Chapter 4
***
"How long until we get there?"
Sasha asked, not long after the car had left the forest. Snow laughed softly.
"You ask a lot of questions, Miss Schmidt. Mr. Boban doesn't like inquisitive assistants."
"It's just that you're the only one who knows about my predicament, and I can't ask Senator Boban when I should report his actions to General Jared, how I should tell him, and how I can get back to my home across the border, and when I'll be able to get my citizenship, can I?"
"I don't think Mr. Boban has the answers to those questions."
"That's why I'm asking you."
"Well, here's my answer: For now, keep your eyes and ears open, but your mouth closed. Then, when the time comes, when you can, you'll have to plug your ears, and at some point you'll have to close your eyes."
"That doesn't make sense to me."
"It's what we do, you'll get used to it, Miss Schmidt."
He smiled in the rearview mirror, and despite his expression, Sasha couldn't picture his face. He had more innocent eyes than she'd expected, but she could tell he wasn't warm or friendly.
The dirt road soon gave way to a paved road with layers of modern buildings. Once out of the forest, Sasha was equally unsure of where they were, but the buildings in the city center, which must have been smashed and destroyed at the hands of Dochen a decade ago, showed no signs of war, unlike across the border.
"Is this, is this Nerea?"
"That's not what they call it now. The Dochens call it Victoria, Southern Victoria, and the military has been working on the roads and buildings here for a few years now, and we're entering downtown Victoria."
"..."
Sasha vaguely imagined a country of gray stone-walled buildings with a faded glow, where tanks and cannons lined the streets, and soldiers with guns roamed the streets making terrifying footsteps. That's the image Sasha remembered of Dochen: a place where freedom and individuality were suppressed and persecuted. But beneath the yellow walls, the city was clean, as if it had never known war, and its buildings oozed romance and elegance.
"It's very different from what you thought, isn't it?"
Not so different, quite the opposite. Why? Why are they living so luxuriously? She still remembered it clearly. The black uniforms of the men who shot her mother and father, the smoldering flames and ashes she looked over her shoulder as she fled across the border. So she ran to live. She thought this land was uninhabitable now. To escape the demonic Dochen, who destroyed everything in sight.
"It's still a rural village outside the city limits, but soon this place will be as urbanized as Nerea."
"..."
"It's strange, isn't it, that on the other side of the border we're sucking our fingers from the scars of war, while on the other side we're living in such luxury."
"..................Why?"
Why?
"Why is it that the side that started the war, the side that slaughtered people, the side that stole other people's land, can live in such luxury?"
"...."
Snow remained silent, the silence he maintained seeming endless. Eventually, the car rounded the roundabout and came to a stop under a red brick house.
"Remember what I said, Miss Schmidt. If you want to be any safer, keep silent. Not here, not here, not anywhere."
"..."
"Get out of the car. Knock on the door and the owner will come out. Tell him you took the train from Nepiran and hired a truck to get here."
Sasha nodded and got out of the car. Snow drove away without another word of goodbye. No warnings of caution or good luck didn't mean it wasn't worth it. An agent of the Ministry of Intelligence had obviously undergone years of sophisticated and precise training. He wouldn't want to be allied with a woman who, until three days ago, had been singing lullabies to children in the pediatric ward.
Sasha straightened her disheveled appearance. She brushed off her coat, smoothed out the wrinkles, and swept her upturned hair.
Hesitantly, she knocked on the door, then quickly, and a woman's voice answered.
"Kiu vi estas (Who are you)?"
"Pardonu min. Ĝi nomas Elgar...... Elgar Schmidt (Excuse me, I'm Elgar...... Elgar Schmidt)."
With a small sigh, "Oh” the solid wood front door opened. A dignified-looking old woman with white hair neatly tied up in a bun greeted her, pulling her shawl over her shoulders.
"Welcome home, Miss Schmidt. I was getting worried when I didn't hear from you."
"Excuse me."
"Max, come out here! Miss Schmidt's here!"
From the kitchen at the foot of the stairs leading up to the second floor, a man with the same graying hair as the old woman, but with a more robust build, stepped forward to shake Sasha's hand.
"Welcome, Miss Schmidt. I'm Max Darwin, the owner of this house, and this is my wife, Lorna Darwin. Please give me your luggage."
Max took Sasha's suitcase.
"Thank you."
"How did you get here, did you drive here?"
"No. I got dropped off at the train station and hired a truck."
"Oh, well. I was worried when I called to see when you would be arriving and didn't hear back, otherwise I would have picked you up."
"Where did you call?"
"What?"
Max repeated, and Sasha panicked.
"If you want to be any safer, stay silent.”
Snow's words struck her like a bolt of lightning, and her face hardened suddenly, as if she'd asked the wrong question, even though she tried not to. Sasha's expression hardened, and Max, wondering if something was wrong, answered carefully and politely.
"That's right, I was at Mr. Schmidt's house. I tried to call you again and again, but you didn't answer. I was afraid something had happened."
"..."
Was it Snow? She wanted to ask him what he looked like, but it would only give the impression that she was performing, and there was no point in asking, especially since Sasha herself had no idea what the man looked like.
"Probably..................youmust have called while I were away, because he said he had to run some errands, after he drove me to the station."
"Oh, I see. In any case, I'm glad you arrived safely. Your room is on the second floor. Let me show you, if you'll follow me."
Sasha followed Max up the stairs to the second floor. There were only two doors in the long hallway. This was a house that didn't rent much.
"We have two rooms, one for us and one for guests. The only one that's rented is Miss Schmidt's, so you should be comfortable."
I won't encounter many strangers. So it would be safe. Max pulled a key out of his pants pocket, unlocked the door to Sasha's room, and handed it to her.
"Here you go, Miss Schmidt. The bathroom is at the far end of the hallway. If you need anything, feel free to call for me or the housekeeper."
"Okay.
"Yes."
"May I have a look at today's paper?"
Max set the suitcase down on the well-made bed and smiled kindly at her.
"Sure. Just wait a minute. I'll bring it to you."
"Okay. Thank you."
He closed the door to the room and left. Sasha took off her coat and looked around the small, neat room. She sat down on the bed and smoothed the fabric of the boarded-up sheets. There were two layers of maroon linen curtains, a plush carpet with an arabesque pattern, wooden furniture with frayed corners, and fluffy sheets embroidered with colorful flowers.
She remembered the stiff, white bedding and iron beds in the pediatric ward. The room smelled faintly of coffee and flowers. Compared to the cavernous dormitories of the hospital, this place felt luxuriously spacious and cozy.
It was strange. To come to a place like this and smell flowers. Only here dis she have a clean room and a bed that someone has made for her.
A few minutes later, Max returned with a newspaper and hot tea and cookies. He reminded her that it would be cold at night because of the weather, and that she should drink hot milk or tea before bed. Sasha was overwhelmed by the warmth of the gesture.
She wondered where the Darwins were from. Most natives of Nerea were born with dark brown hair, but the old couple's hair was graying, so it was hard to tell. Part of her didn't want to believe that they were even surviving Nerians. On the other hand, she didn't want to admit that they were living out their old age in such a secluded place, protected by the Dochens, in a land where everything had been wiped out at their hands and their name had been taken from them.
Sasha sat at her desk and scanned the front page of the newspaper. The headline read.
[Chairman John von Willendorf Joins the Free Youth of Gothenburg as Promoter.]
The man's face in the printed photo was clear, but not precise. Nevertheless, he stood out from the others standing next to him: a head taller than the others, with a lean, straight body, exceptionally white skin, and a light hair color that she couldn't tell if it was silver or blond. The next thing she noticed was the face of Raoul Honecker, the chief clerk of Dochen, printed in small print at the bottom of the article.
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