a place as far from here as he can be, farther away than you can imagine. You must have faith in my words and marry no man until he finds you. Do you understand, Little Bird?”
Natalya was confused. “Yes, I understand. I must wait for a man from very far away. Will he be from Moscow?” Moscow seemed a million miles away.
The old woman cackled. “Oh, no, Little Bird, much farther than that. And when he speaks he will sound ridiculous and you must work very hard to understand him. It will not be easy but you must do this thing. Everyone in our village will be better because of this man.”
Natalya marveled. Farther than Moscow? How could that be? There was no world beyond Moscow.
“Will he come from the stars, Dear Heart? Like the old stories?”
The old woman was thoughtful for a moment. “No, I do not think that will be. He is from this world, but a part we know nothing about. That is why you must wait until he finds you. It will take a long time, Little Bird. But, do not lose faith in my words. He will come. I promise. Do you understand?”
Natalya nodded her head vigorously and thick black hair shook and shimmered in the firelight. Then she smiled in excitement. Her Yakut features from her mother and her father’s heritage blended nicely in her. She was small, but would be well proportioned and a great beauty. This made her grandmother smile.
“Are you ready, Little Bird?”
“Yes, Dear Heart. I am ready.”
The old woman grunted to her knees and poured some koumiss, or fermented mare’s milk, into the fire as an offering. The fire spirit was very important to the Yakut. He was a talkative gray-haired old man in perpetual motion and only shamans and newborn babies understood him. Trash or any other unclean things must never be thrown into the fire for fear of contaminating it and offending the old man. Also, women and young girls must never step over the fire because their menstrual blood was considered unclean and would defile the fire’s purity. At every meal, an offering of food or drink must always be given to the old man to make him happy so that he would give protection and good fortune to the family.
Natalya’s babushka, after offering sacrifice to the fire spirit, sprinkled some crushed hallucinogenic fly agaric mushroom into a wooden cup of koumiss and handed it to Natalya. The girl took it and drank. Then the old woman stood and hobbled to the bed of firs at one end of the yurt. She groaned as she lay down and pulled the reindeer hides over her. She motioned for Natalya to come. “Little Bird, lie here with me and you will see a wonderful thing.”
The girl quickly moved from the stool to her grandmother and snuggled against her. This was one of her favorite things, feeling her babushka by her and listening to her strong heartbeat and watching the fire light dance.
“Now, Little Bird, close your eyes and dream and you will be glad.”
Hours later, Natalya woke and heard her babushka snoring evenly. The fire was almost out and it was extremely cold. Natalya jumped up and rekindled the fire very quickly. She was very practiced at it because it had been her duty for as long as she could remember. When the fire was again blazing, beating back the cold and casting shadows on the walls and low ceiling of hides, Natalya quickly went to her small box to get the clean paper and short American pencil to draw what she had seen. The face in her dream was very different. But it was a kind face, a gentle face, and a strong face, but it was like no face she had ever seen before. She used her right hand for most things. But for drawing, she used her left. Her mind translated what it saw better to her left hand.
She was a very bright little girl - all of the people involved in her learning said so. Although she did not start speaking Russian until she began attending the tiny school on the edge of the village, she was already fluent. She continually did more than she needed to, and borrowed books constantly. She could read, write, and speak Yakut and Russian. She loved learning new things but her true love was art. She could already draw much better than all of her teachers. Some day she hoped she would learn from a real art teacher.
She took a long time with her drawing, being careful not to make a mistake. She only had a little eraser and that was greasy and would smudge the paper. She hated that. She started with the shape of the jaw and thin lips like some Russians she had seen. Maybe he was a Russian. Then she drew his nose and cheekbones. Very different. Not high and wide like a Russian’s, but more like the pictures she had seen in old American and English magazines at school. Could he be an American or an Englishman? No. How could that be? She drew his hair - brown, not black. She liked that. Then she drew his forehead. It was not wide like the men she had seen. But the most interesting part was the eyes. They were very manly but light blue like the summer sky. They were very kind but mysterious and piercing. She was glad to see that there was much courage behind the eyes. She sensed he would protect her. It was good to have a husband who protected you.
After a long time, she finished. She sat the paper down and stared at it, memorizing every part of it. She glanced at her babushka and saw she was awake. Natalya smiled.
“Thank you, Dear Heart. I am very pleased.”
“As we all will be, Little Bird.”
Chapter 2
Sacramento , California - 2007
Mike Valentine was six feet tall and two hundred and twenty-five pounds, every pound part of a well-tuned machine of flesh, bone, blood, and muscle. He had a thick head of brown hair and light blue eyes the color of a summer sky. He had a powerful chest, shoulders, and arms, all so thickly muscled that the stitching on a cheaply made shirt would rip open with only normal movement. He was more intimidating than handsome, although his features were even and well placed. When his eyes were not narrowed and watchful, they were kind, although troubled. His hands were thick, even clumsy, and his knuckles were calloused from striking everything from tree bark to concrete walls. He moved with a quiet confidence that came with knowing he could wipe out the entire neighborhood if he was so inclined.
Mike pushed his garbage can out to the curb and placed it where he thought it should go. He just moved in and today was the first garbage day in his new neighborhood - that’s when the county truck picked up the garbage. The can was overflowing with moving dross and he wanted to make sure it was emptied to make room for the next wave of unpacking.
He turned back and looked at his house, again feeling good about the purchase. It was a large two-story affair with white, adobe looking walls, a red, curved-tile roof, a full basement, and large, beautifully landscaped yards. The three-car garage was to the right; to the left was a covered tiled walkway with Spanish arches. The house was well made and beautiful in every detail. As soon as he saw it the Saturday morning after New Year’s, he called his little brother, a building contractor, to come over to check it out with him. Jason came with his wife Tracy and their two year old little tank of a blond headed boy, Job.
Fifteen minutes after he called Jason, his brother drove up with his family. His pretty blond sister-in-law, Tracy, jumped out of their Ford F150 and said, “Oh, Mike, I love this house!”
Jason parked and went around to unhook Job from his car seat. As soon as Job’s feet hit the driveway, he had a full head of steam for Uncle Mike and a piggyback ride. Mike swung him up on his back and started galloping around making horsy sounds. Job’s parents laughed, more at the sight of thick muscles contorted to accommodate their two-year old than the act itself. Job’s giggles filled the chilly Sacramento morning and nestled nicely against the off-white stucco walls.
Jason walked up and said, “This house is unbelievable, Mikey. You really thinking of buying it?”
Tracy chimed in. “Don’t you just love it?” She tickled Job’s ribs and new peels of laugher resounded in the thick fog.
“Yes,” said Mike, “I really like it. The Realtor’s inside already. The people that own it had to move to San Jose in a hurry and the house is empty.” He turned his head back to Job. “You ready, stinkboy?”
Job jackknifed his sturdy body up and down. “Ready,” he said. “Go,