work she could find to make up the three dollars. She sometimes was able to sell drawings to American mining and livestock specialists. She also worked as a translator, speaking fluent English, Russian, and Yakut. She also spoke some German, although she struggled. She just didn’t have the opportunity to speak it. Whenever she talked to her cousin on the phone, she practiced German with Rolf but was soon lost. He was very patient with her, however. She hoped her husband would be a good man like that.
Her other problem was Jakob, an evil that had plagued her most of her life. He was the only son of the man chosen to be chief after her uncle died. At the time, the village thought that the oldest son of the dead chief, her cousin Wolf Eyes, was too young so the people chose Jakob’s father as the new chief. Jakob’s father was not a bad chief, but his only son was the most evil man anyone had met or even heard of. Jakob was obsessed with Natalya because she was the woman he wanted and she refused him. His father had recently died and Jakob made himself chief. One man spoke against him and Jakob broke both of his arms.
Jakob was tall for a full-blooded Yakut, six feet four inches. He was powerfully built, easily the strongest man in the region. He could pull down a reindeer at a full gallop and run for twenty miles without stopping. He could lift a horse and feared nothing. He had the reputation of being the best fighter around, Russian or Yakut, and, when he was fifteen, beat a man to death during a dispute over a wolf pelt. His father had to pay a fine to the family but he was secretly proud of his son.
If Natalya told Jakob about the fat pig, he would probably kill the man. But, if he did, he would expect the same thing from her. Why were some men like that? She knew not all men were like that – her cousins weren’t, Rolf wasn’t. But there were enough men like that to cause her concern. She hoped her husband did not treat women badly.
She could tell her cousins about the Yakut landlord, but her cousins would hurt the man also, maybe kill him, and the man was rich and important enough for the militia to come after her cousins. She did not want that so she would say nothing.
Jakob wanted to marry Natalya. He was already married but told her he would divorce his wife when Natalya said yes. She was afraid of him because he bragged about forcing women to have sex with him, acting like it was a very funny thing to watch. She could only do her best never to be alone with him. She only saw him when she went to clan gatherings - maybe two or three times a year. She just had to be careful and stay close to her cousins.
When she arrived at her apartment, her babushka was making borsch for dinner and the smell instantly made her hungry. She had not eaten since that morning when she had a thick piece of black bread, mare’s butter, and coffee.
Her babushka smiled, showing the gaping hole of her mouth. “Hello, Little Bird. How was your day?”
“Normal, Dear Heart. I taught English and art. It went well. How are you?”
“I’m thinking of getting married again.”
Natalya laughed. “Anyone I know?”
“I was thinking I would find an ugly, stupid minor with a sword like a Siberian bear. What do you think?”
“I think that’s a very good idea, Dear Heart. Maybe that would make your arthritis go away.”
“That’s what I’m thinking, too. I have no teeth in my head so maybe that will be a plus. Nyet?”
“Babushka,” said Natalya, blushing. ”The things you say.”
The old woman cackled. “Sit down, Little Bird. The borsch is ready.”
As she sat down on one of the two chairs at the kitchen table, she said, “We received a letter from Ludmilla, today.”
“From America?”
“Da. We will read it after dinner.”
They ate borsch and coarse bread. It was delicious. They talked merrily, loving and depending on each other. After dinner, they cleaned up and sat down to read the letter.
As Natalya opened the envelope, two pictures fell out. She thought they were more pictures of Greta. They would look at them together in a minute. When you live a hard life, each thing is enjoyed by itself.
The letter was in Russian. Ludmilla spoke fluent Russian, Yakut, German, and English, but she always wrote in Russian. Natalya read it to her babushka; her babushka spoke good Russian but never learned to read in any language.
Dear family,
How are you? I hope and pray…
The letter went on as usual. They read about California and the fog, about Rolf’s job and Greta’s school. They talked about normal things. Then Natalya read.
We have a new neighbor - a native Sacramentan. He is an excellent man of thirty-one years. His wife and daughter died two years ago and now he lives alone. His brother and family and his parents are close by and see him often. He is wealthy and a very kind and pleasant man. To occupy his time, he boxes and does karate. He is very good at it.
I am sending a picture of him with Greta. They have become excellent friends. I have been helping him decorate his house. It is a big beautiful house with lots of room and a swimming pool.
When they concluded, they looked at the pictures. The first one was of Rolf, Ludmilla, and little Greta in their achingly beautiful living room. The other picture was of Greta standing beside a kneeling man. Natalya forgot to breathe. The man had brown hair and sky blue eyes. He was the man in her drawing. He was her husband.
“Babushka,” she breathed, “it’s him.”
“Who?”
“The man you showed me in my dream.” She hurried to her hiding place and retrieved the drawing, forcing her shaking hands to work properly and not tear the paper in her haste to open it. She held it up to the picture.
“Eeeeyeee,” whispered her babushka. “It is him.”
Chapter 4
Donna Bertilli positioned herself in front of her target. She knew who he was and what he was worth. It had taken her some time and research to find out what he did and how she could meet him. She had a contact in records at the courthouse keeping an eye out for lawsuits resulting in large settlements. This guy’s settlement was huge: twenty-six million dollars after taxes and attorney’s fees for a wife and kid killed by a drunken tanker driver.
The snitch was the cousin of a girl with whom she attended high school. Two hundred bucks for a copy of the file, but it was worth it. The situation was perfect. The driver had been caught twice drinking while at work and the warnings were documented. Another driver who had just returned from a cross-country trip was out drinking with his buddies and saw the driver closing the bar down. The guy knew the driver had a run in the morning and made it a point to call the dispatcher and tell him what he had seen. The dispatcher sent the drunk on the run anyway and the asshole killed a woman and her daughter. The husband got the money and Donna wanted to meet him.
After a lot of leg work she found out he did self-defense seminars. Apparently, he was some kind of karate expert. She signed up for the seminar and here she was, standing in front of this stud with sexy blue eyes and muscles on his muscles. She leered at his thick legs, then the thick slabs of muscles making up his chest and then her eyes went to the stomach she could iron a shirt on, and, finally, to the impressive bulge showing even through the loosely fitting karate pants. To Donna, sex was a tool to get what she wanted, but she would do anything for this guy just to experience that body. The guy’s name was Michael Patrick Valentine.
She watched him wrap a black belt around his hips and tie it so that the ends hung down past his crotch. There were four red stripes on one end and “Ashan Tao” in raised gold letters on the other. The belt along his back read “Valentine” in the same gold letters. He wore a black tee shirt with a symbol of a fist coming out of a ying yang over the left breast. The way the shirt moved over his muscles made her mouth water.
At exactly