#imigrant

on Wikipedia's list of empires

Is an end date.

Author’s Note

The Following chapter was inspired by “Gavi’s Song” by Lindsey Stirling induing the theme of Hellen’s little secret.

Two days turned to four since after that night when Jack and Hellen crossed barriers and had sex with each other. Hellen was still in a state of unbelief and confusion that she and Jack actually did it. And to hear him confessing that it was his first as well, that made Hellen question in the stance of their relationship as assassins. They seemed to keep the subject matter of what happened was never addressed, for they would feel distant in a sense of words that needed to be addressed. Neither one felt such strong feelings for one individual other then a parent, and in Hellen’s case, few characters she’d came across in her years as an outlaw. They each were accustomed to being alone, that that moment together in the bedroom awakened something inside each of them.

Hellen was sitting upon a park bench along the banks of the East River, marveling at the sight of the Brooklyn Bridge. This steel-wire suspension bridge constructed in ‘69 was finished in ‘83, stood tall and strong. The steel wire cables made it look like a tower from a fantasy that was probably never told. This made the Hannibal Bridge, a bridge in Kansas City look like a child’s play toy in comparison. 

The wind blew gently as Hellen was deep in thought about her and Jack. She found herself pushing back a lock of her hair, only to trace down her face in a poor imitation of how Jack caressed her face. She then traced her lips in the progress where Jack’s lips kissed them. That kiss had a gentle yet hungry impact, and his taste still lingered in her thoughts. Unlike Johnathan’s forced kiss, Jack seemed sweet to her. The fire her her belly grew as she thought of that moment, making her head spin with a fantasy. 

“Вы хорошо любите?” A rich voice had caught Hellen off guard as she turned to see a woman wearing what appeared to be that of Russian renegades. A Gypsy. She had thick dark hair almost black pulled back with a scarf as red as the dirts of the Oklahoma territory. Her eyes a beautiful shade of blue that seemed surprisingly warm, like her smile.

“What?’ Hellen asked, wearily of the woman’s sudden presence.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you honeysuckle. English is choppy for me.” The woman was apologetic as she stepped closer to Hellen. “I asked if you’re okay.”

Hellen nodded. “I suppose the best answer to give is yes; however, where I am at now. Not sure.”

The woman gave a small laugh that made Hellen give a questioning expression. “Does it have something to do with a young man?”

Hellen sighed, too the already rolled cigarette out from her pocket and tumbled for her matches, to where they were absent. Hellen cursed as she realized she left the matches in her room.

“Here.” The woman offered Hellen a match kit to her. “It’s from my otets. My father.”

Hellen took the small box with a questioned arch brow.

“Don’t worry. My father wouldn’t judge a woman desperate for a smoke. He would of offered it otherwise.”

Hellen lite the match and with a few puffs and deep breaths, the cigarette came to light. Exhaling, she watched the smoke whirl into the air. “My pa used to smoke a pipe full of some rich tobacco he’d reserved from our harvest crops. Always enjoyed that rich earthy smell. Not something to be sold to a bitch like me I suppose.” Hellen took another breath.

The woman took a seat next to her on the bench as she looked at the river. “Is that why you came to America? To escape the pain.”

Hellen chuckled. “Oh I was born in this country miss...”

“Call me Tanya.” The woman replied. “Tanya Moskowitz”

“Tanya. I’m Hellen. I was born in the state of Missouri. A land known to be breeding ground of the outlaws and a state stained with blood. Born north of the line, considered a yank; yet picked up a southern accent from a family I considered my adopted when my pa fought the war.” She turned to Tanya. “And you? Why are you here? Surely the Tsar couldn’t extend more land then there already was.”

Tanya gave a short scuff. “And I thought Russia had issues in the government.”

“Were you among the Russians that escaped the persecution?” Hellen asked. 

“Why?”

“Simple.” Tanya shrugged. “My family and I are jews.”

Hellen’s eyes widened. Remembering that there was a mass persecution in Russia against jewish viewpoint. “Oh. God I’m sorry...Hell...I mean...your people must of...”

“Do not threat miss.” Tanya waved off a hand. “Nothing new is under the son in God’s eyes. Ever since my people was lead out of Egypt and disobeyed God in a simple order, we’ve always been attacked and mocked by those who never understood God’s ways.”

Hellen looked upon her cigarette with a daze. “I’ve committed a lot of things in my life, but this...I’m at a loss.”

“Did he forced...”

“No damn it! He didn’t...I was...we’d..ugh...” Hellen bent forward to her knees moaning at the fact that she’s stating the after fact to this stranger that Hellen only meet. “How did I got into this mess?”

“Oh my dear my dear my dear, everyone always lands in situations like these.” Tanya insured Hellen in and understanding tone. 

“Not in the way you expect.” Hellen muffled in her knees as she sat back up. “He seemed stiffer then a board, but then when he’d got hurt, after saving my life, not just once, but two times! And I couldn’t watch him die under my watch. Too many people I cared for died right in front of me for thirteen years.”

“I’m sorry to hear that miss. I wish there is something I could do for you.” Tanya gave a pat upon Hellen’s shoulder.

Hellen sighed. “Actually...I feel a bit better now. I guess I just needed a listening ear.”

“It is good to get the load of bricks off your back. Here” Tanya went into her basket and pulled out a loaf of bread that seemed too beautiful to eat that had a rich smell of meat and potatoes to it, and a wrapped bundle cloth tied with a red ribbon. “The cookies inside are Pryanik, you can go ahead and try one if you like. The other is Pirozhki it has some meat and potatoes in there. Save that for supper tonight.”

Hellen untied the ribbon and turned to Tanya. “Don’t you...”

“My family and I are bakers, we’ve make plenty.” Tanya laughed pushing the bread towards her, the brown paper warm against Hellen’s fingers as she took it. 

Hellen looked down to see the little bundle of brown and white cookies that had a spicy scent to them. She’d picked one up and placed it in her mouth. The cookie was slightly spicy, plenty sweet, and absolutely wholesome to Hellen’s taste. It reminded her of the gingerbread that she would sometimes get from the general stores in Kearney.

“Damn!” She exclaimed with a full mouth “This is amazing!”

“Thank you.” Tanya expressed. “I hope your Jack would enjoy these as well.”

“Not sure if Jack is one for sweets.” Hellen admitted. A revelation came as she suddenly heard Jack’s name from Tanya. “Wait, how did you know his name?”

“Who?”

“Jack?” Hellen explained. “I never told you his name.”

Tanya shrugged. “Lucky guess.”

Hellen looked suspicious, but quickly brushed it off. “Good guess though” She took the cigarette and threw the stub into the river. “I better head back. I need to get this home before it gets cold.” Hellen stood up and extended a hand. “Thanks for the ear and the food Tanya.”

Tanya nodded and turned to head the opposite direction. Hellen stretched her mussels and felt the slight pain from below. Who knew losing your virginity can be a sore way to go. That man was rough, but great.

“Can I ask you something Hellen?” Tanya asked turning her head to look at Hellen.

“Yes.” She answered

“Do you love him? Or do you care for him?”

Before Hellen could answer, Tanya went around the bend and seemed to have made a quick trot home.

Hellen pondered the question again. This was something she needed to answer for herself. And the best way to know, is through privacy, a roof, and a Dark Horse member’s violin.

Whilst when Hellen headed home, a white grey cat with blue eyes watched from the base of a lamp post, smiled with glee as she eat a Pryanik.

Jack returned to the apartment sweaty and sore from when he’d fought in the fight club. The money he’d won was placed upon the dining room table, enough to last both him and Hellen a few more weeks. He noticed and smelled something divine in the air.

He saw a plate covered with a napkin, he saw a written note upon it.

No, I didn’t cook it. It was given to me for some reason. Saved the other half for you. Will be back soon.

~Hellen

Jack placed the note down and unveiled the now mass of bread with meat and potatoes steaming from the inside with two small ginger cookies to the side. Jack sat down and ate the food quietly. The bread was extremely buttery, complimenting the meat and potatoes that bring the slyness in a balance. Something he’d never tasted before; yet it reminded him of a family from Russia that used to stay in the room next door to Jack and his mother in his childhood. He’d never tried the bread; but a young boy gave the young Lad a cookie that seemed similar to the cookies on his plate.

Jack took a cookie and bit into it, and sure enough, it was like that of the cookie that Russian boy gave him over twenty years ago, and the taste never left his memory. He would have to ask Hellen where she’d got this bread and cookie combination.

When he finished, Jack removed his robe and placed it upon a pile where Hellen’s other clothes were waiting for the wash lady. He took a grey buttoned shirt the woman gave Jack as a way to be more “decent” while his  robe was being washed. As he was getting ready to read upon a book he’s picked up, a noise caught his ears, making him stop in his tracks. 

The sound was that of a violin that had a haunting melody to it. He followed the song to an open window. He’d climbed out and followed the sound. As he’d traveled, he was captivated by the reminiscing sound of sadness and memories coming from it. He grew up listening to pub fiddles and some classics from when Jacob’s son, Emmett would play; yet they never seemed to grasp his soul. He’d jumped a few roof tops until he’d reached the near location to where the members of the Dark Horses would resign. He’d stopped near a brick chimney as he saw the musician playing the melody.

Hellen never had a proper lesson; yet she’d always figured out how to play the basic cords when a member of James’s gang would show her how as a basic. The rest of the time, Hellen would always fiddle with the violin whenever she’d come across one. She’d always managed to sort her thoughts out loud with the string instrument. So she’d asked the members around if any of them had a violin, to which one member allowed her to play his for a bit.

As Hellen escaped to the roof, looking at the New York skyline, she’d began to play a melody that she’d thought of, sorting her feeling of Jack to the night sky. As she played, a few members and pedestrians stopped in their tracks to see this woman on the roof, playing a sad and beautiful tone. Most of the men took off their hats in awe of the melody; yet Hellen never opened her eyes to see the crowd, for she was focused on her own thoughts.

Jack turned and sat against the cool brick chimney, hiding from Hellen’s sight. Listening to the beautiful melody as it made him close his eyes in a content peace he never knew existed. He’s thought about the frustrations he had, and the confusion of him and Hellen’s relationship since the beginning. When after they lost their virginity to each other, neither of them had words to say. How could they? What does this mean? What did Hellen think of him now. 

And now hearing this gifted song he never knew Hellen could perform, he thought about the times she would take time for him, helping him, caring for him. And he, Jack, felt more care, even love towards this headstrong and kind young woman, who hides her brokenness with her smile. He knew then, that he was without doubt in love with her.

"Where I am, let is be so

The Sky is mine."

Sohrab Sepehri (1928-1980)

The Sky is Mine is a land art project by Shirin Abedinirad, which is now the part of The Absence of Paths curated by Lina Lazzar for Tunisian Pavilion at La Biennale di Venezia. The Absence of Paths is an integral component to the physical pavilion in Venice, the online platform is a democratic space to showcase contributors’ thoughts and perspectives on migration.

The land on which I realise my dreams, is replete with hopes and despair for me, even though it destroys my mountains to build high-rise apartments in the heart of the mountains. They cut trees to build roads for the vehicles whose lives are becoming shorter with the passage of time. Every morning on this very land, there is news about the death of dozens of children, animals and humans and each death news howls with hope. On this land, among stony paths and vast deserts, I am seeking a place that would be a window of life full of hope and delight. On the gloomy paths before me, I am looking for skies. Throughout the dark clouds, I am searching for a comforting blue which is the liberation from my bitter moments on the land that I love. I know that some people sieve dreams and impose the realities on me. However, I will bring my dreams from the sky to the land.

Shirin Abedinirad

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