Chapter 5: Once Upon a December
Mona really wished she had been able to keep better track of the turns that paddy wagon truck had taken.
She had needed to ask for directions back to the theatre district. Now with a healthy fear of automobiles, she decided against hitchhiking in favor of walking the whole way back; by the time she returned home it was the middle of the next morning.
She spotted Chandler standing on the street in front of the Yusupov Palace gates, glancing up and down the boulevard anxiously. When he spotted her, he ran to her.
"There you are! Where have you been?! What happened?" Slowing up out of the jog, Chandler looked for a moment as though he wanted to take Mona in his arms and hug her; he refrained from this, with a tinge of pink to his cheeks. Ross now joined the reunion, his portly girth huffing and puffing.
Haltingly, Mona told the men what had happened after she'd left the palace last evening. She watched as Ross's face turned a putrid shade of beige. Even Chandler, usually so confident, looked afraid.
"I thought wops were supposed to be slow!" he bawled, dropping the slur in frustration that someone who was not even Russian born might be onto them.
"Not this one, apparently," Ross shook his head. "There can be no more doubt or delay: we have to get out of Russia - now!"
"HEY, BINGAYEV!"
The trio turned. A gang of about half a dozen men were crossing the cobblestoned street up to them. "Word is you're running a harem for pretty young girls."
Chandler frowned. The rumors about he and Ross holding Monica auditions appeared to be flying fast throughout the cities. It disconcerted him that the Italian general would have gotten the most accurate information, whereas his former con partners had fallen victim to a bad game of telephone. He decided to play nonchalant. "Really? Don't know where you would have heard that."
"Looks like you got a first lay right here!" one of the men sneered licentiously at Mona. "How much is she going for, huh?" He slipped his arms about Mona's waist and pulled her close. Instantly, Chandler felt red-hot heat burn behind his retinas, but before he could bark at his old buddies to leave her alone, the feisty street sweeper kneed his former associate right in the balls.
"I'll show you some respect, whore!" the groined man shrieked - an unserious proposition, with his vocal range having squeaked up a few decibels from where he was doubled over in the street.
Chandler and Ross glanced at each other, and with very little discussion or planning, they rushed their old comrades. 5 to 3 wasn't the fairest of fights, so Chandler was astounded to see how Mona was scrappily making up for the slight deficit, fighting worth two or more men. An abandoned broom found on the pavement, she wielded expertly, brushing aside one attacker with a sweep of the handle. Another assailant attempted to grab her from behind and she thrashed and kicked. Twisting out of his grap, Mona hefted the broom and beat her attacker over the head with it and into submission.
The odds evened now, Ross, Chandler and Mona each took on a thief, driving them back. The ferocity of their assault unnerved the con artists such that they could tell when they were beaten.
"Let's get out of here!" One of the men only barely stopped to help up their pal whose balls Mona had bruised.
Ross, Chandler and Mona were out of breath, but that didn't stop any of them from letting out a ragged cheer of victory. Hands on his knees and nearly doubled over, Chandler lifted his head to regard the beautiful street sweeper with newfound respect. "Where did you learn to fight like that? That was amazing!"
Mona hefted the broomstick over her shoulder, her posture cocksure. "They're not the first brutes who've tried to grab me. Even in the orphanage, I had to fight for every little scrap I could."
Chandler swallowed hard. He knew something about that. "At least you were fortunate enough to have a roof over your head, orphanage or not."
The admission was out before he could stop it, and Mona turned to him, sapphire eyes doefully blinking. "You... grew up on the streets, then?"
Chandler shrugged. "Since the time I was eight - no... nine years old?" He frowned hard, shaking his head. "Learned most everything I know right here on the streets of Petersburg." He watched as Mona's eyes expanded, impressed at his bravery to even call the city by its old name. Chandler didn't care what the Kremlin had to say about it: this place would always be Petersburg -hisPetersburg, to him. The pair began to move down the cobblestoned street, step for step; neither of them noticed Ross hurrying to keep up. "I grew up on the sly, here in the streets and the gutters, mostly. Just a kid for most of it."
Mona smiled sympathetically. "You've probably done a lot of things... to get by, huh?" She almost said, things you're not proud of, but she held back. She didn't want to seem as though she was holier than thou, and she dearly didn't want to offend Chandler. It hadn't been easy for her to first start begging for coins or bits of food, after she'd been turned out of the orphanage. Though she had to believe that whatever he'd had to do to survive, there were probably some actions Chandler had taken that he wouldn't be proud of, simply because, when she looked at him, she saw a good person, for all he may have done. Mona hoped she wasn't too trusting, or that her trust in him wasn't misplaced.
"Oh, sure. I've bartered for a blanket, stolen for my bread. It's all about using your brain," Chandler tapped at his temple. "A Russian rat has to be clever, if he doesn't want to end up dead." He nodded back to where they had driven off his old partners. "I grew up in some rough company. But I learned my stuff. I learned the whole map of the city - from the spires to the piers. My father taught me all he knew before he passed - he told me to always see what's ahead." He sighed wistfully. "It's funny, isn't it? When a city is all you know, and you love and hate it at the same time?..." He kicked at a pebble. "It just makes it all the harder when that same city tells you that it's time to go..." He glanced at Mona for a long moment, struck by how still and quiet she was. Like she was actually listening to him. Actively hearing him. Clearing his throat awkwardly, he drew out a small token from his satchel.
Mona's eyes expanded, not the least because that music box looked strangely... familiar. "Where did you get that?"
"In a street bazaar. Flea market. Actually, it was the day... the day we met." Chandler flushed adorably. He handed it to Mona in an almost stiff manner. "You can look, if you want. I haven't been able to open it, so I doubt it would be worth... anything..." His voice trailed off in amazement as he watched Mona effortlessly open the music box as if she had done so countless times before.
Mona glanced up at him, almost as startled as he was. Before he could ask her how she had done that, she answered:
"I don't know!" She stared at the little music box in her hands, brushing a finger along the ballerina that pirouetted around on a little dais while a haunting tune - almost a lullaby in nature - began to play. "I just..." She grew quiet, lost in the melody the box played. "I've heard this song... Where have I heard this song before...?"
"Maybe from when you were little?" Chandler guessed. He brightened, hopeful. "Maybe it'll jog some of your memories back!"
"Yes..." Mona stated softly, her gaze still transfixed on the little ballerina. "Dancing bears... painted wings... Things I almost remember..."
Chandler watched her, fascinated by her almost childlike innocence. Enthralled by her beauty. "What else do you remember?" he murmured, unusually tender.
"I don't know... Someone holding me, safe and warm... Horses prancing... through a snowstorm..." Mona finally shrugged helplessly. "I don't know what that tells me - it's snowy all the time here. But I know it was Christmastime! December... Once upon a..."
"Whatever you remember happened in December?"
"You made a rhyme. How wonderful." Ross's dry comment made Chandler and Mona both jump: they had almost completely forgotten the ex-nobleman was there. "If we might make haste to the train station so we can depart."
Chandler cleared his throat. "Of course!" The trio hastened their steps. "You have the necessary rubles, Ross, yes?"
Ross proudly held up a pouch and passed it to his partner. "This should cover the cost of three tickets!"
Chandler pawed through the jewels and groaned. "This will barely cover only one ticket, never mind three! Ross! The Bolsheviks have jacked up the prices at every exit point out of Russia! Were you not listening to me?!" Ross cringed, embarrassed.
Both of the men were lifted out of their argument by the sight of Mona pawing around in the folds of her ragged dress. Watching her as she hiked up her skirts nearly to her waist, Chandler turned bright rouge. "Um... Mona...? What are you...?"
He was cut off by her letting out a sharp cry of triumph, as she ripped along a sewn inseam in the hem. Something shiny fell out and into her palm, which she now passed to Chandler.
"Will this make up the difference?"
Chandler stared in wonder: it was a whole diamond, perfectly cut. It had to be... he wasn't even sure how many carats! He was still less sure about just where Mona would have gotten her hands on it, but at the moment, he was too elated to ask or care.
"Will it?!" He laughed and hugged her. "I could kiss you!"
The words tumbled far too easily from his lips and he drew back, red-faced. He was relieved at how Mona was smiling at him, bemused by his exuberance. Unseen between them as the couple gazed at each other warmly, Ross was knowingly smirking.
