Page 73 of Sexting the Pakhan
The air smells like salt and cold water. The wind pulls my hair loose almost immediately. I take off my shoes because the sand is damp and firm near the waterline, and Ruslan watches me like he has never seen a woman do something so ordinary.
“What?” I ask.
“You’re barefoot.”
“Very observant.”
“It’s cold.”
“I like it.”
“You like cold feet?”
“I like feeling where I am.”
He looks at me after that, but he doesn’t make fun of me.
We walk in silence for a while. Not awkward silence. Not comfortable either. Something in between. The kind of silence two people have when there are too many things to say and no safe place to start.
Eventually, I ask, “Is Ruslan Karelin your real name?”
He looks at me. “Yes.”
“Is there a version that isn’t real?”
“There are versions people use.”
“Like what?”
“Mr. Karelin. Boss. Pakhan.”
The last word sits strangely in the air.
I look at the water. “What does that mean, exactly?”
“You don’t know?”
“I have Google. I haven’t been brave enough to use it.”
He’s quiet for a moment. “It means I lead.”
“That’s a polite way to say it.”
“Yes.”
“Try again.”
He exhales through his nose, almost amused. “It means men answer to me. If there is a war, it’s mine. If there is a betrayal, it’s also mine.”
“And if there is punishment?”
His eyes stay on the water. “Then I’m the punisher.”
I wish I hadn’t asked.
I’m glad I did.
Both things can be true, apparently.
