The Black Devil's Cave, page 12
“What a fascinating story. Too bad, it’s been forgotten,” Sonia said. “Although I believe I’ve once heard a song about Rasputin.”
“Oh yes, it was written in the late 1970s by Boney M, a disco super-group that was immensely popular in Europe,” Jenny nodded. “My mom liked them. And there was another weird story attached to it, which took place much closer to our times. That song was hardly a tribute to Rasputin. In fact, it repeated a lot of the original rumors about the crazy monk. So, Rasputin reached out to the blasphemer from beyond the grave. In 2010, which is recent, the group visited Russia. And during that visit, Bobby Farrell, the only male member and the lead dancer of Boney M, suddenly died in a hotel room of a heart attack. It happened in St. Petersburg on December 30th. Rasputin was murdered in the same city and on the same day.”
“Spooky.” Sonia shrugged.
“Well, on January 2021, the song went viral on Tik-Tok. It looks like Rasputin won’t allow the world to forget his name,” Sergei smiled.
“Your great-grandfather had powers that came to him from my people, but he was his own man. My people wouldn’t do the things he did,” Naneyu said suddenly, looking intensely at Sergei.
“Whoever he was and whatever he did, I can assure you that I don’t have any of his powers,” Sergei returned the gaze.
“Maybe you don’t, or maybe you do.” Naneyu made a cryptic comment and returned to his dark corner, indicating that the conversation was over as far as he was concerned.
“All right, I’ll help you,” Sergei said after a while, turning to the women. “I guess it’s time to face the demons lurking in my family’s past. If my ancestors came from the same folk as the kid, we should start by visiting Pokrovskoye, Rasputin’s home village. There’re people over there who know about faith-healing. Maybe they’ll show us the way. We’ll leave tomorrow morning.”
“Are the roads safe? Should we rent a car?” Jenny asked.
“Lady, Siberia doesn’t have roads, only directions,” Sergei laughed. “And we need something that can handle her. It’s called GAZ69, but we call it a Gazik. And I suggest we take two. If one is stuck, we’ll use the other one to pull it out. I hope you know how to drive a Soviet-era military vehicle with a stick shift?”
Chapter 25
Sergei showed up in the hotel early the following morning.
“Our transportation is here,” he said to no one in particular.
The women followed him downstairs, where they saw two military-style vehicles and a man, approximately Sergei’s age, checking something underneath one hood. The vehicles looked like something resurrected from the golden age of the Cold War.
“Kolya helped me bring the other GAZ, but he doesn’t speak English.” Sergei pointed to the stranger, who nodded in their direction. “All right, you ladies practice driving your GAZ, and we’ll go get vodka.” Sergei handed one set of car keys to Jenny.
“Why, for crying out loud, do we need vodka?” Jenny protested.
“Because you’re in Russia, and most of the time, you need vodka to make friends or encourage people to talk. You can also use American currency, but vodka works better,” Sergei explained. “You’re in my country, and you have to trust me. See you!”
With that, Sergei took off, leaving Jenny and Sonia standing by a crudely-looking vehicle and unsure what to do next.
“Okay, you drive,” Sonia finally said. “You have the keys.”
“How generous of you! I guess we both have to figure out how to operate this… thing.” Jenny opened the driver’s side door and got inside. Sonia followed, taking the passenger seat.
“Oh, no! It has three pedals. Do you know how to drive a stick-shift?” Jenny frowned.
“No clue,” Sonia shook her head. “But I thought you might. Isn’t it what people drive in Wisconsin when you go to tend to your cows?”
“Very funny,” Jenny grimaced. “We better figure out how it works.”
“I know exactly what to do. We have Internet here. I’m sure I can find something. Give me a minute… Got it. How to Drive a Stick Shift for Dummies.”
“Hey, smartass, just no more irritating comments and keep the Wisconsin cows out of it. There’s already a growing antagonism between the Wisconsin cows and the California cows. Haven’t you seen the commercials?”
“Okay, I’ll be good, I promise. It says, press down on the clutch pedal until it reaches the floor.”
“Which one is the clutch pedal?”
“How am I supposed to know? Let me see… It says, the clutch pedal is located on the floor to the left of the brake pedal.”
“Lord, give me patience! Why do you assume that I know which one is the brake?”
“There is a picture here. The one to the right is the gas, the middle is the brake, and the clutch is to the left. I think we’re making progress! Now, with a clutch pedal pressed, you can start the car.”
Jenny tried to turn the key, but nothing happened. She tried again, with the same result.
“How do you start this freaking engine?” She turned to Sonia.
“Already on it. Give me a moment… Yes! There’s a video. You turn the key, and then you push this button.” Sonia pointed to something sticking out from the dashboard.
Jenny pushed it, and the vehicle started, although two seconds later, it died.
“Why did you release the clutch?” Sonia gave her friend a scornful look.
“Because you didn’t tell me not to! You know, I’m going to do something horrible to that arrogant Russian when he comes back. He did it to us on purpose.”
“Don’t give him the satisfaction. We can figure it out. You’re almost there. You just have to keep the clutch pedal pressed to the floor and move the shift lever from neutral to the first gear.”
“Which one is the first gear?”
“There is a drawing here, but it’s in Russian. Just try them all.”
Jenny kept trying different combinations for close to ten minutes, but the vehicle would jerk ahead and then stop. The engine didn’t sound happy.
“I have an idea,” she finally said and stormed out of the GAZ, leaving surprised Sonia behind.
Jenny went to the hotel lobby, quiet and deserted at this hour, and approached a young employee sitting by the front door. He looked bored.
“You speak English, right? How do you feel about making quick twenty dollars?” she asked the young man with a smile that was meant to be charming. “We need someone to show us how to drive a stick-shift.”
The young man was more than happy to help two good-looking American women. Twenty minutes later, both Jenny and Sonia could start the vehicle and switch its gears like pros. The young concierge was reluctant to accept the money, but Jenny put it inside his uniform’s pocket.
“You’ve earned it,” she said and gave him a quick peck on a cheek, making the young man blush. “You’ve just saved us from a major embarrassment.”
The second the concierge disappeared behind the hotel door, Sergei returned with a case of vodka. He was alone.
“Did you practice driving the GAZ? Any problems?” he asked, and Jenny would swear that there was something daunting in his eyes. He wanted them to fail.
“None whatsoever,” she responded. “Piece of cake! Why would you assume we’ve had problems?”
Sergei looked at her again, that time with respect. He couldn’t see Sonia rolling her eyes behind his back.
“Let’s go get the kid and bring your luggage.” Sergei was already walking toward the hotel.
“Piece of cake, yea?” Sonia whispered to Jenny’s ear.
“Well, I’m an American patriot in Russia, and I intend to defend the honor of the United States of America,” Jenny said with a wink.
“You want me to start singing the Star-Spangled Banner?” Sonia asked. “Or would saying the Pledge of Allegiance be enough?”
“Do you want him to think that the American women are stupid? Or, God forbids, weak?”
“Hmmm… You do have a point,” Sonia agreed.
Naneyu was already up and ready to leave.
“It’s about five, maybe six-hour drive. We’ll take E22, which is a good road. I don’t expect delays,” Sergei said. “Just follow me and stay close.”
“Aren’t you required to wear the seat belts in Russia?” Jenny asked when she got behind the wheel of her GAZ.
“Yes, we are,” Sergei said.
“So…, where are they?” Jenny looked puzzled.
“Lady, if you want a seatbelt, go get a belt, tie it around your seat, and you’ll have one. It’s also illegal to put children under the age of twelve on the front seat,” he explained and added, “but trust me, nobody gives a shit.”
Naneyu was already climbing to the passenger seat next to Jenny.
“These vehicles only have two seats! God, I’ll have to go with the arrogant Russian,” Sonia complained, although she didn’t look particularly disappointed.
Soon, they left Yekaterinburg behind. The drive was surprisingly smooth, and Jenny was not even bothered that the GAZ had no power steering. There was more room inside than in the American Jeep, and the vehicle looked tough and ready to take any obstacle. A Soviet Land Rover.
Jenny was glad that she could spend some time alone with the boy.
“Any of this look familiar?” she asked.
“No. But we’re getting closer. I can feel it,” Naneyu said.
“How, on Earth, can you feel that we’re getting closer? I usually have a GPS, a printout with MapQuest directions, additional info from people, and I get lost anyway.”
Naneyu just shrugged.
“The Russian, Sergei, is a good man,” he said after a while. “He’ll help.”
“Really? And how, dare I ask, did you reach that conclusion?” Jenny gave the boy a quick look.
“I don’t understand what you’ve just said.”
“Sorry. How do you know that he’s good? The same way you know that we’re getting closer?”
Silence.
“You are not much help, Naneyu,” Jenny shook her head to mock disapproval. “When you said, last night, that Rasputin had powers that came from your people, what exactly did you mean?”
Silence.
“Naneyu, you really have to start trusting me.” Jenny looked at the boy again. “I’m not trying to steal your secrets. I only want to understand who you are and where you’re from to safely take you home to your parents. Those jerks experimented on you because they realized you had some unusual talents. I saw you heal an injured animal. You were able to read from Voynich manuscript. And then, you said that Rasputin, the crazy Russian mystic, came from your people. I don’t know what all of this means.”
“A long time ago, a woman from that healer’s family mated with a man from my tribe,” Naneyu finally said. “That’s why he could heal.”
“Does it mean that this power is genetic and that people in your tribe are healers?”
“Most are; some better than others. Nature can destroy, but She can also heal. We are one with Nature. You used to be as well, but you took a different path a long time ago. You forgot your own roots.”
“I hear you. People are sometimes called species with amnesia. But why do you say you and us? Aren’t we all the same?”
“Your people are the same, but many of you pretend that you are not because some of you have brown skin, some have… beige, and some have skin that is between brown and beige. You all belong to the same tribe, and the color of your skin, or eyes, or hair, doesn’t matter.”
“And you come from a different tribe?”
The boy turned his head toward the window. The conversation was over, at least for now.
Jenny tried to make some sense of what the boy had said. She agreed that racial differences were superficial and only an invention of the Western culture. Science defines you by your DNA, while society defines you by your skin color.
Jenny thought about an article she’d read not long ago. It said that genetic differences between a human and a chimpanzee are only 2%. Genetic differences between two humans are much less than that—only about one-tenth of 1%. The article quoted a study showing that two black men from Africa were genetically more different than a white man from Europe and a black man from Africa.
But why would Naneyu set his own tribe apart? Maybe because all societies and cultures liked to think that they were special. Wasn’t that the reason behind most wars throughout human history? At the same time, that sense of being better than everyone else helped with nation-building. It was used to attack and enslave others but also to unite and defend your land when it was under attack. The good and the bad walked hand in hand. Maybe it was disappointing that this remarkable child promoted equality among all other people yet still believed that his own group was different and somehow better than the rest. Yes, disappointing, but not unique.
Chapter 26
With several stops made along the way, the drive to Pokrovskoye took longer than planned. The late afternoon sun already cast long shadows when they finally left the highway behind and followed a bumpy, unpaved track that led to the village. Several cows walked lazily in the middle of the road. A young girl, tending to the animals, stopped and gaped at the approaching vehicles.
At last, they pulled over by a house that looked old and neglected. It was surrounded by several small outbuildings, but Jenny couldn’t guess their purpose. Some were randomly attached to the main structure adding to the feeling of neglect. Next to the house, Jenny noticed a spacious vegetable garden.
The day was hot and humid, and the women were grateful that they could step out of the overheated trucks.
“God, haven’t you heard of the AC?” Jenny asked Sergei while stretching her back.
“Of course, we have. We have a two-eighty model,” he responded.
“What?”
“Two windows open and going eighty kilometers per hour,” Sergei laughed.
A stocky middle-aged man emerged from the building, followed by a short woman. Her black rubber boots created a sharp contrast with an old-fashioned skirt and a colorful buttoned-up shirt. The man hugged Sergei and kissed him on both cheeks, saying something in Russian.
“Meet my uncle Igor and auntie Natasha,” Sergei made introductions in English. “If anything happens in this part of Siberia, uncle Igor knows about it.”
Uncle Igor and his wife didn’t speak English. However, it didn’t stop them from hugging and kissing both American women and the boy.
“Local custom,” Sergei explained, seeing consternation on Jenny’s face. “I’ve told them that you’re my friends. But let’s go inside,” he added. “Dinner is waiting.”
They were served soup made mostly of sauerkraut but with large pieces of meat and a variety of other vegetables. Sergei explained that they called it shchi, and it was his aunt’s specialty. Although they were initially reluctant to eat soup made of pickled cabbage, Jenny and Sonia had to admit that it was delicious. However, the evening’s number one delicacy was fresh home-baked bread, served with homemade butter, churned only a few hours ago. The simple meal was something that neither Jenny nor Sonia had ever experienced before. It was one-hundred percent natural, with no preservatives. It was based on vegetables grown in the back yard, local meats, and milk provided in the morning by uncle Igor’s cow.
“I’m committing the sin of gluttony,” Jenny whispered to Sonia while reaching for the third generous slice of bread.
“I’m giving you absolution,” Sonia responded, with her mouth full. “This stuff is better than filet mignon with a lobster tail.”
Aunt Natasha watched the Americans with a big smile and a mixture of surprise and amusement. She made a comment in Russian.
“She says you two are too skinny. With no fat on your bones, you wouldn’t survive one Siberian winter,” Sergei interpreted. “And auntie Natasha is worried that nobody will want to marry you.”
“Are you sure she’s not friends with your mother,” Jenny glanced over to Sonia.
They were also served vodka. It was poured into large glasses, and their hosts, together with Sergei, kept drinking it straight and in single gulps. Uncle Igor pointed to Jenny’s glass and gestured that she and Sonia should do the same.
“Go ahead. You don’t want to offend my relatives,” Sergei said mockingly.
Jenny took a sip and shivered.
“C’mon! Bottoms up!” Sergei kept encouraging them, looking at Sonia. “You can’t handle one shot?”
It was more like five shots put together, but Sonia decided to give it a try and drank the entire glass at once. Her body protested by producing instant hiccups. The Russians reacted with a laud laughter.
“Don’t look at me—you did it to yourself,” Jenny said to Sonia while giving her a pickle, handed over by Sergei.
“I think I’m going to be sick,” Sonia said after she was finally able to breathe again. “What, on Earth, was it?”
“Samogon,” Sergei explained. “I believe you call it moonshine.”
Sonia shook her head. “I’ll never touch this stuff again, even if it means starting a war between our countries.”
Sergei repeated her comment in Russian, which brought another burst of laughter. Uncle Igor jumped from his seat and hugged surprised Sonia again. He then disappeared into the back of the house and returned a few seconds later, carrying what looked like an old accordion. He gave it to Sergei, who started playing a soulful Russian tune.
“Grandpa taught me,” Sergei explained. “This one is called Occhi Chorni.” He moved his chair closer to Sonia. “It’s about black eyes that are strange, and scary, and beautiful, and lovely….”
Sergei started singing with a deep, clear voice while Igor brought another bottle of samogon. Jenny shivered just from looking at it, but Igor filled her glass to the brim and made a gesture telling her to drink.
