Dark Matter (43 page)

'Every individual of Earth has the right to:

Life

Religion

Protection

Privacy

Expression

Over throw their government

Representation

Pursue happiness

Pursue procreation

Pursue learning

Pursue trade

Pursue change'

They reviewed the list, no one could fault it.  It would mean that every person’s Social and Cultural views were considered equal.  How it would work in practice would be up to the Law strata to decide.

20
The Dead Letter

08:45
              13 December  [07:45  13 December GMT]

Porto Garibaldi, Milan, Italy.

Solomon and Natasha arrived back to the bus station having spent the night in a hostel.  The bus timetable was very confusing; Solomon continued to stare at it hoping it would miraculously make sense to her. 

Since their arrest and subsequent release she had relaxed a little, they had had some pasta and now, somewhat revitalised, Solomon was trying to decide where they should go next.  Admitting defeat, she led Natasha to the Tourist Information stand she had noticed earlier.  A small queue was ahead of her and this gave her the opportunity to browse through the leaflets, some of which had been thoughtfully translated into English.  As she scanned the leaflets, one had a pretty view of what appeared to be a very beautiful lake on it.  “Visit Lake Como” it declared. 
I'd love to
, Solomon thought,
but I have to get to Switzerland
.  Something about it seemed familiar though so she pulled out her atlas and thumbed her way through it looking for Lake Como.  She found it close to the Swiss border.  She looked closer at her map; within a few miles of the lake was a Swiss border town, Chiasso. 
If we get to Lake Como, then it’s only a short distance to the border.
  Solomon was now at the front of the queue, the people in front of her apparently being just one large group.

'I would like to see Lake Como.'  She said in her best English.

'Si, you can take a tour from the coaches.'  He replied amiably.

'Where are the coaches please?'

He pointed to the west exit.  'The coach park is next to the bus station.'

'Thank you'

Solomon led her daughter away in the direction of the coach park.  She was starting to feel nervous again but she took her mind away by thinking about what she would do with the rest of her life.  The only job she had ever had was in the army, and she didn't feel very much like enlisting again. 
Besides,
she thought,
I can't go back to Russia and I doubt very much that any other country would want me in their army
. 

Having led such a privileged and sheltered life she knew little of what other people did with their lives.  She thought about her short time washing dishes in the cafe; whilst it had suited her purposes, she knew that it would not offer the life she had promised her daughter.  She started to think about her mother, had she had a job?  What had her life been like growing up?  Slowly she realised that there had to have been more to her mother than she had ever known.  A woman who had the foresight to plan her own daughter's escape years beforehand.  A woman who suspected that her own husband was planning to kill her but didn't go to the authorities. 

Solomon took her place in another queue, this one for coach tickets.  The coach park was busy, and clearly, a central point for people visiting parts of northern Italy.  She held Natasha's hand and this seemed to calm her.  She looked down at her daughter waiting patiently in line with her,
how have we come so far?
She wondered to herself.  Images of their time on the run paraded through her mind. 
We're not free yet
, she reminded herself,
I don't know what Switzerland holds for us but it must, it must provide the answers.

'One adult and one child one-way for Lake Como please.’  Solomon asked absentmindedly.

'We only do return' the man said.

Damn, damn and blast,
she raged at herself,
such a stupid mistake!

'Oh I thought you bought the return there, this is better.'  She replied trying to cover her mistake, she accepted the two return tickets.  'Thank you, which coach is it?'

'Number ninety-five, over there.'  He pointed vaguely.

Solomon led Natasha away cursing her own stupidity under her breath.

The coach was a clean, modern air-conditioned one.  The seats generous for a coach, they relaxed into them and waited for the remaining passengers to board.  The coach pulled out of the park on time, easing its way into the dense traffic to make its way out of Milan to join the E35 north for Como.

Solomon sighed, both with regret at not having seen what Milan had to offer and from the sudden relief of stress.  She stared out the window, not really taking in the scenery but instead letting her mind wander and feel its way.  There was a part of her, a part of her mind, which had become numb reading the letter from her mother.  It had remained numb ever since.  Like any human organ, the brain has a self-protection mechanism, honed over thousands of years.  Traumatic events are compartmentalised, sealed off from the rest to protect the whole.  There was something different in Solomon's mind, something hidden there from birth.  It called to her in her dreams, it helped her in times of crises, but mostly it sat there observing, waiting, and biding its time.  She was aware of it now, lurking there, but every time she focused on it, it vanished from view, like the flash of light that lingers in the eye, just out of direct vision.  It called to her, whispering to her, the words indistinct but the message clear.  You do not belong here, you have never belonged here. 
I'm on the run,
she reasoned to herself,
of course I don't belong here.
  Unconvinced, the whispering continued.

'What's her name?' 

The voice registered but the direction from which it had come did not.  Solomon looked around; she locked eyes with the woman on the other side of the coach.

'Excuse me?' 

'Your daughter, what's her name?' 

The woman was polite, well dressed, and persistent.  Her accent placed her as an American or Canadian.  Solomon's heart skipped a beat, the woman was smiling, leaning forward, interested. 
Be calm, be polite, be forgettable.
  'Georgina.'  Solomon finally announced.  'She's eleven.'

'She's adorable, very pretty, obviously still in the tom-boy phase though.  It will pass.'  The woman caught the look of confusion on Solomon's face.  'The baseball cap.  My daughters both went through the same thing.  They even played in a league.  A couple of years later and they were cheerleaders.  It’s nice though, having the chance to explore your personality.  When I grew up I was always a little girl, up until I got married of course then I became a housewife.  I didn't mind it really, he was very good to me, and I have my children of course.  It’s just, well, sometimes, sometimes I do wonder.'

Solomon relaxed again now it was clear that the woman just liked to talk. 
Must be travelling on her own.
Solomon looked at Natasha. 
She does look like a tomboy.
  The thought planted itself in her mind. 

'Have you been to Italy before?'

'No, no I haven’t’ Solomon replied without really thinking.

'Oh it’s marvellous.  Just marvellous.  I've been five times and it still thrills me.' 
              The woman carried on talking, with Solomon only having to make occasional replies.  She tuned the woman out, just a little, so she didn't have to concentrate.
At least it will make the journey seem quicker.

Lake Como proved to be everything the brochure had promised.  A little too commercialised for Solomon's taste, but beautiful none the less.  The lake wasn't what really interested her though.  It was its proximity to the Swiss border that did. 

Free of the coach, Solomon found them a table at a cafe overlooking the lake.  Switzerland awaited them just a few miles away but she was sure that the border guards had been informed that they were probably heading for Switzerland.  She had no doubt that the mother and daughter arrested before would have been freed by now.  The mistaken identity realised and corrected, the guards put back on alert.  She wondered briefly about the two poliziotti and what had happened to them. 
Probably nothing,
she thought,
after all they had been told there was no reason to hold us.  However, it means that they know where we are headed, not precisely but closer than I would like.
  Solomon's vision focused away from the lake, to the foreground.  The place was quite busy she noted to herself. 
Lots of children playing.
 
Must be a school trip
, she reflected noting the school uniforms. 
They look a lot like the ones in the suitcase.
  She took a sip of her coffee and looked at Natasha. 
She really is quite a tomboy, that is when she isn't cuddling her toy sheep.
 

The cafe was quite busy now and seats were scarce.  A woman holding a tray caught Solomon's eye and spoke to her in Italian.

'È questa sedia disponibile?'

'Excuse me?' 

'Is this chair available?'  The woman said in good English.

'Yes, please take it.'  Solomon waved the woman to take the seat.

The woman had bottle blonde hair, slim and probably in her mid-twenties.  She was quite attractive too, Solomon noted.

'Where are you from?'  The woman asked taking a bite of her sandwich.

'We are from Georgia.'  The lie slipped out easily this time.

'How long are you in Italy for?' 

Again, another bite, it was becoming apparent that the woman liked to talk whilst eating.

'We have been here a week, we are touring Europe.  It is lovely.  I'm Irina and this is my daughter Georgina.'  Solomon offered her hand. 

The woman wiped hers on a napkin before taking Solomon's.  'I'm Carmela, pleased to meet you.'

Carmela then started chatting to Solomon as if they were old friends who hadn't seen each other in years.  She was a newly qualified teacher at the “Scuola Primaria Di Castelli” a primary school for boys in Chiasso, here on a school day trip.  She pointed to some of her children; Solomon noted that they were the ones wearing the uniforms similar to the one in the suitcase. 
Sometimes
, Solomon thought,
coincidence can be a real blessing.
They are looking for a mother and daughter, travelling together.  They are not looking for a schoolboy on his own or a woman travelling by herself.
 

Solomon paid the bill, said goodbye to Carmela and led Natasha back to where the coach had dropped them off.  There were a good number of coaches parked up now and they slowly made their way round them checking the name on each.  The Castelli School had its own private coach, with the name written on the side. 
Must be one impressive and expensive school,
she thought.  The driver was sitting in a foldaway chair on the shady side of the coach, deeply engrossed in reading.

'Excuse me what time to do you return to the school?'

'Six o'clock.' the driver replied, not bothering to look up.

Solomon checked the time,
a quarter to two, we have plenty of time to make this work
.  She led Natasha to the toilets and set about turning her daughter into a boy.

Solomon had to admit that the transformation was amazing.  Natasha had not yet hit puberty so they didn't have to deal with that.  The voice was a problem.  If she had spoken Italian or French then maybe, she could have sounded like an effeminate boy or at best one who also hadn't hit puberty.  The Russian accent on her English however wasn't something they could do anything about.  Finally, Solomon had Natasha practice one sentence over and over again.

'My name is Chekov, I am new to school.' 

Solomon hoped it would be enough if Natasha were spoken to.
If it isn't, well...,
Solomon stopped that line of thought.  She daren’t think of the consequences.

The time for boarding came, Solomon holding Natasha back until the coach was at least half-full.  She let Natasha go with instructions to take a window seat half way up the coach if possible.  Natasha walked off without a look back, this was the first time since they had left home that Natasha didn't have Sheepy with her.  Solomon had it tucked under her own arm.  She squeezed it gently and said a prayer.

The coach pulled off with Natasha on board. 
Well, that much has worked so far.
  She watched it disappear from view and then made her way to the bus stop. 
Time to decipher the Italian timetable again,
she sighed to herself.              She found Chiasso mentioned on the timetable, the next one due at eighteen minutes past the hour. 

No bus arrived at eighteen minutes past; instead, two busses arrived together at twenty-two minutes past.  Solomon scurried past the queue of people and joined what she quickly realised was a separate queue for the Chiasso bus.

'A return to Chiasso please.'

They arrived at the border crossing very quickly.  The bus came to a standstill, a long queue ahead. 

'What is the problem?'  Solomon asked the elderly woman next to her.