Broken Streets

William Falo   

Zoya looked out the shattered window of the abandoned building and watched the night spread over St. Petersburg. Then she walked out into the Russian night and tried to stop the dark memories of her past from awakening

    “This way,” Masha yelled. Two eleven-year-old girls ran by.

     Zoya asked, “Where are they going?”

    “They’re making a movie.”

    “What kind of movie?”

    Lena just looked at her. Zoya knew that meant pornography. “Wait!” she yelled but the other two girls had already disappeared. “Damn it,” she said.

    They walked to the Internet cafe.

    Inside, someone passed her a bag filled with karat. Still in a black mood, she breathed in the shoe polish and fell back onto a couch. With the sound of Counter-Strike blasting on the computers, her head began to pound. Her arms felt like they were covered with spiders, and she rubbed them vigorously.

   Then hands held her until she stopped shaking, and she looked into the clear blue eyes of Yuriy, an eighteen-year-old who many of the street children looked up to. As he held her, he smiled, and she relaxed into his arms.

   What am I doing? she thought. I can’t get involved.

    A scraggly dog approached and they all yelled, “Magic!” When it’d appeared, they’d viewed the dog as a good omen. The day she came here, the dog appeared and they’d accepted her.

    “Want to come to the highway with me?” Anastasia said.

    Zoya knew she was going to sell herself. “Please don’t go there.”

    “I have to.” She ran down the street.

    Zoya followed the others to the metro station to beg for money. She caught up toYuriy. “Do you miss your family?”

    He said, “I do miss my grandmother.”

    “Where is she?”

    “Vyborg.”

    “Vyborg,” she repeated. If only I had money to get bus tickets. If Yuriy went home others might too, she thought.

    Shouts echoed through the station, “Get away from me! You’re disgusting! You stink like glue!”

    Through the screeching of the trains and clatter of passengers, Zoya heard someone call out to her, “Hey, pretty girl!”

   A black sedan stopped. “Want to make some money?” A man held a handful of rubles.

   Dazed from the karat and needing money, she walked toward the car and got in. He drove to a dark street and did his thing to her.

   She felt sick after she realized what she did. Was she helping the street children or returning to one herself? Reality became blurred.

   She tried to focus on her purpose and went to the bus station, buying two tickets to Vyburg.

Then she returned to the abandoned building in Nevsky Prospekt.

     On the top floor, Lena leaned against a wall smoking a cigarette, and said, “You look terrible.”

    “I feel terrible,” Zoya said. “Lena, do you miss your family?”

    “Are you kidding? My brother hit me with a stick so hard I couldn’t walk for days and my parents did nothing. They were too drunk. They told me to find my own money if I wanted anything. Would you miss that?”

    “I’m sorry.” Lena was only twelve years old, she thought,

    “What about you?”

    “My parents died when I was a baby. My uncle raised me and he drank a lot. When he was drunk, he did things to me. I left when I was ten and lived out here until . . . ” Zoya slumped down on a blanket and then Magic curled up against her. Lena joined them and they faded into sleep as the sun rose over St. Petersburg.

    Later, Zoya found Yuriy near the Church on Spilled Blood and showed him the bus tickets.

     In Vyborg, they found the cottage but a lady said his grandmother moved away. Yuriy whispered, “Grandma, I miss you.” 

    He remained silent on the way home. Night crept across the city streets as they went into the Internet cafe and passed the polish. Someone yelled, “They’re here again!”

   Zoya stood up as Masha and Anastasia ran for the door. The lure of easy money enticed them. 

   One yelled, “I want money for rollerblades.”

    “Wait,” Zoya yelled and ran after them.

    “Do you want to be in the movie?” a man asked her.

    “Too old,” another man said.

    “These are just children!” She took out her knife and charged the men.

   One grabbed her and the other pulled out a handgun. “Do you know who you’re dealing with?”

    The noise made passersby stop, and the man put the gun away. They drove away with the two girls.

    Zoya worried about Lena. “Will you come with me when I leave?”

    “Yes.” Lena lit a cigarette

    Zoya walked back to the internet cafe. Yuriy asked, “Why did you do that?”

    “They’re just little girls.”

    “They have no choice.”

    “I want to help,” she whispered.

    They found out Masha was dead. Someone said the men did it and Zoya cried for a long time.

    She found Yuriy, wet-eyed, under a streetlight outside the Church on Spilled Blood. “I’m sorry about Masha,” he said. “There’s too much death and sadness.” He stopped and sobbed.  “I do know you’re a social worker.”

    “How?”

    “When I first lived on the streets someone tried to kill me, but a crazy girl with a knife saved my life. I recognized you.”

    Zoya was speechless. Then, “It may be best if I leave. I made mistakes.”  

    “You cared about us. Nobody else does.”    

     Suddenly, a black cat appeared, started rubbing against Zoya. 

    “I wonder how you would look with black hair,” Yuriy said.

    “It’s an idea. I’ll look for you under this streetlight.”

    Yuriy smiled and said, “That cat’s name is Hope. It’s a good omen when it rubs against you.” He picked up the cat and held it out to her.

    With crowds of people walking into the church looking for something to believe in, Zoya slowly reached out and embraced hope.