The first and second part are telling Tiên Huệ's exploration as a character. All you have to know is the first part happened before she went travelling with Edelweiss. The second was after she and Basch separated.
The last part happens four years after the last chapter in Switzerland where Basch and Maxim started to really connect with each other in February 1959.
* •
Vietnam
January 25th
1937
When Tiên Huệ organized her mind to leave her country, she found a single sentence tattooed on her mind with her father's voice. It could define him in a second while it could be the idea she was trying to bring.
"The only thing free in life is death. I am supposed to prevent that. You have to pay me to die or I won't allow you."
Dihn Thái Bình lost several patients including his wife, however, he was an unhealthy optimistic. He was the type of person who would clinch his words as if they were a wave on the seashore. Tiên Huệ used to wonder if she would be similar to him if she was born with the privilege of being a man. He had amazing wires around his mouth wielded by a god while Tiên Huệ suffered to find a tiny spotlight to gather her ideas. The wires in her father's mouth were his ephemeral spotlight. While her thoughts were being trapped by the same wires, her father would cut them daily. When she grows old, she will hate the fact a man had to give her voice, her value and her virtue and it happened twice. She would loathe the fact she learned medicine because the wires were enlaced with her father's out of necessity. She would spend her life wondering that if women can't ascend to the highest, why do men don't lower themselves? What if she doesn't want to reach what they call "highest" and wants to create her own?
The first thing Tiên Huệ accomplished in the world was making her mother bleed to death. Sometimes this was a blessing and, other times, living anguish. She would be grateful for her mother never see her bruised face and her hematite eyes glowing with tears for every child she lost. She hates thinking that, if her mother was alive, her father wouldn't have to drag her to the small hospital and he wouldn't teach her everything that made her be who she was. Tiên Huệ used to imagine her mother would come back and her days with medicine would be over to have a life of housework was hell to her. She would kneel on the ground gather her hands in front of her mouth in a pray.
"Please, Huyền Diệu, stay there forever."
When she told this to her grandmother the woman hit her with a heavy stick.
"What kind of daughter asks for her mother's death?"
The same that killed her.
Sometimes she would miss someone she never met, nonetheless, those moments were rare. The Vietnamese wasn't a sensible person since she was little. She was rational and cold against her surroundings. Being insensible was the only revolution she could accomplish against her gender. She loathed the fact she was supposed to be a woman in a world where women were considered weak just by being born like that. It's like a parasite in her body that only reaches her appearance in which her whole life is decided for her because of the nasty host. She wanted her mother to remain dead for the same reason. They were free of the host in different ways.
Although, Tiên Huệ didn't know what death was until her father died on her thirteenth birthday. She saw people dying, but only then she knew to mourn and to suffer properly. Death touched her like it never did before. She would have to move with her grandparents and those were the worst years before the truly worst life.
Tiên Huệ would know friendship with Yao when he and her father started to talk on the sidewalk and she was near them. This Chinese boy was only spending time in Vietnam to learn the language and he was already someone she liked. But he was going to leave before their friendship can develop more than that, even if they will still trade letters. Nevertheless, she will understand intense friendship when she meets a boy. She appreciated that older boy very much. They used to spend days together talking with their feet on the river their houses were floating in. They would enjoy listening to the sounds of their modest village in Halong Bay. The small agglomeration of houses used to sing a melody of people selling fish and people complaining around them every sunset. The Vietnamese accent of her friend reminded Khmer even if he was from Ho Chi Minh and he was an amazing friend. His name was Chiến Trahn.
Tiên Huệ, an orphan living with her grandparents, was being the subject of people from the floating houses she floated closely. They couldn't accept her existence as a healer since she was a child or the fact she was a woman with male friends. The pressure made her grandparents arrange marriage and she moved from her beloved Halong Bay to Bắc Kạn with her new husband and away from her life. She thought about leaving her husband several times after the first years. She even defended herself most times when he was beating her, but he always recovers himself from her punctures and threatens her and her children with a gun he kept inside his closet. Another time being abolished before she was able to gather her wires and accomplish something. She would stare at that gun several times when she was cleaning the small house. She would stare at it and wonder what would happen to her if she shot at his head while he was asleep. If the death was free, then she would deliver gladly to her husband. No more wires for neither of them. Regardless, she was terrified of considering doing this.
Tiên Huệ finally shot his head on a bitter night of January. He commenced shouting at her because her rice was too rough to eat, then he threw his frustration about his fishery on her as if she was hiding the fish from the web, then he would scream she was a whore for having a Chinese as a friend and then he was shouting about children. They were gathered in their fights for a long time and Tiên Huệ didn't notice when her child fell on the water. She drowned in a second. The Vietnamese could hear the world keeping silence as if it would never sing to her again and there will only hiss. She delivered death to that man on that January night and left Vietnam.
The next days after this, she felt dead. As if the death was taking its toll in slow motion. Nonetheless, she was delighted. Being happy and empty has always felt the same to Tiên Huệ and she was peacefully quiet.
She met Preecha by accident. The Vietnamese walked around Thailand not knowing what to do but keeping her focus when there was an accident around her. She didn't know what happened, but she knew a car hit a motorcycle and the man riding it was on the floor bleeding. Tiên Huệ proclaimed herself as a doctor by running to the man and starting to apply what she learned in the victim. When it was over, the man bleeding under her hands introduced himself as only Preecha. He hated surnames. With a translator, he showed Edelweiss to her and she will always thank that man, even if he spoke through wires.
•
Vietnam
July 4th
1961
Aizhan was unhealthy steady. Taalay was unhealthy happy. It was like Tiên Huệ was watching her father's feelings and her own emotions engulfed in two girls who had no hope in life besides helping people; which was also the only element uniting her and Thái Bìhn. Aizhan was amazing at anything that the Vietnamese taught her. She was clever and learned things quickly. She learned the language after a year of study; writing in Vietnamese was out of context, however, she somehow understood and answered every word Tiên Huệ spilt out. Taalay was harder to teach anything, although she was astonishing in medicine in an emotional aspect the Vietnamese never knew how to accomplish. Nevertheless, it was obvious the Kyrgyz was unhappy about this. She wanted to go to Kyrgyzstan to be an artist, but instead of that, she was travelling through wars and destruction she saw her whole life. Only because her heart was extremely gentle and her mind was quite fearful of happiness.
Tiên Huệ led them to Bishkek in a dream and she wished to fulfil that dream. She wondered what she could perform for Aizhan, however, the girl appeared too constant to feel enjoyment. The Kazakh was obsidian who developed to a human being without establishing the soft interior. While Taalay came from Amber and lost all the steadiness of stones in the process. She couldn't read Aizhan and reading Taalay was rather wistful.
When they came back to Vietnam, they helped orphanages, improvised hospitals and small cities where they walked while the rumours of war were embalming their visions. Seeing the effects Americans were leaving on her country was painful. It damages her when she thought Agent Orange was like seeing a Freak Show at first and, after the first shock, seeing humans completely lost because of a war they never choose. The Americans were devastating her country merely because they were losing and the world was patronizing it. Destroying a country because of different ways to rule is like fighting over an object of glass until it breaks and someone rules over the pieces. It was pointless, painful and hazardous.
The chemicals in the middle of the country were dangerous and Taalay wasn't in amazing shape. She was dealing with pulmonary fibrosis since 1958 and the treatment with Oxygen Therapy she was withstanding daily wasn't effective against that. Aizhan was rough when she said they can't be there with Tiên Huệ if she wants to stay in her country.
"The only goal I have here is to protect Taalay. Your country is going to kill her faster if we stay here. I'm taking her to Kyrgyzstan, then we will go to Egypt. I promised something to Sadik and Gupta a long time ago when they presented Edelweiss to me. My parents have a house next to the Sea we can use and you can accompany us if you want to. We can help people elsewhere."
Tiên Huệ knew Aizhan's family was richer than most people in the world and this was the main reason she accomplished to have a job at the Gulag when she was very young. She knew the Kazakh was going to handle things amazingly as she was steadier than the ground of the Earth. She also knew the Kyrgyz was going to be happy no matter where because she was lighter than the air and kinder than most.
"When are you telling her the whole truth about herself and Mariam? Are you going to lie for her forever? Are you going to make everything to protect her just to keep her under your wing? I can't help but wonder why. Do you feel guilty because you are extremely rich? Do you believe you are guilty of the people dying in Gulags and the people starving to death in Goloshchekin? To keep a victim alive of this regime by lying to her is not going to clean your consciousness. It makes you worse, actually."
Tiên Huệ never heard another word from Aizhan's mouth after that. The girl trusted her with Taalay's story, Mariam's end and her own life. She destroyed things the same way she destroyed everything; with a sharp tongue. The Kazakh left with Taalay two days after this. The Kyrgyz hugged the Vietnamese and said goodbye with a smile behind her air mask. She couldn't say a thing in Russian and Taalay couldn't say a thing in Vietnamese, however, Tiên Huệ gave her a smile; an expression she didn't accomplish in years.
After that, things disordered around her.
One thing Tiên Huệ will never forgive herself for is to be born that way. If she had a masculine body, soldiers wouldn't question when she says she is a doctor when she offers her help. If she was born with something different between her legs, villagers wouldn't have searched for her past due to distrust and discover she was the woman who killed her husband twenty-four years ago. If she didn't have that sickness, people wouldn't have treated her the way they treated when she was in prison. Having a female body ruined things from her since the beginning, so she loathed her position.
She remembers being arrested on July 4th. She remembers being quietly steady whilst her interior was terrified. Her chest was screaming. She remembers the pain and blood on the first day. She remembered the only thing she whispered to the ground after everything.
"There is another thing that is free in life, father."
Still, it charged something from her.
She would spend her days in complete steadiness before the powerful people discover she is a doctor. Her trial was fastened and she heard sentences created in order to release her, but not entirely. In the edge of justice, she was condemned to treat soldiers in North Vietnam. Tiên Huệ wasn't delighted. She wanted to have the freedom to walk to wherever she wanted and cure whoever she sees in the way. Instead of it, she was attending soldiers and not civilians. The fighter, not the victim. She loathed that position. The Vietnamese wanted to save people who were affected by war in a different manner.
At first, the soldiers treated her like a woman. Some strived to protect her beyond requirement as if she was put together with glass and some tried to sleep with her. Nevertheless, after some time, they realized something. Tiên Huệ was harsher than the ground and more powerful than power itself. She learned more from life than life provides knowledge. They started to treat her like one of them, but she wasn't satisfied. Tiên Huệ was still a woman. She wanted them to treat her as a human because she is and not because she seems like an exception of strength among women. She had to become similar to them so they would respect her. She loathed that fact.
Nonetheless, things always get a string of her in the end. It doesn't matter if she is kilometres away from her destroyed country. It doesn't matter if Basch, or Aizhan, or Taalay is beside her. It doesn't matter if she killed the man who broke her and her children. Life around her always burst before her eyes.
Things were destroyed around her one more time. Perhaps the last time was when she got sick.
•
Bulgaria
August 1st
1962
Boris would kill for a cigarette. He would kill anything including his big and scary "roommate". Nonetheless, he would kill that guy for several reasons. He would also kill himself for several reasons. In the end, Boris was completely infuriated he ended up like that. Sitting on the ground made with stones of prison for something cheap as robbery.
I'm a murderer, peasants.
He was embracing the loneliness of his days and how he wished he could survive only with air so he never has to leave his bed. Boris was too stubborn to admit he was depressed and too proud to admit he was frightened of every tall man that reminded him of his father. The boredom made him want to commit a crime. But not with others. He should laugh at it, but it wasn't funny. No one was laughing. No one is winning. There is only the slightest chance people actually mean something on the universe and they destroy it every day. He was starting to reflect on life. Bad sign. He missed his mother. Her oriental face with blue hair and...
Boris realised he couldn't remember his mother's face. It's been a long time since he imagined different women to fill the gap of appearance in his mind. What does she look like? What was her appearance? He tried to picture her, but he only saw wires.
The Bulgarian closed his eyes. He stayed like that most days since he was sent to jail in January for stealing from an old gallery nobody even look - He wanted a few paintings in his office drowning in stuff from wall to wall. He loved Bulgarian art. Everything was a replay of his days in prison until a guard called his name with a dominant mouthpiece. He sauntered away from his cell suppressing every visual contact placed on him, although he was the only one avoiding. The other prisoners just watched him when he walked in front of their cells. He could feel a burn on his chest for knowing some of them from his failed business. Boris wasn't hated, but he also wasn't loved.
"Slut!"
He ignored his ex-partner from Romania.
The Bulgarian was taken to a small room which people used to visit and sat there.
He waited for someone he wasn't waiting in a grey room with only two chairs made of inox and a square table. He thought of several choices in his bored mind. Ivan. Kalin. His father saying that he should use stones instead of sticks. Perhaps, Ivan with a stone and guards watching the door so he can smash Boris safely. A Russian beating him mercilessly was something common in his life. There was no one else in the world that would come to see him in his next five years trapped in that cell.
He was surprised when an unknown woman entered. He thought there was a small chance she was his mother, but she was rather young for that position, even if she wasn't very young. He was paralyzed when Basch Zwingli entered after her.
Boris thought he would never see Sebastian Zwingli again until his last day on Earth. The Bulgarian believes he would encounter every person he caused suffering in his last minutes so he can laugh at their faces because he doesn't care about their agony. Somehow, he wouldn't laugh at Basch. Everything went wrong with that Swiss. Boris was supposed to steal his gold, frighten him portably and flee without any blood. But his partner's unpredictability was harsher than his plans and he killed Basch's sister. Eighteen years old's girl with short hair and green eyes who was supposed to be away when Boris planned everything. He still remembers Basch's face when the girl was shot as if he traded every single breath to give her, however, it wasn't working. Every crime Boris committed was calculated. The robberies, the frauds and the manipulation of any bargain. He wasn't planning to kill a child.
He tried to focus on the woman. He couldn't. He could only look at Basch.
"You must be Boris Kalinyev Bookamooka."
If Boris hasn't spent months of his time in that boring and hopeless place, he would say things like "Is this the time where you come to kill me?" or "Sebi, how are you? How is your father?" or "I didn't ask for a menace, but I can watch you". Something disgusting. However, he was tired. He was sweating over the heat of the prison without any air circulation and he was feeling his muscles complaining about the curled way he slept. Even his bones were aching since he is eating less than he should. Boris was a spectrum of who he was. Although he was too rebellious to act like he is feeling, he is not willing to act the way he used to feel.
"My name is Elizabeta. No need for a last name." The woman greeted without smiling. Her accent in Russian was heavier than her glare and it sounded like her mother tongue was from another planet. She looked at him as if she was holding herself to not kill him. "You are the Bulgarian who could find anything."
Boris scoffed.
"It's not like I could find a single grain of rice in Vietnam. I could find information on anyone."
The woman narrowed her glare. Boris wondered why she was wearing a suit in the summer. Boris felt uncomfortable about being oblivious of her identity. She could be his mother as far as he knows.
"Accept the compliment before I start to throw bullets."
Boris stared at Basch. He was glaring at him like someone dead.
"I thought you were the one who was going to pull the trigger."
The Swiss was extremely skinny compared to the boy who lost everything six years ago on a warm night. He was slightly burned around most of his skin and he seemed painfully aware of it.
"I don't need to seek revenge against someone like you." Basch answered coldly and he didn't look like the boy who was proudly throwing insults at him and his partner. It felt like he had aged more than only six years. "The person who ruins you the most is yourself."
Boris could feel his blood getting hotter.
"Look at you now. Dead mommy. Dead daddy. Dead Elise." He replied and he enjoyed the sensation of having the cards on his hand once again. How did he ever overlook how delicious it feels to be himself? "You lost a few kilograms on the road, haven't you? A few skins. What did you lose the most? Time? Perhaps, people?"
Everything happened in a glimpse of a second. Elizabeta punched him in the chin with enough strength to make Boris' throat get a knot and his eyes get wet. He was too familiar with that sensation and he tried to remember himself where he was.
He wasn't in front of Yuri. His father was dead. The pain hit him like needles and sticks.
"Liz..."
The Bulgarian spilt blood on the floor with a cough before laughing with the experiment. He didn't want to laugh, but he was too proud to avoid it. It sounded like a cacophony of hollow and depravity. He couldn't stop. He missed himself badly in his lowest.
She punched him again and stepped away.
"Liz!"
"He killed Elise, Basch. This is me being nice."
"It wasn't him."
As if a movie was playing along with the wire between their eyes, Boris watched the scene happening in slow motion. And Basch watched with him like he wasn't there. It felt like the Bulgarian and the Swiss had a secret buried in their voices they never spoke about. Nobody saw Boris' partner shooting Elise and Basch running to hold her before she hits the ground. Then another shot came. This came from Boris' gun. He shot his partner and watched him fall on the ground with his brain spilling from his skull. Basch stared at him completely shocked.
"I hate innocent people dying the same way than guilty ones." Boris said to him sincerely on that day. The Bulgarian has always been too reflective for his own good. He should blame his mother since she filled his head with poetry. "They should be stronger than that."
After that, Boris left without any gold he should rob. They never spoke about it with anyone and this seemed to be a mutual agreement between them.
"Well, he holds his share of guilty. He is not better than her murderer." The woman replied forcefully. She sat beside Basch and crossed her arms. "I hate that he is our last resource."
The Swiss sighed.
"Let's get to the point." He clarified with pressure on his limbs. "We are here because you can find someone I am searching as my mother's wish."
He grabbed something on his pocket, placed on the table and slid the picture until it was in front of Boris. The image was older than everyone in the room according to the Bulgarian's knowledge of pictures. He also noticed the edges completely scrambled. In the photograph, there was a woman on an ordinary field holding a baby with a smile. She had blonde hair and Boris approximated his eyes to the picture. He saw something on her eyes that he saw somewhere else. Was he reflecting?
"Isn't your mother dead?"
"Yes."
"Then how is this supposed to be for her?"
The Swiss didn't answer. Elizabeta narrowed her glare as if she was going to punch Boris again.
"The point we are trying to reach is can you or can you not find them?" She asked in an intimidating voice. "Her name is Anastasia."
The Bulgarian scoffed, but he studied the picture. He recognized something from behind them on the field in a yellowed appearance. Barley. He also noticed something about the woman. Under her coat - a heavy coat - there was a maxi skirt with red colouring and ornamental patterns. It was hard to tell if Boris was imagining the texture of the dress to find an answer or if he was right. He turned the picture around and read words in German, English and Russian.
May we meet again, speaking the same language.
Patterns. Barley. Winter coat. Anastasia. Russian.
"Ukraine."
"What?"
"They are in Ukraine here. I'm ninety per cent sure." Boris analysed with a steady look. He missed deciphering faces and pictures lost in time. He remembered finding the brother of a Jew who was sent to England to escape the holocaust before the war only with a picture and a possible fake last name. He missed that part of the job where he can decode faces and create traits. "It's pretty obvious actually. Look at her coat and the barley's field behind them. This isn't Russia because they don't have strong agriculture in winter and, even if she is on the southeast part of Russia, her dress is virtually from Ukraine, Belarus or Poland. What language did he speak?"
"My mother knew a little Polish. It wasn't Polish. She said it was definitely Russian."
"So this eliminates the Baltic region from possible regions. Their languages are completely different from every other in the world."
"How do you know it's winter?"
"Her coat."
"But it's not snowing."
Boris scoffed.
"Every foreigner swear every winter day in a Slavic country is surrounded by snow." He pointed out with an arrogant glare to them. "It's not abnormal to have an upper degree in winter in Ukraine. It's rare, surely. But it's not abnormal."
Basch grabbed the picture and analyzed.
"I knew my mother's friend was Slavic, but I didn't know where he was from. So he was from Ukraine?"
"What was his name?"
"Nebo."
This was more reasonable to the Bulgarian. He was always abnormally good in finding people only by their names and origins. He hated when the person he was supposed to find had a common name because it meant he has to filter his search until it's minimal. The day Ivan asked him to find Toris, he was delighted to learn the name was very uncommon. The right form of the name was Tolis. Raivis was rather difficult and Eduard was almost impossible, but he found Toris and it was simple to find them. A name such as Nebo was going to be plenty straightforward.
"It means 'sky' in Russian."
"I know what it means."
"Then you know it's one word who doesn't change around Ukraine and Russia, no matter the region? In Belarusian, I think it's неба. But it's basically the same pronunciation and неба sounds like a girl's name." The Bulgarian replied with a mocking voice and an ironic tone. "Thank me she was wearing a vyshyvanka. This basically reduced the possible countries to two."
Elizabeta glared at him and at the picture before grabbing a paper from her upper pocket.
"If you figure more about this woman and her child, we will pay you."
Boris chuckled for the first time in years without faking.
"I only accept gold as payment, love." He announced and spread his arms showing the room with mockery. "I can't receive a dime in here, can I?"
The woman smiled and Boris noticed himself shivering. Something about her said she was going to scratch his wounds with her long nails. He could only see how substantial she could be by just smiling at his direction.
"You will receive the same amount of gold you tried to steal from Basch last time."
The Bulgarian raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms in front of his chest. He scoffed with a playful smile.
"You aren't that rich. I only knew about your mediocre fortune because I did a research about your father. I usually rob people who are swimming in gold. And this job is bigger than any other because I'm trapped in this place. I will only have phone numbers and letters to communicate and gather information is going to be almost impossible. Your gold is not worth it."
"I have here something more precious to you than gold. I also did my research before coming here." She announced and crossed her arms. "Your descriptions are quite predictable, Boris. The people you meet are as low as you are, but every single one was honest about a single detail about you. You hate to live with curiosity. Either you kill your curiosity or you kill the source of it. My favourite one was from a British guy who came to me out of nowhere. He told me about your true identity, Yuri."
That name burned in his ears. He hated every semblance he had with his father and he hated how alike they were. The dark hair, the sea-green eyes and the stone-cold glare. Boris even had a name similar to him as if he was a clone instead of a son and he abominated that fact. He felt so low he had to clench his fists to avoid screaming.
Ivan must be this British.
"Here I have something you are probably going to crawl to know what it is." Liz continued with a superior smile whilst Boris was glaring at Basch. "I don't lie when I say it's something golden for you."
One more time Boris was entangled by a woman. First Kalin Mikhaileva Feofanova, then Emma Van Der Heide, now Elizabeta.
If she knew about his past, she knew about Kalin on an old house in the surroundings of Moscow; submissively cleaning an entrance that never would receive a single foot. That paper must be related to his mother. Even if it wasn't, Boris hated himself for wanting to know what it was. Something about that smashed paper was screaming he should read it. He should avoid the feeling and bury it deep in his emptiness, however, his brain screamed he missed his job. He missed having something to do and he hated the boredom he was undergoing every second. He was also extremely interested in that single piece of paper. What does he have to lose? He can only win. Finally something interesting in months. He felt like he was closer to be himself since he was trapped in this hellhole. And he would receive some gold and he can save the lost time.
"Fine. I'll do it for a piece of paper and some fools' gold. But I want another thing on return."
He thought about his mother. It's been months since he sent money for her for the last time.
"Send the gold for an address in Russia."
"For whom?"
"It doesn't matter."
"Tell me or we are not doing it."
Boris sighed and stared at Elizabeta. He could sense his blood getting accelerated with the eyes on him and the time passing as snakes around his veins. He hated being this vulnerable in front of another person. He remembered the dark wood below his head when he was protecting his face and neck against his father. The blue and black skin covering his bones as the grass on the floor. He remembers irritating Yuri after he was drunk on purpose so he wouldn't spend his anger on Kalin. One day, Yuri sent him to the hospital because he broke several of his bones using an iron. His mother said to the nurses he was fighting on school. At that moment, Boris decided he was going to actually fight on school. He didn't know why he did it. He just wanted to feel like his mother was telling the truth and she was by his side as he was by hers. Every day after fights on school, she would take him home by his hand. Then Kalin would discover all his bruises from the makeup and he would help hide hers afterwards so she can leave the house. They would laugh and cry together for hours. They would speak Bulgarian and talk without breaking the volumes. Not a single worry in the world around them when they were alone with themselves. But when his father comes home, Kalin would give him all her attention trying to avoid a breakdown and Boris would be tense every second until his father leaves. This would break his heart every time. He remembers going to work with his father and watch him fabricate documents for all over USSR and he learned how to make it real and copy the mechanisms that would make it real. His father would hazard him every time he was committing a mistake, but he wouldn't beat him in front of everyone. Boris learned how to fake everything with him.
When he was pretending everything, he wasn't vulnerable. Now he had to be vulnerable or his mother was going to starve.
"My mother. Kalin Mikhaileva Feofanova."
Elizabeta and Basch traded a glare between them as if they didn't need words to talk. An agreement was made between them and Boris could only watch. He wondered if he had a friendship that could surpass words or lives. He couldn't picture anything.
"Fine."
"I will need help from outside like phone numbers and addresses."
"We will come here every week and help with whatever is legal. Not a single address or phone from our lives will be shared with you."
"I accept." Boris replied with mockery about her accent. "Give me five years."
"You used to do these things in weeks."
"I'm not feeling like myself lately." He answered with a low voice. He raised from the chair knowing by the atmosphere the conversation was finished. He stopped on the door and grabbed the door's knob. "Sincerely, if I could change what happened to Elise I would without blinking. I'm sorry, Basch."
He waited, but there was no answer. He waited for them to leave without looking at them or hearing anything else before he forced himself to walk.
Boris was happy. He, as proletarian, had a job to do.
•
America
August 11th
1962
As time passed around him, his mouth was dormant when she moaned his name - Leon - one last time and slept in her pillow since she was very tired and drugged. Ivan cleaned his mouth with guilty and other liquids. He has always loathed that part of the duty, however, now he would have to come back home and face Alfred after making everything with that woman. She wasn't the only one since he came to America. At least, he is not killing anybody in those moments. He was feeling dirty and guilty the same way he used to feel when he was having classes about this subject. He wanted to have his scarf near him to hide when he started to cry. The feeling in his stomach was complete disgust for his skin and he wished for a shower. He didn't feel that with Alfred.
The Russian covered the naked body with the sheet and made sure every evidence he was in her house was removed. Her husband was a federal officer that Gilbert promised had important business with espionage. He was responsible for the resources American spies had every country they operated according to research. He walked around the stunning hallways of the house. Firstly he saw a few spare rooms and even a library he was enchanted. He lost himself in the books for a whole hour.
Ivan reached the office when the moon was encompassing the wall. He searched everything until he found the key to the archives next to the door. They were hidden inside a fake stapler and it was four in the morning when Ivan discovered that.
Next thing he knew he was gasping in psychotic smiles. The documents contained names and forged names of Americans around the world working as spies. Ivan literally encountered a gold mine. He noted every single name, fake name and location in his notepad and chuckled when he noticed most of them were in USSR. Their names weren't even smart and subtle, although Ivan couldn't judge them. He was in the last archives his eyes widened.
He let the archive fall on the ground.
He was infuriated. He was almost laughing at that. He saw Alfred's brother in those archives. There was a whole archive about Matthew and he assassinated more people than Ivan would consider. He was called "Canadian Eagle". He was invisible.
This was the job Matthew came to perform in the United States in the first place. He was a spy and he was a sharp sniper that learned Russian easily since he already knew French. He also went against the system a few times and they punished him. This explains the bruises he always has. This explains why he is always disappearing. Nevertheless, Matthew never messed with his duty before. Ivan can dismiss that information since the file said Matthew was busier eliminating people around America and he wasn't involved with the CIA on the subject that affected Ivan. He wouldn't kill anyone just because he knew they are a spy.
* •
Tolis is actually Lithuania's real name according to several types of research Hetalians did. As you may know it or not, Japan doesn't have a sound similar to the letter L so they use R instead. But when Himaruya translated from Katakana to Latin alphabet the romanization continued with the Japanese translation.
Tolis = Toris
Boris personality and history was halfway inspired by a song from Alec Benjamin: Boy in the bubble.
Thái Bình = it means "Peace" in Vietnamese. Yes, if you think about it there is a reason her father's name is "peace". Think about it.
Huyền Diệu = it means "Miracle" in Vietnamese. There is also a reason for that.
Halong Bay = as described by Vietnamese people: "Limestone pillars and tiny islets topped by forest rise from the emerald waters of the Gulf of Tonkin. Designated a World Heritage Site in 1994, Halong Bay's scatter of islands, dotted with wind- and wave-eroded grottoes is a vision of ethereal beauty and, unsurprisingly, northern Vietnam's number one tourism hub." My friend from Vietnam, Khang, said he felt like he was in another time when he travelled there. Truly a beautiful place.
Bắc Kạn is the capital of Bắc Kạn Province, Vietnam. The province's only city, it is bordered by Bạch Thông District to the north, north-east and west and Chợ Mới District to the south-east and south-west.
Seeing the effects of the Agent Orange was like seeing a Freak Show at first and, after the first shock, seeing humans completely lost because of a war they never choose. Destroying a country because of different ways to rule is like fighting over an object of glass until it breaks and someone rules over the pieces.
Well, in a small version: Cold War. But there were other things before.
In the latter half of the 19th century, Vietnam was gradually conquered by the French, who controlled it as a protectorate (1883-1939) and then as a possession (1939-45). Vietnamese rule did not return to the country until September 2nd, 1945, when the Nationalist leader Ho Chi Minh proclaimed its independence. From 1946 to 1954, the French opposed independence, and Ho Chi Minh led guerrilla warfare against them in the First Indochina War that ended in the Vietnamese victory at Dien Bien Phu on May 7th, 1954. An agreement was signed at Geneva on July 21th, 1954, providing for a temporary division of the country. After that, Vietnam was dealing with a division of ideas between 1954 to 1975. It was a protracted conflict that pitted the communist government of North Vietnam and its allies in South Vietnam, known as the Viet Cong, against the government of South Vietnam and its principal ally, the United States. Called the "American War" in Vietnam (or, in full, the "War Against the Americans to Save the Nation"). Although the Americans only entered the war in the 60s. They basically tried to kill the "communist invasion" killing millions of people. Sorry. The truth.
In this scenario in my story, Tiên Huệ speaks about the effects of a biological weapon the Americans used and it still contaminates Vietnam to contemporary days. Agent Orange was a powerful herbicide used by U.S. military forces during the Vietnam War to eliminate forest cover and crops for North Vietnamese and Viet Cong troops. The U.S. program, codenamed Operation Ranch Hand, sprayed more than 20 million gallons of various herbicides over Vietnam, Cambodia and Laos from 1961 to 1971. Agent Orange, which contained the deadly chemical dioxin, was the most commonly used herbicide. It was later proven to cause serious health issues including cancer, birth defects, rashes and severe psychological and neurological problems. In Vietnam, there are orphanages with millions of children called Agent Orange Victims. Most of them were abandoned by their parents due to the genetic problems they inherited from their parents who entered in contact with the herbicide. These places are called Peace Villages. I saw several documentaries about it; especially one from SBS Dateline from Australia. I'm in love with the guy who conducts the show. Judge me.
She was dealing with pulmonary fibrosis since 1958 and the treatment with Oxygen Therapy she was withstanding daily wasn't effective against that.
Pulmonary fibrosis is a disease where there is scarring of the lungs, which makes it difficult to breathe. Pulmonary fibrosis is one form of interstitial lung disease. There are several types but in Taalay's case, it's Pulmonary Fibrosis from Exposure to Asbestos. Asbestos is a chemical that can be found in buildings all over the world, but it's known as a dangerous chemical and it has been forbidden in several countries. In this story, Taalay had always lived in a badly designed building that keeps the prisoners in Karlag so she was exposed to Asbestos since she was a kid. She developed this disease for breathing this chemical. They are attempting to treat it with Oxygen Therapy in which she breathes medical air, but the disease is degenerative and very serious. Let's see how the story goes, alright? :) Perhaps, she will live. Yes, I'm the devil.