THE  BLACK SNOWMAN 

                                                                                        M Leslie

INTRODUCTION

This is the story of my friend, my best friend. My long lost friend.

He was a man on a mission, to find love and live happily ever after. 

Some said he was an American, some said he was British, some said that he was a doctor, some even said that he never even existed. He was an invention to warn the unwary. To others he was an urban legend - to others a true story. There were some who said he was crazy in love, others that he'd been made a fool of. 

Some even said he'd faked everything and he had his own reasons. 

I know the truth.

It happened almost thirty years ago. It was an age before web cams, mobile phones, instant photos and all that stuff. The Internet was in its infancy, it enticed the innocent. Was he taken in, too infatuated, too much in love to see the danger? Or was he unable to admit to himself and his friends that he'd been had? Did he want to see it through to the bitter end, just to save his pride or had he already decided he was a loser in love again?

It's an intriguing long distance love story, a true tale of desire and longing, or perhaps it all really is just a mainstream myth and a metaphor for the modern age and nothing is what we think it is, especially from a distance.

Preevyet, the Russian for hello, he'd practised saying it over and over again as he tried to master a language others said life was too short to learn. One phrase he never learned was Da sveedaneeya, he never thought he'd ever say goodbye to his sweetheart, to the love of his life.

I had thought hard and long before I told his story to the rest of the world, not because I have anything to hide but simply because he was my friend, my work colleague and a man I respected enormously, and I stood and watched him as he dug himself in deeper and deeper, but in what? In love? In debt? In a place he couldn't get out of?

He couldn't see the sea for the waves nor the sky for the stars, he was blind, love does that to a man, it makes them desperate, it makes them take chances maybe they shouldn't take. I think perhaps he knew all along he was being taken for a ride, he just didn't want to admit it, maybe he was just hanging in there hoping for the best or maybe he didn't want to admit his mistakes, especially to himself. He was looking for answers but something was looking for him. It found him in the bitter snowy wastes of Siberia.

I don't think he realized what he was getting into until he realized he couldn't get out. I tried to warn him, tried to get him to slow down but he just said it was like Margaret and me so he just went along with everything until the end, but how did it end?

I'll let you decide that, even write your own ending if it makes you feel better. If you think this is a love story where everyone lives happily ever after then give it one of your own. 

But it may not be the truth.

Because, like my friend, we all know deep down what the truth really is.

He was nobody’s fool, a well-educated man, a little old fashioned and traditional but what the hell - you live and let live today right? 

It's not for me to judge him, I just took him as I found him, and I found him one day pumping iron in the gym we shared.

'Kill the beast!' he roared over and over again in his mind as he pumped the weights, 'kill the beast! Kill the beast! Kill the beast.'   

The way he looked that first time I saw him was that if he didn't kill the beast and kill it quickly then it would pretty damn soon kill him. He stopped for a few moments to adjust his grip on the bar then resumed, his body beginning to protest at his murderous exertions, the deep breaths now sticky in his throat, mixing with the smell of sweat and oil, leather and the bodies all around him. He kept going, pushing himself harder and harder.

He had a lot of beasts to kill.

1

'Hi Robbo,' Ivan said as he watched his friend and work colleague bench press almost twice his weight, the muscles in his massive six feet five frame tensing and straining, the sweat glinting on his shaven head. Robbo just grunted a quick hello at him, never breaking his rhythm and pushed the weights a little more determinedly. 

When he thought the beast had finally been laid to rest he gave a huge sigh of relief then rested the bar on its stirrups and lay there recovering, his muscular hairless chest heaving. He listened to his body, tuned into it, the acid from his muscles dissipating, the warmth from inside rising. He listened as his heartbeat began to slow; the sweat on his skin began to cool. His rage began to lessen.

He'd just killed the beast!

Again.

How many more times?

How many more lives could it have?

Ivan took the bench next to him and set it to lift maybe half his body weight packed into his five eight frame. He took a while to get settled on his back, tensed against the bar a few times then began to lift, his breath ragged and uneven from the first push.

Robbo twisted up and sat on the bench - a slow smile on his face. He watched Ivan; uncoordinated and uncontrolled, to him it was just a weight. Maybe he had no beasts to kill? Ivan resisted cocking an eye at him, eventually he couldn't resist it any longer. 

'So what's her name?' said Robbo, spotting the opening.

'She’s called Margaret,' spoke and panted Ivan. 'Sexy little brunette legal bird.'

'Margaret? A lawyer?'

Ivan just panted his answer this time.

'Don’t let her draw up the prenuptial!'

'Might go all the way this time.'

'Thought there was a reason you were in here trying to get in shape all of a sudden.'

'Can't beat time man,' said Ivan already visibly straining at the weights.

'Time? Who you kidding? How old are you?' said Robbo wrapping the towel around his head and 

neck so he didn't cool too fast.

'Thirty five,' said Ivan between grunts.

'You're ten years younger than me and you're struggling already.' 

'Thanks Robbo!' gasped Ivan attacking the weights with a little more amateurish gusto.

'She worth all the effort, this Margaret?' said Robbo teasingly.

'Sure as hell hope so.'

'How long have you known her?' 

'Just a day.'

'Just a day? And she's done this to you?' roared Robbo with a deep belly laugh. 'Man - she's a quick worker - or you must be desperate!'

'I met my match,' said Ivan as he lowered the weights and rested.

'Lucky you!'

'Tonight is our first date.'

'In that case my friend you want to be careful you don't tire yourself out too much, huffing and puffing over her goodies isn't going to impress her any.'

'I'm just priming myself,' mumbled Ivan on the point of exhaustion.

'The hard way.' 

'Got to make a good impressionist!'

'You pussy whipped already?'

'Did I hear a jealous note there?'

Robbo laughed, 'maybe a little.'

'And how's your love life? Made it to first base yet?'

'I'm hitting the ball but no one wants to catch it,' shrugged Robbo.

'Maybe you're hitting it too far. You could lower your expectations a little?'

'I want a woman to match me, I'm not getting down to their level.'

'So you got another free night then?'

'Another free night, hell - another free life at this rate!'

'So what you gonna do with your time?' said Ivan resuming his amateurish attack on the weights.

Robbo knew what he was going to do, sometimes he'd pound the streets on his own, more exercise, more keeping fit, more honing and toning but for what? A lifetime of loneliness? There had to be something more than what he had now. 

He'd find himself looking round, imagining fantasies for all the people he met, cars speeding by, where are they going? An aircraft overhead, on its way to where? Everyone seemed to have a slice of life except him, he just had the crumbs.

Tonight he'd sit in front of the TV, surf the web, read something he wasn't interested in and wouldn't take in or maybe he'd phone his relatives? The options are endless thought Robbo with a weary sigh, what an exciting life I lead. Anyone wanna swap? One life going cheap, one life going nowhere, one life going to waste. 

One life spent fighting beasts.

2

Next morning at work one look at Ivan told Robbo all he needed to know.

'You got bags under your eyes and a smile on you face, so I guess the date went well?' he asked. 'Margaret happy with what you offered her?'

'The date went with a bang!' said Ivan with gestures to match.

'Just one? One bang?' said Robbo with a raised eyebrow. 'You losing your touch?'

'Well, maybe more than one, but I'm not going to brag,' Ivan said with a self satisfied shrug.

'Careful what you say, didn't you say she was a lawyer?'

'On her way to becoming a judge one day.'

'This Margaret - she crazy enough to want a second date with you?'

Ivan nodded, a little good-natured gloating. 'Tonight.'

'You think it's gonna lead somewhere, after just one date?'

'Could do, you know how it is when you hit it off straight away with someone.'

'And you've hit it off?'

Ivan nodded. 'Just like that, BANG BANG BANG!'

BEEP BEEP!

'Damn, I've been beeped - first time today.' 

Robbo spun on his heels and dashed away from Ivan and made his way to Accident and Emergency. They were working the day shift together at the hospital and Robbo was first choice for immediate assessment whilst Ivan was second line, tomorrow they'd change places. The day after that was Friday and they were doing the evening shift as well as the day shift, then they would have to fill in wherever they could as the midnight rush started. The pattern would repeat itself on Saturday. The ones who'd been drinking, the one's who'd been drinking AND then driving, the battered spouses, beaten up lovers and all the rest came their way. 

Robbo's speciality was anaesthetics but the city centre hospital couldn't afford too many specialities so like Ivan, who speciality was ear nose and throat, they helped out where they could. The emergency BEEP to A and E was for an elderly man who'd fallen and Robbo suspected a possible brain bleed that needed to be investigated further.

When he got there Robbo reassured the frail and worried man he was in safe hands, the hospital was a good one with a first class clinical reputation. The man relaxed visibly, knowing he was being well looked after but Robbo arranged for him to be kept in for a couple of days at least for observation, a scan on the bump he'd taken on his head when he fell over and also a chance to liaise with social services about his living conditions, he seemed a little undernourished and uncared for. Robbo would action what help he could. That was why he became a doctor in the first place.

3

He and Ivan survived late shifts on Friday and Saturday, the busiest times for A and E, only for them A and E stood for Ass holes and Everything in between. Sunday was a day off and he was back to normal days on Monday and Tuesday with a day off on Wednesday before the same pattern of late evening work repeated itself.

'You wanna stop off for a drink tonight - no work tomorrow according to the roster?' Ivan asked on the Tuesday when they'd both finished their operations rota.

Robbo shook his head. 'I gotta pick my kids up. Besides, what about Margaret? That over already?'

'It’s still going strong but she's on litigation duty tonight via Singapore.'

'The web net thingy?' Ivan nodded. 'So you've got the night to yourself?'

'Seems like it,' said Ivan.

Robbo laughed. 'I can rent you a few of my kids to keep you company if you want..................'

He had five children ranging in age from six to seventeen, three boys and two girls. The girls were six and nine, the boys eleven, thirteen and seventeen. The two youngest boys were on a trip for a week with their school and the eldest, now his summer exams were done, was slumming it in LA. It was just the two girls he needed to pick up from a friend who'd been looking after them when they'd finished school an hour or so earlier. He had no trouble finding people to help, single parents stuck together. It was the only way they could survive. They ran a mutual self help group, they had no choice. Men, women, they looked after each other.

'Daddy daddy!' the girls made a beeline for him as soon as he picked them up and almost bowled him over. They charged into his vehicle and arranged themselves, chattering and babbling as only excited kids can. He sat them in the back for safety and every so often glanced at them in the rear view mirror, at moments like this he felt blessed, but something was missing in his life.

Once home the events of the day were taken apart as they talked about what they'd been up to, but soon tiredness caught up with them and after a rice stew he'd cooked the girls made their way to their shared bedroom across from their father's. As usual he told them a story off the top of his head, one with a moral and a happy ending. If they maybe didn't have happy endings all the time in real life he'd sure as hell give them one before they went to sleep if he could. Once they were settled in bed he had the evening to himself so he got a beer out of the fridge and checked his mail. 

He had just one letter.

It was addressed to a brown-eyed handsome man.

That was him.

He opened it impatiently.

4

'Brown eyed handsome man?'

'Attractive professional woman?'

'Looking for that special person?'

'Friendship and maybe more?'

They introduced themselves more fully.

He was John Wheeler Robertson, a Doctor of Medicine; she was Carol Bell, a teacher. He worked at the main City hospital as an anaesthetist and general doctor - she worked at one of the city's most expensive independent schools specializing in English literature. 

They met via a lonely hearts site for professional people and it had taken them over a month of correspondence to get this far, a coy exchange of e mails, letters, then photos and finally phone chats and now they were in Benjies, an up market restaurant in the better half of the city. 

He was in his best suit and tie, dark, conservative and understated - she in a muted grey sheath with strappy heels. Thankfully both hadn't cheated on their photos, he was as she expected he guessed, she didn't show surprise or shock and she likewise was as he expected, if maybe a little older than her coy mid thirties as she claimed. She had a strong face, blue eyes and dark hair in a loose and long pageboy type cut. She looked good, bright and cultured and even a little sophisticated.....

'Whiskey,' she said.

Bang went the sophistication.

'Sorry?' said Robbo stopping the wine waiter in mid stride.

'Neat,' she said.

Robbo and the wine waiter looked at her.

'I prefer whiskey to wine.' she elaborated. 'Makes the evening go the way I want them to go.'

Robbo shrugged and ordered, whiskey and sophisticated didn't rhyme in his book.

The first one, a double, she sank in one go, the others she forced herself to linger over. They made small talk over the fish supper, Carol becoming more glassy eyed and forward as the evening and the whiskey took its toll. They'd pretty soon exhausted the small talk whilst Carol was still sober enough to play chat up lines but the evening was sinking into a series of embarrassing silences which Robbo felt more than she did, anaesthetized as she was by over priced scotch, damn, he could have done the job quicker and cheaper back in the operating theatre.

'So you work at the hospital then?' she asked him.

Robbo nodded. 'Here in the city yes. Terrible place, never go there if you can help it.'

She raised her eyebrows in surprise. 'Really? I thought it had a good reputation?'

He shook his head. 'Awful place - I should know, I work there. The hearses are double parked and the vultures are circling the place. Go in there for a routine operation and there's no guarantee you'll come out alive and even if you do, you may be minus one or two of your limbs....'

Carol just looked at him, Robbo thought she did humor the was she did sophistication - unwillingly, or maybe she'd gone to the hospital and had her funny bones surgically removed?

'Do you think I should have a boob job?' she suddenly asked slewing drunkenly from side to side in her chair with her arms above her head, tipsy and oblivious of the other diners and their titters.

'Why are you asking me?'

'You're a man, and a doctor.' she said pointedly.

Robbo looked at her trying to work out where she was coming from. 'Why would you want one of those?' he said eventually.

'All the rage, besides I've always wanted more, you know,' she jiggled her breasts for emphasis. 

'Washing up liquid,' said Robbo.

'Sorry,' she said, looking perplexed, 'I don't get it. What’s washing up liquid?'

'That's what a boob job feels like.'

'You don't think I need one?'

'I don't think any woman needs one,' he said in disgust, 'nature usually gets it right in the first place. Waste of time and a waste of money!'

'Why not have one, all the stars have them!'

'Are you're a star?'

'I might be one day, you never know,' she said seriously coquettishly.

'Doing what?'

'Reality shows, that sort of thing.'

'Doubt that,' he said bluntly.

'Why?' Carol said indignantly.

'That's TV.'

'So?'

'You're too old,' said Robbo bluntly.

'Rubbish! I'm only forty one.'

Robbo raised his eyebrows, 'you said you were only mid thirties?'

'Well, maybe,' she said too tipsy to care. 'There's still time.'

'Time for what?'

'For me to get on TV.'

'No there isn't,' said Robbo, 'if you're not on TV and you're over twenty-five, forget it! You never 

will be on TV.'

'Well maybe they'll be other openings.'

'What about your job teaching at school?'

'Who the hell wants to do that?'

'I thought you said you enjoyed your job?'

'Tell me anyone who actually likes their job?' she sneered gesturing wildly and rolling her eyes.

'I do.'

'You're a doctor, that's a cool job.'

'A cool job?'

'You can get all the drugs you want.'

'And that's cool?' he asked, she nodded in reply. No it isn't thought Robbo, it's not cool - it screws up your life. And I'm sure as hell glad you don't teach my kids! Maybe it was just first date nerves and the evening would improve. 

It didn't.

'Still, it's good money being a doctor, plenty of rich doctors around,' she said. 'Rich. And lonely.'

Robbo's antennae twitched - was she a gold digger? 

'Plenty of teachers earn a lot, especially the better ones,' he finally replied although he guessed his date wouldn't be in that high earning elite.

'Do you think women should earn more than men, 'cos most of the don't?'

'They don't work as hard, have time off to have babies, get left behind...usual stuff.'

'So you think it's OK women getting paid less?'

Too late Robbo spotted where the argument was going and suddenly excused himself to visit the toilet.

'Where are you going?' Carol suddenly asked as soon as he stood but before he could announce his intentions. When he explained she seemed to accept it but damn, Robbo thought, she was possessive already and they'd only known each other less than hour. 

After he returned the date went downhill even faster as she proceeded to drink herself under the table. She came up cursing and swearing with some fish she'd let slip off her plate earlier. It seemed to be a metaphor for the evening. 

Another girl another date and another waste of time thought Robbo as he put her in the taxi home, tipped the driver and hoped he'd never see her again. He'd been single for three years and it was three years too long.

5

'You're too demanding Robbo,' Ivan remarked after hearing about his date the night before as they were getting into their scrubs the next day, 'gotta give a little and take a little.'

'I wouldn't take her, except to a trade in center, she was a joke!'

'So what do you want in a woman?' he asked.

'Intelligence, a degree at least, someone easy to get on with, doesn't ask to much,' Robbo replied.

'What about her wings?'

'Her wings?'

'You're asking for an angel.'

Robbo shrugged, last night's date was just a gold digging simpleton who wanted plastic boobs, he'd add her to the failures of his previous dates, the Italian girl who wanted hard cash in her hands just for speaking to him, one woman who he was sure wasn't, more transvestite than stay the night. A German woman who hadn't shaved in a month, the proverbial Yeti Frau, and one bleached out blond who was so stupid she couldn't even be taken to a restaurant without making a spectacle of herself, he was terrified he'd have to take her to the toilet like he used to do for his little girls. 

He wanted a little bit of brains and a little bit of beauty, surely that wasn't too much to ask? He didn't want a trophy wife, he wanted a real relationship preferably with someone who knew how to hold one in the first pace, real conversation too, he was a real man dammit, and he wanted a real woman!

Where the hell were they all hiding? He couldn't understand how all the women seemed perfect when they were advertising themselves in the lonely hearts columns but the reality when you met them was hard to fathom. No one he'd dated so far had lived up to her glowing resume, let alone her promises!

'You wanna make up a foursome tonight, early evening meal, one of Margaret's friends in town from Stockholm?'

Robbo just shook his head.

Ivan was insistent, 'that's Stockholm as in blond Scandinavian trainee nymphomaniac.'

'I gotta pick my kids up.'

'Couldn’t they stay with your ex?' asked Ivan.

'No chance of that, I think she's forgotten she's got kids - but she doesn't forget to cash the alimony check's.'

'Never been there,' said Ivan with a shake of his head.

'Where?'

'Marriage.'

'DON'T!' Robbo rasped with a laugh. He watched Ivan slide into his sports car, drop the hood and speed away, then, with a world weary sigh, he got into his dark green Range Rover and swung through the evening traffic to pick up his kids and head home, and then?

Then nothing.

It was three years since his wife's divorce. He didn't think of it as their divorce, he was happy - she wasn't. She wanted the divorce, he didn't. She got it too, as well as the alimony - what she didn't want was the responsibility. She didn't get the kids either, she didn't want them. She was in New York now, working for a magazine and writing about people who were in intensive care style wise and she was going to wave her magic wand and make them well again. 

Easy.

She was a design doctor, he was a real one. She swapped motherhood for what? Thrown away tradition for something he could never understand or believe in. What more could a woman want than to be a mother, a nurturer, a care giver?

Since their divorce his life had slipped into a routine. At night when the kids were in bed he surfed the net, other people, people like him were doing just that too, just looking that was all. He spent a lot of time on the Internet dating sites, reading the stories of people who'd found real love against all the odds. Maybe he'd give it a try?

He had nothing to lose except wasted dates with apprentice women trying to decide what they wanted to be when they grew up. TV stars maybe? Besides, he quite liked the idea of finding love online, the Internet was fresh and new for most people, him included. He loved its glamour and novelty. It was the way things were going to be in the future. No more failed dates with semi women, uber hairy German Yeti Fraus or star struck wannabes. If he was going to find true love, find his life partner, that special woman to spend his time with he would find her out there in cyberspace!

He was sure of it.

6

As a special treat he'd arranged to take some of his children to see the tennis championships, just the two girls, the three boys doing their own thing with friends or over in LA. The tickets were a present from a satisfied customer, one of his patients. It was an unexpected surprise, even though most patients survived his anesthesia attempts and none turned it down for their operations!

Tennis wasn't his game, in fact all sport bored him, probably because he was good at it, coordinated, strong and athletic, he found games easy, for that reason they didn't inspire him over-much. The girls enjoyed it as he sat there taking as much interest as he needed to be polite but then something suddenly caught his eye.

Sweet, virginal and dressed all in white.

She gave the merest little orgasmic grunt when she served the ball. The perspiration shone on her fair skin, it seemed to make her glow. She was more than a girl, a woman in the making.

She was young and graceful, courteous and dynamic, at the side of the court he listened to her speak to the press and film crews in English, French and even a little German. She was blond, she was bright, she was Russian.

She was Anna Kournikova.

She was going to change his life.

He caught up with the rest of her games on TV; the kids were away enjoying the summer as much as he was enjoying the tennis player. He watched her games and the post match interviews, she was youthful, polite, fresh and vital. On court she was exuberant and charming. Adjectives failed her. He set the VCR to record her when he was at work, fired up his  brand new E Machine and got on the Internet to find out what he could about her. He downloaded pictures of her and printed them off. 

He began to scour the sports pages, then the fashion magazines.

He wanted her! 

But then it was too late. Soon she was gone, from the tennis courts, the city and the country, but not from his mind. 

7

He got back in the routine of work and kids, surviving life as a single parent, but he didn't bother anymore with the local dating agencies and lonely-hearts columns and as summer turned to autumn he was facing another long boring unexciting winter all alone, it was time to do something about it, time to meet his perfect woman, his ideal mate. Hell, although he was middle aged, he kept in good shape, he considered himself a good catch for someone.

'You read Russian Ivan?' Robbo said after their shift at the hospital a few days later.

'No - why do you ask?' said a surprised Ivan.

'Bought myself a book, in Russian, over the Internet.'

'Why did you get it in Russian?' asked Ivan.

'Because it's not published in English,' said Robbo, enunciating slowly as if Ivan was stupid.

Ivan took it in good faith. 'Good answer. So what's it all about then, this book?'

'Not what, but who - it's about Anna Kournikova.' said Robbo handing him the large colorful book.

'The tennis player?' Ivan flicked through the book. It was mainly a photo album. Some on court action shots, plenty of fashion poses, skimpy outfits, lip gloss, pouts, shiny hair, the usual glossy celebrity moneymaking nonsense designed to hook both the fans and the gullible.

'Anna Kournikova. The very same.'

'Is it for your girls, you took them to Wimbledon?' Ivan asked.

'No it's not for them, it's for me,' Robbo replied.

'For you?' Ivan said with a tilt of his eyebrow.

'Any reason it shouldn't be?' said Robbo taking the book back.

'You’re almost over three times her age, Robbo.'

'So, maybe she likes older men?'

'That’s almost cradle snatching!'

'She's no baby, speaks three or four languages, looks good and I just wanted to find out a little bit more about her.'

'So you got the book?'

'I got the book, so do you read Russian?' said Robbo in mock exasperation.

'Why should I?'

'You're called Ivan, that's a Russian name.'

Ivan laughed. 'I'm not Russian, never been there in my life, know nothing about it, mum and dad just liked the name.'

'So you don't speak Russian?'

'Sorry buddy.'

'Any relatives speak it?'

'Nope,' Ivan said with a shake of his head. 

'I'm going to have to get it translated,' said Robbo in exasperation.

'Or wait for the English version.'

'I don't want to wait.'

'Patience Robbo patience, it's a virtue.'

'It's a vice in my book.'

'Always in a hurry aren't you?'

'I don't want life to pass me by.'

You've got her bad have you?'

'Not her so much as what she is, bright cultured attractive, the sort of woman I'd like to meet.'

'A fantasy woman, carefully marketed,' Ivan said - and manufactured to appeal to gullible men who were maybe a little bit lonely but he didn't say it aloud.

'She looked real enough.'

'And where you gonna meet your own Anna Kournikova?'

'On the web.'

'How do you mean?'

'I'm not having any luck with local dating agencies OK?'

Ivan nodded, 'you're looking further a field?'

'I was thinking maybe I'd join an international one....'

'Can’t do any harm. If you're careful.'

'Careful, how do you mean?'

'Since the Internet started a couple of years ago two things have driven it.'

'And they are?'

'Sex and theft.'

'I don't get it.'

'The porn industry made the Internet, those fuzzy little twenty second clips.'

'Where does the theft come in?'

'It steals your dreams, the Internet is based around taking people in and fooling them.'

Robbo shook his head and opened his arms expansively, 'it's the future man, the Internet, that's the way it's gonna be for everyone one day.'

'You sure?'

'Just dial up what you want and get it delivered.'

'Like a pizza? Or a fantasy woman?' said Ivan.

'Like a mail order bride. That’s the way I'm gonna do it.'

'And get ripped off at the same time?' 

Robbo shook his head sagely. 'Not me, I'm too clever.'

'You sure?' cautioned Ivan.

'I'm sure, I'm also sure the girl I want to spend the rest of my life with is out there, somewhere.'

'Waiting for you?'

Robbo nodded emphatically. 'You said it.'

'And you're going to find her?'

'I'm going to find her - after all, she's just a mouse click away!'

 8

WELCOME TO THE PARADISE OF ANGELS !!!

Announced the web page banner as it eagerly accepted Robbo's payment then his photo and details. It was adorned with pictures of happy couples, Western men and dynamic intelligent slim attractive Russian women, well groomed, and all looking for a husband. Robbo read some of the testimonials. 

They had made some good matches and many people had sent them emails to congratulate them on getting them together in the first place. This was where he needed to be. It specialized in connecting beautiful intellectual Russian women with successful Western men. He had looked at dozens of online dating agencies - the one he eventually signed up with seemed to have the most genuine and realistic stories of people who'd found their life partner and fallen in love in cyberspace. 

The website boasted of the care it took and the checks it made on those joining. He looked at the testimonials carefully, he could be reading about himself in them one day he hoped. The people featured were nearly all professionals, doctors, dentists, engineers, accountants and suchlike and all of them had found their life mate, even soul mate with the agency. Robbo buzzed inside, he knew it was here he'd find what he was looking for! Once his mind was made up there was no turning back.

He filled in the form - said what he was looking for in a woman - intelligent, cultured and sophisticated and left it in cyberspace hoping his luck with the opposite sex would change.

One week later, on October the fourth, it did.

9 

Hello Mr Robertson. 

Sir.

I am Anastasia Ustinova. 

I am nineteen-year-old Russian studying English and teaching English at English College here in Omsk. 

I am resident in Omsk.

Would you like me to befriend. 

Yes?

Robbo read the email carefully, so far so good; it got even better as he continued to read what she'd written to him from thousands of miles away.  

I would every much like to contact people from all parts of world and allocate my life with them. Most of all I develop friendship with refined and educated man, with a view to formulating an affinity with him. 

I hope you find my English acceptable.

Robbo did, her English was more than acceptable, the odd grammatical deconstruction sweet rather than annoying. An over emphasis on words with a Latin root intrigued him and told him a lot. This girl was bright. Latin was the world's international language, as a doctor he knew that. He knew it, he just knew it - and he knew plenty more, the Internet is where he'll find the real love of his life! It looked as if all his prayers were being answered. He replied straight away, stabbing at the keyboard single fingered, laboring over the words, checking and double-checking his electronic love letter.

Hello Anastasia, may I call you that? Thank you for your reply. Where is Omsk? Where do you live? With your parents? What are your interests?

After a few minutes the email came through with her reply.

It is city in middle of Russia, I live in apartment on my own, it is very lonely. I don't know many citizens here and I work extremely laborious all the time. I like reading and I like sports. Do you like ice hockey?

No Robbo typed back to her with a smile, do you like football? No came back her reply but they found some common ground with tennis. 

I have a small TV monochrome in my apartment and I like to regard it. 

Anastasia then went on to describe her apartment, one room, a small bathroom and a shared toilet. When Robbo described where he lived, a large detached house in the city, she thought he lived in a mansion! 

Do you like being a doctor? She asked him in one email. It was one of my career choices but I didn't like the sight of blood she continued. Teachers earn more and get more respect and her English was too good to ignore, she added. She felt it would open up many more possibilities for her, I am a celebrated educationalist she claimed, her modesty bringing a smile to Robbo's face.

Over the next week he and Anastasia easily managed to build up a rapport. It was a relationship that had its own momentum. He would rush home from the hospital, fire up his E Machine, plug in the phone line and listen for the chirp chirp chirrrrrrrp chirp of the dialing tone. They spoke via email almost every night despite the annoying time difference. It was usually Anastasia who went without sleep, she said in her emails - she was good at catching a quick nap to refresh her when she needed it, students permitting yes?  Besides she was younger she wrote. The last teacher Robbo dated was the whiskey drinking Carol Bell; this one was as far away from her as you could get.

Anastasia sent a series of photos of herself wearing a tiny bright red micro mini dress, her blond hair neat and natural and hanging loosely over her shoulders, She was bare legged but wearing white high heeled stilettos. She was stunning; Robbo could never imagine her whining about wanting a boob job. They were the only pictures she had, as she explained. I am shy in front of camera no?

10

'No reason for her to be shy about anything!'

'She's certainly a looker,' agreed Ivan when Robbo showed him the pictures, 'Doesn't look like she'll want plastic surgery,' he said referring to Robbo's date with Carol Bell.

'Seek and you will find!'

'So why does she want you?' said Ivan.

'Man, you're a real comedian aren't you?'

'Seriously, why you?'

'Why not me?' said Robbo, 'what the hell's wrong with me?'

'Nothing.'

'There you go then.'

'But there's nothing wrong with plenty of guys, so why you?'

'We just clicked,' said Robbo.

'How many guys had she been through to get to you?'

'How do you mean?'

'She hot looking, she's on the Internet so there must have been plenty of guys after her.'

'And she chose me, the girl's got taste.'

'So you say.'

'She could do worse, much worse than me!'

'Maybe, but you're thousands of miles away.'

Robbo shrugged. 'Distance? That’s a blink of an eye in the Internet age. She's in the same position as me when you think about it.'

'In what way?'

'She’s not found anyone local to share her life with and now she's looking further afield.'

'Just like you?'

'Just like me - and we've both found what we're looking for!'

11

Robbo had never seen anyone as beautiful and she had a mind to match. Her English was excellent, albeit a little stilted and formal, it was always heavily Latinate but it was always good to hear from her. 

He got the impression from the email it wasn't only a lonely life she led but a tough one as well. It had given her the mindset she showed he guessed. She was a real person living in a real world, she had values, believed in traditional roles and certainly didn't seem like a gold digger. She never asked about his private life, never pried, she gave him respect. That was the word, give someone respect and they will give it back.

It was as if she was looking for a lifeline out of the place and he was it, it was no big deal - aren't we all looking for something Robbo reasoned? He couldn't believe how his life had turned around, she was his lifeline, not the other way around. Suddenly he had a future. He had something to look forward to. He could plan and he could allow himself to dream a little.

All because of the Internet.

All because of Anastasia.

He'd killed the beast at last, the beast that mocked his loneliness, the beast that built him up just to knock him down. It was dead. 

Never would he let it come back to life again!

He had a reason to live and look forward to the future. There was no going back now. At work he was a changed man, the other doctors and staff noticed it and Robbo himself did little to hide his relationship with his new found love. 

'You're buzzing Robbo,'  Ivan said, echoing the others.

'Got a reason to buzz!'

'This your hot Russian date? The Internet girl?'

'Sure is.'

'You still in contact then?'

'More than that, she loves me man! She told me herself,' he said to Ivan at the hospital where they were both on duty one evening. 'And she wants to get to know me.'

'Usually the other way round, get to know someone, then, you know, all the rest.'

'This was love at first sight, I don't have time to wait, the waiting games just for fools.' said Robbo dismissively.

'And you're no fool?' asked Ivan.

'Not in love no. I know it's for real!'

'Just like that?'

'That’s the Internet for you.'

'You're joking?' said Ivan, 'how many times have you emailed her?'

'About a dozen all together.'

'And you've never spoken to her?' said Ivan in disbelief. 

'I don't need to - words don't lie.'

'You’ve never met her and you're in love with her?'

'And she's in love with me, she told me that last night in her email. In fact I got her a present to celebrate.' said Robbo slipping out a small box and opening it carefully, 'what about that?' he said triumphantly.

Ivan stared open mouthed at the small but expensive diamond ring snuggled in the silk box.

'That's for her?'

'That’s for my Anastasia!' Robbo said clipping the box shut, 'true love and an eternity ring to prove it.'

'Robbo, slow down,' cautioned Ivan, 'this is going way to fast.'

'Like I said, I haven't got time to wait.'

'But it's surreal.'

'It's also true love. And this gift proves it.'

'She's just nineteen?' Ivan asked.

'She is,' Robbo replied.

'You're over twice her age.'

Robbo shrugged, 'that means nothing.'

'Slow down, just slow down.'

'And lose out on the best thing that's happened to me in a long time?'

'Do you know the state of the Russia economy since the fall of the Berlin Wall, what we earn in a day they earn in six months, maybe even a year, how do you know she's not fleecing you?'

'She hasn't asked for it, but she's gonna get it.'

'Robbo, this is all happening too fast, you need to take a rain check on it.....'

'And lose her?'

'If she's serious about you she won't bother with anyone else. Maybe she sees you differently to how you see her, maybe she sees you as a sugar daddy, maybe she's really a toothless old babushka......maybe you should wait a little before you rush into things, it could cost you more than just money.'

'Life's too short to wait, we both agree on that! Look at you and Margaret, you hit it off straight away.' 

'We met face to face,' Ivan pointed out. 'We just clicked.'

'It doesn't always happen that way, I just think you need to be careful that's all,' counseled Ivan again, knowing Robbo didn't do patience all that enthusiastically.

'The only thing I'm careful about is not having to spend the rest of my life alone.'

'And you're sure?'

'I'm sure, Ivan, we're both sure!'

12

Robbo sent the ring to her, she was delighted, and over the next couple of weeks he sent her some other small gifts. A watch, a necklace with a small crucifix and a good luck bracelet but he was distraught when next weekend she was absent from cyberspace. 

In his mind he was still silently fuming about Ivan's remarks about Anastasia screwing him, treating him like a sugar daddy. Saying she was taking him for a ride. He was right - Ivan was wrong. But Anastasia's silence did worry him. 

He checked his connection, rebooted time and time again, brought a new telephone lead and even got the telephone company to check the line to his house to see if there was a fault, everything was in order. 

So where was Anastasia?

Ivan didn't get it, didn't get the Internet, didn't get how powerful and romantic it was, to meet someone from so far away by chance. He was hooked on the glamour of seducing someone on the Internet and nothing was going to stand in his way. Maybe there was a computer glitch or something over in Russia? He was sure as hell convinced Anastasia hadn't finished with him. They loved each other. 

He fretted for a few days but the next weekend she was back, at first he was overjoyed at hearing from her again then she emailed him two hours later with a desperate plea that moved him to tears.

My great lover John, how I've missed you but I couldn't afford electricity last weekend, the snow was too deep. It was minus twenty Celsius and I was too cold to move. Teachers in Russia earn little and I had no more money left for my power generation needs, but I thought of you and kept your picture with me all the time. My love for you kept me warm.

Robbo thought about it. Minus twenty Celsius, hell that was almost zero degrees Fahrenheit! He wasn't going to let his Anastasia suffer! If she was going to be marooned in her house without power because of the cold they wouldn't be able to exchange emails. He knew what love was, the emails were simply a token of that love but it was all they had. He emailed her straight back. 

Can I send you some money, maybe a little to help with your heating? 

Anastasia replied immediately. 

US DOLLARS.

WESTERN UNION. 

We have poor financial system here in Russia, many thefts and criminals are happening, this is safest way.

Robbo immediately sent her a hundred dollars, two hours later she emailed him and asked him for the same amount again. He obliged. He couldn't do any other, he may lose her completely and he didn't want to risk that. It was rare that a man found real love, for the first time in his life he had. He hadn't even loved his ex wife the way he loved Anastasia.

A few days later she was back online to him, with a shocking proposal!

I want to come and see you. 

Can I do that? Yes?

I can stay with you and together we can be.

I am crazy with desire and need you John.

I am waiting no longer no?

We must meet.

Yes?

Robbo looked at the email and at her pictures, he wanted nothing more than to meet her, shut Ivan and the other guys up at the hospital - his ex wife too! Anastasia was a bit special, bright and sophisticated despite her young age and everything he was looking for in life. They were meant to be together! It was always going happen sooner or later, that was why he'd joined the dating website in the first place. 

He knew there would be a price to be paid, he didn't expect love on the cheap. It was almost two thousand American dollars - it was a small price to pay for Anastasia, and for happiness. She needed 300 dollars for her visa, a thousand dollars for her passport and a four hundred dollars as spending money. He sent the money. Anastasia's comment about Russia been full of criminals was true, he had to send the four hundred again, some animal had stolen it from her and cashed it via Western Union!

13

There would be no emails from her for the next few days as she made her way from Omsk to Moscow ready for the flight to London. He read her previous emails avidly, he knew there was no doubt she loved him, it shone through in her writing, in the attention to detail and the care she took over her correspondence. It was in every word she said. Hell, he could almost smell her perfume on them! 

She was bright, interested in the world, in law, in politics, in everything - it was almost like having a relationship with more than one person, like he was Internet dating a whole room full of sexy Russians teenagers rather than just his beloved Anastasia! She was special and soon Ivan and his hospital colleagues, his ex wife and even his kids would realize it, she was on her way! 

He would be a man again.

The kids especially would have to get used to it, he hadn't told any of them yet. His wife, who left him because he was boring and out of touch would get the shock of her life and Ivan especially would find out it was no toothless old babushka he was corresponding with. He'd find out she was a real person, warm, sincere, sharing. And honest. 

And she was on her way!

November the nineteenth.

Robbo had the date pinned to the wall next to his E Machine, in his diary, in his head and in his heart. That was the day he would meet Anastasia at Heathrow on her flight from Omsk via Moscow. She was flying in overnight and would arrive at six o'clock in the morning; she would only stay a little while at first - which gave him a problem, where would she sleep?

He guessed she'd sleep with him eventually but he didn't want to rush things, it had only been just over a month of emails, they'd take their time and do what came naturally. He wanted her to have the biggest room in the house and that was his, she said she shared a toilet, his bedroom toilet was en suite. The entire room was bright and airy, it looked out over a small park, usually green even in the depths of a usually snow less city winter, so different to what he'd found out about Omsk, they had ten months of winter there. Ten months of cold and ten months of darkness.

Light!  

That was the key. 

In her gloomy little apartment block in Omsk light would be something she'd be deprived of during the long hard winter months. He bought a new beside table lamp, a bigger bulb for both the bedroom and the bathroom and a small UV lamp. He'd done a bit of research on light deprivation, maybe a little extra UV light would please her? He hoped so.

She would be arriving early on the nineteenth and he had arranged a pretty full agenda for her after a day and night to recover from the journey. Most places would be bustling with the run up to Christmas and he'd already pre booked a few outings. 

Swan Lake at the ballet, she said she liked Tchaikovsky, a meal on a riverboat, not many rivers in Omsk so that should impress her and maybe he'd throw a little Shakespeare in, Anastasia had said how keen she was to get to know more of his work. It was, he thought, nice to meet a woman with some refinement instead of the trash he usually got paired up with by the dating agencies. For brown eyed handsome man most of them seemed to read desperate mid life crisis man, and that he certainly wasn't! The agencies took him for a fool, thank god some people didn't. Maybe she would not go back to Russia ever, he could bury the old year along with his beasts and welcome in the new year with a new love, a new life and maybe even a new wife, almost!

He had it all planned out down to the last detail but one problem bugged him, he was going to the airport to meet her when she came but what to go in? 

He had his Range Rover, a meaty four wheel drive people carrier, safe and strong for his five kids but maybe he should get something sleeker and, damn it, sexier?  First impressions would be everything. He looked again at her pictures; she was the sort of girl who looked like she'd enjoy roof down motoring, the wind in her blond hair and a smile on her face. 

Even in winter.

14

'What you reckon Ivan, you think the right wheels count?' he asked his friend in the canteen at the hospital between patients.

'They say a lot about you Robbo.'

'So what does my Range Rover say about me?'

'Safe, solid, dependable reliable...'

'Go on.'

'Arrogant, impatient, driving something the size of tank to get you own way, and bully other motorists.'

'What about boring?'

'Very,' said Ivan with a smile. 'You need a car like mine.'

'You reckon?' asked Robbo.

'Sure of it.'

'Think it counts?'

'Makes the ladies drool.'

'Something like that toy car you screech round in?'

'That’s my Porsche 911 you're talking about. My pride and joy.'

'How much would I pay for one?'

When Ivan told him he spluttered into his coffee. 

Ivan was unrepentant, 'you're senior to me Robbo, you earn more - surely you should be able to lay your hands on enough for a Porsche?'

'I doubt it,' he said.

'So where's all the money going then?'

'Alimony,' was Robbo's one word answer.

'Go for a cheaper alternative then.'

'Like murder?' said Robbo with gallows humor, 'maybe you know a Porsche-dealing death-dealing hit man?'

'Cheaper car Robbo.'

'Such as?'

'Japanese maybe, what about a Toyota?' said Ivan getting into his petrol head mode.

'They do sports cars?'

'Good ones too, or maybe a Mazda?'

'Mazda?' Robbo shook his head, 'that's too girlie, Toyota sounds OK.'

'Or maybe a traditional British sports car, like an MGB.'

In the end he traded his dark green Range Rover for a Toyota T bar sports car in bright red and everyday after that he came to work aching all over after cramming his six feet five frame into the tiny driving seat but he reckoned it was worth it, after all he was doing it for a reason.

The E Machine in the corner stayed silent, Anastasia wouldn't be able to contact him for a while, she was on her way and Robbo was impatiently counting down the days and nights of loneliness. He was doing double shifts at the hospital to clear his schedule to spend all his time with her, his five kids would be staying with friends and relatives and everything was set for the nineteenth of November. After that there was Christmas and New Year and then, who knows? 

15

He was on edge as the date drew near, for the first time in his life he was nervous, he feared failure, a strange feeling for a man who excelled at everything he did. He loved the idea of Internet dating, he loved romancing online, and emotionally he'd invested so much into this. It seemed so right; every way he thought about it, he was sure his life was going to change. But there was a part of him, just a blurred unfocused part that wondered if he was doing the right thing? He pushed it to one side and let himself fantasize about his future, Anastasia, the things they could do together. Sure there was an age difference but she knew that, she was sharp and bright, she knew plenty. He felt he knew everything about her, and he was glad they'd taken the time to get to know each other so well over the Internet, they needed to be sure. 

The nineteenth of November came.

He was at the airport an hour before the scheduled flight from Moscow was due in. It was still dark and dismal. He'd phoned to check arrivals three times in the middle of the night and once before he left home, there was bad weather all over Europe but everything was running to schedule according to the airport and the airline.

He took his place in arrivals surprised at how nervous he was. He had bought her some bright red roses and a big box of chocolates. He listed to the loudspeaker announcements and strained to see into the distance. Out of the low gray cloud he could just make a silver shape heading towards him. It grew larger as it neared the airport. He almost thought he could make out Anastasia in the one of the window seats, he waved frantically. 

As the aircraft landed and taxied his tension grew as he watched each passenger disembark and rush into arrivals, to hug loved ones, refresh friendships and develop acquaintances. Would she be first off - would she be last off?

As he watched them come down the steps his heart was in his mouth then as the last one left the aircraft he realized. She was nowhere to be seen, Anastasia wasn't among the arrivals. Never in his wildest dreams did Robbo think she wouldn't be there, never did he doubt her - and he still didn't!

Something was wrong, very wrong....

He was frantic, so frantic he even tried to get on to the aircraft and search it, he heard himself babbling, then felt arms seize him and politely but firmly escort him back to terminal. Once there he ran around the airport buildings like a mad man with a million thoughts rushing through his mind. 

Had she missed the plane, was she catching a later one?  Had there been an accident, an incident of some sort? A crisis or emergency development?  Or had something far worse happened to her? He went to the flight desk; did they have any information? He drew a blank from them; there was no one by the name of Anastasia Ustinova on the flight manifest.

Then he had a flash of inspiration - had she come earlier? Was she lost and wandering around the city looking for him? She was in a foreign country all alone, she had no idea where she was going or of what trouble might be waiting for her. Foreigners beware, outsiders beware, she was a bright girl but still a country girl from the middle of Russia, how would she knew what could be waiting for her in the big city? Rape, theft, murder, all those things ran round his head.

He must have seemed a strange figure running round the early morning airport with a huge box of chocolates and a dozen red roses. He went out and threw them in the Toyota and walked then drove round trying to spot her, he asked the taxi drivers, the airport staff - everyone he saw. No one knew anything. He kept her picture in his wallet, took it out and showed it to them in the hope someone somewhere at the airport may have seen her. 

Eventually in mid morning he went home, disconsolate. He had no messages waiting for him from Anastasia on his computer, no reason to suspect anything was wrong, but something somewhere was, and three days later he found out what. They were the worst three days in his life, he sent email after email to Anastasia, he was frantic with worry. He checked back with the airport and then the Russian Embassy. Had she been injured and taken to hospital? Had the internal flight from Omsk to Moscow crashed? He knew the Soviet Union had collapsed but the aura of secrecy still stood, bedsides it was a huge country, even with the Internet news maybe traveled slowly.

The Embassy assured him they had no such information about an injured female from Omsk. It was the lowest point in his life but on the third day Anastasia contacted him!

She was ill, very ill!

16

My Dear John. I am despondent we could not meet no but I am ailing. I make it to airport then went via emergency to hospital before I am dying. I am hospital now in Omsk with liver hepatitis C. Drugs difficult to arrange and expensive here but hope to get well soon. Do you have surplus antibiotic or even better money for them? Russia will not let drugs in through postal people. I am needing them. Please reply soon. Before it is too late. Your beloved Anastasia.

Robbo could well imagine the state the Russian health service was in, he didn't hesitate - he would do what he could for her. He didn't go into medicine to be a bystander, he wasn't going to wait for her to die, he waned a marriage, not a funeral. He would do everything he could, money was no object - not when it was set against his lover's life. He emailed her right back.

My Darling Anastasia, I am sending you some money via Western Union for your drugs. I can't even begin to imagine how you must be suffering, to think of you when you are so far away from me, alone and in pain. I cannot send drugs, they are too difficult to get but hope you will be able to purchase them. Does your doctor speak English? Can they contact me?

Robbo sent four hundred dollars immediately and a large gift box containing perfume and soap. Anastasia didn't reply, nor did she reply to his following emails, Robbo feared the worst had happened and she was seriously ill - or even dead. He was going mad with worry, bombarding the online dating agency, the Omsk email address Anastasia used and even the Russian embassy. He spent a morose Christmas putting on an act for his five children so as not to spoil it for them. 

He researched the Russian health service, it was in a dire state, he truly didn't know if Anastasia was alive or dead. Finally - just after Christmas on the twenty ninth of December he got an e-mail from her.

My Dear John. It is because of you that I am still alive. 

You are a great man. I am recovered but not employed anymore. I still am having much lassitude and torpor. I am needing to have therapy to make me better to visit you. We have clinic in Omsk who will provide for me therapy but it is expensive. My parents are to look after me, they do not work so we do not eat. I am going badly - I need to get well to visit you in spring. 

I am missing you so much. It is thinking about you all the time that is keep me going. Without you I would be not living by now. I owe my life to you. When I am recovered in spring I will show you everything. I am loving you so much. 

Thank you for all you have doing for me and making me healthy.

Robbo emailed her straight back asking what she needed, he sent her five hundred dollars for medication and the same amount for clothing for when she got better and could get about a bit more. He had a good idea of the standards Anastasia would have to put up with in Omsk but he, for one, wasn't going to let her suffer. He sent her two thousand dollars, and another five hundred again for the therapy she needed. 

You can't put a price on love. If you could buy health he would, he was also buying a future but by now he was beside himself with worry. Friends at work had noticed the change in him; Ivan was the first to bring it up.

'You worried about Anastasia?' he asked.

Robbo nodded, 'she's got hepatitis C.'

'That’s a viral hepatitis - clinically indistinguishable from hepatitis B  - are you sure it's C and not B?' Ivan asked.

'So her doctors say,' Robbo replied.

'Has she been ill before?'

'She hadn't mentioned it.'

'Have you asked?'

'Damn I'm a doctor Ivan of course I've asked!'

'Then you'll know you how you get it?'

Robbo nodded. 'It’s usually transmitted by parenteral means - as an injection of an illicit drug or blood transfusion or exposure to contaminated blood or blood products.'

'Text book answer Robbo, but I think you need to ask her some more questions about how she could have got exposed to it.'

'She's ill Ivan.'

'All the more reason, maybe the cure is killing her?'

'How do you mean?'

'Did she get it from bad blood?'

'You mean a contaminated transfusion?' said Robbo.

'Most obvious way. Listen, have a talk with Mullins, she's the liver specialist here.'

Robbo sucked his teeth in impatience and when he got a free moment he dashed through the hospital corridors and took the stairs two at time up to the next floor rather than wait for the lift so  he could grab a few moments with the specialist.

17

Professor Linda Mullins looked at Robbo over her gold-framed glasses. 'Hepatitis C is a liver disease John.' she said in mock condescension. 'It affects the biggest organ in the body.'

'Damn it Linda I know that, I am a doctor remember,' Robbo said in return.

'Specializing in anesthetics.'

'Specializing in that, I just want to know what you can tell me about it.'

'Apart from it being situated about as far away from where the anesthetic usually goes?' said Linda dryly.

'I know the usual prognosis, but I need more.'

'This hepatitis C, it's related to Anastasia?'

'She thinks she's caught it.'

'Does she indeed. Is she sure?'

'Pretty sure she seems.'

'It can mimic other diseases, other conditions, it may not be apparent. The diagnosis can be difficult, misleading symptoms, but you say she's sure?'

Robbo just shrugged his answer.

'You can become infected with hepatitis C if you come into contact with the blood or, less commonly, body fluids of an infected person.'  

'You think that's what happened?'

'In most cases, hepatitis C causes no noticeable symptoms until the liver has been significantly damaged. When symptoms do occur, they are often vague and can be easily mistaken for another condition. Symptoms mimic other illnesses, there can be flu-like symptoms, such as a high temperature and loss of appetite, feeling tired all the time, depression - but surely you know all this John, so why are you asking?'

'I need to know.'

'Need to know what?' the specialist persisted.

'If she'll live...'

Linda nodded slowly. 'Most people survive it.'

'I'm looking for reassurance maybe.'

'If that's the case I can't give you much.'

'How has she caught it?'

Linda sighed and looked at him before she spoke, she was sure he'd read up everything he could about it before coming to her. 'The most common way in that people catch hepatitis C is by sharing equipment to inject illegal drugs. Does she take drugs?'

Robbo just shrugged again, he didn't know but he doubted it. 'No, she's too bright, I'm pretty sure she doesn't do drugs.'

Linda raised her eyebrows, 'too bright?' Robbo nodded, 'bright people do really stupid things.....' she added quietly.

'Not her!' he said emphatically.

'There is a drugs epidemic in Russia, in fact all over the old Eastern Bloc, maybe she got caught up in it?'

'I still doubt it.'

'Less commonly, people can get hepatitis C through sex....'

'Still doesn't seem like my Anastasia.'

Linda just raised her eyebrows. 'You don't really know her do you John?'

'I know her yes,' said Robbo in exasperation, 'how is it treated?'

'You know that John, surely.'

'Yes I do but I need to hear it from a another source.'

'A second opinion?'

'If you want.'

'Or an escape route?' she asked succinctly.

Robbo sighed as Linda continued, she spoke evenly and cleanly as if discussing it with one of her junior colleagues.

'Hepatitis C can be treated with antiviral medicines that are designed to stop the virus from multiplying inside the body and prevent further liver damage. Two widely used antiviral medications are interferon and ribavirin. The different strains of hepatitis C are known as genotypes, and some genotypes respond better to treatment than others. With treatment, around half of people with genotype 1 will be cured, and around 8 out of 10 people with genotypes 2 and 3 will be cured. Two new medications, called boceprevir and telaprevir, have been found to be effective in some people who do not respond to conventional antiviral treatments. But it will be many years before they become available, maybe 2010 or later.'

'Are these medicines rare?' asked Robbo.

'Very rare.' replied Linda.

'And thus expensive?' 

Linda nodded.

'And difficult to come by in Russia?'

'The answer to all three is yes.'  

Those were Linda's final words.

18

As soon as Robbo had finished his last operation and thrown off his scrubs he dashed home. He knew what he was going to do; it was something he should have done when all this started. He fired up his E Machine computer and emailed Anastasia.

My Darling Anastasia, I can't bear to think of you suffering, I can come and look after you.

Her reply was instant despite being so ill.

You will have to bring plenty money. The money system here is poor and I do not trust people who steal from Western Union anymore. It is best you bring dollars in newly minted bills. Credit Card facilities are very bad here. We need ten thousand. Please be urgent. 

Robbo promised her he would bring the required funds and get to her bedside as soon as possible. It was something he knew he should do, but it was also something he knew he shouldn't do, but he needed Anastasia as much as she needed him.

'You sure about this Robbo, this visit to Russia?' Ivan asked him when he told him about his trip.

Robbo sidestepped his concerns, 'it's no big deal, I've seen Twin Peaks on TV, I know what to 

expect.'

'Twin Peaks isn't Omsk - it isn't in deepest darkest Siberia for a start.'

'Can’t be much different.' shrugged Robbo.

'Omsk isn't downtown Alaska,' said Ivan pointedly.

'Like I said, I know what I getting myself into.'

'But do you?' insisted Ivan.

'I can take care of myself, besides I'm going there for humanitarian reasons.'

'And that makes a difference?'

'Sure, and the difference is it will keep Anastasia alive.'

'I still think you need to be careful.'

'I don't count - Anastasia does, hell, she could be dying right now, and I'm here doing nothing!'

'You're really going then?'

Robbo nodded emphatically. 'I sure as hell am.'

'You cleared the paperwork?'

'I've got a thirty day tourist visa, it expires on the twentieth of April.'

'What about your kids?'

'All taken care off, they're staying with relatives.'

'You'll be gone how long?'

Robbo laughed, 'maybe forever if it all works out OK.'

'Robbo - you gotta think about it my friend.'

'Damn it Ivan I have.'

'This could be a scam, a sting, someone could be setting you up,' Ivan said, his hand on his friend’s shoulder. 'Pull out now while there's still time.'

'I can't.'

'You can't what? Admit you've been had, taken for a ride?'

'It's deeper than that, you can't stop me.'

'I can't stop you, the only way I can stop you is to get you locked up as certifiably crazy.'

'Crazy in love that's all,' Robbo dropped his eye contact and continued. 'I feel stupid, like I'm being used.'

'You are Robbo.' said his friend quietly. 'They’re robbing you.'

'You've seen her pictures, you know what she looks like, she's a beautiful girl. She needs me and I need her, Whatever it takes I'll do it. I need to help her. I'm in love with her.'

19

On the twenty first of March 2002, after emailing Anastasia with the precise details of his itinerary he caught the evening flight to Moscow. He had with him ten thousand dollars in newly minted bills. They were in his suitcase, along with a change of clothes, some medicines, mainly morphine and penicillin. He'd written out a prescription for his children using their mother's maiden name, unethical and illegal but he had to do it.

He would do anything for Anastasia!

He arrived at dawn local time in Moscow and cleared customs. They checked his tourist visa, number 2987847 and directed him to the free shuttle bus. He had pre booked a flight to Omsk with Thomas Cook and after coffee and stale rye bread sandwiches he boarded his connecting flight at SVO1, Sheremetyevo 1 - the Moscow airport for internal flights.

The passenger manifest said he sat in seat C39. After a short delay the flight took off and he settled himself into his seat, journey's end almost. He replayed in his mind for the hundredth time what he would say to Anastasia when at last they met, then he smiled to himself, how about hello? That would be a good start, then they'd take it from there. 

As the aging Soviet era jet lumbered east bound he looked out through the window over the vast featureless steppes, still white and icy cold. 

The sun was setting when he landed in Omsk.

He was possibly the only person in Siberia carrying ten thousand dollars cash in newly minted 

bills.

Certainly the only black man.

He was never seen again.

THE END