Home to stay
By- Amos Chua @ amoki
Introduction - STALKERS game world had always been revolving about
adventures and killings in The Zone. But no one has ever tackled the possibility
of a stalker going home... until now.
Home to stay' is about a stalker who, after long years at The Zone,
decided to come home. Experience himself as a family man and a stalker, a former
farmer of
Enjoy!
Home
sweet home.
It crossed my mind when I looked out the window seeing the wooden cottage
how long had I forgot those words. Even though the train moved fast enough to
kill the view within seconds, I could memorize the picture of that little girl
on the swing in front of that cottage, so innocent, almost like how my daughter
could look like. I am coming home, I wanted to shout in this claustrophobic
cabin. I am coming home to my family after being a stalker long
enough.
Is
four long years away from my home at the outskirt of Kharkiv enough? No, enough
is not the word. Maximum is.
It
is ironic to think that I, Sergey Paskov Immatovich, a former farmer, would leave home even though I
was a loving family-man. But time. Time and circumstances, they were the one who
forced me.
2006
was supposed to be a good year. I was no economist, but a good year to me was
when all my farm products were sold clean the previous year. It meant Ukrainians
have more money. It meant I could plant more, reap more, sell more and earned
more this year. Good old capitalist system - you earn what you reap what you
sow.
I
was wrong.
After
the Second Incident, my farm was visited by the men from Agriculture. Carried
some test, and declared my milk couldn't be sold, the beef couldn't and
vegetables couldn't be eaten and the eggs couldn't be used. Said fancy stuff
like Fallout, contaminated, Caesium and toxic. Did that mean much to a farmer?
No. Only that his foodstuff could not be sold anymore. Only that his source of
income was gone. Other farms in the Oblast region were affected
too.
The
next 4 years were tough. Living on meagre saving and odd jobs, I managed to keep
life going. But when the last of jobs disappeared, I had to make the choice.
Sitting around was not going to make food appear on the table for my wife and my
daughter.
Then
I heard of The Zone. It was a place that held mortal dangers to trespassers. The
money made there, according to stories, were not enough to compare with the
risks. But for me, any thing that provides an income has nothing to do with
risk
That
was how I ended up in The Zone for the next 5 years.
***
“Be
careful. The controller is here.”
My friend, Nicholae Manaskaya, was not an amateur stalker, but somehow I worried
about his sanity. A controller! It was a suicide, when we are armed with the
ancient AK-47s and 2 Fort 12. But the Dealer promised Nik (as I call him) 1000 roubles for a whole Controller
body, dead or alive. For us stalkers, 1000 Rs were big
bucks. It meant hot food and bunk for the next few days and, for me, 500 bucks
to be sent to my family out of the usual 500 roubles.
“Lead on.”
It gave me a chill to see the whole place. We were at, as Nik put it, town of the Ferris wheel, where rows of concrete
seem to stare at us. The Controller could be waiting for us everywhere- it could
be waiting for us on top of the Ferris wheel even now!
My surrounding was the material for a horror movie. It was an abandoned
town of semi-modern concrete buildings whose flaky paint was peeling off. In the
distance was the symbol of this town- the dormant yellow Ferris wheel, no longer
belonged to the children. If one decided to stay here long enough, he or she
might see the Wheel moved softly by the wind... if he or she stayed long enough
to survive The Zone.
We teamed together for several hours looking blocks to blocks for the
controller. But there was only dead silence. It could be that either be that Nik was
misinformed, The Dealer was setting up a trap for us, The Controller was long
gone... or it was still waiting to be found.
“This is getting nowhere.” Nik complained as we
sat down for a drink. Maybe we should split. Cover more ground before the
sky...” he pointed upwards,” get too dark. After we’re done, get to the Ferris
wheel. We’ll meet there.”
“You’re
sure?” I tested. “It seems unwise, this is a controller after all.” But his
silence showed his iron resolve, forcing me to have no choice but to comply. We
returned to work soon enough, solo.
I
was still at it when a “Tan!” burst came from afar. Nik did it! I rushed to the origin of the sound fast... and
found out something was wrong.
It
was no surprise to see dead bodies on the floor with bullets marks on them and
no gunshot was heard- so Nik had a silencer that I
didn’t know about. But he was unusually silent when his name was called
out.
Which
raised a good question. If Nik did have a silencer,
why there was a gunshot? Why not stay silent all the time? The dead somehow
addressed me to a particular two-story block. Intuition forced me in, while
telling me that I should hear for trouble.
“Serge!”
I heard Nik’s voice from inside. Instantly, I knew the
ordeal was over. Nik had taken care of the situation.
I safed my weapon. “Come take a look at what do I
have!”
When
I clambered to the end of the stairs, I saw Nicholae... except he was no Nicholae anymore.
The
man a few meter away from me was Nicholae’s face
alright- tall feature, broad jaw, wrinkled but fair-skinned, bright eyes and a
bushy moustache. But the eyes... they were fear in it, like the look of someone
possessed.
“Sergey,
you okay?” I was trying to remain calm, but inside I was tearing up. My head was
telling me something was wrong- run! Get out!
Swiftly,
to my horror, Sergey brought up his silenced pistol and aimed at me.
I
knew what happened. The Controller took him.
But
even so, something told me that Sergey was fighting it all this time. His
movement was constricted, his whole body convulsing as if to fight the demon
within.
Where
the hell is the controller?
“Serge...
for...give me.” Nik mumbled as he tried with all the
strength he had to put the muzzle to his forehead. Before I could do anything,
two muffled ‘pft’ came, and Nik
slumped…
To
reveal the Controller at his back.
I
raised my AK to shoulder and fired.
Clicks
came.
Damn.
The safety’s still on.
I
was no match for the controller. I barely put the pin to auto when an
overpowering and nauseous feeling took over me.
It
was a confusing sensation. I felt both mental strain and soothing at the same
time. Reality blurred. I saw the
controller both smiled and angry at me. What was going on? I was panicky. I
tried to reaim my rifle, to no avail. I was stuck in
this husk.
“Don’t
resist.’’ A voice whispered. “Why fight? There is no purpose to live anywhere.
Life’s an illusion, meaningless and purposeless. You live, you kill to survive,
but in the end you die. Your everyone has abandoned you, human. Come, let me be
your master. Let me be your friend.”
None
of what it said applied to me.
I
have a purpose. I have a meaningful life. I have a mission to fulfil. I have to
earn money for my family. I have to survive. All the time The Controller tried
to control me, those thoughts contradicted it. I must fight it, I told
myself.
I
willed myself to get the slung rifle, now hanging in the air instead of in my
arms.
The
controller’s effort became more ferocious. “Don’t fight. You shouldn’t be- I am
to solve your troubles. I am your friend. STOP FIGHTING! STOP FIGHTING
ME!”
Energy
begun to bleed out of me. My eyelids begun to jitter. Beats of sweat began to
build at my forehead while my muscle took forever to move onto the AK. And
finally I got it...
“Do
not resist me!” I’m your saviour! I am your god!” The thin blue eyes of the
controller spoke to me, but II knew
what I have to do. I had a purpose to live- I live for my family. For my
wife Tanya. For my daughter Anaesthesia, my princess.
With
a superhuman effort, I groped for my weapon and sprayed the hot leads. What
followed was a piercing scream which seems to last forever…
***
“Mister, do you care for
something to eat?”
My eyes were closed as the innocent voice of a girl protruded from my
dream. It was just one of the nightmares of my narrow encounters, just one of
the prices I paid for being a stalker. Those dreams would continue to haunt me
for the rest of my life.
Oh yes, the voice.
She turned out to be a cute little girl tugging lightly at my shirt, a
breadbasket at her other arm. She had a ponytail and a milk white face, and her
height suggested that she was around ten years old. Just like my daughter, I
automatically thought. Such innocence... would my daughter looked like
her?
But before I came back to my senses, a tall woman was already behind her.
“Go away.” She whispered. “He is a nutcase.”
“No.” I peeked into the basket and got out a meat pie. There was a sense
of warmth inside, the delicate feeling of wanting to pop it in my cold empty
stomach. It was not that expensive either- it was 30 rubles. The Dealer used to
sale a pack of Vinacun dried noodles for 40
roubles.
After I paid for the food, the woman moved elsewhere in the train while
the little girl moved forward to the next passenger. But before she moved away,
she whispered a light ‘thank you’ to me.
Boy, how I wished that was my girl.
***
To live in The Zone, you
must have a goal. That was the one thing that veterans tell you. Without goal,
you would have no will to survive under dire condition. Yet your goal too must
be good enough – you too don’t barge into The Zone with “I want to be rich and
famous” idea. It would only make you go nuts faster, like the few whom I had to
shoot with their pocket full of roubles but had no more purpose
to live anymore.
Very few stalkers I met have the same goal as mine. Most have sensible
goal of ‘’getting money, settle down, start a business, have a family’’ genre.
Very few ever mentioned that surviving for their present family was part of
their goal. That was why I was an outcast when bar talks involved our
dreams.
For me, being a stalker bore no difference between a farmer. You had to
trust your God for your income and safety, you had to have tools of the trade,
you had to have to work hard to earn your keep. You also had to have a fit body,
had to wake up early to get the best and learned how to take care of unexpected
situation.
But a lot of
times, a stalker’s life is harder than a farmer’s. Death and danger were
frequent. You too have to rely both at your instinct and your fellow stalkers,
even though both could turn sour within short notice.
Camaraderie was something important to
stalkers. Most of us lived by the motto “help you help me.” Contrary to the
stories out there, stalker seldom goes alone, even though it meant you don’t
hade to split your profit. Life did not have a “save/load game’’ option-every
move you made was supposed to keep you alive. That was why keeping friends or
helping strangers kept me alive until I became the few who escaped The
Camp.
Somehow
making friends was my talent. Every time I met someone I never knew who was in
need, I would lend a hand- a packet of cigarette that can ease nicotine
addiction for some time, some roubles to pay off shark loan. Or when I was in
The Bar and met someone I didn’t recognize, I just ordered them a glass of vodka
and started a friendly chat with them. My trick was usually the picture of my
family in a faded colour photo, a picture who always found its place in my
wallet and in the hands of my fellow stalkers.
There
was something magical about the picture, although the stout Catholic I was
didn’t allow room for that. The faded picture was only me, my wife and my
5-years old daughter sitting in a couch, during Christmas before the incident.
Yet people always loved them. They would then tell me how cute was my daughter
and how pretty was my wife. Then they would draw up a photo of their own or tell
you about their family, which was somewhat a topic that never bored you down. By
the end of the day, we would part as friends.
One
fine day it might just be the friend who saved your life instead of leaving you
for dead then grab your things.
Two
weeks ago, I decided to go home after reaching my 30000000 rouble mark I set for
myself. I did some calculation before and found out when I sold all the cattle
in my farm, I could have somewhere around 60000000 rouble, enough for me and my
family to minutes move south out of the fallout zone and jump-start at farming
again.
But
it made no sense to return home empty-handed without getting something for my
daughter, wasn’t it? To my daughter, I am a father who was working far away and
sending 1000 roubles home every month. Like any child, she would probably want a
present of some sort. That was how I got a deal with the Dealer- do something
for him, and he would help me find a kid’s toy.
That
something turned out to be getting a Blind Pup for him. It was a clear suicide
mission, since it could be compared to snatching a lion’s kitten itself. But
somehow I was so homesick that I agreed to it.
I
had a plan, a simple one. Tear-gas a den, confuse the Blind Dog’s sense of
smell, grabbed a pup and get away with my Niva. I
would be long enough to escape retribution by the time the tear gas dissipated.
5 minutes window-smooth and slick.
I
followed my plans well. Using a leased RG-6 on tear gas round, I got the den on
tears. Getting on a night vision goggle, I snatched a yelping pup and ran, my
heart pounding with fear. The adults were frantic- they heard the yelp, but with
their sense of smell gone, they couldn’t figure out where I was by hearing
alone.
I
got out of the den and started running towards my Niva. 2 minutes, and I would be
out.
But
I was not.
When
I reached my Niva, the hood was open. My accumulator
cell was gone. Obviously someone managed to find it even though it was under a
camouflaged net.
And
the stupid pup refused to shut up. In an effort to silence it, I threw the brown
furry thing into a big plastic bag and tied it up, thus providing me with a
much-needed silence.
There
was not much of an option left. Run, and The Dogs would probably catch up. The
only place which seemed safe was inside the car.
Before
long the Blind Dog showed up. There were about 30 of them, smelling keenly into
the ground. A few of them occasionally looked at my way, then continued their
deadly search.
As
if on cue, the pup yelped in high pitch.
To
this day, I could still swear that I made sure to have the bag tied in a vice so
tight that nothing, no even air, could travel in or out. But sound burst out.
And there was the pup, yelping and barking for dear
life.
Shit.
The
Pack was sent into frenzy. Within seconds pounds of fury rammed against my car.
The whole metal cage shook pro and fro without stoppage. Some crashed against
the windscreen, leaving marks on it. The car frame was dented within minutes. I
could not get out of here without a miracle.
Damn.
I should have known this was a suicide mission sent by The Dealer. I must have
had humiliated him when I asked him to do something like getting a kid’s toy. He
always sent stalkers to their death when he was
humiliated.
I
never thought that the final minutes of my death were be like this, seeing Blind
Dogs baring their teeth at me, their invisible opponent. My windscreen were full
with scratches and cracks. Specks of glasses were thrown against my face. Behind
me, my back door was already crushed beyond repair- this car will never have
another owner again. Oh man, what a way to die in a metallic coffin, with a
squealing pup beside you when you're days from home…
And
suddenly, my vision was “white-out”.
It
was a sudden pain in the eye that caused me to cringe. Next, rapid fire of
machinegun burst out and a blow in the head caused me to be dead to the
world.
When
I woke up, I was in the hands of my grinning apprentice, Popov Amredovic of
“Preparing
to let me miss the fun, aren’t you? At least you could have let me guard the car
so your battery isn’t stolen.”
Popov
was a newbie months ago who went into The Zone armed with a jammed Tokarov. He never knew how to clean a gun before that, and
bought the weapon for 50 roubles without knowing that the gun was unusable. He
would have been dead meat with the mutated pigs if I did not pull him out with
my Niva. Since then, he had been following me
faithfully, “learning the tools of the trade" as he put
it.
“How
did you know?” I couldn’t help asking as I looked around. The guy who was
driving the Niva was in a brown –and-green costume.
“What is ‘Duty’ doing here?”
Popov
was grinning his teeth open. “The Dealer was drunk and started talking-
overheard something about you telling him to get toys for your daughter and
making felt like an idiot, but he also said he sent you to your death. Didn’t
took long for me to find out where your going when I ask around, especially the
guy whom you leased the RG-6 from. Oh, don’t worry so much.” He took my backpack
from his back. “The pup is sedated and everything is in here. That is, except
for your Niva. Its next owner is Coke-cola, if it ever
got out.”
“But
that did not explain about why ‘Duty’ is here…”
“Com’on, Sergey” Popov shook his
head. “What’s the use of doing so much good things when you can’t remember them?
You brought two of their injured comrades back home last month and helped them
countless time. What comes around goes around.”
The
Dealer was more than mad when I presented the pup to him. He looked as if Dwarfs
were his cousins that day- violent, no self-control, acting as if he could tear
you apart when he looked at you. He jumped in rage and screamed at me, but I
just kept silent. And the Dealer knew his credibility was at stake if he was not
to keep his promises.
Days
later, he presented me with a yellow toy elephant. It was not a big one, nor it
was one deserve the highest quality. It was also evidently not a black-market
fake. But it was good enough for me- my daughter would be more than proud when
she could present the “Made in
***
The
long train trip was finally over, symbolising 2/3 of my journey home was done. A
bus trip from the outskirts of
Kharkiv
did not change a lot seems I left- always beautiful, always busy. Being the
second largest city in
Looking out the window of my bus in the
middle of a 4.00 o’clock jam, I saw the green parks and white buildings, the
supermarket and the tram service. It was a lovely sight for me- I could now
resume the ritual of the usual Saturday shopping in town with my wife and
daughter. It was something that I had not been doing since the Incident- we used
to shop in town in the weekend to buy goods for the rest of the week as we,
being farmers in rural areas, had no shops around. So it was no strange feeling
to regard the shopping trip as a welcoming family
activity.
And
I would do it this Saturday, I promised myself. I would bring them to Kharkiv to
shop this Saturday when I get home.
***
There
were not a lot of people who left The Camp with their souls still inside them
and their body intact. I was one of those few who did.
I
did not tell a lot of people that I was leaving. I was not at ease- if people
knew that I was leaving, they would assume I have a lot of money and might rob
me. I did not need to be among the crowd of stalkers who died mysteriously in
their beds, room ransacked and nothing left.
In
fact, if I was not mistaken, I only told Popov I was
leaving. I had no fear of him- he was never a cunning tactician in battle, thus
not a very sly person and most unlikely to stab him in my back. After all, he
needed time to find a new partner or get used to being a lone
wolf.
After
I told him, Popov was silent, then nodded. "I wouldn't
tell anybody." He promised. That was two weeks before I
left.
3
days ago, I went to meet the Dealer to sell my AK-74; after all, there was no
point bringing it home, was it? It would only get me arrested by the military
when I got out. With the money, I got myself some Prima Lux cigarettes and food for my last day. I also quietly got
the trust money, also known as 'hang money' because the money got hang up when
you're dead, from my Bunk Keeper. He was a little suspicious- why would someone
who had lived here for five years left suddenly? However, I managed to convince
him using the ruse that I wanted to ''live in the woods". It was not the first
time he had seen people doing so.
And
then, I went to sleep. As simple as that.
It
was supposed to be a peaceful night for me. But it was
not.
Somewhere
around midnight, frantic banging on my room door annoyed me to reality. There
was a sense of urgency in that knocking, but at night? Bearing skeptism in mind, I proceeded to the door while
grumbling.
''Who
the..."
''Serge,
someone's coming for you tonight. Better..." It was Popov.
I
studied him. Every breath that came out of his panting mouth bear the sharp
sting of vodka. His face was red as if an oven was there, baking pie. Obviously
he had a 'good night-out'. It wasn't his first.
''Wow,
hold on. Where did..."
Popov
didn't let me finish. ''Someone ... (hic) boasted that he was going to take you
down tonight. Said Dealer sent him."
"And
how do he look like?"
"He...
(hic) had pink horns on his head and..."
He
was indeed very drunk.
"Look,
Popov, we can talk about it in the
morning..."
"You
don't understand." He sounded
sincere, but I doubted his judgement. You can't trust someone drunk with your
life after all, especially who sees horn on someone’s
head…
"Popov. Look at yourself. You're drunk." Straight to the
point, yet the truth. "How can you be sure it is
true?"
That
drove him up the wall.
"You
bastard… (Hic) I came all the way for you, and this is how you treat
me?”
“Popov, calm down.” I lost my cool. “I am not going anywhere
until…”
Popov
took out his AK-74.
“You
come with me… (Hic) Now. Move to my front, and get your stuff… (Hic) We’re out
of here. And don’t try anything cheeky on me.”
I
obeyed. There was not much of a choice around.
As
we moved down the second stairs (The logging house was three stories by the way)
, I calculated my possibilities. Turning back, I could see Popov swaggered as he moved down the stairs, struggling to
keep his aim. The alcohol was taking effect. It would be too easy if I knock him
out, especially with the two duffel bags I had in hand. The weight of the bags
should be enough to knock him out cold. After I knocked him out, I could
probably put him back to his room and went back to sleep for my big trip
tomorrow.
Yup, that’s probably the best choice.
“Popov, what’s the time
now?”
He looked a little dazed as he tried to interpret the words. Alcohol must
have jammed his intellectual ability. After that, he looked at his wrist.
Nothing. He checked his pockets.
Yes, that’s it. Pat your pocket, I prayed.
“My bloody watch’s gone!” He threw his AK down and frantically pat and
looked at his pocket. “Where’s my bloody watch”
When I threw a bag down and readied to swing the other, gun fire erupted
from above. It was a shoot-till-gun-dry spray, you know it by the sound. What
followed next was someone speaking in English, but I had no idea what are they
talking about.
And then, footsteps ran down the stairs.
“Bloody hell, they’re for real!” I yelled to Popov. “Let’s go!”
“I’m no going anywhere until I find my bloody
watch!”
“Damnit, you bloody fool. I said let’s
go!”
“I’m not going any…”
And there came the shadow. Americans- you could judge when they used the
fancy gun. They seemed to have an affinity to spent money on cosy stuffs like a
LR-300ML or a FN2000 or a Desert Eagle when it comes to guns, the opposite of me
and my kind. In this case, this lone and blond American possessed a
LR-300ML.
And he seemed to be very happy to find me, judging the looks on his face
and how loud he was screaming. I, on the other hand, was not so happy about
that.
I drew out my sidearm, the Makarov.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
He felled down the stairs like a tumbling
block.
“Popov, we got to go now!” I screamed. “They’re
coming!”
That’s when he threw up, staining the wooden floor with milky white
things emitting foul smell. Just the things I didn’t
need.
“I want to sleep. The light looks… so beautiful. Like my room back in
Byaroza.” He whispered dreamily. “Home
sweet…”
“Wake up!” I slapped him. It seemed to have no effect on this 1.8m tall,
blonde and army-cut 22 year-old.
Cold water. I need cold water. It is just outside the logging house, at
the taps.
Quickly, I picked up the fallen stalker’s firearm and ransacked him of
all his goods, and whispered to the sleepy giant. “Yes, Popov, you’re almost at home. Just walk down the stairs, and
you’re there.”
In a sleepy trance, he followed the lie with a
smile.
As he lumbered down the stairs steps by steps, another shadow emerged. I
sprayed my weapon at him, but this one was a veteran- he hid when he saw me. He
knew his way around. A danger.
“Com’on, Popov, it is
not THAT far. Can’t you move faster?”
He did, by falling off the stairs. Lucky for me, it was only another few
steps before ground floor.
As I dragged the sleepy soul towards the tap outside the logging house,
burst of grenades explosions occurred. The guy was hunting for me, flushing me
out with grenades. The Dealer must had realised I had tons of cash stashed in my
bags, that’s why he was keen on having me dead. He knew I was
going.
I filled a bucket of cold, icy underground water and poured it on Popov. It worked magic- he was jerked
awake.
“Bloody hell!” He yelled while shaking in cold. Lucky for him, his NBC
suit still works. No water seeped through, only his face was drenched with
water. Icy cold water.
“Popov, you have to escort me out of The Camp.
The Dealer wants my head. Now!”
As we both dashed for the exit of The Camp towards The Zone, Popov popped a question at me. “Have you seen my watch? I
thought you asked me for the time.”
“I did. You never had a watch, dummy” I chided.” And by the way,” I
lighted up my own watch. “It is 4.30 in the morning.”
When we approached the checkpoint of The Zone two hours later without
encountering any danger, it was time to say goodbye to Popov. I had just ended my last Zone
adventure.
Saying goodbye was probably every man’s problem, particularly when
there’s no certainty if you would be seeing him again. It was not the ego of
man, rather the inability to express feelings. Man was born as if to keep
feelings from themselves. I had this problem, and the fact that the Sun was
rising dramatized the situation.
“Popov.” I began solemnly as we stopped by a
tree just outside the checkpoint. “It is time I continue my journey, no longer
as a stalker, but as a man with family. Do you understand? I have to move on. I
have to go back to my family. I have to leave The Zone. I have to leave
you.”
Popov looked me in the eye. Even though he was
informed earlier on, he was obviously not prepared for this moment of truth.
Perhaps he thought I was only joking. There was a morsel of
disappointment/regret/uncertain feelings all combined.
“I understand.”
“Don’t worry too much.” I advised Popov.
“You’re going to make it okay. Don’t go for the big fish. Go for the little
fish. Stack your money little by little, and one day you might get out of here.
Don’t get greedy- man cannot survive on greed. Stop spending money on alcohol-
you can die later when you have grandchildren.”
We both shared a nervous laugh.
“Remember everything I’d taught you. Help people when you can, because
you don’t know when you need help. Never cheat on people, you must not let
anything buy your soul. Take care of your body, and your body would take care of
you. One day, you might be able to go back, buy that house you always
wanted…”
“And marry Narcinia, the girl I always wanted.
Hope is the best thing that keeps you alive.” Popov
interrupted.
“And remember me when you have this.” I took out the Makarov from its holster for the last time and placed it
firmly in Popov’s hand. “Take it. It’s yours. Goodbye,
my friend.”
“And goodbye, my mentor.” Popov spoke silently,
trying hard to conceal his feelings. I could almost hear silent weeping as I
leave him, but I knew I couldn’t go back. I had leaved the life of a stalker
behind… well, at least I still had five minutes to go
to.
“Halt! Who goes there?” I saw a soldier pointing his AKM at me as I
approached the checkpoint.
”Life is short. I am here to see Sergeant Aryanov. He is posted here, isn’t
he?”
He laughed. “Yes he is. Arya, one of your
friends. Don’t take too long, the cab is almost here.”
Not far away, a man rose from a table of poker players. “Ah, Serge, good
to see you again.”
“How’s your leg wound?” A sort of formality.
“Well, I’m still walking, isn’t it?” He laughed. I saved him from being
shot to death when his squad was eliminated during a marauder’s raid on his
party while he was being tapped for search and rescue of a downed
chopper.
“Of course it is good to see me again. Here.” I took out three cartons of
Prima Lux cigarettes. “For you, and,” I fished out a
vodka bottle. “Something you might be interested with.
“Ah… Ukrainian’s finest cigarette!” He exclaimed. 36 pack for…8 people.
Good, you’ve done your maths.” Then he paused. “How am I going to deal with the
driver? I’m not going to give him the vodka, am I? I am selling it, you
know.”
“You can give him and his men your cigarettes.” I shoved out the LR-300ML
to him. “Submit this to your superior, say for ‘lost weapon recovery’.” 1000
Hryvania in your payslip plus recommendation. You always wanted to be a
lieutenant, you know.”
He gave me a big hug and smiled. “You really make good deals. That’s what
I like about you. You’re different from the others. They are greedier. You’re
not. You treat me well, eh? And I’ll treat you well.” He cuffed me. “Don’t
worry, you’ll escape during transportation.”
After the BTR arrived, I ‘joined’ the group of soldiers that went in the
APC. It was shift-changing time. The group of soldiers that came out for another
day in The Zone gave the sergeant the congratulating look on “successfully
apprehending an illegal poacher” as
their duty handbooks said, one of the hardest yet most fruitful jobs in the life
of a Zone soldier.
After we had cleared The Zone’s final checkpoint towards the real world,
the APC came to a halt. The hatch of the APC opened, and the good sergeant
released the cuff on me. “Good luck, my friend, in the real
world!”
“And good luck to you, my friend!” I waved back as I slowly walked away
from the APC. I didn’t need any more good luck- I have love waiting for me back
home. The only luck I needed was to find a logging truck to hitch me a ride back
to
I was finally going home.
***
There
is something special about home. It is not that you miss the warmth- you can
always fill the stomach with a cup of hot cup noodles. Rather, it is the memory,
the remembrance of your family that made that concrete house different than the
dilapidated houses in The Zone. There will always be life in it, I am certain of
it. Maybe that was why I stood like an idiot in front of the town. I was finally
back home… well, not exactly. I was where the bus dropped me- at the bus
station. Looking for a ride home.
Not much has change of Zmiyev, the town- it
still served its purpose as a farmer’s refill station, both in usual living
needs and spirit booze. The town did look like The Zone… however, people that
walk around were not zombies, and the buildings were not as
old.
Probably I still needed some attitude adjustment. Life as a stalker was
behind me now, and I didn’t have a need to kill anyway for a living
now.
In front of the simple metal-and-zinc bus stand, I was facing the town,
looking frantically for familiar face. They got to be around, my friends- Vasily the vet, Jukasy the
farmhand-to-all who always stand at the corner of the vodka shop, waiting for
job. Kryceek the drunk, whose 3 wives divorced him for his
ability to drink till his funds seems to flow with the vodka. Krik the loud, the local driver for all trades who transport
milk and meat and also famous for his affinity to sing the wrong pitch while
imitating opera tenors. Lymbasa the attractive shop
assistant of Pyotr the Old, who kept a grocery store.
There were more, but I can’t seem to remember. Surely they would recognize me if
they see me- Sergey the farmer.
Somehow I couldn’t find any of them. I decided to talk a walk around the
town.
It struck me as odd that even though the town was its old self,
development had begun. A few lots of apartments had been resurrected; a strange
sight in a place the land was wide enough to farm. Familiar agro-chemical stores
were gone, replaced by hardware and mechanic’s place. The trademark of the town-
pickup trucks- too were replaced by more modern cars, and motorbikes. The young
faces who owned those vehicles were nobody’s children that I knew of, since
almost everyone knows everyone around here. But I thanked god familiar landmarks
wasn’t gone yet- the church which I occasionally attended, Viktor’s Koruva Bar, the town’s primary school where my daughter used
to be a boarding student, which was now closed for
holiday..
But still, I couldn’t find those familiar faces.
Going to the open-air market, I see things too had change. It is quite
new- well-painted with white and redesigned. Yes, Old Pytor’s shop was across the market! I walk towards the shop
as I remembered it.
It too changed. It was now a new grocery store with neon lights and
well-lit. Not “Pytor’s shop” anymore, with those cosy
feeling when you’re in the warm light of the sun shining through the window
while you’re shopping before the shop close at five. No, it had changed too. No
longer are cardboards placed outside telling you what’s on special price today.
And Old Pytor’s not standing at the door anymore- it
was a tough young man whom I never recognize. Looks like I was not going to find
myself a free hike home.
I went back to the bus station, hopeful to meet a kind Samaritan that
came out of nowhere. There must be someone around my place! I say to
myself.
“Sir? Can I help you?”
I turned.
It was a young policeman, in his government moskich painted white and blue to symbolise his power as an
officer of the law. At least something hasn’t change here- there is still no
need for good and fast police car. This is still a good place to
live.
A closer stare reveal… someone familiar. Someone I know before, yet in a
young age when I left… in Viktor’s Bar!
Yes! Viktor’s son, Alexei! At last, someone I know of. I call him by his
name.
“Did I know you?” He glanced at me, looking amused.
“Of course! I am Uncle Immatovich? Don’t you
remember? You use to work for me during your holidays!”
“Ah! Uncle Sergey!” He yelled, displaying exhilaration. “Good to see you
again. What are you doing here at 4 o’clock in the afternoon?” Then he seems to
remember something. “Oh, you’re back. Where have you
been?”
“Long story, my friend. Long story. Look, I need to go
home…”
“Home?” He looked at me weirdly. “You sure you want to go
home?”
“Of course I do. I am going home to my family.”
There was a look in his face, telling me that I should not be going home.
He was trying to hide it, but it showed.
“Anything
wrong? Something happen to…”
“No, its nothing. I’m sure Tanya and your daughter is waiting for you.
Come- I am just off duty. I can give you a ride.” With that, I load my baggage
into the moskvich’s back and I’m
gone.
During the trip, two men in the car transform to two old chatterboxes who
have not met for years.
“So what happened to old Pyotr?”
“Well, let just say he caught his son acting with someone he never
thought of, and that brought him a fatal heart attack on that fine
day…”
“What? Lymbasa? It can’t be. No one ever manage
to get her attention, let alone… I though…”
“You thought wrong. Same with everyone else. The two sold Pyotr’s shop and ran away on the night of the funeral,
finding their haven somewhere.” Alexei shrugged. “Not surprise, since they
probably want to avoid the wrath of the whole town. That new place doesn’t sell
things as cheap as they used to be.” We both shared a chuckle.
“How about the rest of the guys? Your father? Krik?”
“Oh, Krik found himself a girl that loves his
voice. Moved away and live happily ever after. My father moved to
“Then what’s with the new people?”
“Well, let just say that one fine day, a minister happens to fly over
with his fancy helicopter, saw the untouched forest and decided
“How’s my…”
“Oh they’re fine.” He was quick, but again he was trying to hide off
something. He didn’t want to tell me, I suppose. Better don’t pressure him too
much.
“So, where had you been?”
“Stalkers.”
He looked amused. That word explained everything.
“So, do you people really use the lead underwear there?” He gave himself
a chuckle for that.
“No.” And I proceed to tell him my life as a stalker. Telling him not to
go there because of the nature of both the place and the people. Telling him the
lore, the myth, the truth. It settled much of the trip
When I finished, slowly, I went to sleep.
***
It was a field of wheat. My hands
touched the golden fields of ripening crops, thinking of the harvest I am going
to make when they’re ripe. The cold evening breeze sent them into my hands, the
tips softly caressing them. From the distance, the soft “moos” coming from my
cows flowed into my ears, contended for the hay in front of them and their milk
squeezed. It had been a busy day.
The beautiful front lawn of my house was well-mowed. Tanya invested her
time in flowers, painstakingly shaping and caring for each one of them. They
even have names: Ky, Bo, Num…Her hands were god-given.
No one can make a superb dinner better than her hands. No one can cut out ham
and decorate them as well as hers. Every man who has been touched by her magical
hand would have their insecurity gone, their problems solved for the
night.
My little daughter was on her swing, the one I made specially for her in
front of the house. She must be 6 then. There was a happy look on her face when
she saw me. When I looked at her smiling face, my tiredness was gone Her face
spoke of “Thank you!”. She made everything worthwhile, my hearts said. It is
probably the hardest thing to describe- you must be the father of a child to
understand this feeling. Yet it was the feeling that makes you proud being a
dad.
At the door, backing the mountains was my wife. “Oh, Serge, hubby. Time
for dinner.” Her smile too said everything: “You’re tired. Don’t need to worry
about work for tonight. Let the night be ours.” The breeze spoke of pies- meat
and cheese, her special dish. It was going to be a good dinner
tonight.
The scene of a happy family. The scene that I no longer had to wake up in
the middle of the night when they came into my dreams to haunt me, forcing me
crying my heart out when I thought of them. The scene that drives me to my edge,
telling me that for every mercury ball I collected, for every gram of Galantine
in my container, it was worth it, for I am going to be in that picture again. O
my daughter and wife, I am coming home. I am coming
home.
***
A
sudden halt threw me forward. My head jumped, and almost hit the dashboard… if
not for the safety belt.
“We’re here. Uncle Sergey, you’re home.” He made it sound so bland, I
though. It was home, you idiot, home! My home! Something I crave like a cocaine
addict when I was away. I am at my home!
But as I stepped out of the car, shock came over me. For the lawn was
unmoved, the flowers were long dead, their parents’ skeletons poking out of the
ground like gravestone. Far away from the house, elephant grass stood instead of
golden wheat. The No beaming
flower awaits me in the autumn evening. Not even the smell of food in the air.
But there’s all going to change, I told myself. I am at home.
Again, I couldn’t help feeling uncomfortable. I couldn’t even hear the
cows’ moo.
Perhaps Tanya sold them because she was desperate? I told her not to sold
them- they worth a large fortune. Even though the radioactive stuff might
stopped them from producing any good, the Agriculture people said that it will
all go away in a few years time after you change the soil, which I painstakingly
did by ordering the soil from the southern region and layered them over the
original sand. It will go away, I heard from bar talks. And when it goes away, I
can still make a fortune. But now, they were gone.
Alexei seemed to be very keen to get away. After loading out the things
at my trunk, he just gave me a simple goodbye and was gone. Bemused,
nevertheless thankful, I waved at him and walked through the asphalt road that
led to my home.
The nearer I approached the house, the clearer I saw the
swing.
The swing was aged, no doubt. Its paint was too striped by the merciless
weather, no doubt missing its yearly coating. Patches of rust grew on them,
signifying nature’s victory over it. But not that it matter now- the man of the
house is back. Things are going to change. Tanya may not be good at painting,
but I am, and I certainly would change things, I thought.
And then I saw my daughter. Instantly, my adrenaline rushed. Just like
the thrilling feeling when I first kissed my wife.
She was so young when I left her, but look at her now. Twinkling bright
eyes that shone like the stars, her face of innocence still unchanged. Even her
long brush of ponytail was not lost- every time she swung by the swing, her
blonde hair breezed through the wind, as if letting the winds carrying away her
thoughts to a distant place, away
from this land, away from suffering and poorness. Her freckled face still
reflected the determination and the joy of living, just like his
father,
She must have noticed someone looking at her, for she stopped and looked
at me.
“Can I help you?”
I wanted to shout “I’m daddy. I’m home! Come, give me a hug.” It was my
urge, yet I restrained it for fear of overacting. Instead, I rested my baggage
and took out the toy elephant. “For you,” I waved it in the air at her. “Daddy’s
home.”
She gave me a suspicious look.
“No, daddy’s at home. You’re not my daddy. My daddy’s
inside.”
What?
I tried to keep the cool on my face. “Look, I’m your daddy. I came back
from a far distant place where I work, but now I am done. I am coming home.” I
took out my wallet and showed her the tattered picture that had had its place in
my tattered wallet for so long. “This is you when you’re five years old. This is
me, your daddy.” I pointed out. “Can’t you recognize me?”
“Mommy told me not to talk to strangers. I don’t know you.” She
innocently said, then ran to back to the house.
“Wait!” I said. “Wait!”
What met me when my daughter opened the door was Tanya, dressed loosely
as if she was a whore. A whore! And she had a sleepy look, a skin complexion
that had told me she had not been in the sun for a long time, the frizzled long
black hair, and … the sweet smell of marijuana and the sting of vodka. Yes, I
didn’t mistaken something else for those smell, for those sickening sense were
ever-present in The Camp.
What had happened to her? My mind burst with surprise. Five years… and
she had changed so much.
At first she took no notice of me, but when she caught sight of stares
from me at her, a women whom bear no resemblance to my wife anymore yet dwell in
the house that I owned and where the money I earned was sent, she too was
exasperated, dropped her pans in the process.
“Go to your room, Alissa.”
“But…”
“Go now! Or else…”
“Quickly, my daughter vanished into the house. Which children didn’t when
there was a threat of bodily harm?
“Tanya, her name is not Alissa. She is
Anaesthesia, my daughter. And what had happened to you?”
Indeed, it was true. Not only her physical self had change, but her
emotion too had changed. Not only she was now a hot-tempered woman, but she was
also now teaching her daughter by threat. Not the way she and I use to do. This
was not something I anticipated to see when I came home.
“None of your business. How dare you to come back? There is no place for
you in this home.”
“Oh?” Anger rose over me, slowing building up in me like a
pressure-cooker. “This is my house. My property. And look at you, woman. What
happened to you?”
That seemed to bring effect. I was beginning to see fear in her eyes.
Fear of what?
“Darling, who is it?” A hairy, man of large built in boxer shorts and
smelt of marijuana came out of nowhere into the front door’s view, speaking
groggily while kissing my wife by the neck.
Kissing my wife!
“Who
is he? WHO IS HE?” I yelled. “I worked out in danger for five years, and you
cheated on me, you whore. You dare to have an affair? How dare you, woman? How
dare you!”
Both of them looked at me the way a psychiatrist looked at a crazy
patient.
She was not my wife anymore. She was a whore, a whore who betrayed what
she used to be for the sake of other. And I never knew it all
along.
“So what?” There remained still a string of defiance within her voice.
“You sent me the money, and you’ve transferred the house and land to my name. I
have the right to do anything I want with it. There is no place for you in this
house again. No one ever ask you to send the money, you fool. The moment you
step out of that door, you never had to come back, you
know.”
By now, rage had consumed what I was. I was virtually shouting every
word.
“So what? SO WHAT? How dare you, woman. Sold my entire livestock just to
support your habits and this good-for-nothing man. I sent you those money to
take care of this house! To take care of my daughter. And what filth have you
done? This is MY HOUSE! MY PROPERTY! And you dare to defile it, as if defiling
our marriage vow is not enough? And I assume none of those money goes into
Anaesthesia’s education?”
“What? And you’re telling me you did not have sex with other women you’re
away, being a good and holy stalker, I presume? Rubbish.”
It was true, but partly true.
There was a night after I had a heavy drink with a friend of mine in The
Bar. I never did so because being drunk always spelled trouble. But he was a
friend, and part of being a Ukrainian is never to forsake a friend. And so I had
bottles and bottles of vodka.
The Dealer somehow got himself a contract with a pimp from nowhere, and
this pimp used to bring in ‘girls’ at certain night. And these call girls were
bold- they didn’t wait for clients, they hunted for them.
It happened that I was drunk on that night.
When I begun to got hold of reality, I saw, faintly, a young girl naked
in front of me, walking towards me, displaying a sensual smile that seemed to
have gripped me. Her firm breasts seemed to call out for me, reaching the buried
lust that had been dormant ever since I was mature. Her attractive features-
both as a blonde and a beautiful girl still in her youth, made me think of the
unthinkable.
Every part of me being a man yelled “Go for it!” No one would ever know,
not even my wife. Prostitution were widespread in The Camp- that place was full
of men that had been isolated from their family for ages, so this wasn’t
something alien for me. And buying the silence of this prostitute was easy
enough- just make sure you feed her the money, and I could have it. As a saying
went: You pay a prostitute to get her away.
But
every part of me being a loyal husband and a Catholic screamed “Get out!” It was
a wrong thing to do. I had committed to my family, and now, by letting this
young girl getting in the way would I forsake my family? Sure, they would never
know, but was this the right thing to do? Would it even be right to stand here
and see this whore displaying her wares?
And I bolted out of the room, back to my bunk, and cried. I had committed
adultery, I said to myself. I had almost defiled my marriage vow myself, and if
not that I was ‘cleared’ of the vodka in time, I might had find myself doing
something that was wrong, very wrong. But I did not cross the line that night,
and I made sure I was never ever drunk again.
“No!” I yelled. “I respect my responsibility as a man, as a husband, as a
father. I WILL never, ever do something like that to my wife. And yet you
betrayed me!” I pointed at her. “You! You betrayed me! Betrayed every single
part of my faith in you! All for this man, this useless leech who had been
driven my land barren, my money gone. All on my money!”
“Oh, stop yelling.” The man tried to smooth-talk me with his sly voice.
“There is no use shouting over things. I am sure we can share this
woman…”
“What? WHAT? She is my wife, you… you…” I couldn’t find a word to
describe him. “Faggot. Dwelling on my money and misguiding my daughter to your
horrid way, oh you pimp. And you dare even to suggest that we share her, even
though you are standing on my sacred place? My home? Get out. GET
OUT!”
“Legally, it is her house.” The man calmly said. The property is in her
name, you know. You should be the one who get out. And thank you for sending us
the money. I am sure it has been in great use in supporting this
family.”
It was true. Before I moved to The Zone, I had no certainty that I would
survive, so I went to the district office to have my property transferred to my
wife’s name, so that if I died, she would still have the land. And now, she, and
this man, was using that as their shield.
“Thank me?” I sneered. “Supporting this family? It is my goddamn family.
And you get out! I have issues to solve with my wife.”
“Oh no you don’t.” The man was having the enough of me. Out of nowhere he
took out a TOZ shotgun. My shotgun, the gun that had been in generations of my
family. “It is loaded. Get out of this place.” He chuckled. “She is my woman
now.”
I was teetering on the verge of insanity. In five minutes time, what I
had hoped for in five years, what had been driving me all along was now
pointless, all became dust. Harsh reality came down crashing over me. My teeth
were chattering with hatred. My fingers were gripping with hatred. My eyes were
burning with anger.
For a moment, I was considering to bolt from my position and kill this
woman, this monstrosity who had abandoned me for someone, some man who didn’t
work half as much as me to feed this family. I had no purpose to live anymore,
just like the zombies who wondered in the Zone. I might die in the process, but
I will not die alone, I promised myself. Even though that shotgun blast might
kill me, I would die with this woman’s neck in my hands. It is only the most
befitting death this traitorous bitch deserved.
And then I saw my daughter, cowering from her room, peeping at
me.
There was a curious yet afraid sight in her eyes. Curious, because this
man did genuinely acted like her father, her real father. Afraid, because of the
rage pulsating from every inch of my body.
My
heart melted.
It
was not right for her, my heart told me. It may be justice for you to kill this
woman, and befitting justice it would be. But not for her. She deserved a
mother, however disloyal she may had been, she is still your daughter. She still
deserved the best you could give her. You could hate the mother, but your
daughter is innocent.
My
fists were still clenching as I left the place I was standing, hot rage still
flowing through my neck. But I made sure I left no treasure trove behind for the
pair. I took both of my duffel bags, and left my home. For good. Let them be.
They were no longer part of me and my memories. And I was no longer a husband
loyal to his family. I am just a victim, a cheated man who had nothing else to
hold to in this world, except for God. And at this moment, even God had forsaken
me.
I
turned back to see my land for the last time. The man was happily kissing my
wife in celebration of his- their – victory against me. Let them be, I told
myself. I had nothing to do with them anymore. Let them be happy while the time
still last.
***
The
Apart
from being rich mineral at the basin, the river also served as an important
source of water for farming in this region. Irrigation scheme by the government
brought great increase in productivity years ago before the Second
Incident.
After the Incident, it was no longer a surprise to find dead bodies
downstream, most of the time of drowning with no sign of struggle. Most of the
times, the victims were fellow farmers that I knew of, whose egos were
challenged when they could no longer feed their family when every penny of their
income were invested in the crops and livestock. Government compensation was
promised when our crops were brought to burn, but it seemed to be fat chance of
that becoming a reality when the Government itself was beleaguered with the
money-consuming task of maintaining The Zone perimeter. And that drove the
farmers out the wall, into the river, and into internal
life.
It was also where I was now, sitting at the back, staring at the setting
sun.
There was no way out for me. I had no purpose to live anymore. What was
the basis of my life, as a stalker and as a man, was now crumbled into dust,
blown by the wind into infinity. M wife had left me for another man, when I was
risking my life everyday, putting my life on the line in search of the roubles
to send home so that my daughter could go to school and perhaps return, to find
that there was food on the table. Now, that seemed to be only a fantasy existed
in the best of dreams, if there was any left for me.
Betrayed. It was a feeling so simple to put in words, yet so hard to
express. The fundamental question was why. Why? Why it happened to me? Why
happened when I put so much of myself into my family? Why?
Tears streaked down my face when I thought of it.
It was a time that I would gladly submit the two duffel bags of roubles
to God to come down and answer a question or two. It shouldn’t have happened to
me. It was just not fair. I was straining to earn money to send home while
saving some for my future. My family’s future. Worse, what I couldn’t understand
was that man with her. That was something my ego as a man could not
accept.
He was a clear good-for-nothing, anyone could see that. I could only
presumed that somehow, he felled for my beautiful wife and sweet-talked her into
becoming her man while her husband was gone. And so they had an affair, behind
my back while I was earning money. She sold my cattle to support his habits, and
possibly even her own newfound habits, of soft drugs and alcohol. All using the
dear husband’s money. What a life- they just had to sit there while every month,
an envelope with roubles would come to their doorstep and go into their spending
account. I even doubted that the money would be going to my daughter’s benefits
at all. And yet my wife chose him over me, all without even a morsel of
regret.
And suddenly everything became clear. Why Alexei the policeman was keen
on going away so fast- to avoid a firestorm; he must have known of the things
happening. Why my wife sudden ceased her letters at my second year as a stalker,
when I though she must had gotten so bored of writing letter every month- to
keep things silent.
I should have known the signs, but I didn’t. I was too busy making money
for my family. Too stupid to think after exercising so much brawn. Oh, why am I
born that stupid? Why was I even born? To go through this horrible life, to
taste only a few years of a father’s joy? To help people who was in The
Zone?
And then I realised the meaning of life.
Life is a bitch. Life is nothing but a hollow shell. We keep putting
things in it so that it appears full when other hollow shells look at us. When
we die, all that was left of us were nothing but that hollow shell. And what are
we remembered as? A gravestone? A loving memory of a man to be toast on
anniversaries of his death? Or the big amount of insurance money that was left
over from his death?
Now, it appeared that I had nothing to put in that hollow shell anymore.
My hollow shell- my identity as a husband, was stripped away the instance I knew
my wife had an affair behind me. My identity as a father too was nothing to
mention anymore- my daughter took someone else as her father instead of me, not
realising that for the last five years how her real father had been pitting his
life both against nature and the ruthlessness of fellow humans, trusting only
his own instinct, ability, and a God that allowed all these to happen, if there
was a God at all.
And God… how I hate him now, if he ever existed. He allowed all this to
happen, when I lived everyday of my life as a stalker over what he commanded,
being the kind Samaritan when often what was returned to me was only a mere
thanks, or maybe a mere quart of vodka. And he actually allowed me to be
cheated? Where is the fairness that the priest preached? Where is the justice?
Where is the infinite love? All these were mere shambles of lies now, I
realised. None of these exists. I was only a hollow shell. A stupid and blind
hollow shell that had been cheated by his wife, believing in a God that appeared
not as loving as fair as his believers had preached.
Life is a bitch, I said to myself. And I had just been
bitched.
I looked at the setting sun. What a lovely end to my life, I told myself.
Setting sun, lovely river, on the place where I belonged since my birth. My
parents were long gone now, died in a fatal car accident. It looked like I would
be joining them shortly, if there was even an afterlife.
I looked into the water. It was deep, with sharp stones poking every here
and there, Easy enough, just a short pain before my death was completed by
nature. Just like a stalker’s death in The Zone- short pain of a bullet, or the
tear of the jugular by a mutated monstrosity. The only difference was that I
would be found days later and would be given a burial, unlike the brutal nature
of The Zone.
The money? I had no use of them. They would not go into my daughter’s
education even if I want them, for that woman who now dwelled in my house would
only use them for her own benefits. I’ll just leave it there. Probably it would
be found by the police who combed the upper stream for my identification. Maybe
for a simple fisherman looking for a living. I didn’t care. I had no use of
them. All of them were nothings to me.
How ironic I found that of all the verses in the Bible, only one was true
now:
“Everything is meaningless. What does a man gain from all his labour at
which he toils under the sun?”
The answer was: nothing. I had lived an empty life and I would die with
nothing.
The moment looked right for me as I stood up. The river seemed deep, but
shallow enough for me to hit a hard rock to instantaneously knock me out, render
me unconscious, and drown myself. Just like my farmer friends had gone through.
It couldn’t be that hard. All of them made it through, and their bodies were
their proof.
I took a last look at the scene. It was smiling at me now, its warmth
touched my face. Don’t worry now, it would all be all right, it seemed to tell
me. Go ahead.
The soft breeze too touched my face, as if it was a farewell from nature.
Bye, Sergey. We had been so close together- you harvested from me, and I kept
your family well. Nice to meet you, it told me. So long
now.
I heard a weak voice, as if saying “Don’t do it, papa. Don’t do it!” But
it may just only be the wind, disguising and playing with my senses. That would
not stop me.
I summoned all my courage, and jumped into the cold, cold
river.
I was transpired into liquid space. Everything went slow. Water cushioned
my fall, as if it was a warm welcome.
But it didn’t soften my landing onto a big rock waiting for
me.
I knocked against it. There was almost no pain, and I didn’t feel a thing
as I became instantly unconscious.
My
world, as Sergey Paskov Immatovich., of a loving husband, a father, a farmer and a
stalker, was gone. Forever.
Epilogue
Heaven looked so beautiful, I thought as I opened my eyes. I was facing
upwards, and I felt the gentle pad of grassy knolls to my back. What a wonderful
sensation. No more killing, no more hatred. Just beautiful places to live for
eternity.
The sky was crimson red. Sheds of clouds migrated with the wind, silently
moving to the other side of the horizon.
So this is where we go after we’re dead, I said to myself.
I heard silent sobbing coming from my left. But why, is people crying in
heaven, I thought. We had left everything behind. There was nothing to bear
remembrance of.
Then, my body’s mechanism jerked to life. Suddenly, my lungs screamed for
air. My stuck throat caused me to cough, and liquid flowed out. The autumn wind
blew, and I begun to feel cold. Throbbing pain came to my head, where I must had
knocked myself.
Instantly, I knew I was not dead. Welcome back, Sergey, I thought. Back
to the world of losers.
Why? As if I had not suffered enough, and now, my suicide attempt was
thwarted too? What kind of unfair life was this, I wanted to shout. Am I really
such a loser? My wife cheated me, my suicide attempt failed. Now
what?
The silent sobbing stopped. A little girl’s voice crept to my ears.
“You’re alive!”
Yes. Alive to be a loser again.
I turned.
It was my daughter, face stained with tears, yet now happy to see
me.
Wasn’t she inside that house when I left? That house that I formerly
called home?
I did not get a good look at my daughter just then, but now I studied her
intensely. She was stunningly beautiful, even with those wet. Just like her
mother, my former wife She was dressed in a simple cotton pants and T-shirt,
which was dripping with water. Not far away from her was the toy elephant that I
bought for her, but… yes, I must had forgotten about it when I had that fight.
It was now dirty, stained with dirt and mud.
“Anaesthesia? What are you doing here?”
“I am not Ana… Ana…” She struggled to pronounce that word. “I am Alissa.”
“No. You are Anaesthesia, my daughter. I am certain of it.” I said, and
noticed her little body was shivering in cold.
“You’re cold. Come over here and sit with papa.”
She came and sat on my lap. I went to look for my baggage, to find that
it was only behind her. I took out my extra clothing, changed into them, and got
one more to drape onto my little daughter. She stopped
shivering.
“Are you really my papa?”
“Yes.” I touched her hand. She winched in pain. I studied her hand, and
found traces of bruise and wounds. Some were freshly cut, but some were also
long-healed wounds and bruise.
“Who did this to you?”
“Mama and papa at home. Mama always chase me out the house when I am not
good. Just like now.” She silently sobbed. “Papa always beat me when he is
drunk.”
“Don’t cry.” I hugged her. “Tell me what happened.”
“I want that toy. Mama never bought anything for me. I want it, and I
went out to get it. It was right next to where you were. But Mama was angry. She
took out a broom to hit me when I want that toy. She doesn’t want me to have it,
so I run away. I come to this place- my favourite corner, and find you wanting
to jump in the water. I want to stop you, but… you jumped. I went into the water
to save you, but I slipped a few times.” She wanted to cry again, but I hugged
her tightly.
“It’s okay.” I consoled her. “Mommy was not the same when I see her
again.”
She looked at me. “If you are my papa, why did you leave
us?”
I sighed. “When you’re six years old, we used to be a happy family. I
work, and we all have money. We use to send you to school, and you like it then,
didn’t you?”
She nodded.
“But then something happened. Something no one could explain. There was
an explosion, and many bad things come up. People lost their job. Food here
cannot be eaten. We don’t have money, so I have to go out to work. I have to go
to a far, far place, where there were monsters and dangers, where people are
willing to kill each other just to get money.” I paused. She was listening
eagerly. “Every month I send money home to Mama so that you two can have a good
life. I work hard to earn a lot of money so when I come back, we can live
happily together, but…” I found myself choking on my own tears now. “Mama… she
thinks another man is better than me, and she left me for him, your papa
now.”
“You are better than my papa. You give me a present. He never gives me a
present.”
I smiled. A child’s innocence. Even she could tell the
difference.
“Papa, why mama wants to leave you?”
I stopped to think.”
“Allisa, I don’t know. There are just things
between adults that can’t be explained. It was never suppose to be that way,
when we got married at the church. We are supposed to be one, and no one else is
supposed to be in the way.”
“What does ‘be one’ means?” She asked, interested.
“You’ll understand someday, when you grow up.” I said. “But when I leave
home, mama meets a man that can make her happy. Mama thinks that man is better
than me, because that man can always be with her to make her happy, not like me,
your real papa. So mama decided that I am not good, and that she wants that man
to be her man for the rest of her life.”
“Mama always said I am not good. Why she didn’t want another girl to be
her children?”
I could only smile at her question. She asked it with genuine curiosity,
not to checkmate me verbally.
“I
don’t know. Maybe one day, you’ll find out.”
“But why, if mama doesn’t want you anymore, then why did you come back?”
Alissa threw more questions at
me.
“When mama doesn’t want me, she did not tell me. She…” I paused to think.
“She don’t want papa to stop sending money back home, so she can live happily
with that man. But papa didn’t know, so papa keep working and keep sending money
home every month.”
“But that is wrong!” She declared. “She had cheated you,
papa.”
“Yes. But papas always keep working to earn money. Papa saved a lot of
money, so that we all can have a lot of money to live on someday. Papa loved you
and mama, and had always wanted to come home to see you and mama. When I had
enough money, I come home to surprise you, and when I know mama had cheated, we
had a big fight.”
“Do you still love mama?”
That question touched the scar of my heart.
“Yes. But I cannot forgive mama for what she had done. I still love mama,
but we have to separate. We cannot live together anymore, because we cannot live
peacefully now. And I have to go away.” I lied. She couldn’t possibly handle the
fact that I was trying to take my own life. “You cannot see papa again. You have
to go to mama, because papa don’t have a home now.”
“But I don’t want to live with mama. Mama is bad. Mama is always angry at
me, even when I do everything she asks me to. Mama is never gentle to me. Mama
always let me hungry, and when I ask for food, she beats me. When I steal food,
she still beats me. She is never nice to me.” Allisa
confessed. “You are nice to me, Papa. You buy me a toy. I want to live with
you.” She seemed earnest and sparkle with life. “Can I?”
I stopped to focus my train of thought.
30000000 roubles is not a lot of money, but I can buy a land, maybe the
rich and fertile land in the south. Perhaps I could even settle down in the
Mykolayiv region, perhaps at the outskirts of Zhovtnevoye, near to the rivers, where the
30000000 roubles! That was about 5000000 hryvania in Ukrainian currency,
after being divided by 6. I could lease a land for 15000 hryvania for 30 years,
and with bribes I could even buy it, just like the way my grandparents had
gotten the land. Say for 40000 hryvania I bought the land. I built a house, I
sow my seeds, and I raised my cow. It may be years before I could start reaping,
but I had money to get me through those periods!
Yes! My daughter just gave me my life goal- to raise her up. She gave me
hope to life again. She made me a man again. She made my life worth living
now.
“Yes, Allisa! You can live with me if you want
to!” I cracked with joy.
“I want to! I don’t want to live with mommy anymore. I want to live with
you, papa. You can call me Ana… Ana…”
I could only smile.
“It doesn’t matter what I call you.” I spoke as I crouched down. “You’re
my daughter. Come, get to papa’s back, and make sure you got that
toy.”
She got it, and hugged it tightly as she wrapped her arms onto my head. I
got the duffel bags that had my belongings and my money, and started walking
towards the nearest road, which would led me back to town or maybe even got me a
bus. I would settle everything with the police, and, since Alexei’s someone who
knew me, he could help with the issues and ,if needed, “gift-distributing
process.” That way, if Tanya wondered about the loss of her daughter, they could
clear it up. And I don’t think she would miss her anyway.
Taking a deep breath, I got to my feet, and started walking towards the
direction of the Sun. The direction of hope, the direction of my new life. I had
a new purpose in life, and I will live it to the max.
***
That midnight, on the trip to
Slowly I drifted to sleep myself, like the other passengers onboard. Who
couldn’t help it, especially when the bus driver was one of the best (courtesy
of my roubles- I didn’t want to take chances) the bus company had to offer and
was driving smoothly?
That night, I had a different dream.
It was no longer the wheat scene I had. It was not a scene at all. It was
the combination of many scenes. It could be dreams, but it could also be
prophecies.
The first one, I saw my daughter in front of National Taras Shevchenkov, the
The second scene was the scene she got married. She was in a church,
decorated grand and beautifully. The man in her other arms was a handsome young
man, who was neither rich nor famous. Yet he had proven his affiliation to me,
and I was more than sure that the two pair would live for the rest of their
life. No more betrayals, like what I experienced once.
The third scene was the scene that I had a grandson in my hand. My hands
were old and withered then, the hands of an old farmer who had went through the
worst The Creator had to offer. The farm was now in my son’s hand. I was weeping
with joy- I had a grandson! I lived long enough to see my grandson! That was
everything a man could ask when he went to old age.
The deep wound inside me had healed, but sometimes I still wore its
effect- still afraid that one day my new wife would step out on me without
notice, that one day I might kill myself again.
As for God, I had repatriated with the divine one. For all the nasty
words I had said, I had genuine regrets for it. He still never told me why all
that happened to me, and I feared I never would until I die. Yet he did not let
me kill myself. By a miracle, I was rescued, and now had a daughter that I loved
dearly in my hands. I was still blessed. I was still not a loser. He had not
forsaken me. He let me live, and gave me a blessing- my
daughter.
There once lived a great man called Job. He was a rich man. No one would
even know what he did for a living, but since he had goats and camels, he could
as well be a farmer as me. One day, he lost everything without a proper reason.
He asked God why, but he never blamed God, like me. He lost his wife’s support,
and he had all his children dead. But after his torment, he not only had more
faith in what he believed as divine, he was blessed more than his first. He had
more than he used to have, and he had more children. His life was lived to the
fullest.
But God is fair- even though I blamed him, now I was still blessed. I was
a happy man, even now.
Life is unpredictable. Blasphemy and tragedy would befall to everyone
without notice, just like me. Yet after every storm, things would only get
better. For every tide, food was wash ashore. For every volcano eruption bearing
destruction and, the land would only got fertile. For me, even though the fact
that my wife left me when I was away as a stalker, pitting my life on the life
for money was unbearable to a point I wanted to kill myself, it only got better.
Now, I was free to find another woman. I was free to find another paradise with
the one I love, my daughter.
For now and maybe forever, I shall settle down and lived a stable life,
putting my miseries behind me. My memories of being a stalker and a cheated
husband was now gone, for I had rise from the ashes when I passed out inside
that river. I was reincarnated when my daughter came to follow
me.
I shall never be heard of again and the
rest of my life would be shrouded in the anonymity of an ordinary farmer. Yet my
life would continue to be at the fullest. When I looked out into the darkness
that shrouded to bus, I only saw faith and hope. For I know one thing for
certain- I had survive the Zone, and I had survive the deceit of my wife.
Tomorrow couldn’t get any worst
than this; it could only get better.
I had, and will survive till the end of my time.
Amen.
THE
END
First
of all, a great thanks to everyone who reads it and votes for it. I don’t know
whether this story is great for you, but I had done my best. Also, my great
thanks to GSC for holding this contest.
Secondly,
I wish to thanks Ian_C, Grisly Silence, Midnight
Rambler, ChanSD5 and Goodspeed, The GSC’s forum Great Ones. Their invaluable comments and
reviews keep me going. Also those who participated in the
forums.
Finally,
a big thank-you to my parents and friends who read my work as benchmarks-
Edward, Jiaren, Daniel, Faeez, Hazman, Mark and Jesse.
Being my ‘lab-rats’ are never fun, but I had to do what I had to
do.