Sorry guys, for this unforgivable delay! I suggest you to subscribe to follow the story by e-mail, because this scholar year is totally punk. :/ I hope the wait was worthy. Here you have another chapter. Enjoy
Pam! The door of the old Trabant almost fell when Russia closed it behind himself. One week had gone and they couldn't go out till then, because the rain had turned the soil into a true swamp, and Ivan had used this time to teach Erika more things about espionage, when the other countries leaved every night. Nothing else related to clothes, however. Tying the safety belt, he commented to the girl on the seat beside him:
– I always forget to be delicate, so that this old machine won't fall apart. I bought it int the Eastern Germany.
– Then it's older than me – the brunette smiled, making the driver goggle.
– Ok, don't embarass me. What about, let's consider that I was born in the Perestroika, so we have the same age.
– Haha, alright – she said ironically.
– How young I am! - Ivan Braginski smiled, with a mocking sigh.
– You are a child – Erika said kindly. He stared puzzled at her. - Forget about it.
– As we're talking about ages – Russia spoke – my disguise of Yohann Spielz will make me too old for you. Then you will be my daughter. Can you speak German?
– Do "Yawohl" and singing Rosenrot counts? - Erika asked.
– Well, be an obnoxious daughter, the kind that talks to no one – the man advised. - If they insist too much, I can say you only understand Russian.
– You thought every detail – Erika complimented.
– You ain't seen nothing yet – Russia smiled, blinking an eye to her. He opened the glove compartment, taking two documents out of it. – I was born in the Eastern Germany and I'm married to a Russian woman, what explains the dark hair, yours and of your sister – Karen, isn't it her name? What a sad story, isn't it? We will need one to tell it to the official bodies. It's useless to ask to the people in the street, the German wouldn't answer it, they would simply point to the police station. By the way, do you have a picture of her, that we could show?
– No... - Erika replied, checking the documents that he had delivered her. - I don't walk with photos of my friends in the wallet, not even from my mom! This would be strange. By the way, where did you sir got this? - she asked, lifting "Erika Spielz's" document, which had a 3x4 photo of her in it. She couldn't recall giving it to him.
The only answer she got was that so Russia-like mysterious smile.
To this point, they already were in the general road that would lead from Moscow to Minsk. From there, they would take another road towards Poland, and then to Germany. Eighteen hours of travelling, and take the roads, in Russia, isn't the smartest option. It was almost an adventure, mainly due to the bad conditions of the highways, caused, partially, by the freezing and melting that ended up spoiling the asphalt (when there was any). They should have gone by train, but the car was important to carry their stuff, and to move more freely inside Europe. The biggest problem was that Erika used to feel sick in cars or buses; two hours were complicated enough to her, then what to say about eighteen! But, not wanting to bother, because he was doing a favor to help her solve her problems, the girl did not tell about it. When she felt he was starting to get sick, she asked to turn on the radio to take her mind off the sickness.
– Of course. If it still works – Russia allowed.
Turning the old button, Erika tuned a radio of Moscow. There were news. Russia payed attention for a while, but after he lost his interest, and Erika, who wanted to listen to music, changed the station. In one of them they were playing Lyube; funny songs about Russia's uses and nature, but a little too slow. She turned the button again. Michel Teló?!
– How did this trash get here?! - Erika exclaimed.
– Don't you like it? - Russia glanced curiously at her.
– Do you? - she exclaimed, mesmerized.
– A little. He made a concert here some time ago.
The girl arched her eyebrows. "Well, this is what happens when we're such a big country, there's no accounting for taste inside you", she philosopized. She changed the station again, and this time she was satisfeid with what she heard, for it was:
– Ariya! – she exclaimed, glad, leaning back on the seat.
– Do you know it? – he marveled Erika grinned.
– I know much about you, my boy – she replied, making him immediately swell of pride.
– They're good, aren't they? But I would rather like when they had Kipelov – Ivan commented. - This song pretty fits the moment – he added, pointing at the radio with the chin. It was playing Geroi Asfalta, that is, Hero of the Asphalt.
As Erika didn't know this song, she simply followed the rhythm, drumming her index fingers in the panel of the car, until the song changed to Ulitsa Roz, of the same album. The DJ had probably left it playing and gone to the bathroom.
– Ya lyublyuuuu, i nenaviiiiju tebya-aaa-uooo-ô![1] – she sang, when the chorus came, waving her arms and nearly hitting Russia with a left punch.
– It really seems that you hate me! - he laughed, swerving. - Take care.
– I'm sorry! - she asked. - I happen to get excited with Metal.
– Alright – Russia pacified. - You know I wouldn't suffer a scracth if you actually hit me. But if Letonia was here beside you, you'd send him flying with such a punch.
Erika succeeded in abstracting for a while by singing, watched with smiley curiosity by Russia, but then the DJ of the radio must have come back from the toilet and changed the CD in the station to another band that she didn't know, and the girl went quiet.
And the qualm started to be felt, transforming the not-so-kind young lady in the Donkey of Shrek:
– Are we there yet? – she asked, for the seventeenth time.
– Neeet! – Russia answered, compressing the steering wheel with his hands, and a shadow of a purple cloud taking shape in front of his eyes. He was a patient guy, but that could even wake Greece. – Now, shut up your mouth, DA?
The Brazilian girl stared at him in shock, and her eyes went wet. Then she turned to the window, crossing her arms.
– Erika – Russia called, after about one quarter of hour. No answer whatsoever. – Erika?... – he tried again, a little later.
– I feel sick... – she answered, her voice slurred.
He stopped the car at the roadside, but it was too late.
– Well... – he commented, looking at the "damage", with his hands crossed on his knees – we've rode eleven hours already – he checked his watch, – I think we could stop.
Russia went out the car and opened the trunk, bringing a canteen and a change of clothes for the girl.
– Do you need ... any help? – he offered awkwardly. Erika shook her head, accepting the utensils he had brought. – Then I'll ... set up the tent, and light the fire ... You'll want to eat, da? Well, just in case... You can change in the car, I won't look to this side.
And he walked away, retreating in the field beside the road. Examining the trees, Russia scraped trunks and larger branches with the tip of his pipe, looking for twigs that, finding, he tore. He quickly gathered a good pile of them, which he huddled in an area, protected from the wind by trees, and pitched the tent there too, easily, thanks to his considerable military experience.
Ivan was preparing a potato soup when Erika approached. They ate quietly, she, because she still felt a bit of discomfort and annoyance, and he, because he felt attuned with the nature in that dull and windy twilight, and at these times, he had no desire to talk. As they had left early, they already were sleepy, and Russia allowed the girl to sleep in the tent, while he would a find a place for himself in the car, since she was not very fond of the smell of gasoline. Later, however, he ended up lying on the grass because it was not very comfortable to sleep in a seat, especially considering his size.
Near midnight, due to a war of squirrels that took place alongside the tent, with ninja cries of all types, Erika aroused. Unable to fall asleep again, she left the shelter, so that the cold wind would make her want to go back there.
The night was beautiful, though dark; clouds, blown away, had given way to a moon that looked like the smile of the Cheshire Cat, and a few stars twinkled here and there, like fireflies. Strolling through the camp, she watched the squirrels for a bit, then approached Russia, watching his face, so clear that it would almost reflect the diminished moon, and even sleeping would keep that enigmatic smile. Suddenly, his violet eyes popped opened, startling the girl.
– Da? – he asked, sleepy.
– I'm sorry, I didn't mean to awake you – said the Brazilian. – I was just here looking…
– Alright; that's the vigillance habit, I awake even with a mosquito that flies by differently. What were you looking?
– Nothing, just that... – she blushed, feeling fool, but answered - Nada, é só que... – ela corou, sentindo-se boba, mas respondeu – you're a country, and when I saw you there, I recalled a piece of Brazil's anthem. "Laying eternally on a splendid cradle, by the sound of the sea and the light of deep sky..." It's really a splendid cradle – she concluded, looking around.
– Not as splendid as Mother Russia – he answered. – And also there's no sound of sea here. But the anthem is beautiful. I wanted mine to be so – he complaind, scratching his head. – They did not composed something worthy of me; I really liked the previous better.
– The melody is beautiful – Erika said, sitting beside him, and embracing her knees.
– Oh, the music, yes, the problem is the composer. But it's ok, I already fixed him – said the guy, with his smile broadening ominously. The girl found thought it better not to ask about this fixing.
Silence. You still could hear the squirrels.
– And you, what do you do here outside? – he asked kindly. – Can't sleep?
Erika shook her head. Ivan took off his coat and patted his own chest, indicating that she could/should lay her head there. The girl stared helplessly for a moment, then decided to accept the offer, and leaned over him carefully. She felt that he – too – was tense, but less than in that other time when they had been so close, thanks to General Winter.
He covered her with his long coat. In that moment, there was much more of Ivan than of Russia; he was just a boy, fond and insecure.
The Brazilian looked up, facing his smooth chin.
– You have no beard – she found out, saying the most stupid thing that came across her mind, maybe just to break the weird silence.
– ? – he frowned, and then benignly. – Well, I once had – he told. – But one of my bosses, Peter the Great, forced me to shave it… Well, he plucked it away, in fact… so that I would look like the Europeans.
– Idiot – Erika commented, after a moment.
– I think so – Ivan agreed, wincing briefly when she turned her face away. Their ears, at that time, had already become accustomed to the dispute of the squirrels, as well as with the rest of the choir of the night – frogs, crickets, and even the wind in the leaves – and their eyes began to weigh, so that both Erika and Ivan entered that state of torpor that precedes the actual sleep.
But when the mind of the girl had already outlined a dream in which she replaced the Scrat, of Ice Age, in the quest for a golden lasagna, she felt her support shudder violently and continuously, and Ivan called urgently:
– Erika. Erika! Are you sleeping?
– Not else, why?
– We have to go out of here! – he whispered, almost inaudibly. - Drag up surreptitiously to the car, any suspicious movement, immobilize up; I will gather our stuff and we shall leave in a minute. Go! – He commanded. – Walk, it's an emergency, we have to disappear soon because...
Just that was what she was wondering in amazement. It was a very rare thing to see Russia so scared, and there were only two possible reasons for that: either he was predicting a worldwide cataclysm, or...
– ...we're in Kobrin, right in Bela's house!
[1] I love you and I hate you