Chapter 2: Schadenfreude
Joy sat on the bed beside Sorrow. He squinted at her in the darkness, and she handed him his glasses.
"Aren't you used to this by now?" she asked, stroking the long hairs at the nape of his neck.
"It is not something one gets used to. I can control it better now, but sometimes, the intensity…"
Outside the Thatched Barn in Borehamwood, the rest of the Cobra Unit was waiting for the Joy to complete her mission briefing.
"She's taking too long in there," grumbled the Fury, jumping off the back of the truck and tossing his half-burned cigarette into the grass.
The Pain, who was sitting in the grass, stamped it out with his hand.
The End stretched out on the hay in the truck and yawned. "I don't know what you're talking about. I could sit here all day."
"You would," said the Fury. He punched the wooden side of the truck. "But I can't –"
An explosion in the woods interrupted him. A smile spread instantly across his face.
"Ah, hell," he said, his eyes reflecting invisible flames, "doesn't that sound like fun?"
"Yessss….," hissed a voice behind the truck. "Looked fun too."
"Fear!" the Fury cried. "I thought you were in the cab with the Sorrow."
The Fear, tall and thin with pointed features down to the steep widow's peak in his black hair, stepped around the truck.
"Yeah, well, Sorrow was reading or something, so I thought I'd take a little look around."
"So you've come back to gloat about it," growled the Fury.
"Actually, I've come back to get you guys."
"Joy won't like that," said the Pain, "but you can count me in."
"Hell, I was moaning about it, so I guess I have to go," growled the Fury.
"I'll just stay here and rest a bit," said the End from his hay bale.
"That leaves… Sorrow, you in?" the Fury shouted, stomping over to the passenger door.
He opened it. "Sorrow?"
An English copy of Machiavelli's The Prince lay neatly on the seat.
"I swear he was reading it when I left…," said the Fear, shrinking away from the Fury, whose eyelids were twitching.
The Pain walked between them and picked up the Sorrow's book.
"Can't you see that this gives us the perfect excuse to wander around? We just tell the End that we had to go find Sorrow, and when Joy gets back, we'll be her heroes," he said.
"Effing brilliant!" said the Fury.
"Stupid. Stupid!" the Joy shouted, marching back and forth in front of her unit. "All of you! The End!"
"Yes, sir!"
"Why did you let them go?"
"I was –"
"Pain!"
"Yes, sir!"
"Was it really your idea?"
"Well, that's a –"
"Fear!"
"Yes'm!"
"You little SHIT! Haven't I…"
While she bellowed, the Sorrow took the opportunity of not being the center of attention to raise his head and watch her. Her face was inches from the Fear's, and though he leaned in toward her with a slimy grin, Sorrow could see that he was terrified. His eyebrows were tightly knit, and the dark hairs on his arms stood like a trembling army. Joy's face twisted viciously, but her eyes glittered. At the end of each over-emphasized word, the vestige of a smile would begin, then disappear from her lips. She was enjoying this.
Joy took Sorrow's trembling hands. It was like reaching into the snow. The metal bed frame rattled as another blast shook the hotel.
Since Marina died, it had been harder for Sorrow to push the voices away. He was already a target for the casualties of war. Their souls knew he could hear them, and they screamed for justice.
Sorrow could almost thank the Nazis for teaching him to control his power. By the time Joy's unit found him, he could reach almost as far across time and space as he wanted, but the effort of passing billions of voices often left him unconscious for hours. The day he was rescued, he was scheduled to contact Ramesses II to find out if he had really kept Jewish slaves.
By that muggy August day outside the Thatched Barn, he only noticed the voices when he wanted to. They were a constant rumble in the background, like thunder from an eternal storm, showing him a bolt of lightning occasionally to remind him that it was still dangerous.
He was reading a paragraph in The Prince on forcing reform upon his subjects when one of these bolts struck him. Sixty-one female voices screamed together, a fire in a textile factory, unrelated to the war. He was surprised to hear it among the battles and massacres of the war until he heard the voice he had been dreading since his train ride to Poland in 1935.
"Mishenka," whispered Marina's voice, but he could hear it clearly above the screams. "I know you are somewhere in Europe right now, but I hope you can hear me."
Though his eyes were open, Sorrow could see Marina kneeling in a dim place. She was badly burned down her right side, her cheek a hole covered in tattered black flesh, and her chest was partially collapsed. Her blue plastic gloves were melted into her skin. She was dead. He saw visions like this sometimes, spirits preoccupied with how they had died, but seeing Marina…
"I heard that you were fighting for our country," she continued. "Please, Misha, keep fighting. I'm gone now, so don't come and find me."
Her disfigured body faded.
Marina! he called silently.
"I'll pray for your happiness…." Her voice evaporated with the last glimpse of her image.
Sorrow laid the book carefully on the seat, opened the door, and ran into the woods to hide his tears.
Joy licked a grimy finger and turned a page in the notebook she had taken from one of the Nazi scientists.
"Your name's Michael, huh?"
Sorrow nodded. God, he looked pathetic, thought Joy. He kept rubbing his wrists and squinting at her as if he'd never seen a woman before.
"Cigar?" she asked.
He shook his head violently.
"Good. Didn't want to give one up anyway."
She turned another page.
"You speak German with an accent. Where are you from?"
"Russia. Velitsky – um… Saratov on the Volga."
"You're a Mikhail, then?" She pronounced it "Mih-kale".
"Actually, 'Mee-khah-eel', but the Germans could not say it, so I was called 'Michael'."
"A couple of my men are Russian, but I forget their names. You'll give up yours too when you join my unit."
"J-join?" Sorrow trembled. "But I c-cannot fight!"
Joy shut the notebook and tucked it into a pouch on her belt.
"Your… power will be useful to us in other ways. I still have to get permission, of course, but I can train you."
She glanced at his scrawny arms. This would take some work… but a medium! It wasn't like they were in every unit, and if she didn't take him, someone else would. What if it were the Axis? The Germans would find out their lab was raided eventually. And she'd already picked out such a perfect name…
Historical Notes:
The Thatched Barn was used for explosives testing, mainly creating explosive booby traps, including exploding cigars.
"Mishenka", as well as "Misha", is a diminutive form of the Russian name "Mikhail". "Mishenka" can also mean something like "teddy bear" since "Misha" is a nickname for bears in Russia. As a little side note, there is an unsubstantiated (at least in English) rumor that Hideo Kojima, creator of the MGS games, announced in an interview that The Sorrow's real name is "Michael". I created an explanation for his non-Russian name in the story. And just for giggles, I'll tell you now that my husband's name is also "Mikhail". I sometimes feel like I'm writing about him. ^.^
