Listen To The Music That Goes Along With This Chapter.

Dimitri carried the three bags precariously in his arms, trying to peek over the tops to keep up with Vlad's hefty figure as they moved through the marketplace slowly.

"Slow down, I can't keep up!"  Vlad just laughed and continued on, carrying only one small bag full of apples.

"Keep up, my boy, I see our street ahead already!"

Dimitri rolled his eyes and made a face.  "Keep up, my boy..." he mimicked quietly.  Vlad could say whatever he wanted.  HE wasn't the one carrying three bags of fruit, after all!

People walked around them and Dimitri noticed with satisfaction the stares of many people.  Three bags full of exotic fruits, costly and rare, straight off one of the shipping boats.  This was what he always dreamed about -- recognition!

"How do you suppose they made so much money?" one woman asked her friend.

The answer was clear, despite the women's wondering.  Vlad HAD joined the black market.

Vlad had always seen himself as a pillar of truth, honesty, and integrity -- but by now he realized that he also didn't mind money.  Slowly but surely,  he'd worked at it.  It had taken an adjustment in mentality as well as hours.  It still made him stop and think when he handed over freshly forged papers or sold a stolen vase or two, but he made himself get past it.  He was working towards goals now.  Goals that he knew could only be done one way.

Being in the black market circle DID have it's benefits.  He now knew about his parents.  After reading a smuggled in copy of the "Paree L'heures", he found out that his father was dead.  Of natural causes, at least.  His mother remained a pillar of Paree Social Life, and was getting along just fine somewhere in the secluded city of Lille, France.  He wanted to visit her again.

But even more important was a question he planned to find out tonight when he finally had some free time -- a question that had been in his mind since a lost little ten year old found his way into Vlad's strong arms.

"Why do we need THREE BAGS of this stuff?" Dimitri asked.  He was tall now, and broad, a typical 17-year-old.  Of course, he still didn't match Vlad's towering 6'3", but he stood tall on his own.

"Because it's your 17th birthday, my boy!"

Dimitri sighed.  "I'm not having a party, and I think it's a waste to pay good money for FRUIT!"

"Pineapples, bananas, kiwis, and mangos!" Vlad started to do a little jig on the street, lighting up the whole road with his laughter.  Dimitri grinned and did a little twirl with the bags which almost sent him tumbling.  He was still a little -- okay make that a lot -- of a klutz.

Dimitri rested the bags gratefully on the railing at the bottom of the stairs to the apartment building.

"Tell me what you REALLY want these for, Vlad."

Vlad ignored the comment and opened the door for Dimitri and led the way to their flat.  Two years later, still the same ragged flat.  By now Dimitri thought of it as a type of shelter, but still not a home.  His home was out there still, he knew, but for now this would do.

Dimitri rested the bags on the kitchen table.  He'd come a little late to the docks after making a quick sale to a fisherman for some tickets to the traveling ice show coming to St. Petersburg.  Why anyone would want tickets to an ice show when there was still so much poverty Dimitri didn't know, but he didn't mind selling them either.  One less day of him being caught in that poverty.

Vlad had been standing with the bags and had quickly shoveled them in Dimitri's arms.

"A waste," Dimitri scolded.  "A waste of rubles."

"All you care about is rubles," Vlad pouted as he sat down at the kitchen table.  He rested his head in his hand and moodily sighed.  Dimitri wondered just which one of them was the adult anymore.

The teenager started unloading the bags.  "Five million pieces of fruit!"

"There aren't five million!"

"How many ARE there then?"

Vlad shrugged.  "See for yourself."

Dimitri counted out the number of oranges in the first bag.  "A dozen."

"And in the next?"

"6 bananas, 6 kiwis.  I'm a not kid who needs to learn how to divide anymore, Vlad!"

Vlad grinned.  "Just tell me what's in the last."

Dimitri opened up the last bag cautiously, always suspicious of the unknown.  "What's this?"  He slowly pulled out a long, thin box.

"Open it."

Dimitri slowly lifted the lid and smiled.  "A watch!"

"Read the tag."

"Happy 17th...that's 8 times 2 plus 1.  Love, Vlad." He laughed.  "8 times two is sixteennnnnn!"

"It's been 7 years since we've sang that!" Vlad announced. "And I just KNEW that you were still a little boy who needed to learn his times tables, whether you say so or not!"  He chuckled heartily.

"I know, I know," Dimitri said, slipping the watch on.  He looked at the fine black leather band and the gold covered rim lovingly.  "I've never gotten a watch from someone before." He looked up at Vlad again, then forced himself to laugh.  He wasn't one for showing emotion.

Vlad understood Dimitri's fear of emotion.  It was like he was...afraid. Of course, he had a right to be scared.  Not only was it seen as a waste to cry in Soviet Russia, but 9 years had passed since he last seen someone he had known and loved.  He was scared that the more he opened up, the more memories and pain would affect him.

"Now you see why I bought so many bags."

Dimitri laughed and made his eyes draw away from the watch.  "Yeah, it's kind of clear now!"

Vlad started to set the fruit up in a large glass bowl.  "So, do you have anywhere to go with a special someone tonight, Dimitri?"  He raised his eyebrows teasingly.  Dimitri rolled his eyes.

"No, I don't.  Although I've been offered."

"Oh, by that Alina girl again, eh?"

"Yes, by that Alina girl, if you must know."

Vlad set up the last banana in the bowl. "Why can't you just let yourself have fun once in awhile?"

"Because I don't WANT fun," he said as he plopped down on the windowseat.  "Anyway, I'm too busy.  I have to go back out in a couple minutes to deliver some papers -- you DID get them ready, right?"

Vlad sighed and waddled to the old mahogany desk.  "See?  A visa to Belgium.  Belgium!  Who wants to go to Belgium?"

Dimitri stood up and took the papers.  "This man, and I'm personally glad.  We're getting 15 rubles for it."

"15!"

"Yep."  Dimitri grinned and stuck the papers in a bag. "They'll be safe and sound in my pocket by the time I get home."

Vlad sat down at the kitchen table. Oh, that hurt his back!  Was he not as limber as he used to be?

"Be careful.  You know I don't like you running around in the slums of St. Petersburg.""We ARE in the slums of St. Petersburg, Vlad."Vlad made a face.  He had a good point.  "Just be careful!""I will, I promise."  Dimitri gathered his things and headed out the door.

After the transaction, he was extremely pleased to be 15 rubles richer.  He let his mind drift over the things he would buy once he was out of Russia: motorcars, sailing boats, large mansions that would rival the largest of palaces, even!

His daydreaming occupied his mind, and his feet lead their own way.  He turned down corner and corner, place after place, not even thinking about the things he was passing to get home -- or should have passed.

St. Petersburg was always gloomy, but soon he was in a neighborhood that seemed to take the adjective to the extreme.  It was dark, damp, and depressing.  Dimitri shuddered a little and pulled his coat closer.  How could he have never seen this part of town?  He had been everywhere, except for...

Dimitri felt his eyes widen.  He had been everywhere except for the one place that he wasn't allowed.

Inastrany Narodny.

He knew about Jews.  The Soviet Government hated Jews.  He didn't know MUCH about them, but he knew how the boys on the street talked.  Gregor and Ekial were often seen tormenting a little Jewish girl on her way to Market.  She was a pretty girl with a round, sweet face, but she lived in her own "neighborhood", a place that Dimitri never went.  NO ONE ever went there.  It was called "Inastrany Narodny" -- the "Foreign People".

It was a small section, only a few blocks in length and width, but it stayed unoccupied by most everyone.  Even Dimitri hadn't tried his conning schemes there.  If you were caught by the police, you would be immediately thrown into jail.  No one knew what happened in the jails, and Dimitri didn't want to.

He quickened his pace.  The sooner he was out of here, the less danger he was in.  His rubles!  What if someone tried to steal them?!  Even more incentive to get home as quickly as possible!  As soon as he had finished this 'journey' through the streets of Inastrany, he'd run all the way to the apartment and hide the rubles in an old shoebox for protection.

Across town, Vlad was undergoing his own journey.

"I understand that it's hard work," Vlad argued, "but we agreed to a fee of five rubles.  I had to walk all the way here -- I need the information!""I'm upping it," the man said.  "Ten.""Ten?  We aren't in the best of times now!" Vlad protested.  He would lose this deal -- Dimitri was the one who did all the deals, not him.

The man waved the envelope in front of the elder man's face.
"Ten or this little packet will go back to the government office."Vlad sighed and pulled out the money.  The two exchanged, and Vlad raced home to the apartment to look at his newly found information.

The man turned another direction and hurried down the streets of Inastrany, colliding with Dimitri.  The thief pushed him against a wall and ran on, trying to avoid any cops that might be around.

"Ow!"  Dimitri cried, rubbing the back of his head.  Now he had a splitting headache.  He even felt a little dizzy from it.  He'd have to stop at a drugstore to get some aspirin.

The closest store, Dimitri realized with a queasy uneasiness, was the one up ahead, still in the borders of Inastrany.

Vlad raced into the apartment and opened his envelope.  Yes, it was all here.  The records on Lara, Dimitri, and Mikhail were finally in his hands.

"Mikhail Moisse!"Dimitri squinted a little at an older man sitting by the counter.  "Excuse me?  What did you call me?""Mikhail, it's been years!"  The man fumbled to try and sit up, his shaking hands trying hopelessly to grip the sides of the chair.

Vlad browsed through the papers, reading each bit of information he could.  It had to be here somewhere...

Dimitri backed to the medications aisle.  "I'm just looking for some aspirin.  My name isn't Mikhail.""I'd know you anywhere, Mikky!  Don't tease like that," the man cackled.  "I used to babysit you, you know!"This man was insane, Dimitri decided.  He wasn't this 'Mikhail Moisse', nor was he related to him.

Vlad was finding otherwise.

He opened up the first paper with shaking hands.  An official report by an officer with the charges against Mikhail.  He bit his lower lip and kept looking.  There.  A family report.  He scanned over it.  Mother's name, Father's name, date of birth...

Spouse: Lara Vasilovich.  They were talking about the same person now, it was official.  Children: Dimitri Mikhailovich Moisse.  Religion: Jewish.  As was shown in Mikhail's last name.  Dimitri didn't go to church much, but he WAS Orthodox and had an Orthodox name.  Were they really two different people?

Date of birth for Spouse: August 11, 1881.  Date of birth for child(ren): April 28, 1906. Dimitri's birthday.  Vlad felt tears come to his eyes.  Dimitri really was his nephew.  The proof was in Vlad's favor.  He glanced back down at the paper again.

What was this?  Date of death for spouse: October 5, 1909.  Date of death for child(ren): October 5, 1909.  He glanced to the top of the page.  A little under two months after Mikhail.

Vlad felt his head spin.  How could it say they DIED, when Dimitri so obviously DIDN'T die!  That wasn't right. He knew it wasn't.

Leongard.  Dimitri thought his last name was Leongard.  His last name had been changed by someone, and Vlad was thankful that he had mentioned it to the thief.

Vlad flipped the other papers, scanning the tops until he found the one he wanted.

Name: Lara Leongard.  Child(ren): Dimitri Mikhailovich Leongard.  Date of birth: April 28, 1906.

Could it be possible that there were TWO Dimitri's?  And the one he knew now wasn't related to him?

Moved to St. Petersburg: October 6, 1909.  Oh, so this was a moving report.  He looked up the other sheet of paper, the Moisse one.  Date of Death: October 5, 1909.

Something wasn't adding up here.  Vlad smelt a fish or two.  He compared the two sheets of paper.  Was it possible that these were two different people, who just happened to move to St. Pete the next day?  Father: Mikhail Leongard. Date of Death: Unknown.

Before the death date had been August 12, 1909.  Something just wasn't working!

Dimitri was still at the store, trying to leave.
"I tell you, I'd know you anywhere, Mikhail!""I'm not Mikhail!" he snapped.  "My name is Dimitri!"The man's eyes widened.  "Dimitri?  Little Dimitri Moisse?  I haven't seen you since you were two!  Imagine!  You look just like your father!"Dimitri felt uneasiness crawl into his skin.  He needed to leave right now, before things got even weirder.

"You have the wrong person.  My name isn't Moisse.  Goodbye."  He turned to leave, hurrying out of the building with the aspirin, about to leave when he was stopped by the site of something.

Vlad was equally stopped.

He was studying Mikhail's police record now.  "He was arrested in 1908 for...assault?"  So, Mikhail had gotten into a scuffle with two men.  Lara and Dimitri had been present.  Dimitri probably didn't remember a thing about it, but Lara most certainly would.  Mikhail claimed self-defense.  He'd even had a trial.  Lara had testified that the two men were hired to capture her.  Capture her?  That was ridiculous!  Who'd want to capture her?  There was a copy of her testimony at the bottom of the page.

"My son and husband and I were walking down an alley when the two men, hired by my parents, attacked us..."

Wait.  Vlad re-read the sentence again.  Hired by her parents?  No, his mother and father would NEVER hire someone to ATTACK them!

But, they might hire someone to bring Lara back.

He remembered now.  How much his mother's face had been shamed.  How she was in despair that a scandal was now haunting their family.  Was it possible that she'd been shamed enough into hiring thugs to bring her only daughter back?

The rest of the testimony went on to describe the fight.  Lara and Dimitri had run for help, but by the time they got back with the police men, the two men were knocked out, and Mikhail was badly injured.  After the trial, his sentence had been -- life in prison!  But how?  He was innocent!

He was a Jew.  Vlad knew how much the Russian aristocrats of those days hated Jews.  So THAT'S why.  Religion.  Religion had torn his sister and nephew from their husband and father.  Vlad slammed his hand on the table.  Why?  Why over something so STUPID?  What did it matter, as long as the man was innocent?

The rest of the page was about circumstances of death for Mikhail.  He'd died in prison, largely in debt and without a family.  That's why he said he'd send money.  He looked at cause of death for Lara and Dimitri.  Unknown.  What was that supposed to mean?

He scanned the Leongard file again.  Nothing much.  A Lara Leongard and her son Dimitri, who's physical appearance just HAPPENED to match their Moisse twins, appeared one day, ready to buy an apartment and not with much money.  They managed to keep it up until 1914, when they both disappeared once more.  Dimitri was never seen again.

BUT.

Lara was found dead on March 14, 1915.  She had been working as a waitress at a restaurant in Moscow when she came down with the flu.  Without proper medication and doctors, she died.

Vlad cried then.  He cried, and cried, and cried.  He let all the tears inside of him fall, let them all come out.  She was dead.  His sister was dead.  Mikhail was gone.  His parents had hired THUGS to bring her back to Vointsky.  His best friend was in Paris.  And where was he during all this?  Helpless in the White Army.  No, he took that back.  He'd been TRYING to help Russia when he enlisted. He'd never thought about his family!  He'd been so stubborn, so stupid not to get out while he could and marry Sophie, to find Lara and Dimitri, to help them along.  He could have saved her.  He could have saved his sister.  He could have saved his nephew from living a homeless life, without parents.  Lara had told him to never give up someone that you love.

He still had Dimitri.  He was sure now.  The evidence was overwhelming. The picture, the letter, the files -- Dimitri WAS his nephew.  And he wouldn't live a homeless life anymore.  He'd stay with his UNCLE.  Vlad beamed at this word.  UNCLE.

But what about the mystery of the Leongard name?   As well as why she told Dimitri that Vlad had been dead.

It all clicked.  Lara had lied several times, hadn't she?  It'd been to protect Dimitri, for sure.  Give him a Russian last name, a Russian religion.  He was Russian, after all.  Russian Jews looked just like Russian Orthodox.  They were ALL Russian.  Religion was an internal decision, not an external.  But there were even more reasons to change his name.  Her parents might be able to track them down still.  So she'd changed it to Leongard.

Vlad remembered the first time he'd heard Dimitri's last name, what his reaction had been.  "A popular Russian last name."  She had chosen a common last name and bestowed it upon Dimitri.

So Mikhail had died trying to save her and his son.  Lara had gotten scared and changed their last name.  She'd somehow tampered with files to make it appear as if they'd died.  She'd LIED to Dimitri about his uncles and grandparents.

Lara had cared so much about her son, about the thing she loved more than anyone, that she'd made sacrifices for him in order to let him have a decent life, a fighting chance that his parents didn't have.  Vlad sighed as he realized that he could have helped her if he had been around.

And he still could.  He clenched his fists.  He would fix things.  He couldn't tell Dimitri their relation -- yet.  But he would find a way.  And he would guide Dimitri along the path he should be, he would help him to never make the mistakes he himself had.  He would help him find his past and his future.

Dimitri was already one step ahead of him.

Hanging in the window on a flat in Inastrany Narodny was the star from Dimitri's dreams.  It was a Jewish star, wasn't it?  He was riveted to the sight, caught in the few memories he could still find.Dimitri smiled and started to walk back to the flat, strangely at peace with himself.  The mysterious star was still a mystery, but it wasn't one he was afraid of anymore.  He let his mind remember happy times with his mother, and for once he didn't feel guilty.

Comrade Phelemingkof, meanwhile, had other matters on her mind.

"I THOUGHT I told you to STAY WITH THE GROUP!"

Anya wrinkled her nose, her only way of defying the Orphanage's headmistress while she was being pulled down the street roughly.

"Let me go!" she finally declared.  She pulled back and stumbled on the cold stones of the street, landing squarely on her bottom.  Phelemingkof rolled her eyes.

"Stay with the group!"

Anya stood up and wiped off her long coat with deliberate, careful strokes.  "I am TRYING too, but how CAN I, when they walk TOO fast and on TOO crowded streets?"

Phelemingkof's answer was a sharp slap across the face.  "Stay in line." She flounced off to join the rest of the group that was just ahead.  Anya clenched her fists angrily but trudged along behind her.  THIS was not home.  THIS was not love.  THIS was not family.  THIS was not what she wanted in her life, not now, not EVER.

As she walked down the street, she scanned the crowd.  They were in town today for some meeting or something.  Something about a flag and statue.  About how this country had a new name now.  The Union of Soviet something something -- oh who cared about the name, anyway?  It was the same old dirty, dark, damp Russia.

She walked along, trailing the end of the line of orphans.  There was Gregor in front of her, a cute little boy of 7, then Ella, Sasha, Eva, Stefan, Arkadi, Sonya, Ivan, and finally Marina, the eldest of them all at 18.  Marina wasn't going to be staying long in this orphanage, Anya knew.  She could sense it.  Comrade Phelemingkof got that -- look, whenever she glanced at Marina.  Off to the Clothing Factory she went.  Or even worse, a fishing village.  Anya wrinkled her nose.  She hated fish.

So this was what life amounted too when you were an orphan, huh?  You live 10 years of your life -- that being all that you could remember of your life -- in a dusty, creaking old building, filled with screaming kids and drippy ceilings, only to be greeted into the real world with FISH. Lovely.

She knocked into a young boy as she walked.  "Excuse me!" she said, turning to look.  The boy turned and gave a blank stare, then kept walking the opposite way.  It was an involuntary reaction to him.  His eyes saw through her, of course.

She stopped and watched him go.  His eyes.  What was that look his big brown eyes had given her?  She'd seen that look -- in herself.  Whenever she looked in the mirror after a fight with Phelemingkof or when another orphan was kicked out onto the street, that same look came into her eyes.  A look of wanting, a look of needing, a look of searching.  A look of trying to remember your past.  A look of...beyond.  Beyond.  She turned her attention to the road he was walking on.  Somewhere down that road, she knew SOMEONE was waiting.

"After all, years of dreams just can't be wrong," she whispered as she quietly touched the necklace around her neck that linked her to her past.  Whatever past it was, it was gone now.  Never to be found again?

"ANYA!"

She turned around quickly and ran down the road towards the line, all thoughts of beyond, family, and that boy, out of her mind as she struggled to catch up.
 

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