says.

“Yes, Leo,” Marina repeats. “Very fair.”

His eyes narrow. “But for you, with late fees, penalties, I figure a thousand. How about it?”

My muscles tense, poised and at the ready. Whatever fear is in me blurs into the background of my mind, behind the desire to punish this man, behind the knowledge that I’m capable of doing it.

I cant my head to the side. “I’m going to take my things now, Leo. Then I’ll walk out the door.

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