I Know You Love Him
Chapter Five: Fall of a Sparrow
"Katya, I'm so sorry –"
I didn't let my husband finish. I punched him in the face, kicked him hard in the groin, and beat him mercilessly. I put him in a terrible state. Far worse than he had done to me. But I knew he deserved it, and I was enjoying every blow. I thought for a while about continuing, prolonging his suffering, but in memory of our "loving" marriage I decided to be kind. I picked up my gun and blew his brains out. Somehow, there was no blood, no brain matter splattering anywhere. I knew what it was. It was because I was a professional. My kills were always clean.
I had widowed myself. I was a professional widow.
"Katya, I'm so sorry."
I blinked the sleep out of my eyes and looked up from my makeshift bed on the couch into the face of my husband. His eyes were brimming with tears. He looked so very contrite. He reached for my hand. "Katya.... things ... got out of hand. You know I didn't mean to.... I would never hurt you, truly. I love you, Katya. You know that."
Bastard.
I looked up at this man that I had married, this man that I had lived with for years and never known at all. I bit my lip, furrowed my brow, and let the tears slide down my face. I knew what I had to do.
"I know. Oh Andrian, I know."
So he took me in his arms. How gently he kissed me, how tender he was. I let him make love to me, right there on the couch. Just an obedient wife should. If it had been you, Irina, you would have killed him instantly. But I have always been so much more patient than you, especially when it comes to matter of revenge. For the next few months, Andrian was especially attentive to our son. Our son. He knew everything. I put a lot of make-up on to cover up the bruises. But he still knew. It hurt me, to leave him there alone with his father. One day, I told Andrian I was going to Moscow. I told him I would ask Alexander to release me from field duties with the KGB. I told my husband, I would receive the assignments, translate the code; but he would carry them out. Andrian was delighted with this idea, as I knew he would be. Passionately, he kissed me goodbye, and bid me to come home quickly with good news. That was the last time I ever saw him. Alive. It was almost too easy. A week later, mother Russia had granted me a divorce because my husband was serving a life sentence in a Siberian prison camp. If not for the influence and power of his family, he surely would have been executed. I'm not sure what he did to get himself in such trouble. But I know it must have been something very, very bad. My dear friend Alexander Khashinau was extremely adept at helping me deal with my grief over the situation.
Afterwards, I wanted to go to London, to pick up my son. He was living with the Sark family, some British "friends" of ours. Actually, they were traitors to their country, and were very well paid to baby-sit the brilliant son of two Russian spies. It was Alexander who made me see sense, and warned me to stay away. Andrian's family didn't know where Julian was. If I reclaimed him, they would've found out, and they would have taken him from me. They had never really approved of the marriage in the first place. And he was not prepared to go up against the Lazareys just so I could keep my son. I was valuable to Alexander as an agent (and in other ways). But he had already helped me with Andrian; there were limits to his generosity, after all.
So I left my son there. I abandoned my claims to motherhood. What he is today, what he has become – I cannot judge, condemn or condone. I have no right even to call him "mine." Perhaps he hates me. That is his right. Irina, I do not think he believes what you told him about how much I loved him then, and how much I still do now. The one time I saw him, he said only this: that you have been a mother to him. Not me. It is you who have taken care of him, in your own twisted way. I suppose I should be grateful, but sometimes, I hate you for it. Tell me one thing. How did you lay claim on Sydney when you returned to her? How did you manage to elicit love in you daughter's heart? I myself would never dare to try. Still, I would like to know how you did it. I've always felt a mother that willingly abandons her child gives up the right to ask for that child's love. But I do thank you, my sister. I thank you for trying to make Julian understand that, though I may not have his love, he will always have mine.
Chapter Five: Fall of a Sparrow
"Katya, I'm so sorry –"
I didn't let my husband finish. I punched him in the face, kicked him hard in the groin, and beat him mercilessly. I put him in a terrible state. Far worse than he had done to me. But I knew he deserved it, and I was enjoying every blow. I thought for a while about continuing, prolonging his suffering, but in memory of our "loving" marriage I decided to be kind. I picked up my gun and blew his brains out. Somehow, there was no blood, no brain matter splattering anywhere. I knew what it was. It was because I was a professional. My kills were always clean.
I had widowed myself. I was a professional widow.
"Katya, I'm so sorry."
I blinked the sleep out of my eyes and looked up from my makeshift bed on the couch into the face of my husband. His eyes were brimming with tears. He looked so very contrite. He reached for my hand. "Katya.... things ... got out of hand. You know I didn't mean to.... I would never hurt you, truly. I love you, Katya. You know that."
Bastard.
I looked up at this man that I had married, this man that I had lived with for years and never known at all. I bit my lip, furrowed my brow, and let the tears slide down my face. I knew what I had to do.
"I know. Oh Andrian, I know."
So he took me in his arms. How gently he kissed me, how tender he was. I let him make love to me, right there on the couch. Just an obedient wife should. If it had been you, Irina, you would have killed him instantly. But I have always been so much more patient than you, especially when it comes to matter of revenge. For the next few months, Andrian was especially attentive to our son. Our son. He knew everything. I put a lot of make-up on to cover up the bruises. But he still knew. It hurt me, to leave him there alone with his father. One day, I told Andrian I was going to Moscow. I told him I would ask Alexander to release me from field duties with the KGB. I told my husband, I would receive the assignments, translate the code; but he would carry them out. Andrian was delighted with this idea, as I knew he would be. Passionately, he kissed me goodbye, and bid me to come home quickly with good news. That was the last time I ever saw him. Alive. It was almost too easy. A week later, mother Russia had granted me a divorce because my husband was serving a life sentence in a Siberian prison camp. If not for the influence and power of his family, he surely would have been executed. I'm not sure what he did to get himself in such trouble. But I know it must have been something very, very bad. My dear friend Alexander Khashinau was extremely adept at helping me deal with my grief over the situation.
Afterwards, I wanted to go to London, to pick up my son. He was living with the Sark family, some British "friends" of ours. Actually, they were traitors to their country, and were very well paid to baby-sit the brilliant son of two Russian spies. It was Alexander who made me see sense, and warned me to stay away. Andrian's family didn't know where Julian was. If I reclaimed him, they would've found out, and they would have taken him from me. They had never really approved of the marriage in the first place. And he was not prepared to go up against the Lazareys just so I could keep my son. I was valuable to Alexander as an agent (and in other ways). But he had already helped me with Andrian; there were limits to his generosity, after all.
So I left my son there. I abandoned my claims to motherhood. What he is today, what he has become – I cannot judge, condemn or condone. I have no right even to call him "mine." Perhaps he hates me. That is his right. Irina, I do not think he believes what you told him about how much I loved him then, and how much I still do now. The one time I saw him, he said only this: that you have been a mother to him. Not me. It is you who have taken care of him, in your own twisted way. I suppose I should be grateful, but sometimes, I hate you for it. Tell me one thing. How did you lay claim on Sydney when you returned to her? How did you manage to elicit love in you daughter's heart? I myself would never dare to try. Still, I would like to know how you did it. I've always felt a mother that willingly abandons her child gives up the right to ask for that child's love. But I do thank you, my sister. I thank you for trying to make Julian understand that, though I may not have his love, he will always have mine.