How they say in America? I am getting last man home if is killing me? Or maybe is I don't think this is the Kansas any more? Ah, I am shit at this language. Is too complicated. What I am doing is finding way to the Kansas to bring home Russia's last son. This trip can kill me, but is not allowing to kill him.
The first thing I find out here is every woman for herself. These American girls are no better than ladies back home in Russian Federation. There, I am heroical. Here, I am less than no one. Is just crazy yellow-head chick fighting to get on pawezhd, on train, to stay on train. Is funny, English language. At home in Russia, chick is baby bird, but here is entire population.
In Boston I try to get on train, but Amazoning ladies are throwing me away. Still, am not sent for this job for bad reason: I sneaking back on next train to get to Kansas state. Name of town is Oldenbrook; I get there in cargo car if that is only way. With supplies on back and rifle, is good. I have food for ten days, bullets for twenty. Is all good for Federal'naya sluzhba bezopasnosti Rossiysfekoy Federatsii girl to survive. Maybe I learn from tall ugly gas-masked girl who trades motorcycle for pig-car ride on first train I no ride from Boston. Is not so easy for to be getting things when English language is so hard, but I will learning. Is being easier with every eavesdrop, with every night cramming into cold storage. Motherland people are not sending me here for nothing.
Secret Service teach me: in America -- is big country -- find someone sympathetic, but I think maybe all sympathetic women are gone because of plague like men. Is every man for herself but when I am in place of Ohio seeing ugly gas-masked girl again and girl with braiding hair and girl with glasses, I thinking they are too going near the Kansas. Is no good when I am told leave train now, go away, is no for stowaways. But they teach me well in Russian Federation and where train goes I go too, even though it takes me days getting back on train after fucking zarasa throws me away and off. Is not so easy, maybe, to keep Natalya Zamyatin away.
Back in Russia, I no have to ride on tops of trains. At home I am earning Gold Star, am hero for my people. Is nice. In Russia, I am saving German diplomat from Chechen hostage-takers in 2001. Is not reported to foreign press when four terrorists take and hold Germany diplomat in apartment where I lucky for him am being so-called attache. Chechens are thinking I am German maid (I am looking fucking German to you? I am looking like goddamn maid to you, I almost ask? but instead I am pretending only to speak German) and am getting diplomat out safely. After that night all four Chechens are either dead or going to Prison Colony No. 7. Only is one gunshot to shoulder for me and I am surviving that, with no problem and only with scar to tell scary heroism story.
Is where I am meeting Rodya, my husband, in hospital. He is doctor for Russian military. Beautiful Rodya, with hair deep brown like bark of pine tree and eyes blue as early morning sky and the smile girls are line up to kill for. Is taking good care of me in hospital. Is where they are giving me Gold Star, for service to Russian Federation. Rodya is there when I get medal and stays there after, and he is not leaving my side. He ask me, how you get Gold Star, Natalya? I am telling him I am good little girl in school, and becomes our joke so every day in hospital, he asks me am I being good little girl in school. And every day, I tell him nyet. Am being bad little girl.
After that we are taking good care of each other until day when all men are dying. That day, we are both at work. I am thinking what to make for supper, if he will be home on time for fancy dinner with nice bottle of red wine or if we are going to restaurant. Is one small luxury we are having in Moscow for ourselves. Otherwise we are saving rubles for other things. We are thinking to taking holiday in Scandinavia for April, for seeing northern lights from Sweden. Is our dream and after that, we are deciding to try for baby, da or nyet, probably da. But no yet. First, we go to dinner out that night, maybe.
And then, in minutes, all men are dead. I am not even having chance to say goodbye or Rodya, ya tebya liubliu. We are saying I love you to each other every morning, every night. Now he is dead all these months and am still saying it to him every morning, every night, but I think he is no hearing me any more. Now all I am having to call after him is snayperskaya vintovka Dragunova, my rifle. Like bad story plot, I name rifle after husband? Bah.
I no mind being silly sentimentalist; the rifle is good friend to have. Is no so soft or so kind or so pretty smiling as my Rodya, but is just as protective. And these days, is more useful. He would like, I think. Would be pride of me. He is doctor, but is not stupid. Not nyeviny, how you say. Naive.
And he would like this America, but maybe is too hot for him like is too hot for me. Still, on top of train, I move from car to car to car. To get close to engine, to not be thrown away off train again like before. And is when girl with braiding hair is jumping up on roof and is good fighter, da, but Russian Federation-trained dyevushka is better and faster, and I am thinking when I offer her my hand, I like her not to die. She is good fighter, she is smart, she maybe will be useful. She maybe will know where the mans are, or maybe help me find this Oldenbrook. She maybe will know about Soyuz, about kosmicheskaya. Would be good, because I know the Kansas for shit.
Is something universal about saving a life: is making for good comrades. In Moscow we call it good bond, good partnership. One thing plague has not changed is that everybody needs another people. We are having our assignments, all of us, but is not costing us our humanity.
I think so, anyway. So no more fighting, no kicking, no questionings. Even if is one more boy than expected, which maybe I tell rest of Russian government and maybe not, we go to Oldenbrook together even though girl doctor with glasses says nyet, is bullshit story about cosmonauts.
My story is no bullshit.