Holy War, Chapter 36: Make Russia great again

Tamar was astonished and somehow comforted when she realized the men on either side of her in the car seemed more afraid than she was. For all the violence of the act, she sensed they were handling her with great care. One man offered her a bottle of Borjomi. “Where are we going?” she asked, taking the water and putting it beside her. No one spoke. The car began to ascend a mountain, and as she looked out the window at the city receding below, she knew there could be only one answer. Who else would kidnap her so theatrically and yet, somehow, so gently?

The front door of the apartment building clicked open, and two men guided Tamar to the elevator and rode with her to the top. The door slid open, and the men carefully pushed her out and closed the door behind her, leaving her alone.

Before her spread the most lavish apartment she had ever seen. To her left lay a huge, antique mirror wrapped in a latticed gold frame, leaning against the wall in a way an expensive decorator might have arranged it. In fact, the whole apartment looked professionally done, with an armchair angled just so, a matching blanket tossed faux casually over the back, a long wooden table the color of rich caramel and a crystal chandelier designed to look like tree branches with lights as blossoms. In one corner, framed by carefully placed lights, hung an expensive icon, as if it were part of a museum exhibition. It was a display only an oligarch could have. Or a high government official who had many people to protect his secrets.

“Gamarjoba, Tamar.”

Ilya Chestnov stood before her, holding a bunch of red roses and greeting her in Georgian, no less. For a moment her shoulders slumped, and she felt again like the scared young woman with no clue how to navigate a confusing and brutal world but with courage enough to try. And yet, here was the man who had chased her out of her country, and he was appearing submissive before her. Her defenses started to fall.

“Hello, Ilya Davidovich.”

“Call me Ilya, please. It’s a miracle you’re back,” he said. “Please, sit down. I’m so sorry about your friend Nini.”

“Thank you.” She sat down on the sofa, pulling her knees tightly together and angling her legs away from him. The thought occurred to her, How does he even know about Nini? But so much else was happening, she paid it little attention. He held a small blue box in one hand.

“From the day I first saw you, I knew you had great things in you,” he said. “I was sorry you chose to leave Tbilisi, and then to go to America, of all places.” His eyes were sad. “May I sit down?”

He handed her the roses and sat down before she could speak. She took the flowers and put them beside her so he couldn’t get too close. She felt his awkwardness, a little boy in a man’s body. “Okay,” she said, “but don’t tell me you’re sorry. I don’t believe you. You came after me with a gun.”

He put the small blue box beside him and then his hands into his lap, as if he were about to ask forgiveness. “Oh, I wasn’t going to harm you,” he said. “I wanted to protect you.”

She looked at him doubtfully. “From what? You were the one I was afraid of!”

He smiled. “We had the same goal. I had as much hope for Georgia as you did. I still do. I love Georgia.” He swept his hand around the room and laughed. “And as you can see, Georgia loves me.”

Had she misjudged him? As her gaze crossed the room, she tried to imagine working with him, wondering how differently her life might have turned out if she had. He could see she was thinking and pressed further. “You’re wasting your time in America,” he said. “They’ll pay for their sins, no matter how much you try to save them, and no matter how much that man writes about you.” She flinched at the mention of David, and he noticed. “He’s using you, you know. He’s like every other journalist, just wanting to make a name for himself.” His eyes became fiery, as if the very thought of David made him angry. “Do you know his newspaper is published by a church? A church that believes in miracles? I’m telling you, he’s a fraud. You should dump him. Immediately.”

She wanted to laugh. He’s jealous! “They’re a respected newspaper,” she said, “and he’s a respected writer. He’s a good man.”

He rubbed his hands and squeezed them, as if trying to keep his emotions under control. “A society functions best when the State controls information,” he grumbled.

She rolled her eyes. “The Soviet Union is dead, you know.”

He seemed to relax and gave a sly smile. “Maybe, but history isn’t. Have you noticed what’s happening in America? Everything is starting to come apart. Pretty soon it will be black against white again, native against foreigner, rich against poor, Christians against everybody. It’s what always happens when an empire begins to collapse. The weaknesses that were never addressed return with a vengeance. America is going to destroy itself, Tamar, and Russia will rise again. I wouldn’t waste my time trying to get them to raise their hands. Hands can’t stop the future.”

His mouth kept moving, but she was no longer listening. It was all beginning to make sense: The nasty rallies, the attacks on the media, on her and David, the Russian instigator, and now, words that couldn’t be clearer. No, she had not misjudged him. “Ilya, are you up to something in America?” she asked.

He stopped talking and looked at her.

“I mean, is it a coincidence that Jonah Meek is doing exactly what you’re saying,” she said, “putting native against foreigner and Christians against the world and spreading hate everywhere? And then there’s this Russian guy, Maxim Yasnov, advising him. Do you have anything to do with that?”

His face was like stone.

“Wow,” she said. It was more of a confirmation than she had expected. “Really? What’s he doing there, exactly, this Maxim Sergeevich Yasnov?”

He stared at her, still silent.

She shook her head. “Actually, what am I doing, Ilya,” she said. “Here, I mean.”

The question seemed to bring him to his senses, and he appeared to relax. “Sitting with me,” he said. “It’s lovely, isn’t it?”

He touched her knee, and immediately she felt a shot of old desire. No, she thought, this will not happen. She started to stand, but her legs had no strength, and she fell back. He put his hand on her knee again and squeezed tightly. She tried to pull away, but then she caught sight of the box next to him on the sofa, and he noticed.

“Oh, I thought you might like this,” he said. He handed it to her.

Wrapped with a blue satin ribbon, the box was suddenly all she could think about. She didn’t want to open it. Whatever was inside was surely dangerous. And yet, she wanted very much to see it.

“Go ahead,” he said.

She untied the ribbon and slowly lifted the top. Inside was a gold necklace. At the end of the necklace was an Orthodox cross, studded with what looked like diamonds. She gasped.

“Yes, the stones are genuine,” he said.

 She looked at the necklace, afraid of what was swirling inside her. She didn’t want to thank him, but she didn’t want to dismiss him, either. “Why are you doing this?” she asked, looking up. His gaze held her face as if by a hand. He took her finger and touched the cross lightly with the tip. Then he stood up and walked behind her and attached the necklace  around her neck. “Georgia needs you, Tamar,” he said, quietly, stroking her shoulders. “Things are happening in Moscow, and I’m going back home soon, and I need someone in Tbilisi I can trust.” She felt paralyzed, and she knew he would take this as a sign that she was yielding. Shouldn’t she keep fighting? Yes, she should. She should stand up and walk out, now. But her muscles, soothed by the gift and the intimidating presence behind her, trapped in the memory of past sensations and desires, had ceased functioning. He squeezed her shoulders lightly. His touch felt comforting and protective. He stroked the back of her head with his palm, then ran his fingers through her hair and over the tops of her ears and across her shoulder blades and down her spine. She shivered with fear and anticipation.

“Tamar, you are home again,” he said quietly. “Come in here.” He took her by the hand and led her to the kitchen. Silently he guided her to the counter, a long, gray marble surface below a window with a breathtaking view of the city. Directly in front of her was a wooden block holding a set of knives of varying sizes, the handle of each knife decorated with the flag of Georgia.

“Can you lean on the counter, please,” he said. She was not sure what was happening, but she did as she was told. The cross clanked on the countertop.

“Now, I’m going to do something special. Are you ready?” She felt his fingers reach around her waist. “I will take care of you, Tamuna, and together we will rebuild Georgia.”

“Thank you, Ilya.” She couldn’t believe the words had come out of her mouth. Her mind was a fog.

“My pleasure.” He moved his hands to the top of her skirt and quickly unbuttoned it and pushed everything to the floor. She could see only his reflection in the window now, as if the world outside no longer existed. He made the sign of the cross, and she heard a rustling behind her.

“Now,” he said, “this is how we make Russia great again.”

She felt the thrust, and a shudder went through her so violent she let out a scream. She realized the knives in the wooden block were within her reach, and she stared at them. Then she whirled, empty handed, and slapped his face so hard her hand stung.

The shock in his eyes only made her angrier. He grabbed her shoulders and dug his fingers into her skin, but she locked her eyes onto his with a look that seemed to freeze him. She squirmed out of his grip and grabbed the largest knife and whipped it around in front of her. She kept her eyes on his and reached down with one hand and felt for her underwear and skirt and pulled them up, but she couldn’t fasten the button. The sound of his shallow breaths filled the space around them.

Then an amazing calm came over her. She put the knife onto the counter but out of his reach, and, with her eyes still on his and both hands free now, she slowly began tucking her blouse into her skirt, smoothing it carefully around her body, until no crease remained. She buttoned her skirt and put her hands behind her neck and unclasped the necklace and lay it softly on the counter. Her eyes still hadn’t moved from his. “You know, Ilya –” she said. His eyes snapped into focus, as if he had been in a trance. “You know, when I first met you, I thought you were an interesting man. Even as I ran from you and left Georgia, I really did think you could make miracles happen. But now I realize you’re just a fraud. You’ll never make Russia great again, or Georgia, either. You’ll just drag everyone deeper into darkness. The only miracle that’s ever come from you is that you’ve fooled so many people for so long.”

Tears came to his eyes. Tamar couldn’t believe it! “I never wanted to harm you,” he pleaded. “All I’ve wanted was to be with you again. And I finally found a way to bring you back.”

Her face froze. “What do you mean, you found a way to bring me back?” she said. “Did you have something to do with Nini’s accident?”

His lips started to move, but no sound came out. Finally, he said, “What matters is, you’re here, Tamar. I need you. I love you.”

She let out a torrent of profanity in Russian and Georgian and English that she didn’t even know she knew.