A POKER GAME

A POKER GAME
Ksenia Kisselincheva

She was rushing down the dark street but the sight of her crying children at the window was constantly on her mind. Who will cuddle them and who will put them to bed? She doubted that her husband would bother to act as a surrogate mother to them. He would be hard on them and order them to bed like an army officer at the barracks. Actually, he was a professional soldier, so this attitude had become second nature to him. She could not realize how it had all come to that family turmoil. It started with a telephone call while she was serving them dinner. She rushed to answer the landline as usual, but it was a bad line, the call was cut off. When she got back into the kitchen, her husband was seized by a sudden fit of jealousy.

'It must be your lover who entertained you while I was sweating hard in Iraq. It is very arrogant of you to continue this relationship now that I am back.'

 'It's all malicious gossip, I swear upon the lives of my children that I didn't have an affair with Frank. He just helped me to move in the new fridge.'

'I don’t trust you at all,  you turned out to be a slut by nature.'

'Please, don’t speak in that way in front of the children!'

'They must know that their mother is a slut, not worthy of being their mother.'

'What about your numerous love affairs during all these years?'

'This is quite a different matter. Just shut up your gob or you will be in trouble!'

'I don't think this is a fundamentalist Moslem country! So, whether you like it or not, we are supposed to treat each other as equal partners!'

'Stop brandishing this feminist crap in my presence. I am the boss here and there is no room for a “know-it-all” miss. If you don’t want me to get really furious, you'd better collect a few rags and leave my house!' Anyway, the right place of a slut is nowhere else but in the street!'

As Nikola, her husband, hissed angrily, he rose from his seat and was about to sweep away the table-cloth with everything on it.

Zina glanced at her stupefied children and hesitated a bit. However, she knew quite well her husband's violent temper, so she was quick to act. In a hectic blur, she chucked in a few things into her sports bag, then she grabbed her cape and her scarf, leaving in the rush her gloves behind. He caught up with her at the front door and gave her a real hard kick with his heavy military boots. She staggered and moaned with pain. Walking down the street unsteadily, she was oblivious of her pain. She felt quite guilty for leaving her children upset, deprived of her motherly care. It was well past ten o’clock p.m. and the streets looked spooky and deserted. How could she disturb any friends or relatives at this late hour? She could only go to her parents who lived at the other end of the city. How could she turn up before them in this state of distress, without upsetting them strongly? Her father had a serious heart illness and her mother was a diabetic. Zina has tried hard so far to keep her serious family problems secret from them. Yet, if she decided to go there, but she had to hurry and get on the last tram! However, she missed the last tram in the nick of time! Perhaps, this was a blessing in disguise not to put her parents' lives in danger.

'By Jove, where are you going at this late hour?'

She startled and briskly turned around. She recognized Stefan, a young man, who lived in their street, a few blocks away. She did not know much about him, except a few superficial details: he was still at university, having a jolly good time as a bachelor. According to the rapidly-spreading gossip in the neighborhood, he had been going out with a steady girlfriend for the last year. Zina quickly regained her self-composure and said in a casual manner:

'Oh, my God, I had to urgently take some medicines to my parents. Alas, I missed the last tram! There is no bus going close to where they live. On top of everything, I just found out that I had lost the key to my house. I would not like to wake my whole family up.'

. Stefan instantly smelled a rat... Moreover, he knew from his brother that her husband had a violent temper. For a second, he felt sorry for her and came up with a suggestion:

'Zina, why don’t you come along with me? I'm going to a friend's place. We are going to have a game of poker. We usually stay up all night and go home in a cab in the small hours.'

'I don’t feel comfortable to spend the night in the company of strange men.'

'Come on, Zina, I am no stranger to you. My elder brother is a friend of your husband’s. They have been doing together export business for years.'

At the mention of her husband, she shuddered and felt sick. She could not face her parents in this state of mind. They would ask numerous questions and she would not be able to lie to them. They would immediately know with their gut feeling what the truth was. So, she stammered:

'All-right, I-will-come-along. Let’s get some peanuts and crackers from the non-stop shop. I wouldn't like to come to the poker party with empty hands.'

'Fine, that’s a good idea.' Stefan took her heavy bag from her and the two of them headed to the shop. She went inside alone, while he acted like her "private guard", waiting for her outside the shop, taking care of her heavy bag.

She hoped strongly that she would not meet inside the shop anybody from the neighborhood at this late hour.  She pulled the hood of her cape up and covered half of her face with her scarf. The cashier gazed at her with curiosity and thought that she must be ill. That's why she was quick to serve Zina. On leaving the shop, she looked at Stefan intently...'He seems like a decent young chap! Now I am scared and am a bit paranoid because of my terrible row with my husband.' she   thought.

They entered a dilapidated two-storey house a few blocks away. She was in a hurry to rush to the bathroom and take care of her appearance. Her hair was disheveled, her lipstick was smeared and her face was the color of earth. Before she left the bathroom, she was shocked with her reflection in the mirror! It was a bit like a death mask. When she left the bathroom, she saw that another man of the poker four had just arrived. He was a burly guy who had the plump cheeks of a boy. His nickname was Becho and he had a funny nervous tic of winking his eyes whenever he tried to outwit his pals and was found out cheating during the game.

 The game was just taking off. The atmosphere was getting tenser and tenser while the cards were expertly dealt around by Peter, who was the host. Each one of the players was watching closely the other partners, oblivious of the woman's presence. Stefan had already had Zina seated in an armchair and he had turned on the TV. It was placed in a corner, away from the dining table, where the poker game spirit was gathering speed.

 A crime thriller was shown on the crime and investigation channel. Though she favored this kind of movie quite a lot, she could hardly concentrate on what was going on the screen. She was worrying about her children all the time! She wondered - had they been able to go to sleep, after witnessing the ugly scene in the kitchen?

She realized that in the first place she had made a fatal mistake by telling her husband about Frank's insistent courting, watched closely by her nosy next-door neighbors.

Before her husband left on a mission to Iraq, he had been coming home very late and very drunk. She did not say a word, she just moved to the couch in the living room. She had been greatly hurt by his macho arrogance! Very often she cried quietly in desperation, while tossing around because she was unable to fall asleep until dawn.

When he came back from Iraq, he looked emaciated and wrecked. He looked like someone who had gone through the purgatory of hell. And she hoped strongly they could get rid of the mutual suspicion and have a restart of their relationship.

She admitted to him about her short-lived infatuation with Frank. She did not want him to learn about it from the busy bodies next-door. Or, probably, she was old-fashioned enough to believe naively that there should be no lies between a husband and a wife.

How stupid she had been! Most of the families she had known at close hand had been living together, bound in a welter of lies and mutual blackmail! What she had done, could not be undone! Now she had to pay a heart-rending price for it.

 She almost dozed off by the end of the movie. However, she was awoken by the heated argument among the players. Stefan was vehemently accusing Becho of cheating on him and insisted on having his money back. He made a menacing gesture of hitting him and while doing that, almost overturned Becho's glass of whisky. Stefan shouted furiously:

'I cannot stand anyone insulting my intelligence!'

Peter resolved their argument by giving the heap of money back to Stefan. He seemed as the one who was in charge of the game. So, to calm their spirits a bit, he produced a bottle of whisky from a cupboard and gave them all another helping of about 50 grams. The bottle was half way full.

The fourth guy had an inscrutable face like a mask but his eyes darted incessantly all over the place. Zina heard them call him Gogo. She was tired and tried to focus her attention on the screen, so she did not notice that time and again, he furtively looked in her direction.

The movie was over. Therefore, she switched to another channel fast. It was a Fashion Channel- a high fashion or haute couture show was running from the catwalk in Milano. She got absolutely fascinated with the beauty of the models, gracefully putting forward the extravagant imagination of the designers. 'But - she thought - this was all done in order to please and excite men. These women walked like robots, exuding lust and allure to attract the male animal!'

It struck three o’clock in the morning.  On that day, she had been working hard at the office until six. Then she had to cook and serve dinner to her family. She planned to iron the laundry after dinner.

However, the unexpected kitchen row overturned all her plans. At that instant, she was all night in a room with four strangers, away from home! But, she knew Stefan, he was her next-door neighbor and he had been kind to her so far. As she was watching a rock musical, she could not resist falling asleep.

She was startled by a jolt on the shoulder. She opened her eyes and looked around. She was petrified when she saw that Stefan had left. She was alone with Peter, Gogo and Becho. She panicked and mumbled:

 'Where has Stefan gone?'

Peter laughed sardonically and said:

'You did not mean to screw him, did you? His wife called him and he rushed out like an ambulance on an emergency call.'

She looked around, trying to find her bag, her cape and her scarf. To her horror, she could see them nowhere around!

'Where are my things? I want to leave!'

Gogo, who looked like a furtive guy, hissed through his teeth:

 'You-do-not-set-the rules-here. You will do, as you are told.'

 Peter added in a mocking manner:

'You have to reward us for the free accommodation we offered you.'

 'What do you mean?' she asked, stammering with horror.

 Peter asked in a mocking tone:

'Don’t you do it with your husband? Well, long married couples are usually as dead as dodos in bed. But we will help you use your womanly charm again.'

 Gogo chuckled, while Peter was moving the table to a corner, turning up the music full blast. Of course, that was low-grade “chalga”, a disgusting pseudo-oriental stuff which had been super hot since the start of the so called transition period.  They played it everywhere: on buses, in restaurants and taverns, on many private TV channels. The women were supposed to do belly-dancing on table tops, while the men stuffed money into their bras and panties.

Becho got a call on his mobile and he vanished, without saying goodbye. 

Gogo and Peter started dancing in a mock Greek sirtaki like style, taking in between big gulps of whisky. She rushed to the door. But to her horror, she found that it was locked. Both of them laughed heartily, being greatly amused. They pushed her back rudely into her armchair.

Peter shouted at her:

'Now it is your turn, baby!'

'Hold on a minute. I am not in the mood yet.' She scurried to the table, grabbed the empty bottle and brandished it menacingly:

'Don’t you get near me, or I’ll kill you!'

Both men got behind her instantaneously. They struggled and snatched the bottle from her hand and painfully twisted her arms behind her back. They acted with the spontaneous fun of a children’s game and they seemed to enjoy tremendously her desperate attempts to resist them.

 'Come on, you are a wild mare who needs taming. There are two jockeys to do the job here.'

They both grabbed her and banged her head against the cupboard. She slipped down on the floor and lost consciousness. When she came to, they were slapping her on the face.

By that time, her boots were off and her blouse was unbuttoned halfway. She started punching them in the face but it only got them more furious and more determined to get on with it. One of them held her arms behind, while the other one ripped her blouse open and started taking off her corduroy pants. As soon as she started shouting vehemently, Gogo gagged her mouth with his dirty handkerchief, while Peter was wildly twisting her arms above her head. He hissed at her:

 'Don’t tell me, silly cow that your husband is a prosecutor and you will get us into prison. Your husband does not give a damn about you and now he is having a good time in bed with a pretty younger chick.'

She tried to speak. Nothing but a mooing sound was

heard. Her mouth had been tightly gagged. Stark

naked, she crawled across the floor on all fours,

trying to cover her naked body with her long woolen

jumper. While she was doing that, Gogo stuck the

empty whisky bottle up her fanny. Both men laughed

their heads off, they were greatly amused by their

dirty sex game.

'Now you will do a bit of a show!' Peter shouted,

getting her boots out of the cupboard. While Gogo

was pouring whisky over her the nipples of her

breasts, Peter was pulling her boots onto her naked feet.

They played a CD with a Moulin Rouge can-can, which was performed in some elite night clubs. Both pushed her and forced her to raise her legs higher in tune with the music. They clapped their hands and shouted:

'Come on! Raise your legs higher, put some beef into it, you do it like an old mare!'

When she did it quite reluctantly, they gave her a kick on the naked bottom with their heavy hobnailed boots. Little by little, they started taking their clothes off and made her crawl naked on all fours. She grabbed one of her own boots and hurled it, missing Peter's head. Gogo grabbed her by her hair and banged her head against the cupboard. She passed out.

 'It is good practice for her if she wants to please her husband tomorrow night.'

When she came to, she shouted:

'I’ll send the police after you. I have enough evidence on my body!'

'Don’t you dare to threaten us, you bitch! You cannot count on Stefan as a witness, he is gone! And this is not my place at all. I borrowed the key from the last tenant. The owner lives and works abroad.'

They gagged her mouth again. She felt an excruciating pain from their hard kicks, on top of an unbearable sense of humiliation. All she could do was to keep mooing like an angry cow. They banged her around and beat her up with a golf stick, so she was all blood, sweat and bruises. She thought to herself: I must make those two quarrel! While she was thinking of how she could unclog her mouth, she was punched by them in the jaw and almost fainted with pain.

 She made a sign that she wanted to speak. They unclogged her mouth for a while. She asked temptingly:

'Is there a bathroom with a bathtub here? I know some special tricks that could be done in the water.' Peter opened a door and let the water flow into the bathtub.

 Then she said:

 'I want to be there with you first!' She coquettishly wriggled her body like a Playboy bunny and pointed artistically her index finger at Peter.

 Gogo was definitely insulted and annoyed:

'You have no say here. Mind you, I go first, before the mare is too tired.'

Peter exclaimed: 

'Gogo, I'm the boss here. Don't keep getting on my nerves, or I will kick you out of the door!'

'You cannot kick me out of the door so easily!'

 Gogo snarled:

'Don’t forget that I have a black belt in karate.'

Peter got even more furious and they caught at each other’s throats. While they were locked in a wrestling knot, the water in the bathroom was overflowing. Zina rushed to turn the tap off. In the meantime, Peter had knocked Gogo down. While still keeping him flat on his back, he told him to get up and immediately leave. Gogo cursed him continuously and growled:

'She is a rag by now. She is not even worth spitting on.

He picked up his jacket, got the key out of the hideout and angrily hurled it at Peter's feet. Zina tried to grab it, but Peter bashed her on the head and picked it from the floor. Then he blindfolded her and put it back into its hideout. She was mad at her torturer but she pretended she had a crush on him. There was only one male beast left to deal with! '

She simulated that she was happy to play as many sex games with Peter as he could take. She suggested sharing a glass of whisky with him in order to get both properly "tuned" for the bathroom séance. He realized he was the winner of "the stag contest" and he was truly flattered. She let him lick some whisky off her nipples and her navel and she whispered in his ear in a seductive tone:

'I know some tricks like those fabulous playmates in Thailand. You have heard of the massage parlors in Bangkok, haven’t you?'

 Peter nodded and gulped down more whisky in anticipation of his sexual bliss. When he turned with his back to her to check up for more booze in the cupboard, she sneaked into the bathroom and stuffed his leather belt into the pocket of a dirty bathrobe. Then she carefully stepped into the foamy bathtub and cried out in a most seductive manner:

' Come on, honey. The water is getting cold.'

Peter was getting less wary because by that time he was as drunk as a skunk. Moreover, his male ego had been polished by her fake display of an unquenchable desire to fulfill his sex fantasies.

'Lie down in the tub like a Roman patrician and I will get on top of you.' she whispered tantalizingly.

 He hesitated for a while but then he saw no risk in letting her get on top of him. She started slowly by massaging his back and neck and all his sensitive points with shampoo foam. When he turned hard and horny, she rode on him in the water like a bitch in its mating season. Though she hurt badly inside her vagina, though she hurt all over her body, she acted as if she howled and screamed with the ultimate sensual pleasure. He was getting more relaxed, keeping half an eye open on her.

 'Fuck me hard, baby! Ride on little Peter like a lioness in her mating season, ride on him like Red Riding Hood till the end of the world.'

He had closed his eyes and he started howling with sensual ecstasy. He howled in a crescendo steep curve to the peak of his huge orgasm.

The next thirty seconds she was as fast as lightning. For her, it was a matter of life and death! She turned the light off and grabbed the leather belt out of the bathrobe pocket.

'Stop playing these silly games with me, you slut. Turn on the light! Now I would like to suck your throbbing fanny for a while.'

He was unable to continue further. She had already tightened the belt round his throat and had pushed his head down into the water. With all her strength, though she was at the end of her tether. Suddenly, he stopped lashing around, trying to pull himself out of the water. Zina kept tightening the belt until his face turned blue. At last, he sank like a blown up float on the bottom of the bathtub, while the water was gently overflowing.

Now she had all the time in the world and she sighed with relief after this agony, going on for hours on end. Outside, it was already dawning. She staggered out of the bathtub and pulled all the curtains up very tightly. She turned the light on and struggled to wipe off her fingerprints. Oh, my God! These fucking fingerprints were everywhere: on the belt, on his body, on the glass, on everything she had been touching during this chalga-like orgy.

She did the cleaning with pedantic absorption like a surgeon, operating on a patient's body. But, unlike the surgeon, there was a weird streak of sadistic delight in her actions. She did not care, if she would be caught or not. Thank God, the black farce was all over. She meticulously put some make up on her face and she polished her boots with a rag. She put Peter's gloves on, before touching the key, which he had moved to another hideout. Once she was out of the house, she dumped both key and gloves into a dustbin.

Strangely, she had taken her own revenge for having been abused and humiliated. In a man-made world, you could hardly hope to have justice for a woman, secretly abused by men.

 She looked anxiously at her watch. It was five minutes past ten. Hopefully, at this hour, her children must be at school. She had to call their father to find out." He did not answer her call. He does it on purpose. To hell with the bastard! A wave of hatred surged in her tortured soul. She needed badly to see her friend Dora,  for she was a born psychotherapist. How could she face Dora after all that? She would instantly smell a rat.

Zina felt there was an insurmountable barrier between herself and the so-called normal people. She will share her dark secret with God alone. Only Jesus could judge her and hopefully give her forgiveness. Then she will go under cover and seek oblivion in her daily routine. The policemen will turn up at the front door sooner or later. And then her life will never be the same. She wondered how many normal people she met on the street had masks, concealing dark secrets like hers. She probed into their eyes, searching for the telling clue, for that twinkle of guilt which might bond her with them, even for a second or two. Her soul had been scarred for good.

In her troubled dreams, she often saw Peter, rising out of the water and lashing her with the belt across the face. Then she screamed and woke up all in sweat. This occurred time and time again.

The alarm on her mobile went on in the darkness. It was six thirty, time to wake up the children. Then there was another ring. She shivered with horror. It was the doorbell. This must be the policemen.

She wrapped her dressing gown around her shivering body and rushed to the front door. I will be a brave girl and will make no scenes., she promised herself. She flung the door open. There was nobody, it was a complete sound hallucination She splashed water on her face to get over her fit of paranoia. How long will she have to wait for them? Why are they torturing her for ages?

 Later when she had to help her children get dressed, she saw things in a different light. The children were very young and helpless. Did she have a chance to get away with her crime?

Still later, when her husband and the children were out, she loved to take care of the flowers, overhanging the balcony rails. Suddenly, she shuddered with horror. It seemed to her that a pink liquid was pouring out of the watering can. She hurried to the sink and changed the water. Pull yourself up and think only of your duties to the children. She instinctively splashed her face to get over her anxiety.

For a second or two, she saw pink liquid, coming out of the tap.  She withdrew her hands from the tap as if she had touched fire.

 

A Wind of Change

A Wind of Change

 
By Ksenia Kisselincheva

Just a few minutes before landing at Sofia Airport, Kamen could catch glimpse of his hometown from a bird's eye view. He could hardly fight back the tears in his eyes for he was flooded with memories, suppressed deeply in his subconscious mind. Nobody knew about his coming to Bulgaria, except the current correspondent of Reuters who had been instructed to keep quiet. As soon as Kamen boarded the taxi heading to the Kempinski Hotel, he phoned his wife Melinda in Toronto. She was   waiting for his call though it was 5:00 a.m. back in Toronto and the children were still sleeping. She said

'Boobear, is everything O.K.?'

'Yes. I'm heading to the hotel. I'm lucky to get ahead of the morning traffic jam. How are things out there? How is Rita's cough?'  

 Melinda was really delighted to hear him safely back to the old continent, but in the occasional tremor of her voice Kamen could detect some signs of subdued fears. Melinda knew he was embarking on a very dangerous mission and she couldn't help worrying ... And yet, she did her best not to make him feel strained and divided, or even worse, not to instill a sense of guilt into him for putting her and their children's lives on the line.  

'Speak to you later. I'm going to call you in your office', he reassured her.

'Fine, Boobear, I'll be expecting some fresh impressions from you in a few hours.'

 Kamen switched off the smart phone and started giving directions to the cab driver:

'Please, go to the Seminary school and then turn left along James Bourchier Boulevard. We'll stop for a minute at number 12. I've got to pick up something from there.'

The taxi was like a moving disco, as the driver was playing some chalga at full blast and he seemed to be annoyed with all these huge luxury cars, littering the road. He tried racing with them, occasionally being on the verge of crashing into them.  Kamen was really amazed to see so many of these four wheel vehicles on the road, as if he was in an off-shore haven like the Seychelles or the Maldives.

The small packet he picked up was a bugged tape of a conversation between the Prime Minister and the Director of the Central Custom's, revealing discrediting details of their backstage dealings. Kamen was eager to get to the Japanese Garden of the Kempinski Hotel and listen to the tape intently, without fearing being videotaped or bugged in the room.

 Finally, he landed with his small trolley suitcase at the reception desk. The receptionist, who was a young woman, had heavy makeup as if she was onstage. She was blabbering nonstop into her mobile phone, but from what he could gather her conversation was not about business, she was probably talking to her mother. She pretended not to notice Kamen, who waiting patiently at the desk, and continued blabbering about everyday trivia. At some point, she got very annoyed with the person at the other end and she switched off.  At last, she condescended "to serve her customer."

'May I help you?'

She forced a smile on her mask-like face and was taken by surprise when she heard him speak in perfect Bulgarian. He chose a double room on the 10^th floor, overlooking the South Park, in the hope of getting a chance to enjoy the fabulous view. As soon as he entered the room, his mobile started ringing. 'Who is it? Ah, it must be Peter from Zagreb who is checking up on him.' He pressed the button, while trundling his luggage into a corner.

'Hi, Pete. Thanks, I've arrived safely. I've got to see some "relatives and friends" within the next few days, so I'm going to be quite busy. Anyway, we'll keep in touch. I'll get back to you later in the evening.'

'Fine. If I get any further instructions from Toronto, I'll let you know about them immediately. Bye, take care!'

Kamen was always happy to speak to Peter Baker who was so helpful back in 2008, when Kamen was doing an investigation into the Bulgarian energy minister on suspicions of corruption and money laundering. Also, on the way back, he took him around Zagreb, a European city which is a charming mixture of various styles, blending the influence of Italy and Austria with a few touches of remains from the Ottoman occupation.

Kamen took a shower and tuned in to the local TV Channel One. They showed something, connected with migrants, illegally crossing Bulgaria's border with Turkey and their abuse by local youngsters, driving ATVs in the mountain area, who claimed they guarded the border. They had uploaded their video clips of migrant torture on Facebook and they vehemently stated they were genuine "patriots". Kamen had up-to-date info from secret sources that so far the Bulgarian border control was not good enough and hundreds of illegal migrants infiltrated at the borders both with Turkey and Macedonia. These self-proclaimed patriots were obviously filling in a vacuum of state control, usurping the prerogatives of the disintegrating state.

 'Certainly, this was not the right solution,' thought Kamen 'but where were the volunteer citizens' groups, constituted by the local government  whose task was truly patriotic in helping the border control under these extreme circumstances of an undeclared war on the EU border since the war in Syria started?' Kamen lay down on the bed by the window, closed his eyes and the tide of his thoughts took him back to 2007 when Bulgaria joined the EU.

At that time the EU project was in its prime...he remembered fervently reading Jeremy Rifkin's "The European Dream" and getting excited about the grand historical project of the 21st century. The expectations were for a war-free European continent, without borders for people, goods and capital. Bulgaria, his beloved native country was to be part of this unprecedented civilizing process.

He imagined himself as a Reuters correspondent in Sofia in a few years, working in cooperation with Bivol, the local WikiLeaks site, exposing the corruption of the mafia-state and the oligarchs... revealing the underground world of drug smuggling and human trafficking, the massive money laundering in off-shore havens of those in power and their associates etc.

He will be extremely happy to take Melinda and the kids around the country. One of the first places, he wanted to take them to, was the town of Balchik on the Black sea coast. He had  some of the most ecstatic moments of his childhood there! "Dvoretza" was an area which made part of the Botanical Gardens, so there were flowers and trees everywhere, some of them rare and exotic species. He loved to sit in the shade of the purple magnolia and watch how in the distance the hydrofoil was shooting like an arrow through the expanses of the sea, leaving a trail of white-crested waves. The hydrofoil, in his boy's imagination, looked like a sea monster! And he was content it was far away from the coast, it was like a frightening apparition which glided speedily along the shimmering line where the sea merged with the horizon.

He was startled and looked at his watch. It was high time to go to the Japanese Garden and listen to the secret tape.

It was a cool windy day in April and luckily there were only two tables, taken by a couple of young men and women. They seemed to have forgotten about their daily worries and were swimming in a bubble of timelessness. Kamen contemplated the ducks and swans in the pond and the white peacocks in the green grass. And the splendid view made him feel calm for a short while.

Looking at the contrived serenity which the view exuded, his mind went back in time briefly. He remembered about the farewell dinner at the Japanese Restaurant in 1990, before he flew to Toronto the next day. He was there with his best friends - some of them were graduates from Sofia University, others were from the School of Econimics and yet others from Sofia Mathematics Faculty etc. All of them were very excited about their new plans for the future.

For instance, Hristo was getting ready to go to the Silicon Valley as a computer specialist, for he graduated from the Mathematics Faculty with flying colors. He had also won international competitions in software development and he had professional connections the world over. Then, there was Stamen who had been accepted at the Fletcher school of Diplomacy in Harvard. And there was also Emil who had been accepted in Santa Cecilia in Rome to study opera singing. There were a few others who were applying for an international fellowship but they hadn't made it yet. For sure, they were all inspired and positive since the best part of life was in store for them and the world seemed to take them on its wings.

 They rounded up the party by going to the small garden near the Kempinski hotel. The whole gang was singing pop and rock songs, at times slightly off-tune. Suddenly, a teenage boy with a guitar on a bench nearby, tuned in to their melodies and this impromptu concert was like a gift from God, celebrating their brave plunge into the unknown. It was a quiet magic night in June - the stars in the sky were as big as those you can see at the Observatory, while the myriads of crickets in the grass were humming on their harps into eternity.

Now he was with the headset on and while he was listening to the recording, he was taking in the idyllic landscape with the ducks in the pond. He was reminiscing about that night which was more or less a major watershed in his life...

He glanced at his watch. He pressed the on button and the green light continued flashing assertively. While he was listening to the tape, someone gave him a ring. He pressed the stop button.

'Hi, there!' He was fully aware of being bugged.

 'Hello, Mr. Boyanov. It's Ivan Trenchev speaking. Could we meet tomorrow night at Pizza Hut, just opposite the Sofia Mall?'

'Yes, certainly.  How about 7:00 p.m.? Is that all right with you?'

 'Yes, that's all right with me. I would like to talk about my son's immigration to Canada. See you soon!'

The photocopied documents were placed within the pages of a magazine. Kamen's money was inside a leaflet, advertising holidays in Greece. While they were having a pizza and a pint of Staropramen beer, they were meticulously discussing the details of emigration from Bulgaria to Canada. On most scores, Trenchev's son was perfectly eligible as an immigrant. Moreover, he had graduated as a mining engineer, a profession greatly demanded in Canada. They also had a short talk about the latest wave of migrants into Bulgaria. Since the border was not properly guarded yet, in spite of the EU funds allotted to its consolidation, you could often spot Moslem women and men of all ages in their recognizable dress code on the streets of Sofia City. Colonel Trenchev was obviously well informed but he usually did not express a personal opinion but preferred to quote someone else's. He was nervously looking around from time to time, quite aware they were being watched close by. At 8.30 p.m. he thanked Kamen for his kind response and apologized for having to leave. For some reason he was in a hurry, so he grabbed a taxi and disappeared.

Kamen was quite aware that he was being watched. He had been spotting in the rear mirror for the first two days of his stay a shabby old Opel Record, driving close at hand to him, either behind or alongside.

Tonight he will expressly pore over the docs and send them encrypted to Peter in Zagreb. As soon as he drove back to the hotel, he rushed to the Japanese Garden again.

He was terribly tempted to see his mother for an hour or two. But he was not allowed to by the Reuters agency since he was on a highly secretive and dangerous mission.

His mother was a truly brave woman. She had vehemently been appealing in court for the last ten years to unravel the mysterious circumstances around his father's death. Finally, they came up with "a forensic statement" which had been fixed by his dad's worst enemies. According to it, he had a sudden heart attack in the snowy mountains which caused him to freeze to death.

The whole affair was more than suspicious, especially when seen under the scrutiny of a famous investigative journalist. Kamen's father, Professor Evgeni Boyanov, was a recognized authority in microbiology. He was on a board for foods safety control. He had frequent clashes with the other members of the board on different issues. Some of them were concerning the high level of toxic ingredients in various foodstuffs, both local and imported. After a huge row in which he argued for hours with a couple of bribed board members, he was really devastated.

That's why, the next day he took a day's leave and he went hiking in the mountain on his own. It was a snowy January and he had to break a trail through the deep snow. Suddenly, exhilaration flooded his body and soul. As usual, it was caused by a magic combination of the virgin white snow, the blue skies, and the clean air. All this was enveloped in a blessed silence, away from the toxic noises of the big cities.

 Kamen remembered the Christmas cards he used to paint by himself as a child. And he would send them to all the people he cherished-to members of his family, his teachers, his friends at school. His granddad had taught him how to paint greeting cards. Also he taught the boy how to read and write at the age of five.

These solitary walks were like a pilgrimage to the high mountains. For him, this was the best way to unwind from the high tension of his everyday duties and responsibilities at the lab. Mysteriously, Professor Evgeni Boyanov went hiking in the mountain on that day in January and never came back...

Of all places, Kamen felt most at ease in the Japanese garden, though they could bug him there too. There was a strong cool wind and there was nobody outside. He was company in of the ducks, the swans and the peacocks the best company he could dream of. He read very carefully twenty classified documents from DANS, which was the State Agency for National Security. Of course, to get into the possession of this "treasure", he had to pay some money for "fuel and office supplies".

The classified documents referred to evidence of siphoning out of EU funds by officials in very high positions, inclusive of the prime minister and his clique. Kamen encrypted the info and sent it straight away to Peter in Zagreb. Immediately he received a message from Peter, confirming that everything had been received.

This was the third day of his stay and he decided to walk downtown to see some of the changes in his native city, which was two million strong by now and growing rapidly. While walking down the busy boulevard from the hotel to the mall, he observed the flamboyant display of super luxury jeeps which made part of the heavy traffic. Most cars on the road were second hand imports from the EU. The sidewalk was rundown and uneven as if it had been recently bombed. Most of the metal grids on the gutters had been stolen. He knew about it from previous info. This illegal business with scrap metal was being done mainly by gypsies, or Romas, as they were called in politically correct terminology.

However, who were the traders who bought iron from them and who controlled them? Why not punish both perpetrators and put an end to this scam! In Bulgarian "scam" is the same word as the word in Italian:"dalavera". This dalavera had been sending many of Sofia's citizens to the emergency hospital.

He noticed there were many gambling houses of all sorts on his way: one at the Hemus Hotel and a few more in the underpass to the National Palace of Culture. He knew that the local oligarchs of gambling were fighting each other ferociously for gaining territory. They won over territory in the countryside too, in towns like Plovdiv and Haskovo. This lucrative kind of entertainment business was thriving there now because some of the Turks came over to try out their dumb luck since gambling is banned in Turkey. Kamen had also read that the Student's Town in Sofia had been turned into a red light district. Of course, crime was rife there, mixed up with prostitution and drug dealing, supplying with spicy and shocking stories the tabloids, which were in abundance.

Kamen Boyanov was really proud to see the Arena di Serdica Hotel against the background of the well-kept Roman ruins. Again there was something to spoil his positive attitude. Part of the glass dome had been broken by vandals. Why did they do it? Did they do it for sheer fun? Was that a protest against the government? Wasn't there a better way of expressing their anger and discontent? They could easily organize a huge protest march if they had a genuine public cause.

Anyway, Kamen Boyanov did not feel like walking along Pirotska Street because he knew that of late this had turned into an unsafe area. Some Arabs were roasting duner kebab there. Other shady characters, hanging around, entertained themselves. Their drunken aggression usually ended up in bloody fights when big knives were pulled out and brandished about.

Kamen was amazed there was no longer any Sheraton Hotel. It was back to the old Sofia Balkan Hotel which no Western traveler knew about, so he wouldn't take a risk of booking there.

On the way back, Kamen walked along Vitosha Boulevard, which is a colorful walking area now. It reminded him of a Western style area, like the Graben walking passage in Vienna with its fountains, posh shops, bistros and restaurants. It was full of younger people who looked like the rising middle class. They entertained themselves until late, even on weekdays.

 Kamen looked at the prices in the shops and he was amazed how high they were, sometimes even higher than the prices in Toronto. He wondered who could afford to buy these overpriced items, except the rich 20 percent of the population of Sofia.

He had a very tight schedule for the next day which was the third day of his visit. He was supposed to meet some officials from the Central Direction of Fighting Against Organized Crime (GDBOP) who had access to classified info, concerning other important areas of life in Bulgaria. He had to make sure to provide them with high personal security. He was going to meet five of them at a church where a cousin of his served as a head priest.

There were only a few worshipers present at the morning service, most of them elderly women. He lit a few candles for the good health and good luck of his loved ones. Then he dropped some money in the donation box. When the service was over and the people gathered around Father Simeon to ask him questions concerning the sermon he had just delivered. Soon they left the church. Father Simeon could finally pay attention to his cousin whom he had not seen for ages. He embraced Kamen warmly and exclaimed:

'Thank God, I survived to see you again!'

 'Simo, we are all in God's hands and we should count our blessings all the time!

 They started asking each other about their families and next Simo took Kamen to a small room which looked like a confession box. There was a small table and two chairs. On one of the walls into a niche there was an old icon of the Holy Mother from the 19-th century. In front of it, there was an icon lamp, flickering gently, soothing the soul with its divine light. Simo checked up there was no one nearby and took out of a cupboard a plastic bottle, full of red wine. Then, he produced a large round bread loaf out of another cupboard and said:

'Kamen, you are welcome back to thy fatherland!'

'Simo, let's drink to our health and to the well being of Mother Bulgaria!'

There was a silence. The clinking of their glasses sounded like a sacred vow.

'I hope you will understand me. I am on a dangerous secret mission. I have to watch out about the personal security of the persons I meet. In ten minutes I 'm meeting one of them. Is it safe to be here? Do you think you might be bugged by your superiors?'

'No, I don't think so. Most of the Holy Synod members prefer to splash out their money either on luxuries or on bugging each other for the purpose of extortion.'

'Will it be O.K. if I bring in another a few persons between 1 p.m. and 3 p.m.?'

'Certainly it will be. Let's hope they won't be followed.'

'They are old war horses in their line of sport.'

'I have got things to do in the church library, so I will leave you to your own resources.'

'Thanks, I appreciate it. I am doing everything in the name of Mother Bulgaria!'

Simo crossed himself and mumbled a prayer, finishing with a dragging "amen". He put the ritual wine and bread away and vanished.

Kamen spent a few hours in the tiny claustrophobic room. He was so tense and totally focused that he did not think of eating. He had taken a one liter bottle of mineral water because you get very thirsty when you do is dangerous and you put your life on the line.

 Around one p.m., Simo appeared with a big burger with lamb meat. He said smilingly:

'I thought you might need to recharge your batteries a bit.'

'That's really kind of you. Otherwise, I will be whacked and who will carry me back to the hotel? I'm quite a lump to carry with my 80 kilos.'

'I hope you will have done your job by the evening service.'

'I hope so too. After that, I'll need some time for a walk in South Park when I am finished here.'

What Kamen really meant was that he had to get in touch on his smart phone with his colleague in Croatia and send him the encrypted info as text messages. He would preferably do it in an open wide space to avoid being videoed and bugged.

After the last meeting, he rushed out of the church to the South Park to peruse, organize and encrypt the documents and the photos. Then he sent them straight away to Peter. Kamen wanted to hear Peter live on the mobile because the latter had a presentation of an EU project on that day:

'Hi, Pete! How did your presentation go today? I'm sure there was huge interest in such a topic. Were there many questions after you finished?'

'Oh, thank God! Things went even better than I expected. Technology didn't play a number on me. The seminar hall was fully packed. When I finished speaking, there was an avalanche of questions and comments. I think I coped all right. However, I was completely run down when it was all over. How are things with you?'

'Fine, thank you. I have been visiting places all over the city. There are parts of it that I can hardly recognize. Also, I did visit some relatives and old friends. It's all very nice to meet them again. Frankly speaking, it is emotionally very demanding. I'm whacked both physically and mentally. I dream of crashing into bed by 10 o'clock tonight. Bye-bye, speak to you tomorrow."

'Bye-bye, amico. Take care!'

This was only the third day of his stay but he had the feeling he had been around for months. Driving in his Daewoo, hired from Hertz, he was getting used to the potholes in the streets and when walking around along the rundown sidewalks. He was also getting used to the mongrels, lying on the pavement or circling around trash cans. And Kamen could not help not dropping a coin to the beggars, theatrically stretching their hand.

He had the alarming impression there were too many mentally ill people, walking around everywhere. He was very alert with them because they were unpredictable and they would cross the road wherever they liked.

Many of the local drivers were also a big problem. Their egos were inflated by the huge horse power of the engine of the sports cars and they drove very fast like in a Formula One, disregarding the road signs and the traffic rules. They thought only about showing everybody they were genuine magicians who played dice with death on the road.

He noticed quite a few gypsies all over the city, moving in groups, getting on and off trams or buses. A few friends complained they had been mugged by them in a virtuoso manner, while riding on crowded public transport. Migrants could also be seen there and then. They usually moved in groups or sat on benches in parks. Their presence was immediately noticeable because they smelled bad and littered the city indiscriminately as if they could not make a difference between a civilized living space and a dump hole.

He got used to the old Opel Record which he spotted following him in the rear mirror. He was strictly completing his assignments, in spite of all impediments. Sometimes, the agents decided that it was too much of a risk for them and they canceled their appointments in the nick of time.

He was also giving info to a few relatives and friends who wanted their children to immigrate to Canada since the procedure for immigration in Canada was quite complicated. He gave them skype addresses of Bulgarians, who had already settled in Canada, so they could get in touch with them and ask them specific questions they could easily answer.

On the sixth day of his stay around four p.m., he had done everything he had planned to do, except his forthcoming visit to the town of Ihtiman. A transient sense of fulfillment was a great reward for him and he thought for a second he might relax in the sports center of the five-star hotel. However, firstly he had some Rosé on the rocks in the Japanese garden and made a call to Melinda in Toronto. Unfortunately, he woke her up, but she seemed very eager to hear his voice:

'Boobear, are you coming back tomorrow? We all miss you a lot. Are you safe?'

'Don't worry, carissima. I'm perfectly safe and sound. I'm coming the day after tomorrow, my flight is via London and I have got to get up at 3 a.m.'

'Please, call me tomorrow night local time as soon as you get back from Ihtiman.'

'Fine.I promise to call you, even if I wake you up. Lots of hugs for you and the children. I can't wait to get back home. Bye-bye.'

'Bye-bye! God bless you!'

He suddenly felt greatly physically and mentally exhausted and thought a massage would do him great good. But it turned out the schedule of massage appointments were fully booked. So, he decided to have an early night and went up to his room.

'Everything is chalga in Bulgaria. Bulgaria is turning into Chalgaria". A Bulgarian computer engineer, who recently immigrated to Toronto, made this sardonic comment. Kamen tried not to argue with him, because his comment was one-sided and exaggerated. Sadly, this comment was partially true of the hotel where he stayed. It used to be one of the most reputable hotels in the Kempinski chain, the former Vitosha New Otani Hotel. It was brilliantly designed by the world-renowned architect Kisho Kurokawa!

Ironically enough, a Mafia upstart had bought it recently and he changed the name from Kempinsky to Marinela, who was probably his current obscure playmate. As Evrokom, the only independent TV channel reported, he had also raised a massive extension on two floors to the main body of the hotel, without any approved blueprints and a building permission.

 Kamen took a long shower and he felt he had washed away some of his fatigue. When he went to bed, he couldn't go to sleep. Tomorrow he's going to drive to the small town of Ihtiman, south of Sofia. He had to speak to Father Ivan about a donation to his hostel for the homeless. The donation had been given by a Bulgarian civil engineer, living in Toronto. Kamen had to leave the hotel in his car not later than 9 a.m. He tuned to Radio Classic FM and heard some heavenly music. He recognized it straight away, this was Jupiter, Mozart's fortieth symphony. This was also one of his grandfather's favorite music pieces.

His mind carried him back in time to Balchik on the Black sea coast where Slavi, his granddad taught him the name of each plant, each flower, shrubbery or tree. He also taught young Kamen how to row a boat. As his father Evgeni, his grandfather Slavi was also a victim of the totalitarian regime. Grandpa Slavi was a professor in history of science. He tried to challenge the rotten status quo in the 70's. At an academic public meeting, he tried to defend the huge potential of cybernetics. The backlash was immediate and furious. Most of those who took the floor after his speech attacked him violently. They were like a pack of hungry wolves and he received threats from all sides with expulsion from the ruling Communist Party. He suffered a heart attack right there on the spot. Alas, he died in the ambulance on the way to the hospital.

Kamen grieved for him a lot because Grandpa Slavi had revealed to him so many wonders of this world. The following summer Kamen rowed the boat with a friend of his. This time, Grandpa Slavi was not next to him, but he felt a surge of self-confidence and did the rowing all by himself. Why did all these disasters happen to his ancestors? Could there be a family curse?

 He was lucky to immigrate to Canada and get a job as a journalist at Reuters after a tough international competition. He was fluent in five languages and had been contributing regularly to the European weekly for the first two years. Now he was back to Bulgaria on a dangerous secret mission and who knows what it would come up to? It must be something which ran in their genes. Like genuine intellectuals in civilized societies, for generations all of them seemed to love the truth better than their own lives! Thank God, the graves of his ancestors in the main cemetery in Sofia had not been desecrated by the funeral mafia.

On the whole, he managed to get substantial info, photos and videos on some very sticky issues. For instance, the thousands of gypsies in the  area, south of Plovdiv, who had been converted to radical Islam; the intensive buying of arable land in South-Eastern Bulgaria by Bulgarian Moslem immigrants to Turkey, behind whom stand Turkish companies; the newly constituted ethnic party DOST, totally financed by Turkey, to mention just a few such hot issues.   

Everything had been sent successfully to Zagreb and from there to Toronto. Kamen hoped in his heart of hearts that at least some of the truth about the so-called "transition" in Bulgaria would be known world-wide. Also, some of the truth of the "behind the scenes" corruption of all parties which had been in power would be exposed. Any kind of elections had been heavily manipulated, there was no independent body of judiciary power and no genuine freedom of media...with a very few exceptions. With the heavenly music by Mozart on, Kamen slowly fell asleep and he had a strange dream.

He was rowing a boat like the one in his childhood. But the sea wasn't the blue color of the Black Sea. It was more like the green depth of the Pacific Ocean. The weather was brilliant, almost no wind and no clouds in the sky. His family, Melinda and his young children, Slavi and Rita were waiting for him on a small island. Suddenly, his smooth rowing was brutally interrupted. The boat went up with its bow in the air and when Kamen looked back in terror, he saw a huge animal upturning the boat. The horrifying animal looked like a shark. The boat was sinking, being flooded with water. He jumped into the ocean. At this instant he woke up, all sweat, his heart pounding wild! Was this a prophetic dream? Or, were those his fears, which had been torturing him for six nights? He managed to suppress them with his willpower and determination and to complete his dangerous mission. Now, when he was more relaxed, but the furies raged in his subconscious mind and produced this pathetic nightmare.

Basically, Kamen was level-headed and did not believe in superstitions, curses and black magic. So, he turned off the radio and went back to sleep.

 His alarm went off at 8:00 a.m. While he was taking a shower and brushing his teeth, there were a few calls from relatives and friends. One of them proposed to take the Daewoo back to Hertz. Another one offered to give him a lift to the airport to avoid being ripped off by cab drivers.

While he was sipping his coffee, he phoned Father Ivan to confirm his visit. He rarely observed the formal dress code and as usual, he was dressed in jeans, a checkered shirt and a black leather jacket. He knew that in this casual sporty attire, he will not attract so much attention, since this style of dressing was quite common in Sofia for men in their 30s and 40s. He looked at his watch and was surprised to see it was almost 9 a.m.  Off he rushed to the car, which was parked in the hotel park lot.

The instant he turned on the ignition key, the car went up into a fireball and a shattering explosion was heard. The Daewoo turned into huge flames. Later, when the police and the firefighters arrived on the scene, they took out the remains of his body, which were heavily burnt, almost to charcoal.

Ironically enough, a second wish of his had come true. He had become hard to be identified by his enemies. Yet the secret facts, meticulously collected by him for six days, will be made public worldwide. Before coming on his mission, he had signed a perfect contract with an independent publishing house in Toronto. It was supposed to publish his investigative book on the so called "Bulgarian Transition". At the same time, Father Ivan in Ihtiman was still waiting for him, wondering why he wasn't turning up yet...