The Mountain

I dislike puddle jumpers. Unfortunately, they were part of my life. When you travel the world, searching out unique products to excite American minds, you have to accept a few risks. Small planes with duct taped seats are one. Pilots with questionable credentials are another. Today, I was gambling in a twin engine prop plane that was badly in need of a paint job.

The pilot did a lot of smiling and nodding when I boarded. His knowledge of English was poor. My knowledge of Azerbaijani was even weaker. I had separated from my translator earlier that morning since he wasn't following me into Russia. Hilal had been invaluable while I searched for rug manufacturer that would suit the tastes of our discerning customers. His ability to convey meaning in translation was rare. Most of the translators I worked with could only think in one language, and that invariably lead to misunderstandings. Hilal understood nuance in both languages and chose words, at least in English, that held the true intent as well as meaning.

The plane had room for eight passengers, four on each side of the aisle. I took a seat in the back hoping I might rest in privacy. My internal clock was still messed up with the time change, and I had learned early on to take naps whenever I could. I watched two elderly gentlemen board. They wore old suits that looked like they once belonged to Al Capone's gang. Like the rest of the country, they smiled at me, and I smiled back. It seemed to pass as a greeting here though the smiles were practiced and meaningless. They took the seats in the front that gave me hope for the privacy I desired.

The trip had been a successful one. With Hilal's help, I had secured a manufacturer of high-quality hand loomed rugs, intricate designs at a high 60 x 60-knot density. They used only spring sheared wool that, I was informed, gave the carpet a softer texture. It also made them more expensive. One would think that people in the more remote parts of the world would be ignorant of the price Americans were willing to pay for quality. Negotiations proved that theory false. They also had a good handle on marketing. They affixed small labels to the underside that included the signature of the artist who did the looming. A family crest used for generations joined the signature and guaranteed authenticity. It was highly profitable for both their firm and mine.

I watched a slim women climb on board with a small child. She was holding him tight to her breast; his legs were not quite reaching her hips. He looked asleep which I dearly hoped he would remain. She had soft raven hair that cascaded down her back in natural waves. I could see the strain in her eyes that spoke of a difficult morning. Her contented sigh when she took the seat in front of me confirmed my hypothesis. A soft baby powder odor wafted back to my seat. It was pleasant.

I was still three days out from Kimberly. The mother in front of me somehow triggered the thought. She was about the same size as Kimberly. The hair was completely different from Kimberly's short brown, but the ages were comparable. If it were up to Kimberly, she would be holding a child as well.

Kimberly was my enigma. She was a joy out on the town and passion personified in bed. If that were life, I would have married her long ago. It was the nothing parts of life where she, or we, failed miserably. The parts that made up the bulk of living. I missed her and didn't miss her at the same time. I loved her some of the time.

After four years, we had gotten used to each other and suffered through the silence as penance for the good times we knew were never far away. I didn't have the heart to marry someone who I tolerated most of the time. I didn't have the heart to disconnect either. Right then, sitting on the plane, I missed her.

The pilot, in his greasy overalls, closed up the door and pumped his fists together at his waist. The international buckle-your-seatbelt gesture. He smiled and said something in Azerbaijani and then looked at me.

"We go now," the pilot said in deeply accented English. I nodded my head, and he seemed happy I understood. He turned, ducked his head and entered the cockpit. That was the breadth of his in-flight safety briefing. The engines struggled to start, coughed, then kicked into a loud roar after producing an uncomfortable amount of white smoke.

The child startled awake and lifted his head from his mother's shoulder. He looked surprised at his surroundings and locked his eyes on mine. I thought I saw fear, so I smiled. His mother patted his back, and he quickly dug his face back into her shoulder. The plane began moving forward.

The takeoff was smoother than I expected. The pilot was obviously skilled though he looked more like a mechanic. We were in a steady climb when I leaned my head back and closed my eyes. The engines, now that we were airborne, sounded more even and confident. I let them lull me to sleep.

++++++++++++++++++++

The alarm woke me rudely. I reached over, as if at home, and found the window instead of the snooze. I opened my eyes and felt the plane in a steep climb. The alarm was insistent, and the plane climbed harder. I looked out and saw nothing but white, thick clouds. I heard the pilot shouting. It sounded like encouragement, not instructions. He was yelling at his plane, not to us.

My hands gripped the armrests as the mother in front of me called out. She received no response, and her child was staring at me from over her shoulder. He looked more curious than frightened. I gave him a forced smile as we came out of the clouds.

"Fuck!" I yelled as I saw the trees. I could count the branches. The mother screamed, and the horrible sound of the left engine disintegrating into the treetops vibrated violently into the cabin. For a brief moment, I saw the child ripped from his mother's arms and began to fly free toward the front of the cabin before my head exploded into the seat in front. I knew no more.

++++++++++++++++++++++

The cold woke me. I found myself laying sideways in my seat, the seatbelt and armrest digging into my hip. The strong smell of fresh cut evergreen was out of place. The breeze I felt equally so. My eyes found it hard to open. The sun, dulled by clouds, was still too bright for the ache above my eyes. I took long blinks to allow my sight to adjust. The vision was surreal.

I lay against the window along the side of the cabin. The other side of the plane was gone, ripped unevenly along what was the ceiling and floor. The seats in front of me were intact. The ceiling was now made up of large conifers; their broken branches lay in my lap. I could not see a cockpit nor any sign of the other side of the plane. It was as if my portion of the plane had been peeled away and laid on its side.

I pushed up, away from the window, and released the clasp on the seat belt. Maneuvering slowly between the seats, I crawled off the metal and onto a cold hard natural surface dragging a few branches with me. Standing caused bile to rise in my throat. The world was not wholly stable and chose that moment spin. I grabbed the bottom of my seat and let the feeling clear.

Strangely, it was the silence I noticed next. I would have expected fire and explosions, but all I heard was the breeze whispering in the trees. The air was cold and crisply fresh. I stood taller and let go of the seat. My head ached. Reaching up, I found a knot half the size of a golf ball high on my right temple. I remembered smacking into the seat in front of me. Obviously, it was the cause of my equilibrium problems.

I turned around, looking for the rest of the plane. I could see nothing but trees, their dense foliage blocking out anything beyond twenty feet or so. I started going through the checklist of things I should do. It would be a few hours before anyone would come looking, maybe a day before they found us. I wondered why I wasn't dead.

"Hello," I called my voice strong but raspy. Gathering everyone was the first thing on the list. "Hello," I called louder after coughing some phlegm away. The greeting was met with silence. A grim thought came to me. "Hello," I yelled. Silence. The cold felt colder.

I stepped forward, toward what was once the front of the plane. The mother was childless, eyes closed and blood coating part of her face. The memory of the boy flying came back. I looked quickly forward again. Just trees. No boy.

Crawling, I was able to reach the woman's neck and tried to check for a pulse. Nothing, but the skin was warm. I checked my neck. No pulse. Too many movies and no practice. I shifted my fingers a few times, gave up and tried my wrist. I found my pulse and tried the same on the woman. She was alive with a heart that was beating steady.

Leaving the woman in her seat, I moved to the next seat. It was as empty as when we took off. The front seat made me gag. I looked again, and then leaned over promptly losing what little breakfast I had eaten before we left. There was no reason to check for a pulse. A large portion of the old man's face was missing, sheared off during the crash. I could only hope it was instantaneous. I shifted away quickly, wiping my mouth on the back of my sleeve.

"Hello," I shouted again. This time, I added the desperation I felt. I was praying I would hear a young boy though the memory of him leaving his mother's arms left me little hope. Again, there was no answer but the wind in the trees.

I turned back to the mother and crawled onto the side of the seat. I shook her shoulder and lifted her arm and babbled a few 'are you all rights.' Nothing. No response. I needed to get her out of that seat. Leaving her there just seemed wrong. I found the seatbelt and undid the clasp. She slipped toward the window, her body moving with gravity.

Moving behind the seat, I tried to figure a way to lift her up. It took a few aborted tries before I realized I didn't have the leverage. I would have to lift her straight up while standing on her window. I walked around, stepping carefully, removing larger branches as I went. Squatting, I was able to get my arms under hers and lifted her up. Half pulling, half lifting, I squirmed back to the natural ground, dragging her feet between the seats. I laid her down on the ground, her head hitting harder than I would have liked.

"Sorry," I apologized though she was unconscious and knew nothing of my efforts. I straightened her legs then sat near her head, pulling it into my lap. She had a shallow cut just above the hairline that had caused the blood. I felt carefully around her head and found a large swollen bump behind her right ear. I suspected that was the cause of her silence. I sat there, lightly stroking her hair, hoping she would wake up and share the disaster.

The ground had a gradual slope to it. Uphill was behind me, toward the row of seats. My feet were pointing downhill. It would be easier for someone to find us if we stayed with the wreck or what's left of the wreck. If not, walking down seemed more reasonable than walking up. I looked up at the sky, or where the sky broke through the trees. I didn't have high hopes an aerial search would be effective. Maybe the rest of the plane, wherever it was, was more visible. It couldn't be too far away.

Coherent thoughts returned to me, and I fished my phone out of my pocket. My usual bars were replaced by 'no service." I tried calling and texting anyway. Nothing. Until the battery died, at least I would know what time it was.

The coldness of the ground and the chill in the air was concerning. I figured we might be stuck outside for the night. The temperature would only drop lower when the sun went down. I would have to find some shelter to block the wind and try to trap our warmth. Maybe build a fire. A vision of Tom Hanks jumping up and down in Castaway brought a smile to my face.

"Lady," I said casually to my patient, "we are going to need shelter. I have to leave you here and see what I can come up with. I suspect we may smell like air freshener when we're done." Pine needles will end up being our mattress. The woman didn't acknowledge me or chuckle at my humor. A bad sign for our bunking together.

"I'll be right back," I said as I laid her head carefully on the ground. I didn't want to leave her there, but I couldn't take her exploring. I walked perpendicular to the slope, winding around the trees. I turned back to the seats, and they were out of sight. Taking a deep breath, I walked back to the woman. I wouldn't be able to go far, maybe a 100 yards in each direction. Everything looked the same and becoming lost was a strong possibility. I tried my phone again, in vain.

I decided to search in a series of four straight lines. Uphill, downhill, and to either side. Short searches so I didn't lose my way back. Uphill became steeper quickly. It wasn't long before I decided crawling wasn't worth it. The trees seemed to ignore the slope and grew tall where I could barely stand without their help. Opposite to my first search, I located two suitcases. Neither were mine, but they were intact, showing little damage beyond scrapes that could have happened in any airport. I hauled them back to the seats. The lady still lay still.

Downhill held a surprise. A clearing developed ahead that excited me. At first, I thought it was a road, maybe a river or lake. I slowed as fewer and fewer trees blocked my view. Acrophobia invaded, and I could not go to the edge. I clung to a sturdy tree and stared out at a chasm so deep, I feared to look down. Across the vast space, many miles away, mountains grew similar to what I now knew I was standing on. We had most likely crashed into the Caucasus.

Thinking made me ill. There was little chance of a ground rescue. Parts of the plane could have plummeted into the valley below, further limiting the visibility of our location from the air. I tried to lean over to see the steepness of the descent. I could not see the cliff side and the slope made further investigation chancy. I created a new rule; no walking around at night.

I returned to my only friend, sat down and sighed. "We may be in a bit of trouble," I told her, "looks like it will be awhile before anyone finds us." I watched her face and saw no reaction. I hoped things weren't worse for her than I thought. "I did a quick search and found nothing but trees and a cliff. I think we'll have to sleep under an evergreen tonight and work out something better tomorrow." I might as well have been talking to a soccer ball.

My nearly useless phone told me it was going on three in the afternoon. I decided to get started. I chose a large tree, close to the seats, with low hanging branches. Underneath, I found a thick bed of pine needles. I didn't know where I got the idea they would be comfortable. They were dried out and pricked me often. Still, it was the only raw material I had.

The wind was picking up when I crawled back out of the tree after making room by ripping off some small branches. Ripping was the correct term. The saplings were so green they more ripped then snapped, leaving short trails of exposed wood and sticky sap.

"I need to gather some branches for a windbreak," I told my silent partner. I wasn't sure why I informed her. I knew I didn't want to be there alone, and it was better than talking to myself. The smaller trees provided easily accessible branches with sturdy needles. These needles were softer, less brittle. Possibly the basis for future bedding if that should become necessary.

Using the loose branches, I stacked them on the live branches then wove them together. I created the walls and ceiling of a tiny hovel big enough for two people, about three feet high. It took the better part of two hours and covered my hands with splotches of sticky sap. I decided to use the suitcases as the door.

I moved back to the woman after I finished. She hadn't moved an inch. Leaning down, I made sure she was still breathing. Smiling, I listened to her slow, steady breathing. She seemed more asleep than unconscious. No struggling for air, just soft breathing.

"Well, my dear," I chuckled, "for the first time in my life, I am going to drag a woman into my bed unwillingly." I thought for a moment. "Of course, I am going to need to give you a name. I can't imagine sleeping with someone without, at least, knowing their name." I stared at her silent face, so calm in the face of the danger. Her skin looked soft yet was paler than I would expect. I placed the back of my hand on her cheek. She was colder than I thought she should be.

"Dorothy," I announced as I stood up, "this is definitely closer to Oz than anywhere else, so until you tell me otherwise, your name is Dorothy." I rolled her on her side, then rolled her back into an almost sitting position. From behind, I tucked my arms under hers and lifted. I tried to keep my grip modest, away from her breasts, but gravity fought me. "Sorry Dorothy," I whispered as I walked backward toward the makeshift hut.

Dragging her inside was more difficult than I imagined. It would have been better to put her in first then build the structure around her. I damaged the right wall getting her in, but it was easy enough to rebuild. I laid her head on the pine needles, wishing I had thought of a pillow first. I extricated myself, crawling backward.

The first suitcase was locked, and I wasn't yet willing to break the clasp. For all I knew, the owner was doing the same thing we were. The second suitcase opened freely and contained a man's clothes. I was hoping it was the guy I left in the chair since he wouldn't need it anymore. A set of wool sweaters made the most sense. I folded one, crawled back into the hovel and placed it under Dorothy's head. I left the other for me. I crawled back out and examined the rest of the clothes.

Nothing of great value jumped out at me. Pants and shirts that wouldn't work as blankets. Underwear I preferred to leave alone. The socks might come in handy as mittens if it got really cold. I wadded up two pairs and tossed them inside. It would have been nice to find a blanket or large coat. I closed up the suitcase, leaving the rest of the clothes inside.

Searching the seats and what was left of the cabin wasted more time. I could find nothing we could use as a blanket. I thought about breaking the lock on the first suitcase. I shook my head and decided that if there was to be a second night, the lock was toast. Right now, I would allow the lock to do its duty.

It was getting dark when I gathered more fresh branches full of soft needles. I would build a natural blanket to hold in the warmth and, I was sure, make us really sticky. I crawled back into our tiny house, pulling the branches in with me. I closed off the end with the suitcases and spread out the makeshift blanket as best I could. If either of us rolled over, the thermal properties would be lost.

"Good night, Dorothy," I whispered as I laid my head down on my wool pillow. Dorothy didn't answer so I leaned my ear close and listened to her breathing. The reassurance that she was alive made me braver than I actually was. I needed her to stay that way. I wasn't sure I could handle it alone. Saving her gave me the mission I needed and kept my mind on an even keel.

I woke when it was still dark. My chest and hands were shaking. It was colder than I had anticipated. I tucked my hands under my arms and tried to warm them. The wind was finding its way through the walls, blowing our warmth away. Remembering the socks, I reached out of the needle blanket and rummaged around until I found them. I quickly put a pair on me and warmed my hands.

"Dorothy," I called out, hoping she was coherent. Nothing. I removed the socks, disturbed the blanket and found her hands. They were ice-cold when I put the socks on them. I reached up and felt her cheek. She was colder than I was. I tried to slow my breathing and calm my mind. I was questioning if we would make it through the night. The thought did not seem out of the realm of possibility.

"Dorothy, I hope your husband isn't a big man," I said with chattering teeth. I rolled her on her side, completely destroying the pine needle blanket. I cocked her legs and pulled her hands between her thighs. I scooted behind and reset the pine branches. I spooned with a woman I didn't know, my face buried in her thick hair. My arm wrapped around her, and I tucked my hand under her breasts. "Sorry," I said. Propriety was too cold.

How we survived that first night, I would never know. I slept fitfully, half my body warm, the backside like an ice cube. My feet felt like they would fall off. If Dorothy had not been there, I was pretty sure I would have died of exposure. She was my survival, physically as well as mentally. Her breath was still steady, for that I was thankful. When the sun began to shine, I crawled out of the hut after reburying Dorothy in branches and needles.

My muscles ached horribly, and my chest was fighting the cold. I chastised myself for using the sweater as a pillow instead of wearing it. I peeled back my jacket and shirt and found a large bruise on my hip where the seatbelt and armrest dug in during the crash. It was an ugly purple thing with a greenish border. I wondered if Dorothy had something similar. At least it didn't look life threatening. I went off and emptied my bladder a good distance from the hovel.

I spent some time stretching and jumping about, trying to get the blood flowing back from my core. I looked about and saw that nothing had changed. The trees and our part of the plane were the only things in view. I didn't like the odds of the cabin part being visible from the sky. I needed to do something about increasing our visibility. My stomach growled. I needed to do something about food as well.

I decided the first and best course of action was another search. According to the sunrise, the mountain peak was to the north and the cliff to the south. I could go out further east and west and not lose home base. Being on the safe side, I tied one of the shirts from the suitcase around a sapling near the cliff. If I got lost, I could follow the cliff edge until I saw the shirt.

My goal was to find a clearing that could be seen from the air and any other supplies, like more suitcases. Possibly find the other passengers or the pilot. Maybe a little boy.

"I'm going to scout about," I told Dorothy while checking her breathing. She hadn't moved from where I left her. It was not an encouraging sign. Outside of the shelter, I scraped an arrow into the ground, pointing east. At least if she woke, she would have some idea that I was here and where I went.

I decided that 15 minutes out would be far enough. I didn't want to leave Dorothy alone for too long, and I also needed time to build a warmer shelter if we were forced to spend another night. I checked my phone. 6:03 am and 20% battery. I quickly put it into airplane mode. I should have done it last night. The damn thing had been using battery trying to find nonexistent antennas. I headed out, figuring I would lose my clock sometime tomorrow.

I was a good 10 minutes out when I saw the tail section. It was in among large broken tree sections. I looked up and saw the damaged trees above, a little farther ahead to the east. The section had been torn violently. The metal had jagged rips unlike the cabin section I survived in that had separated along welded seams. I cleared away some of the branches and exposed a small door where the cabin once terminated.

The door was the size of a half locker and seemed intact. I tried the fixed handle, but the door wouldn't budge. Looking closely, I could tell the frame had bent and wedged the door tightly closed. I had no idea what was in the locker, but I wasn't leaving until I found out. I jiggled the handle, and it moved slightly up and down. I assumed up was open and down, with gravity, was locked. I found a rock and used it as a hammer until the handle was as high as it could get. I tried the door again, and it failed to move.

I stepped back and decided to try more force. Raising my foot, I slammed it into the plane's panel, just to the right of the latch. A sharp stinging sensation ran up my cold foot all the way to the knee. I ignored it and tried the door. It was looser but still wouldn't open. I kicked it again, this time with an added yell to help me ignore the pain. The panel collapsed, and the door swung open. Christmas had arrived.

Two thin folded blankets sitting on top of a metal box at the bottom of the locker were the first things I saw. That alone was worth my sore leg. Two small airline pillows sat on the blankets. There was a small fire extinguisher attached to the wall on one side of the locker and a small plastic box attached to the other wall. The box had a red cross I assumed identified a first aid kit. I couldn't stop smiling as I began to unload the booty.

The first aid kit was simplistic. Gauze pads, a stack of individually wrapped disinfectant wipes, tweezers, aspirin packets that were probably years out of date and a slew of band aids. There was a single cloth wrap for sprains. I pulled out a blanket and spread it out on the ground. I started adding my loot to its center. I had no idea what I would do with the fire extinguisher, but it was coming back with me. The two pillows and the other blanket were coming as well. I pulled out the metal box, more of a lunch box, and opened it. It looked like emergency overnight supplies for the pilot. Four packages of Ramen noodles, beef flavored by the look of the picture on the wrapper, box of matches, a small can, and a small metal cooking pot.

The can was surrounded by wording in a language I couldn't read. I pried it open with my fingers. It was a Sterno pot. The lack of silverware was apparent, but beggars can't be choosers. There were about twenty matches in the box. It was a gold mine. Only water would have made it better.

The blanket made a good carrying sack when I pulled the corners together and hoisted it over my shoulder. I decided to the cut the scouting out early and headed back to camp.

Dorothy showed none of my enthusiasm for the find. I was pleased she was still breathing and that, in and of itself, was another blessing. I pulled off her pine covering and covered her with the two blankets I had plundered. I smiled at my small victory and carefully pushed Dorothy's hair back from her eyes. I didn't like the dried blood on her face and now there was something I could do about it.

I opened one of the disinfectant wipes and carefully wiped the blood from Dorothy's face. She was a pretty woman, high cheeks that I was sure enhanced her smile. Her skin was smooth with a light tone that enhanced its delicacy. "I'm sorry to be this familiar," I told her as I cleaned, "but I can't leave you such a mess." She didn't respond, but kept breathing for me. I laid her head back on top of one of our pillows. She was so peaceful looking.

I sighed and decided to do what I had been avoiding. If I was human enough to clean the face of a live woman, I could be human enough to take care of a dead man.

It took some time dealing with the old man. My revulsion to his injuries turned out to be the least of the problems. The ground was too hard to dig in, not that I had a shovel, and there weren't enough rocks to cover him. I ended up finding him a nice tree well away from the camp. I laid him carefully and buried him in pine needles. It was the best I could do given the circumstances. I followed it with a few words, unsure of his religion or lack thereof.

I had heard no search planes or helicopters. Maybe the search was just getting started. Maybe they had no idea of the flight plan. Maybe the world didn't give a shit about a small plane lost in the Caucasus. No matter the reason, it seemed wise to plan for another night. I decided to reinforce the hovel instead of starting from scratch. Maintaining warmth was the number one concern.

After checking on Dorothy's breathing, I started to pile pine needles around the base of the structure. I collected the needles from under numerous trees, using a suitcase as my carrying device. The needles locked into the other needles rather well and I found they stacked right up the sides like insulation. A sense of pride filled my work as I got to the top of the structure and realized I had added about half a foot of width to the walls.

Stripping a few smaller trees of their branches, I laid new foliage along the needles to hold them in place. When I ducked in to check breathing again, very little light came through the walls. I tapped on the sides and found them rather sturdy. I didn't know how it would handle rain, but wind would have a tough time breaking through. Rain reminded me of water.

I remembered a survival rule from when I was a child. It may not be accurate, but it was what I knew. It was called the Rule of Three. Three minutes without air, three days without water and three weeks without food. We were twenty-four hours without water. That meant two more days before serious problems would occur. Not to mention that eating dried Ramen didn't sound appealing.

Cold first. I gathered deadfall for firewood. It was another resource that was not difficult to find. With a limited supply of matches, once a fire was lit I intended to keep it going. With hot enough coals, even the fresh branches would burn. It struck me that the fresh branches might smoke more as well. Possibly a visual sign for a plane. I smiled at my brilliance.

I created a wood pile under our tree. I figured if it rained, the branches would at least try and keep it dry and maybe it would help block some wind. I dragged larger logs into the small clearing between the trees. They would be seats before I fed them into the fire foot by foot. When I was done, I sat on one of the logs.

The sky was clear, at least what I could see of it. Not a sound but the wind. I tried to think what I needed to do. Water was the next chore. It had to rain on this mountain once in awhile, or these trees wouldn't have gotten as large as they were. I wondered if I could boil the liquid out of sap. Maybe create some way to condense it. It was certainly cold enough for it. Of course, I wasn't sure if water would be the only liquid to condense. I could save pee. I wasn't really high on either solution, but thinking of peeing made me run off into the woods. I drained my bladder into nature. I knew the cold was disguising my thirst, but it was doing a good enough job that I wasn't desperate yet. I was resecuring my pants when I thought about Dorothy. How was her bladder?

"Dorothy?" I said, slightly shaking her shoulders. There was no movement except her rhythmic breathing. "Dorothy, I am really sorry about this, but I have to check." I lifted the blanket and carefully placed my hand between her legs. "Shit!" I yelled loud enough to wake the dead. She was warm and very wet. I left the hovel. "Shit! Shit! Shit!" I shouted at the world. Unconscious people pee.

If it got as cold as last night, or colder, being wet could very well be a death sentence. Dorothy was my only friend. We were each other's blankets. There was no way I could lose her. I wasn't sure I could survive without her. I knelt down and looked at her sleeping face from the door. There was no way I was going to let her die. A pilot, two old men, and a little boy were it. The world wasn't going to take her as well. I silently prayed her husband was an understanding man.

I broke the latch on the other suitcase. I needed to assess the clothes we had and pick out something dry for Dorothy. It looked like her son's suitcase. Extra shoes and many sets of clothes that fit no one on the mountain. Even the socks looked too small for mittens. Under the shirts, I found a rare gift. Torn cellophane containing three juice boxes. The writing was Russian, but they looked grape according to the picture on the side. No clothes, but I did have the means to create more pee. I laughed at the irony. There were a few more days of survival in those boxes.

I rummaged through the contents from the other suitcase and chose a pair a pants. I thought about the men's underwear. I shook my head and decided Dorothy would rather go commando than wear some old man's underwear. I took a deep breath and crawled back into our home.

"Dorothy," I said loudly, hoping she would wake up and take care of this herself, "I need to change your pants." No movement, not even an eyelid twitch. "This is not ideal," I continued as I began undoing her belt, "but I have little choice. Your parts would become ice cubes, and I can't have that." I pulled the belt through the loops. She was wearing button fly jeans that made me struggle exactly where I shouldn't be struggling.

"You had to wear button fly jeans on the plane," I complained, "just too be difficult I assume." The first button finally released. "I hope you know I am not enjoying this," I went to work on the next button which was more stubborn, "if you would just wake up, you can save us all sorts of embarrassment." Of course, if she didn't wake up, I would be the only one embarrassed. The last button finally relented.

"Last chance," I said, looking at her calm face. It was a rather nice face, now that the blood had been cleaned off. With no response, I started tugging the wet pants down her hips. It was a challenging operation since she couldn't help by lifting her butt. I paused and tried to stifle a laugh.

Dorothy was wearing yellow panties covered with images of cute ducks in different poses. It wasn't any cartoon character I was familiar with, but it definitely didn't fit a mother. They would be more at home on a toddler. The timing couldn't have been better. The laugh allowed some of my guilt to drift away.

"When you wake, I am going to need an explanation for your choice in underwear," I said as I removed her shoes and tugged her pants over her feet. "I guess you didn't expect the plane to crash." Quickly, without trying to think, I laid the back of my hand on her yellow ducks. They were soaked.

"I am going to do this a clinically as I can," I said, looking at Dorothy's face, "I wish there were another way, but the cold leaves us no options." I sighed and then pulled her wet panties down her legs and over her feet. I tried to keep my eyes on her feet as I took the dry pants and began running them up her legs. I paused.

"Apologies," I said, then ran my hand carefully up the inside of her thigh to the apex. Her skin was too wet and I could imagine a rash would develop. I pulled off the dry pants, grabbed the first aid kit and ripped open a disinfectant wipe. I took a deep breath then began wiping her. I gave up not looking and moved her legs as necessary, even turning her on her side to get underneath. There was nothing I didn't see, but I shut out the desire to see it. I was a doctor, not a voyeur.

When I was done, I grabbed one the boy's shirts and dried her off. I tested the skin and decided she was clean and dry enough. I quickly ran the pants back up her legs, lifted her butt and zipped them up. Her waist was fairly trim compared the man who wore the pants. I retrieved her belt and spent some time feeding it through all the loops. Once cinched, she looked like a hillbilly. I had to smile. She was a cute hillbilly.

I took her wet clothes outside and laid them on one of the logs. We had limited resources so, drying them out seemed reasonable. I had no idea how long the two of us were going to be stuck on the mountain and a change of clothes, dirty or not, might become important. The duck covered panties continued to entertain my mind as I began to build a fire. I really wanted to meet the woman with the guts to wear such a garment. She obviously had a humorous side.

To be on the safe side and conserve matches, I lit the Sterno can first before trying to ignite the branches I was using as kindling. I was proud of my decision when the wood failed to catch prior to the match dying out. I started the kindling with the Sterno, then covered the can to preserve it.

The warmth the fire created was a luxury. The sun had heated the air enough that the cold was bearable, but the heat was most welcome. I turned my ass to the flames and let them return me to a sense of normalcy. I took stock of the situation.

Three juice boxes and four Ramen packets. My stomach was growling, but I didn't want to partake of the food without the ability to share it with Dorothy. In time, if she didn't wake up, I would have too. The juice I could possible share. I wondered if swallowing was as much a reflex as breathing. We would both need liquid to keep our innards working. The sugar might even give us a little energy.

I turned, facing toward the fire when my butt began to feel the burn. The wood was burning quickly. I wrestled one of the big logs, dragging the end into the fire. My hope was to slowly feed it in and not have to constantly feed smaller pieces. I thought of Dorothy as I singed the hair on the back of my hand. She deserved some warmth as well.

I crawled back into the hovel and checked her breathing. Steady as ever. I rolled her on her side, tucked the blanket underneath and let her roll back on top of it. Slowly, I pulled the blanket like a sled. The ground was a little uneven, but I don't think it bothered her. I laid her near enough to the fire where she could feel the warmth, but not burn. I sat on a log next to her head and smoothed out her hair, pushing it out of her eyes.

Dorothy was a phenomenal listener. I explained our situation and sketched out my current plans, which were weak. I began talking to her about Kimberly. If I survived this rock, I would need to make some decisions about my future. I loved Kimberly some of the time. It wasn't fair to her, or to me, to continue a relationship that was doomed to fail in the long run. Kimberly, I was sure, was thinking the same thing. I explained the whole relationship to Dorothy, defining when things began to not be right. I also expressed my reservations of hurting Kimberly. We had been together for so long, I wasn't sure we knew how to be apart.

I drifted from Kimberly and I talked about my job. I was getting tired of popping around the world, never staying in one place long enough to see the sights. My partner Doug Finley and I started the business ten years ago. I just wished he took on some of the travel. It wasn't all bad. I have seen more of the world than most people. The cultures I have been exposed to, have given me an understanding of people that has enriched my life. It is exhausting though.

Doug had mentioned that he had a buyer for the firm. I think he was getting tired of it all as well. I wasn't ready to let the firm go and didn't want to assume a loan to buy him out either. I told him to sell his half to the buyer. The buyer wanted all or nothing which left him in limbo. I was rethinking the situation. Maybe it was time to sell.

I rotated the blanket in a circle to warm Dorothy's other side. Color had returned to her cheeks which made her prettier. I parted her hair and looked at the cut that had caused all the blood before. It seemed to have scabbed over nicely. There was no puffy redness to indicate infection.

Popping the straw into the little hole of the juice box was not as easy as the picture made it look. You needed a bit more force than I figure a child could employ. Needless to say, I ended up wasting some of the precious liquid when I squeezed the box as I poked. I hoped Dorothy would be awake the next time. I assumed she was practiced at it.

I used a finger to open Dorothy's lips, brought the straw up and squirted a few drops into her mouth. It took a few seconds before I saw an involuntary swallow. It was the first movement besides breathing that I had seen in her. I was more excited than I should be.

"Dorothy?" I called, hoping the swallow would trigger her ears. Nothing. I sighed and spent a long time dribbling juice into her mouth. I went slow, not wanting to drown her. It was always a delayed reaction and always a swallow. After I had given her what I deemed was half, I sucked down the rest myself. I was thirstier than I thought and the juice did more to enhance than quench it.

My phone said it was 3:07 PM. I looked at the sun and figured I had maybe three more hours of daylight. I walked down to the cliff, again staying far from the drop and looked out over the valley between the mountains. It was largest expanse of open sky I could see. There were no search planes in view, though I was sure I would hear them before I could see them. I could go searching farther east, maybe find some more supplies. Maybe water if I was lucky.

Tomorrow would be better to start searching again. I had fire and enough water, well juice, to make it for a few days. If there were any problems, I wouldn't want to meet them when it was getting dark. I walked back to the fire and shifted the large log, feeding more of it over the hot coals. I sat on the ground near Dorothy's head.

"Another day," I sighed, "I really wish you would wake up." I stroked her hair, then stopped thinking she wasn't a pet, "I am afraid that we may be stuck here for a while and I would really like someone to talk to." I grabbed a stick and poked the coals to get them riled up to attack the log. "I'm not sure they are even looking for us. I haven't found most of the plane and....." I looked down at her and felt my eyes well up.

"I don't even know what happened to your son," I stuttered, "maybe you don't want to wake up...I can't imagine what it would be like to lose a child, especially right from your arms." I paused a moment to catch my breath and ease my empathetic grief, "somewhere, the rest of your family is waiting. They don't want to lose both of you, so you must wake up. For them and for me." I chuckled a little, "then you have to promise me that you will lie to your husband about the sleeping arrangements. I know I wouldn't be able to handle my wife with another man." I stopped myself from playing with her hair again. I stood up to end the temptation.

"Maybe it's best that you sleep through all this," I continued, walking around the fire, "the loss of your son, the cold, and the lack of food and water. If things go south, being awake would just add to the torture." I stopped opposite her, on the other side of the fire, "being awake alone, I assume will be much worse." I raised my hands to no one. "I can't believe I want you awake and suffering just so that I can feel better. What kind of selfish asshole am I? You go ahead and sleep as long as you want and ignore my rambling." I moved around the fire and sat down next to her again. "I'll take care of you if you stay alive. Just don't die on me."

On the edges of my hearing, an engine sound thrummed in and out. I jumped up and tried to locate the direction. It seemed to be coming from far away. I turned my head and was unable to isolate a direction so I ran toward the cliff, the only open space I could really see.

In my haste, I slipped and slid toward the edge. For a brief moment, I saw my end and all I could think about is a sleeping woman freezing to death on a mountain side. I got angry and grabbed for the branches of the tree I had tied the shirt onto. It brought my slide to a halt, and I stayed still to let my heart slow down as well. I couldn't die, Dorothy needed me. She was the reason that I kept going.

I listened again. The engine sound was more defined, but didn't seem to be any closer. I looked over the valley and into the sky and saw nothing flying. The sound could was most likely echoing off the sides of the mountain. The plane could be miles away and never enter into my view. View! I ran back to the fire and threw on a few more dried branches. Once they flared up, I put green branches and needles in the flame. A thick gray smoke rose and climbed into the sky.

I listened as the engine slowly sputtered and died away. I sat down hard and listened for a good while longer. The engine didn't return. If it had been a search plane, it would have probably zig zagged back and forth. More than likely, it was another puddle jumper that had more luck than our flight.

"I guess that was our excitement for the day," I told Dorothy. I decided to use the rest of the daylight to add to our wood supply. Next time I hear an engine, smoke first then go running around like an idiot.

As the sun went down, clouds came in. I pulled Dorothy back into the hovel and got her off the blanket. Using the suitcases to block the door, I stuffed the extra clothes in the gaps. I again covered her hands with socks, set her sideways and put her hands between her cocked legs. I scooted up behind and covered us with the blankets. My hand found the warmth under her breasts as I got as comfortable as I could.

"Sorry," I whispered, then closed my eyes. Sleep took me before long.

I awoke once in the night to shift my lower arm that had fallen asleep. I wasn't warm, but I certainly wasn't freezing either. The rebuild was a success. I snuggled closer to Dorothy and sleep quickly found me again.

I could see inside the hovel when I woke the next time. Except for my side being a little sore from sleeping in one position, I was refreshed. "Good morning, Dorothy," I said as I pulled her onto her back. She was warm and breathing so it was a good morning.

After I had disassembled the door, a blinding light greeted my eyes. Our water problems were over, and a new problem just replaced it. There was an inch of bright white snow on the ground.

I crawled out, bumping branches and started to jump about to get the snow off my neck and out of the back of my shirt. It was cold wet snow, not something that would last a bright sun. I quickly filled the small cooking pot with the white stuff. I tore open the top of the juice box we had drained and filled it as well.

Taking some branches from my wood pile, I stirred the coals of yesterday's fire. There were still a few smoldering weakly. The snow had doused them pretty well. Only the ones covered by the large blackened log remained. I dropped in kindling and blew until a flame was generated once again. One match saved.

Once the fire was going, I placed the cooking pot nearby to melt the snow. The flames did their job quickly, and I added more snow until I nearly had a full pot. I let the water warm a bit, and then I drank the whole pot. I started the process over again for Dorothy. We were going to drink our fill while it lasted since we had no way to store it. While the snow melted, I went off and took a pee and didn't even think about saving it.

I took a half pot of warm water into the hovel. Using my finger on one end of the juice straw, I trapped a little water and dripped it into Dorothy's mouth. It took a moment, and then she swallowed. It took a long time to get all the water into her, but it was a necessity if we ended up staying here for a long time.

"Sorry," I repeated when I checked between her legs. Sure enough, she was wet again. I went outside and filled the pot with snow again and set it next to the fire.

I rummaged through the old man's clothes and found another pair of pants. There was no way I was going to try to put her jeans back on, even though they had dried. Those buttons were just too difficult. I preferred the quick in-and-out the loose pants allowed.

Removing her shoes, belt, and pants went quickly since I was now practiced. I tore open another disinfectant wipe and began cleaning her as quickly as possible.

I heard a loud intake of breath that wasn't mine and her hips moved. I looked up at Dorothy's raised head and wide open eyes. She was awake. I smiled.

The yelling I should have expected. The feet were a complete surprise. One caught me in the face, the other in the chest, sending me tumbling out of the makeshift hovel into the snow. In hindsight, looking up from a newly woken woman's genitals and smiling, was not the best course of action.

Whatever she was shouting wasn't English. I moved away from the door, fearing she might decide my eyes no longer belonged in their sockets. I called out an apology that was met with more words that needed no translation. Maybe it would have been better if she didn't wake up.

I waited for a good long time by the fire. I drank another pot of water and started the fourth. Dorothy emerged hesitantly and quickly rose to her feet as if she felt less vulnerable standing up. She was dressed in her jeans. I remained sitting on a log trying to look as non-threatening as possible. She moved exactly opposite me on the other side of the fire. She was looking around, but never really taking her eyes off me. I could see her breathing was heavy, and anger was brewing behind her dark eyes. She looked almost witch-like with her hair shooting off in directions it was never meant to go.

Dorothy raised her hand and pointed her finger to me. A string of very fast, angry words followed. Her finger was shaking at me as she yelled. She suddenly stopped and put her hands on her hips and stared at me like she was expecting a response.

"Do you speak English?" I asked. I tried to speak calmly, so she knew I was no threat. Inside I was struggling with the thought of this woman hating me. Of the all the scenarios I had considered, hate wasn't even remotely conceived.

She raised her hands above her head in disgust and rattled off more words I didn't recognize though I did recognize a reference to American. It was spoken with disgust.

"No English?" I clarified. This time, my question was met with almost whispered expletives. Great. We couldn't speak with each other. I stood. She jumped back with wide eyes. I held out my palms; fingers spread to try and indicate I wasn't coming any closer. She stopped moving and watched me warily.

Charades was never my favorite game. I found it embarrassing at best, preferring games that didn't involve physical acting. Here, on the mountain, it would have to become the standard mode of communication. Dorothy was obviously confused as to what had happened. I thought deeply, and then began my charade.

I held out my arms to try and look like a plane. Then I flew one hand and crashed it into my palm. Dorothy nodded. At least she remembered the crash. I pointed to the cabin section, behind her, that we survived in. She hadn't noticed it before, and I could see her eyes had grown large when she turned back to me. I pointed to the sun then I arched my finger dragging it across the sky. I turned to her and held up three fingers, indicating this was the third day since the crash.

Dorothy stared at me in disbelief. I pointed at her, then made a pillow with my hands and laid my head against it, briefly closing my eyes. I held up my three fingers again. I hope she understood that she had been unconscious since the crash. Her hand covered her mouth as she began to understand.

I reached down and grabbed the pot of melted snow. I took a small sip then indicated it running through my system with my hand wiggling down my chest. I then spread my hand out around my pelvis region, hoping it looked like the water ran through me and I peed myself. Dorothy's head tilted. I thought I saw understanding. I pointed at her and then gave the pee gesture again. I shrugged my shoulders and lifted my hands palms up. The international I-didn't-know-what-else-to-do symbol. I pantomimed removing my pants and washing my pelvic region, then raising my pants again. Dorothy watched, her fascination was replacing the anger I saw earlier. I pointed at her again, then hugged myself with a shiver trying to explain how cold she would have been if I let her stay wet. I shrugged my shoulder holding my palms up again. In a sense asking her what else could I have done? Dorothy smiled.

The smile was forced but held forgiveness. Or, at least, acceptance of the necessity. She nodded her head, and I smiled back. We looked at each other for a moment; then she spoke as she mimed. It was a question; that much I could tell. She cradled her arms and rocked them as if she were holding a child. I lost my smile and my eyes watered. I didn't like the question, but I knew I had to answer.

I shook my head slowly and pointed to my eyes. "I haven't seen him," I said, then dropped my head, still shaking it. I didn't think he would be found alive. I expected to see her fall to the ground in agony. I saw grief and a tear, but none of the pain a mother should feel. I tried not to let it change my opinion of her as she looked down and mumbled something I didn't understand; maybe a prayer.

Dorothy moved slowly away from me, toward the partial cabin with its four seats. I followed a good ten steps behind. She needed some space, but I didn't want to lose sight of her. She examined the wreck and reached out to brush the snow off her seat. She looked up, left and right, trying to build an idea of what had happened. She turned to me, pointing at the wreck, then at the missing parts. The question she voiced was unnecessary.

"I found the tail over there," I said as I walked over to where the tail was and pointed to the west. "The rest, I haven't found." I shrugged my shoulders and pointed at where the other parts were. Dorothy nodded and seemed to understand. She pointed at herself and then at her seat, next she pointed at me then at my seat. I nodded my head yes.

Dorothy moved toward the front and pointed at the first seat. I wasn't sure how to tell her without being rude. I didn't want to draw my finger across my throat. It seemed too callous. I shook my head in a knowledgeable way. I believed she understood.

Dorothy nodded her head and covered her heart with her hand. She said something quietly that I assumed was close to 'rest in peace.' We walked back to the camp, and I sat down on a log and indicated that she should do the same. Surprisingly, she sat next to me on my log.

"Tamara," Dorothy said, tapping her chest. I smiled, thinking I was a fool for not handling the introductions earlier.

"Jonathan," I said tapping my chest. Tamara held out her hand, and I shook it.

"Jon..a..thun," Tamara repeated. She butchered my name in the most beautiful way. I laughed and repeated her name. She thought it just as humorous. At least we could laugh together. That was a huge step up from the yelling and miles beyond the silence. I certainly liked Tamara better than Dorothy.

I handed the pot of melted snow to Tamara. She took a sip, set it down and made a motion with her hand, miming eating with a fork. I could feel my empty stomach as well. I stood signaling for her to wait on the log. I retrieved our food supplies and brought them back to her.

I laid out the four Ramen packets and two juice boxes. "That's all we have," I said, circling the items with my hand. Tamara stared at them for a moment. I could see her thinking, analyzing our resources and her hunger. She grabbed one of the Ramen packets and pretended to break it in half and pointed me, then back at herself. We would split it.

Tamara pointed at the next packet, then duplicated my sun arch as she spoke. She repeated with the next packet. Split one a day. As good a plan as any. I nodded my head, and she smiled. I smiled back. We had the smile thing down. At least we would be friends.

Tamara took the cooking pot and loaded it with snow and placed it on some coals. I guess she was going to cook. She sat back down next to me and watched the pot.

"A watched pot never boils," I said aimlessly. Tamara looked at me with a questioning look. I chuckled and waved off the statement, "Just a stupid joke." She looked at me and smiled again. It was almost as if she understood from my expression. Not the joke itself, but that it was humor. She had a nice smile. It brought so much life to her face.

Tamara reached next to the fire and pulled out a small rock. More of an overgrown pebble. She spoke as she placed in closer to the fire. She pointed at it and then moved her hand across the sky, but only part way. A few hours, I guessed. She picked up the rock, pretending it was hot and carried it toward the hovel and mimed putting it in.

I found her thinking process genius. I smiled and shaped my hands as if I was surrounding a larger fist-sized rock. Tamara nodded enthusiastically, sharing her smile once again. She had proposed a heat source for the night. I tapped both of my index fingers on my temples, then pointed at her and gave her a thumbs up. "You are one smart woman."

Tamara folded her arm across her chest and cupped her other elbow, then pouted her lips and tucked her free fist under her chin. I laughed at her Thinking Man pose. She bowed at my recognition and joined my laughter. It was a soft, flowing laugh that seemed to float in the air. I was so happy she was awake.

I pointed to the pot and mimed eating, then showed my imaginary rock again. "We can try to find some rocks after we eat." Tamara agreed and sat next to me again. She mimed a set of binoculars with her fists, then made a flying gesture with her hand followed by pointing at the cabin section. I shook my head then I tapped my ear once, created the number one with my finger, and then pushed my hand away toward the sky a couple of times, "I've heard one plane, and it was far away." I pointed to my eyes and shook my head no, "never saw it."

I stood and went under the tree and shook the snow off of one of green-needled branches. I broke off one small section and brought it to the fire and threw it in. A small line of thick smoke emitted briefly. I pointed back to the green wood stack and mimed bringing over an arm full and dropping it on the fire. I fluttered my fingers over the fire and raised them to the sky. "Smoke signal for the search planes."

Tamara smiled, tapped her temple and pointed at me. She understood. I really liked trading smiles with her. They were an incredibly honest form of communication. Most of the time they signified happiness. For us, it meant understanding and agreement as well. When I sat down, Tamara tapped my head, and then her own, followed by hooking her two index fingers together. "Yes," I nodded, "we do think alike." More shared smiles as she reached down to set the pot closer to the fire to speed the boil.

I felt incredibly comfortable with Tamara next to me. There was no need for stupid small talk, not that we could anyway. For a woman who woke up with a stranger between her legs, she was incredibly calm. She was already analyzing the situation and coming up with suggestions for making things better. Our cooperation was necessary, and she knew it instinctively. I found her intriguing and attractive, mentally as well as physically. I tried to put the attraction away. She was traveling alone, but a child usually meant a husband. No woman like her could possibly be single.

Sharing the Ramen was a team effort. No silverware, or anything that could be used as such, required us to share the pot and drink the broth and noodles. There was a small temptation to take a huge mouthful and fill my growling stomach. I ignored the urge and pretended to take more than I really did. I figured Tamara needed it more than me. Her body was probably still repairing itself. She had no qualms about sharing the cup and placing her lips where mine had just been. The women I was used too, would have balked at the thought, at least at first. There was a strength in Tamara that accepted necessity for what it was; necessary.

I took Tamara on the safety tour first. Down to the cliff so she knew the danger of walking at night. I showed her the shirt I tied to the tree and mimed being lost, finding the shirt and pointed North, toward the camp. She tapped her temple and smiled.

The snow was melting quickly as the sun reached its zenith. The trees protected a lot of it, so we would probably still have water the next morning. We traveled east, looking for supplies and rocks. Tamara thought ahead and brought an empty suitcase to carry what we found. Being a man, I tried to carry it for her. She snatched it back, pointed at her breasts and then put her hand on her hip with an expression of disgust. I smiled and raised my hands in surrender. "Yes, because you're a woman. It won't happen again." She smiled when I understood. She would pull her weight whether I liked it or not. She was so damn intriguing.

We found a wheel assembly that had been ripped from the plane. I saw nothing of value, but Tamara was able to salvage some of the wiring at its base. Three, two foot long colored wires that might come in handy. I tapped my temple to her.

Rocks were hard to find. A lot of the stone we saw was structured in layers and would flake. Slowly we gathered some useful solid rock as the snow melted and exposed them. I was walking, looking at the ground when I realized that Tamara had stopped. I turned and saw her standing by the suitcase, looking at it like she didn't know what it was. I moved back to her, shrugging my shoulders to let her know I wondered what was going on. She blushed a bit, pointed at me then back at the suitcase.

I grabbed the handle and lifted what was now a very heavy rock-laden carrying case. I put it back down and gave my best impression of Tarzan and beat my chest. I enjoyed making her laugh. The irony of her having to give up her women-are-equal for a brief moment was forgotten as we laughed together. I hefted the case with both arms and decided it was time to head back. I wasn't going to admit the case was nearing my weight limit as well. I liked being stronger since she was beginning to seem smarter.

On our way back, I spotted the shoe. Tamara picked up the small tennis shoe and nodded her head and cradled her arms. I set down the suitcase, and we began a quick search of the area. I was again surprised by the lack of deep emotion from Tamara. She obviously had an interest in finding her child, but there was none of the misery I had expected. I was upset that she wasn't upset when we gave up the search an hour later. His shoe may have been here, but his body was not. There was always the slim chance he was with another survivor. Alone, I didn't see him lasting a night.

Tamara took a deep breath, sighed with one last look around then pointed back to our camp. I hefted the suitcase and followed her. She was rather callous for a mother, the first unpleasant thing about her. My impression of her was changing and not for the better. If it were my son, I would be cursing God to fight the anger and grief, not shrugging it off as an unwelcome loss.

We set the rocks we had gathered around the fire. Close enough to absorb the heat, but not so close as to be easily blackened. Tamara smiled at me while we worked. I didn't smile back, and she noticed. I shouldn't be judging her, but I was. I couldn't understand her uncaring attitude toward the death of her child. Without thinking, Tamara tossed her son's shoe toward our hovel. She didn't even look where it landed.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" I shouted. The shoe was the only thing she had found of him.

Tamara was startled and looked at me like I was insane. She shrugged her shoulders and said something that sounded like a question. Her eyes narrowed along with mine. I stood and retrieved the shoe and pointed it at her. She shrugged again. I threw the shoe at her. Not hard, but the throw contained my obvious disgust.

Tamara stood and backed away. I saw some fear in her eyes. I raised my hands, palms out to stall her panic. It didn't. She began yelling at me and pointing at the shoe. Her finger made circles around the side of her head. She thought I was the crazy one.

I pointed at the shoe then made a motion with my hands to indicate a pregnant belly on me. Cradling my arms, I then rocked an imaginary baby. I followed with the plane crash, one hand flying into the other. I pointed at her and imitated shrugging off the death of her child. "How can you be so damn cold?" I watched her think. "What would your husband say?" I added, miming putting a ring on my ring finger. Tamara shook her head and tried to erase my mime with her hands.

Tamara duplicated my ring gesture and shook her head. She wasn't married. She copied my pregnant movement and pointed at the shoe shaking her head while speaking desperately. It wasn't her child. She reached into the fire and retrieved a stick that hadn't begun to burn, moved over to the log and sat down, waving me over to sit next to her. I did.

Tamara drew a stick figure in the dirt. Another next to it. She added a heart above then drew a smaller, child, figure next to the parents. She looked at me and I nodded my head, the shame beginning to show on my face. I shouldn't have judged her so quickly. She drew a line through the heart, breaking it. Using her hands, she made angry PacMan like chompers, facing each other, symbolizing a bickering couple. The tone of her words emphasized her play. She drew an arched line from one of the parents to about a foot away, then redrew the figure there and erased the original. I nodded, recognizing a divorce.

Tamara drew another figure between the parents and pointed at herself. I nodded. She drew a symbol above her stick head that I didn't recognize. She thought for a moment then replaced it with the Euro symbol. I borrowed the stick and drew a dollar sign above that. She smiled and nodded. She drew a line from her to the child, then moved the stick back and forth between the parents. It was her job to transport the child between the parents who must have moved far apart from each other. I was a fool.

I took Tamara's hand in mine, patted it and tried to look contrite. "I'm sorry I misjudged you." She squeezed my hand and smiled. I was forgiven. She pointed at her rendition of the child, made an arch across the sky, symbolizing a day and held up two fingers. She had only known the boy for two days. Enough time to feel sad, but not long enough to fully bond. Her empathy was normal. My idiocy was reaching new heights. For some reason, I repeated the ring gesture and shook my head. "I'm not married either." I could have sworn she blushed.

I stood and grabbed the cook pot. I filled it with snow that was protected from the sun by the trees. We would have water today and possibly tomorrow morning. After that, we were at the mercy of the weather. Tamara relieved me of the pot and set it near the fire.

While the snow melted, Tamara tied the ends of wires together to create a six-foot length. She went to the wood pile and found a stick about three feet long and an inch thick. I watched her work, wondering what she was thinking. She gave me a sly smile, proud of what she was creating and having fun watching me try to figure it out. She took one of the old man's long sleeve shirts and used the stick like a hanger. She held up her creation to me.

"You made a hanger?" I asked, shrugging my shoulders. Tamara bit her bottom lip to hold back her smile. I think she didn't want me to feel stupid. She pointed toward the cliff then walked over to a small tree and mimed tying off the other end of the wire, then tossing the shirt over the cliff. Ingenious! A symbol announcing our location. Something that could be seen from the air if a plane was searching in the valley. I rose smiling, pointing at her and tapping my head. "You are one smart woman." A smart woman with a glorious smile.

We went to the cliff immediately and found a suitable tree that was close enough to the edge, but a small enough diameter to not need a lot of the wire to be secured. Tamara laid down and lowered the shirt over the edge. When she squirmed back and rose, her prideful smile had grown. It was infectious. I held out my hand, and she folded hers into it. I walked Ms. Einstein back to the camp. The first pot of water was on me.

As the sun went down, we went to work on setting up the hovel for the night. Using our sock mittens, we loaded the hot rocks into the suitcase and hauled them into the hut. We placed them in two piles, front and back. Hopefully, that would make them last the longest. We brought in everything we had. No need to expose our necessities to the weather. When it was done, I let Tamara enter first and pick a side. I crawled in and sealed the entrance as I had the night before. It was nearly pitch black, which I assumed was what Tamara was commenting on.

I moved to my side, accidently crawling on Tamara for a moment. "Sorry." She giggled and pushed me lightly to my side. We organized the blankets blindly, and we both lay on our backs. I wasn't sure how to broach the subject about conserving our body heat by sharing. Now that she was awake, I would need permission. Without a shared language, it would be difficult to explain. If it got cold, it would be a necessity.

Tamara shifted, I sensed toward me. Her hand found my arm and she pulled me toward her. Ms. Einstein already figured it out. I rolled toward her, and she laughed and gently rolled me back. She would spoon into me. I assumed it made her feel more chaste. I rolled to the other side and tucked myself back into her. Her arm reached around me and drew me close. She snuggled her hips toward mine and reset the blankets. A few whispers of something I didn't understand and she became motionless. "Good night, Tamara," I whispered and closed my eyes.

The next two days were a series of exploration and improving our camp. We found nothing of the rest of the plane or any other debris from the crash. I guessed that the rest of the plane was below the cliff. Twice we had heard a plane engine and twice it never came close. We sent up our smoke signal and received no recognition. Our food would run out the next day, and our water supply had dwindled to two juice boxes.

We had been trading words, trying to improve our communication. Simple things like fire, water and I have to go pee were now understood without hand signals. We were building our own language from pieces of English and her language that I now knew was Armenian. It took a while to decipher that, but we worked it out by drawing rough country borders in the dirt. I surmised from our time together that her job of transporting the child was a lucky break. She was from a low-income family without a lot of opportunities. I had a basic understanding that Armenia had not fared well when the Soviet Union broke up. State imposed jobs had disappeared and little had been done to replace them.

Tamara had already figured out I was an American. She knew of Chicago, which was as close to my home as I could get without confusing her. I think I was able to describe my job fairly well. Describing an importer to someone without language was difficult. She may not have fully understood, but she gathered the gist enough to know I traveled a lot.

I found out she was from a family of five. A mother, her, and three brothers. Her father had passed away many years ago. Her job transporting the boy was the only job the family had at the time. Her brothers did odd jobs when they could. Other than that, they survived with money from the diaspora, Armenians that lived outside of the country. I was familiar enough with the concept that I caught on quickly.

Tamara was very comfortable to hang out with, not that we had a choice. We never seemed to feel pressure to fill the silence. We always sat on the same log around the fire, always within an arm's reach.

My thoughts drifted to Kimberly as the third night approached. She, or I, would have jumped off the cliff by now. There was none of the comfort I felt with Tamara. Kimberly and I needed a goal to be with each other. I looked over at Tamara, and she smiled at my attention. I smiled back, and Kimberly drifted from my mind. I was more comfortable with a woman that I could barely talk too. It didn't hurt that the woman was awfully cute. She could use a bath, but so could I.

I spooned into Tamara that night. We couldn't keep sleeping on one side, not without something softer than pine needles. When I wrapped my hand around her, she took it and tucked it under her breasts and whispered something. I suspected it was to tell me not to get any ideas. Well, she couldn't tell me what to think. I smiled, and I knew she felt it when she gave my hand a squeeze. I ignored the stirrings of desire. The last thing she needed was to feel my reaction growing. I kept my thoughts as clean as I could, closed my eyes, and dreamed dirty.

The wind woke me well before morning. It was strong and sounded like it was coming in waves from different directions. The hut was colder than it had been on previous nights. It felt as if the rocks had already lost their heat. Tamara said something that sounded desperate. "It will be alright," I responded and hugged her closer as she tucked deeper into me. I could feel her shivering and wasn't sure if it was from the cold or the unrelenting sound of the wind. We nodded off and on the rest of the night. The wind never ceased.

When the hovel somewhat brightened with morning light leaking through the cracks, I braved the cold and left the blankets to look outside. The wind was still violent, so I only disassembled a small portion of the seal at the door. Death was outside.

A blizzard had covered our campground in an undulating blanket of white. Cold specks of snow whipped through the opening and stung my cheek. I hurriedly replaced the seal as the temperature inside dropped quickly. Tamara was awake with eyes wide. I knew what the blizzard meant; I could see she saw it as well. Winter had come and we had run out of time. We were in our grave.

"I'm sorry," I said to Tamara. I should have tried harder. I could have found a way down, maybe attempted the cliff. I didn't want her to die here.

Tamara held out her hand to coax me back under the blankets. The concern on her face made me want to cry. I was useless against a blizzard. She pulled me into a hug and gripped me hard. I could feel warm tears fall on my neck, and there was nothing I could do. "I am so sorry," I repeated. Her head pulled back, and I saw her wet eyes in the dim light. She whispered something warm. Lovely words for the end the world.

I wiped the tears off her cheeks with my finger. "I wish I would have met you years ago," I admitted. There wouldn't be enough time for her understand. No charade could convey my meaning. Her eyes closed and she tilted her head forward. My lips found hers. She understood the meaning if not my words.

I had forgotten how much feeling could be spawned by soft lips. Tamara's hands encompassed my head as she drew me in harder, nibbling on my lower lip, tickling it lightly with her tongue. I broke through the last barrier of hesitancy and threw myself into her passion. A warmth spread through my body as the blizzard raged outside. Our lips danced wonderfully, our tongues embracing gently, then with heated passion. I wanted all of her. In her arms was where I wanted to die.

My hands roamed down Tamara's side, caressing poorly through her clothes. Her lips separated from mine, and she whispered something. "I don't understand," I returned. She knew my ignorant look, a cue often used between us. She took my hand in hers and pulled it slowly between her legs. She whispered the same words, almost as a question. "I would never deny you," I whispered as I cupped her sex through her pants. She had no idea how much her smile excited me.

Death was blowing hard outside, inside we were laughing. It was a glorious struggle to remove each other's clothes in such tight confines. Tamara was laughing so hard at my efforts; it made it nearly impossible. We finally had to surrender to the inevitable and remove our own clothes after I nearly broke my wrist trying to get her shirt off. Once we were done, the real exploration began.

Sometimes beauty takes your breath away. Sometimes you fear that touching will forever alter it. Sometimes beauty is in the touching itself. That is how I experienced Tamara's beauty. Her exquisite reactions to my hand traveling along her abdomen, moans that needed no translation when I found her breasts, and soft caresses urging me along. I tasted her neck and left a trail of kisses to her breasts. Luxurious words came from her mouth as my lips found her nipple. I could only translate the feelings, for they echoed mine.

My lips found hers again as my hand traveled slowly down between her legs. She smiled as she spread her legs and let me explore. I shared the air of her moans, teasing her carefully, her wetness urging me to be bolder. Her hand found my erection, and she opened her eyes. "Jonathan," she moaned, her accent making my name sound so wonderful.

I moved onto Tamara, careful to keep the blankets over us. We might freeze to death in an hour, but right now, I wanted to live. Smiling, she guided me to our first coupling. Watching her expression change when I entered her increased my desire. She lost her smile and sucked in a deep breath as I lowered myself into her. When our hips met, she exhaled and kissed me with such force, I thought we might merge into one being. Her legs wrapped around me, altering the blankets and allowing some cold to enter our space. It didn't matter anymore.

"Jonathan," Tamara whispered as her hips began to move into me. I countered the movement, enjoying her desire, trying to stall mine. We moved as if we had always been together. She seemed to know where I needed her and her moans told me that is exactly where she wanted to be. There was no struggling for comfort, no wasted movements, just shared joy. Each movement brought pleasure that added to the pleasure before it.

Tamara began to shake and her hips were driving into me, grinding on my down stroke. I was near my limit as I watched her near hers. I dropped my lips to her ear and whispered, "Tamara my sweet." Her back arched, and the most wondrous moan escaped her lips. I held myself in as deep as I could as she ground her pelvis into mine.

"Jonathan," she yelled. Bliss exploded inside of me as I felt myself empty into her. Her hands were pulling me deeper as her legs weakened. I struggled to breathe as conscious control of my body left me. I recognized my own groan as the wonderment overwhelmed me. A moment of ecstasy that not even a blizzard could compete with.

I collapsed on to Tamara, using my elbows to lesson my weight. My breath was coming in gasps and, despite the cold, we were sweating. I felt the beginnings of her chuckle before I heard it. I looked up at a beautiful happy smiling woman who spoke quickly then chuckled some more. "Yes," I agreed, "we are quite good at it." I have no idea how I knew what she was saying. I could just feel it was right.

Tamara squeezed me inside of her which caused me to twitch. She found that funny and I found it sexy. I reached up and pushed her hair away from her sweaty face. This time, I kissed her like a lover. Soft with the intent that she never forget. Her smile disappeared, and her eyes looked into mine. More lovely words were spoken softly, with feeling. "I love you as well," I said. Her tears told me she understood. I buried mine in her shoulder.

The killer blizzard was its own worst enemy. It blew snow under the tree that piled onto our hovel, insulating us from the bitter winds. We spent the day, as it blew on, making love like the last two people on earth. I found where Tamara was ticklish. I tortured her till she grabbed my scrotum with a devious smile. Not wanting to be neutered, I relented. This time, she beat her chest like Tarzan. I loved playing with her. I loved being tender with her. I loved just being with her. Touching and kissing were all the language we needed.

The winds continued as night approached. The sound had diminished due to the snowpack, but we could tell it was deadly out. Tamara became stiff and less amorous, and I thought I might have let my desire go too far. The change was sudden, and it wasn't like she didn't happily participate. I gave her my concerned look, "Is something wrong?" She recognized the expression and nodded with embarrassment. She spoke quietly as if she didn't really want me to hear. It was one of the few things I understood. She needed to pee.

I tried not to smile, but it was hopeless. To me, it was humorous. We were unwashed, had made a sexy mess of our bed, would probably die of exposure, and she was worried about peeing. She smacked my shoulder letting me know she didn't think it was funny. I straightened my lips and kissed her tenderly.

The cooking pot was all we had. Unless we wished to water our bed and freeze to death sooner, the pot would have to serve. I handed it to Tamara, and she shook her head. "We don't have a choice," I said and handed it to her again. She sighed and took it. I knew she was close to losing control of her bladder; I could see it in her face. She got on all fours, thought about it, then signaled for me to turn away. I smiled, held back a chuckle, and turned away. I knew everything about her body, yet she was embarrassed about peeing. Hell, I cleaned her up when she was unconscious.

The sound of her stream hitting the pan and was loud, then softened as it began to fill. I heard her softly complaining, words that I am sure weren't meant for young ears. When the stream stopped, I turned back I saw a pot of pee in her hands and tears in her eyes. I saw no more humor. Peeing in front of me had hurt her. I carefully took the pot and set it near the door. I crawled back to her carrying one of the old man's shirts. I put a hand behind her neck and pulled her shaking lips to mine. At the same time, I wiped her dry between her legs with shirt's sleeve. There was no way I was going to let nature's call come between us. She folded into me, and I felt the embarrassment fade away. She was smiling when I looked again. Such a lovely smile.

I broke the seal and pushed snow away from the upper section of the door. Bitter cold met my arm as I extended the pot out and emptied it. I was sure it would freeze quickly. I pulled my arm back in and closed the gap. Knowing I wasn't going to make the night, I began to fill the pot myself. Tamara watched me, mesmerized. Even with all her brothers, I suspect she had never seen a man relieve himself. When I was done, she was there with the shirt. She lovingly cleaned me and followed with a tender kiss. More lovely words whispered as she let me know that everything was okay. Somehow, I loved her more.

We had to be gross about it. Survival required no less. I broke the seal, dumped out the pot then filled it with snow. I brought it in quickly, scrubbing it as best I could, then repeated the dumping and filling again. I sealed the gap for a final time that evening. The temperature had dropped dramatically inside, and my arm was freezing and had lost some of its color. Tamara hugged it to her chest as we shivered in the blankets. Once feeling returned to my arm, I lit the Sterno can, with one of our precious matches, and held the pot above to melt the snow.

Tamara made a face, indicating the pot. I shrugged my shoulders, "not much choice." I said. She moved in close and kissed my cheek. We huddled near the only sources of heat, Sterno and each other. When the snow had melted, and the water warmed, I tried to remove it from the flame. Tamara pushed my hand back and made a popping sound with her lips. I laughed and left the water over the flames to boil. She lightly bit my ear with her lips to stall my laughing and relieved me of the pot. She was in charge of sanitation.

The Sterno took the cold bite out of the air as it brought the water to a strong boil. After the melting, there was less than a third of a pot of water. There was no way we were going to break the seal again that night, so a third would have to do. We covered the Sterno and let the water cool.

We became tender, caressing with no sexual intent. Tamara needed the closeness after all the stress of handling nature's call in my presence. I loved her that way, so soft and caring. She thought she had lessened herself, exposing her animal needs. Greedily, I found it worth her minor shame. A cost worth enduring for such warm love. If a rescue team had showed up at that moment, I would have cursed them and all they held dear. I was exactly where I wanted to be, reassuring the most beautiful woman in the world that she had lost nothing.

Somehow, we slept. Our ears became used to the wind, our minds shutting it out as normal. Entwined in each other's arms, we found safety and warmth. I awoke once to some less than dainty snoring that I found strangely reassuring. I liked Tamara relaxed and sound asleep. Her breathing, loud or not, was part of her. It reminded me she was alive and comfortable in my arms. Like the wind, the snoring became part of everything and I slept again.

I awoke to silence. Sometime during the night the storm had exhausted itself. The hut was dimly lit in a morning glow. My eyes opened to find Tamara on her side, her head propped in her hand, watching me. She smiled, and my life held meaning. "Good morning gorgeous," I said, adding my smile to hers. She said something musical and leaned in for a kiss. I let the words and the kiss wash away the cold threat outside. Her hand trailed down my side and reached between my legs. More soft words and a pair of eyes filled with desire left no room for misinterpretation. We heated the hovel with more love.

Wearing everything that would fit us, we ventured outside. The hut needed fresh air and we needed to assess our situation. The situation wasn't good. The snow was to our knees where our fire used to be and the drifts against the trees were waist high. There would be no more finding dead wood. We knew where our supply was buried though it held only a day's worth. Our food was exhausted and even if we could attempt the cliff, we would die of exposure quickly.

I looked over the whitened landscape and smiled. At least it was beautiful. If you had to die, it might as well be among nature's perfect landscape. Tamara slid in next to me, wrapping her arm around me and sighed. She had come to the same conclusion.

"Tamara, will you spend the rest of your life with me?" I asked softly. My heart wasn't joking though the words held ironic humor. She looked up at me and smiled. I kissed that smile and accepted it as a yes. I let the grimness fade away and decided to make Tamara happy for as long as I could. They say freezing to death is like falling asleep. I couldn't think of anyone else's arms I would rather fall asleep in.

We dug out the fire pit and lit, what was most likely our last fire. Depending upon the weather, this could be our last time outside for any length of time until spring. We wouldn't last until spring. We both knew what it meant and let it go to enjoy what time we could together.

The fire felt wonderful. Things got a little damp around it, so we had to be careful to stay dry. Somehow, through her tenacity, Tamara taught me a game she called 'gomoku.' She sketched a many squared grid into the wet ground and we took turns placing Xs and Os into the squares until someone got four in row. I sucked at the game, but the stakes made it worthwhile. The winner got to demand a kiss wherever she, for it was never he, desired. Tamara had fun exposing portions of her skin to the cold and wasn't afraid to make me kiss her ass. It was the worst game I ever loved.

We had a long conversation, my half about what I did for a living and the places I had been. She spoke happily about something to do with her home. It didn't matter that we didn't understand each other. In fact, the lack of any possible disagreement made it that much nicer. We could laugh about a spark from the fire landing on my shoe or snow suddenly tumbling down a tree. Anything different that caught our attention and was shared seemed important.

Tamara was happy to run off and take care of her needs out of my sight. I would smile when she returned so that I could see her blush. It would earn me a smack on the shoulder, but it was a loving smack. I would apologize with a kiss.

Overall, it was one of the best days of my life. As our rocks warmed, I took her hand and held it over my heart and placed my other hand on hers. She covered it with her hand. "I love you," I admitted again. She nodded and cried. Fate put us together and dealt a lousy future. I thought about what life could have been and saw nothing of value that didn't contain Tamara. I preferred our short existence to one without her. We held each other as the last of the wood burnt low.

I tried adding growth I ripped from trees, but it produced more smoke than heat. Our last fire was done. Tamara smiled and held out her hand. In time, we would be done. For now, we would make love.

++++++++++++++++++++++

Tamara shook me awake, babbling as my eyes took in the morning glow. I smiled, thinking she wanted to continue last night's activities. Thinking back warmed me against the chill in the air. She pointed to the door then put a finger to her lips and one to her ear. I listened.

The unmistakable sound of a helicopter came in and out, echoing from some unknown distance. I never dressed so fast in my life. The damn storm could have damaged our signal. The snow certainly covered any traces of a crash. I burst out into the morning and was met by bitter cold. I ignored it and headed to the cliff, trudging through waist deep snow banks at times. The sound increased as I neared.

Tamara was coming behind me, using my path to ease the travel through the snow. Smart girl. By the time we got to the cliff, the sound was steady, though I couldn't see the copter. The sound was echoing from different directions, reverberating off the mountains.

Reaching the tree, I dug down its trunk to find the wire. It took a few seconds to pull the shirt free from the snow. The wind had blown it up, onto the cliff, and buried it. I shook it off and tossed it over the edge. It wasn't heavy enough to break through the snow and drop fully visible below the tree branches. I could hear warning words from Tamara as I maneuvered to the other side of the tree, hanging onto the trunk with one hand and using the other to break down the snow.

I could feel the cold weakening my fingers, but the engine sound made me continue. I began using my foot to extend my reach, pushing more snow over the cliff to set our flag. I smiled as the snow began to move en masse. I cringed when I began to go with it. A desperate grab to support my frozen fingers with my other hand failed. Tamara screamed. I went over the edge.

My mind had already settled on death. This new form was met with equal resolution. My last thought was not wanting to leave Tamara alone. I spread myself out and screamed, "See me!"

My thigh shattered in a field of green. Spinning. The left side of my head exploded into white light. Darkness followed.

++++++++++++++++++++++

My eyes wouldn't open. I struggled, but only a crack would form, and I saw nothing but whiteness behind a curtain of lashes. Snow. I remembered the snow. I was dying in the snow. I wasn't cold. It was just like falling asleep. I smiled inside, knowing my lips couldn't copy it. Just like falling asleep.

"Mr. Bennett." The voice was insistent and completely out of place. I felt something warm in my right hand. Nothing should be warm. I smiled. My blood would be warm.

"Mr. Bennett." It was a female voice. Not Tamara. Where was Tamara? I forced my eyes open, and light ripped into my skull. I closed them again and tried to move my left hand to cover them. My hand wouldn't move.

"Slowly, Mr. Bennett." The voice said. A warm hand covered my eyes so I could blink them open. A white room, warm and no snow. My head felt like it was swimming in grease. Thoughts were slow to come. The hand was removed, and a woman wearing a white lab coat with short cropped red hair smiled at me. Doctor? I drooled at her. A hand, from the other side of the bed, wiped my chin with a wet cloth. I turned my head, a young man in blue smocks stared back. Orderly? Nurse?

"Do you know where you are?" The doctor asked. I tried to answer, but my lips hadn't decided to cooperate yet. I nodded slightly, more sunk my chin than nodded. I was in a hospital. American doctor. Where was Tamara?

The doctor smiled at my movement. "Rick is going to give you some water to take care of the dryness in your throat." A straw was inserted between my lips and water was squirted in. Funny, I remembered doing that for Tamara. It felt wonderful in my mouth, so cool. I swallowed hard, letting it coat the back of my throat. I followed with a cough that broke phlegm I didn't know was stuck there. Rick added more water, and I swallowed easier. My lips were becoming my own again.

"Where's Tamara?" I asked weakly. It didn't sound like my voice. I wasn't sure if what I thought I said was coming out of my mouth. I coughed again to loosen things up.

"Slowly, Mr. Bennett," the doctor repeated.

"Tamara. Where is Tamara?" I said clearly. I heard the words that time. The doctor smiled as if I was child asking why the sky was blue.

"I don't know a Tamara," she answered, "is that a family member?" I tried to move my left hand again. There was resistance. I could lift my right. I looked down my body. Both legs were encased in metal cages that circled my legs with stainless steel spokes entering my skin holding it in place. My left arm was secured in a cast that ran from my wrist to past the elbow and halfway up my bicep.

"Crashed with me," I replied, "a woman with black hair. Thirtyish." My mind was quickening. I turned to the orderly to see if he knew.

"It's good that you remember the plane crash," the doctor continued,"we were worried you might suffer some memory loss." I felt anger surge. I don't know where it came from, but it dwarfed everything else.

"Where the fuck is Tamara?" I growled. I shifted. It was a stupid attempt to sit up and look more forceful. Pain shot up my side, and I quickly became aware of the rest of my body. It didn't feel good.

"I don't know a Tamara," the doctor continued, obviously quite skilled at irate patients, "but I will find out what I can." I settled back into the bed. It was the best I could hope for since I couldn't get up and walk out.

"How bad?" I asked, sending my eyes down to my legs.

"Both your legs experienced multiple fractures, " the doctor stated without reservation. I didn't want the glossed over version anyway. "We have reset the bones and inserted pins to guarantee it heals correctly. We expect you to regain full mobility in time."

"My arm?" I tried to lift my right arm to point to the left and stopped when I saw the IV needle.

"You fractured the radius and ulna and chipped the humerus at the elbow. Your arm will heal faster than your legs." The doctor stalled for a moment, "It was the head injury that concerned us the most. The swelling in your brain was very difficult to manage. By your questions, I assume there is little lasting damage. Though rehab will verify it over time."

"I looked like Channing Tatum before the crash," I joked. A wave of well-being came over me and washed the anger away. My mind was moving through emotions like a rollercoaster.

"The damage was more extensive than we thought," the doctor chuckled, "I'm glad you still have your humor though mood swings are to be expected as the drugs wear off." She looked at me, letting the humor fade away. "The swelling in your brain forced us to keep you in a medically induced coma for 57 days." Realization kicked in.

"Where am I? I mean, what city?" I asked quickly.

"You're at Chicago Memorial Hospital, Mr. Bennett," the doctor replied, "I'm your main physician, Doctor Mary Tristin." Chicago? Where the hell is Tamara? 57 days? Did they find her?

"Are my parents here?" I asked quickly, "I have to tell them about Tamara."

"They are outside waiting for word from me," Mary said, "do you think you are you ready for visitors?" She asked like I had a choice.

"Send them in, damn it!" I settled the tension and lowered my voice, "please." Damn drugs.

My mother was in tears. I didn't have time for tears. After quickly consoling her, I turned to my dad. "There was a woman who survived the crash with me on the mountain," I said, "what happened to her?"

"I think you should take it easy, son," my dad replied, trying to calm me, "let the accident be for now and we'll talk about later when you're feeling better." 57 days, we'll talk about it now.

"Damn it, quit coddling me," I chastised, "what the hell happened to her?"

"Okay, okay," my dad said, holding up his hands, "An Armenian woman was rescued with you, one of three including you that survived the crash. An old man survived as well and walked for several days. He is the one who sent help." He must have landed below the cliff, in the valley.

"What happened to Tamara, the woman?" I demanded.

"I suppose she went home," my mother said, her eyes glancing between my father and I. I didn't like the look. I remembered it from my childhood when I crashed my mini bike, and they were trying to explain why it wasn't in the garage anymore. I looked to my dad.

"Where is she?" I said leaving no room for lies.

"Son, I know things must have looked pretty grim...." I interrupted.

"Damn it! What the fuck did you do?" I could smell the parental interference. The room stunk with it, and the drugs enhanced it.

"She didn't even speak English, honey," my mother chimed in, "she claimed things..."

"I tried to give her some money," my father added. Oh God! That was the worst thing they could have done.

"I love her, you idiots!" I shouted, "I intend to spend the rest of my life with her." I heard a gasp at the door. Kimberly stood there, hand over her mouth, watery eyes. Fuck me.

"It's just the drugs," my mother declared, looking between Kimberly and me. There was silence for a moment as Kimberly, and I studied each other. I needed her alone.

"Please leave," I sighed, looking at my mom. Kimberly knew I didn't mean her. My dad had to escort my mother out. She was not taking the revelation very well. "I..." Kimberly interrupted by kissing my forehead. That is wasn't my lips, was telling.

"I wasn't going to tell you that way," I admitted.

"I know," Kimberly smiled. Her leaky eyes didn't match the smile, "I'm still glad you didn't die."

"I thought I had."

"They say you jumped off a cliff."

"Fell, more like it," I said, "trying to get the helicopter to see us." Kimberly studied me for a moment, her smile fading as she thought.

"Do you love her all the time?" Kimberly asked quietly. She knew it too. We weren't fully compatible, just used to each other. I nodded, unable to answer with words. I had no idea, how do you talk with my last love about my true love.

"I would have made a crappy nurse," Kimberly chuckled weakly. Her eyes defied the humor.

"We would have hated each other," I added. Kimberly nodded. There was no way we would have survived me being bedridden. She sat on the bed and took my hand in hers. I welcomed her friendship.

"I'm still sad about it," Kimberly continued, "parts of us were so good." I smiled remembering her beneath me in bed. She slapped my hand. "Not just those parts." We laughed with each other, mostly because she knew where my mind went. At least we now had real honesty.

"I need to find her," I said, "my parents may have screwed it up pretty bad."

"I'll help you," Kimberly offered. I was shocked and must have looked it. She smiled, "it will make up for all the care you're not going to get from me."

"I can't ask you to do that."

"You don't have to. We love each other too much to end it by ourselves," Kimberly sighed, "we owe it to...."

"Tamara."

"Tamara for making sure we didn't end up hating each other." Kimberley meant it. "I don't think I want to meet her right away, but I can at least help you find her." I chuckled at the qualified help.

"I also need to learn to speak Armenian," I added.

"Is her English not good enough?"

"She doesn't speak any English," I replied.

"How did you....?"

"It was primal," I replied, "we spoke without words, yet we understood everything." Kimberly smiled at me, almost a laugh. "What?"

"What happens if you don't like what she has to say?" I never thought about it.

"Then I shut up and forget I know Armenian," I replied. Kimberley's laugh filled the room. My mom burst in, all smiles.

"So, is everything back to normal?" My mother queried, looking at Kimberly.

"Hardly, Pamela," Kimberly replied nicely, "we have just decided that there will be no war over it." My mother's face dropped. She always liked Kimberly and thought I should have married her years ago.

"Pamela, leave it be," my dad said, forestalling my mother from interjecting her opinion.

"Do you know her last name, or surname, or whatever they use over there?" Kimberly asked, continuing our conversation.

"She told me once, I think," I said, trying to jog my memory.

"You're not helping him in this?" my mother chimed in.

"Yes," Kimberly answered with determination, "yes I am."

"I can't remember, but I think it started with a 'P' sound," I said, ignoring my parents.

"Jonathan!" my mother continued, " you can't do this to Kimberly."

"Pamela, I am doing this," Kimberly responded, "He obviously can't do it himself," she waved her hand over my caged legs and lowered her voice, "and though you would have made a wonderful mother-in-law, we would have been a terrible husband and wife." I watched as my mother hugged the daughter she wanted. Kimberly smiled at me from over my mother's shoulder. It was the she-likes-me-better-than-you smile you would expect from a sibling. I rolled my eyes and kept silent. I loved them both, but Tamara held my heart.

When the drugs wore off, mood swings were replaced by pain. It wasn't a sharp I-can't-function pain. Luckily, I was in a coma for the worst of it. The pain was dull and constant. Moving increased it and stillness was incredibly uncomfortable. At night, sleeping pills were a must. During the day, I took it out on Rick and the other nurses. Being immobile was incredibly boring and being cleaned by unloving strangers was embarrassing. I thought back to the mountain when Tamara had to pee. I now knew what she felt. I wondered if she knew how much I loved her and that it didn't matter to me. I cringed as the night nurse wiped my ass. I truly hoped Tamara didn't feel as I did at that exact moment.

Kimberly came to visit every few days. Always a kiss on my forehead. I would never again know her lips. That was a good thing. They would never compare to Tamara's. Locating Tamara was taxing Kimberly's talents. The embassy had not kept records beyond mine, an American. The Azerbaijan authorities were difficult to converse with and knew little beyond putting Tamara on a bus with transfers to Yerevan, her requested destination.

My parents spent a lot of time apologizing for writing Tamara off. You can't hate the people who dropped everything and flew across the world to bring you back home. From what I could discern, they had run Tamara off. The interpreters were weak, knowing only one language well. My mother, her eyes on me and Kimberly walking down the aisle, probably bordered on cruel. My dad, ever the diplomat, tried to soften the blow with money. From what I could discern, Tamara was irate when they separated the two of us. I could still see the scars of her words in my mother's eyes, even though the language barrier and the interpreter must have weakened their sting.

When the pain finally faded, my alone time was filled with thoughts of Tamara. Sleeping was difficult. I kept waking, expecting a warm body next to mine. I would smile, half in a remembered dream, then reality would destroy it. I missed her horribly.

Doug Finley came by to see my progress two weeks after I had woken. I could see the dilemma in his eyes. He had a useless partner in a company that needed both principles. The firm was not large enough to absorb the loss easily.

"Jonathan, it's good to see you awake," Doug said as he took in my caged legs.

"Doug, thanks for coming to see me," I returned, "I hope the Azerbaijan deal went well."

"Truthfully, it took a nosedive," Doug admitted, "they got wind of your problems and attempted to renegotiate." He paused a moment, maybe thinking he should have lied, "some misunderstandings occurred that both sides would have trouble undoing. I think they felt the deal was with you and not us."

"Damn," I said more to myself. I disliked having all that effort go to waste, especially after what I had endured.

"Not your fault." Doug shrugged his shoulders. I knew he felt the investment in the trip was a complete loss. Now I am laid up, costing more than I produce. "We'll find another source in time." He smiled as if it was non-consequential. I knew it was.

"It kind of pisses me off," I said grimly, "I thought it was a done deal. I'm sorry Doug."

Doug smiled. "Just worry about getting better. Have they given you any idea how long you're going to be laid up?"

"Walking in five or six months, fully mobile in a year," I answered truthfully. There was no way I would be returning to work quickly. Doug nodded, and I could see the friend mixing with the business owner. I knew that he would pay a financial toll as I recovered.

"Doug, if we need to sell," I said, "don't wait to spare my feelings." I wasn't sure I was ready to end the business, but I couldn't let him suffer financially without me.

"Not sure we can," Doug said, "the proposal expired thirty days ago. Our numbers have dropped," he added, indicated my legs, "not sure if there is any interest at a reasonable price."

"Shit, I'm sorry Doug. I didn't mean for this to happen."

"I know," Doug sighed, "we'll just have to make the best of it." His smile belied the fears I knew were working their way through our finances. Unlike me, he lived rather high. Insurance on his Porsche probably cost more than my car. "So they tell me you tried base jumping without a chute..." At least we could still laugh together.

++++++++++++++++++++++

Five months after I fell from the cliff, my rehabilitation began in earnest. The tree that had saved my life did so at the expense of my legs. Immobile, my leg muscles had weakened so dramatically that when the pins and cages were removed I could barely bend my knees. The doctor had been correct. My arm had healed much quicker. I had to learn to walk all over again.

Kimberly had practically given up trying to find Tamara. She still visited me and told me of trading emails with this authority or another, but I could tell she had been defeated. I wasn't going to push. She at least had found a trail to Yerevan. My parents said they were looking, but I knew it was a half-hearted effort to stall my feelings while they hoped my desire would wane. My mother had some vision of my future, and it didn't contain an Armenian wife. My father, bless his heart, loved my mother as much as I loved Tamara. I could not pit him against her.

At night, alone in my room, thoughts of the mountain would return. Feelings of Tamara would fill me. Fear of her finding another frightened me. I would not fare well against someone who knew her language. Longing to return to that hopeless hovel with her in my arms swamped reasoning. I would rather die with her than live without her. It was hard to sleep with her in my mind.

I spent six hours a week learning Armenian. My tutor, Ruben Aslanian, was more than patient with me. He was a retired steelworker, born and raised in Southern Illinois in an Armenian household. I was never a good student, and Ruben wasn't exactly a great teacher. We learned together. There weren't any other teachers willing to make house calls on a regular basis.

Ruben would shake his bald head every time I mispronounced a word. He didn't have the skills to describe my error properly, and my ears currently heard no difference. It would take time to become proficient. What Ruben lacked in teaching skills, he made up for with his patience. He had made many trips to Armenia, visiting and supporting his extended family. I soaked up his knowledge of the country as well as the language.

Seven months after the fall, I was able to walk across the room, with two canes, without tiring. It had been a brutal rehabilitation. Entire muscle groups had to be rebuilt and adjust to the newly healed bones. My ankles, spared the brunt of the fall, were the worst. They felt like the first time I went ice skating when I was a child. It was if they had forgotten everything they were taught and fought against me the whole time. My doctor estimated I would be close to 100%, or what would be my new 100%, in a few more months. I moved back to my apartment. My mind began thinking of travel.

Kimberly insisted on driving me to physical rehab every other day. She was feeling guilty for not locating Tamara. The trips made me feel guilty. We had that way about us still. Unable to handle normal life comfortably. With her help, I progressed quickly. In two more months, I was able to jog half a mile on the treadmill without faltering. The scars along my legs became less hideous, more part of me now. Kimberly said I should tell people they were bullet holes. She thought It would be sexier.

My lessons progressed with Ruben to the point I could hold simple conversations in Armenian. Nothing elaborate, but a little more than 'where's the bathroom.' It was his last lesson that made my heart jump.

"I may have found her, or her family at least," Ruben stated with a smile as he entered the door. He was excited and now, so was I.

"Tamara? Where?"

"In the outskirts of Yerevan, in old soviet era tenet housing," Ruben stated, rubbing his bald head. He always did that when lessons went well. Good thing he didn't play poker. "My family thinks it is Tamara's family, they're not completely sure, but how many families claim plane crash survivors?"

"They talked to them?" I asked, pulling a chair out for Ruben.

"No," Ruben answered, "it is kind of third-hand knowledge. I didn't ask them to go Yerevan. They just spoke to friends of a friend." He shook his head, "I didn't ask them to travel there. I could try."

"No," I said, my smile growing, "I'm going there one way or the other. This, at least, gives me a place to start."

"I only know the building," Ruben qualified, "It's a long trip if it isn't her."

"Then I'm knocking on doors," I said proudly, "If it takes years, well...then it takes years. I'm not losing her again."

"Armenian women have a certain strength to them," Ruben warned, "are you sure? You chase her that far, and she'll know she owns you."

"She already knows," I said and smiled, "We own each other."

The very next day, I went shopping. It wasn't the most expensive ring in the world, but that wasn't me, or Tamara. It was a pretty thing, platinum band with a solitaire setting. I wasn't sure it was a wise thing to do, but if she was still single, I meant to rectify it. I closed the black ring box and put it in my pocket. If she wasn't single, I could always carve my eyes out with the diamond and try out another cliff.

Doug tried hard to talk me out of traveling to Armenia. He was adamant that I would find her with another man or worse, uninterested. He spent a lot of time trying to talk me into going to South America. There was a strong interest in handmade Peruvian pottery and thought my time would be better spent acquiring a supplier. We had angry words on the subject. He seemed to think he could change my mind, not understanding my level of commitment. The only thing that ended the argument was promising to travel to Peru after I found Tamara.

My mother was despondent. Not so much that I was getting back on a plane, but that I was pursuing a woman that didn't quite meet her criteria. My father, on the other hand, organized the trip and bought the plane tickets. He had been feeling guilty about not being more charitable to Tamara when they had met briefly. My parents treated her poorly, trying to undo what they thought was me sowing wild oats. I kissed my mother and, for the first time in a long time, hugged my father.

"Find her," my father whispered in my ear. Soft enough that my mother couldn't hear. I felt he wanted to say more, but he left it at that. His love was stretched between the two of us. He was forever the diplomat.

++++++++++++++++++++++

My three plane hops to Yerevan landed where they were supposed to. I let out the breath I was holding each time the wheels touched down safely on a runway. I grabbed my one bag and walked out of the airport with single-minded desire and note with unverified information.

Tamara Petrosian

Kurkjian building III

Yerevan was not Chicago. No grandiose downtown with glass and steel skyscrapers. Yerevan looked old, a throwback to the 50's with mostly cement buildings rarely more than ten stories high. The city was backed by snow-covered mountains that brought back memories. Part of the same Caucasus chain that Tamara and I survived.

I took a cab to the Marriott located downtown. The area was well cared for and prepared for tourists. Art, green space, and impressive architecture were all around. It was not an unimpressive city. My lessons with Ruben served me well. I had no trouble understanding that I was being overcharged for the ride. The cabby smiled at the dumb American, who paid the fee without question. The conversion math for the Dram was difficult, and I didn't have my head adjusted to the new monetary system. From what I could quickly figure, his overpayment was a hell of a lot less than a Chicago cabbies underpayment.

I spent some time, after checking in, with the concierge. It took a few minutes for him to locate the Kurkjian buildings, a twenty-minute trip away. He marked a map for me and also pointed out some choice eateries. I wasn't hungry for food. He called me another cab and the doorman instructed the cabbie where to go and what to charge. I laid out tips that I hoped weren't too small or large. The large smiles told me they were still on the large side.

The people we passed along the way could have been from any western city in the world. No distinctive clothing like you might find in the mid-east. Jeans, khakis, and a suit here and there. Women wore pants as well as dresses. It was the normal structures that were different. They were boring. Every now and again we would pass something unique, but all in all, the city had a lot of drab architecture.

Green spaces were the exception. The people seemed to treasure the parks and the grasses between their boring buildings. That's where they put most of their effort, and it was wonderful. I always loved the Chicago parks, but they were far apart compared to the integrated system they had in Yerevan.

We arrived at, what the driver indicated, was the Kurkjian buildings. A set of four zig-zagged five-story buildings that reminded me of an accordion. The cabby pointed to the one in front of where he pulled over and said something too quickly. When he repeated it slowly to my confused face, I understood that it was building three. I thanked him and paid him the agreed upon fare plus a much smaller tip than I gave the concierge. I received a polite thank you, but no smile. The proper tip was somewhere between the two.

I stepped out of the cab and realized I had just walked out into a huge risk. I turned to ask the cabbie to wait, but he was already driving off. I shrugged to myself; it couldn't be as bad as falling off a cliff. I moved toward what looked like the main entrance. The building was a cinderblock structure, gray with little in the way of adornments. Definitely a boring Soviet-era structure.

The people I passed were not friendly, or unfriendly. They seemed to ignore my presence as I ambled, obviously new, toward the entrance. I was kind of hoping someone would ask me if I needed help so they would be committed to trying to understand my poor Armenian. Sadly, I made it to the doors unaccosted.

Though the buildings housed a lot of people, there was no formal information desk. A wall of flushed mailboxes were along the entrance wall, most without names, just numbers. The hall ahead was lined with doors leading to the individual apartments. I should have hired an interpreter. I had some glorious dream of Tamara seeing me from afar and avoiding language altogether. Now that I was there, the dream faded and reality set in. I waited by the mailboxes, thinking someone would be along. It was better than knocking on random doors.

A young girl with bushy black hair walked toward me. I was terrible with ages, but I guessed ten. She moved deftly to the other side of the hall to avoid me with the most distance she could put between us. Of course, I was a stranger. She opened a mailbox using a key and retrieved a few letters.

"Hello," I asked in my piss poor Armenian, "I am looking for someone." I tried to remember all my lessons, but the look on her face said something other than I intended came out. She hurried past me. "Please," I added. She ran faster. I shrugged my shoulders and waited for an adult.

It was only a moment later when a rather burly man came down the hall from where the girl had disappeared. He had a few days growth on his face and was wearing sweats and t-shirt. "Hello," I started.

"American?" the man spat in a deep accent. I nodded as he slowed. A series of words left his mouth at a speed I couldn't understand. I assumed his one word of English was 'American.' By his tone, I don't think he liked Americans.

"Please, slowly," I sputtered. I understood something about children and scaring or frightening. He then asked if I liked children. I nodded. Humorously, Ruben had taught me a few swear words. This man wasn't laughing when he screamed some I understood and others I didn't. I was missing something. I raised my hands, fingers wide, trying desperately to remember the words for 'I don't understand.' Another door opened, and a man emerged, obviously known to the first. They had a brief conversation where the word 'American' was used in less than favorable terms.

"I am looking for a person," I said, happy I could assemble the words. I should never have trusted my language skills. The new man looked at me.

"Tamara Petrosian," I added.

"You look for Petrosian?" the man asked in broken English. I nodded. He smiled, "he think you after....daughter," he added, pointing at the burly father.

"No," I said, looking at the first man. I vehemently shook my head to emphasize the point as the new man translated. The first man grunted and dismissed me with a wave of his hand. He was rambling about Americans as he went back down the hall. I sighed. Nuances were everything.

"Petrosian... floor three," the man said and pointed way down the hall, "three-nine-eight." I smiled and held out my hand in a way of thanks. He ignored it and went back his apartment. Americans weren't popular in this building. I walked down the hall until I saw stairs going up.

I took a deep breath and knocked on 398. I heard movement behind the door and waited for a moment before the door open. An old woman, heavy set with her black hair loose and wavy, answered without a smile.

"Hello. Petrosian?" I asked as pleasantly as I could. Her expression shifted at my words. There was interest in her eyes and something else. Her face tightened.

"American?"

"Yes," I said, and then repeated it in Armenian. She spoke quickly, too fast for me to understand. I interrupted with the Armenian word for slower. She repeated herself again as if she were talking to a dull child. I caught about half the words. Something about a plane and mountains. I smiled.

"I look for Tamara Petrosian," I said, excited that I was at the right place. I saw anger in her face. I was missing something again. I quickly raised my hands, trying to wipe away the last part and start again. "I am Jonathan," I said, "I look for Tamara Petrosian."

The words that flowed from the woman's mouth came too fast. I heard more people moving in the apartment and prayed that one knew English. Two men, both larger than I, moved behind the woman as she opened the door further. I could see that their presence strengthened her.

"I look for Tamara Petrosian," I repeated to the two men. The one on the left rattled off some words to the woman who nodded. The door in the next apartment opened, and another man older than the first two entered the hallway, nodding at the woman. She rattled off some more words that included a butchered form of my name and plane and mountains.

"Yes," I replied, "I'm Jonathan."

A series of cursing followed. Intermixed with Tamara and something about being wrecked or ruined. Followed by a question that had something to do with Tamara and my happiness. I was scared to reply. I was scared not to reply. I had no idea if I understood correctly. Hesitantly, I nodded. Wrong answer.

The man from the hall hit me square in the face. I blocked the next fist and kept shouting "No" as the other two man came into the hall around the old woman. They were yelling, which drew more people out of their apartments. I remembered the ring and fumbled in my front pocket as a fist found my stomach. The ring box tumbled away as I doubled over and drove myself forward, into my attacker, trying to turn it into a wrestling match. The three men weren't having it.

My arms were restrained, and I was lifted up. I kicked out, trying to move one of the men away from me. I was slammed against the wall, and another fist found my nose causing momentary blackness and a flood of warmth over my lips. I closed my eyes waiting for the inevitable next strike I could no longer avoid.

The woman yelled something. I could only pull out the word 'stop' in her words. The expected fist didn't come. I opened my eyes. I breathed through my mouth since my nose was no longer functioning properly. The woman held up the open ring box and asked a question. I understood the name Tamara, but the rest went to fast, and my brain wasn't exactly running at full speed. There was no way I was going to nod again.

"I don't understand." The words slurred out of my mouth in a horrible rendition of Armenian. The women repeated the question slower. Something about Tamara, the ring, and payment or gift. I slumped against the wall. "I'm not answering," I said in English, "I don't understand, and I don't want to fight anymore. I just want to see Tamara Petrosian."

"She want to know if ring is payment for....pleasure with Tamara," a woman with straight blonde hair, obviously dyed, said in English. I smiled stupidly at her, never so pleased to find someone who spoke English.

"Payment?" I asked. Blood was entering my mouth as I spoke, but my secured arms disallowed wiping it away, "why would they think that?" I shook my head no. More Armenian words were exchanged quickly.

"You American who crash plane with Tamara?" the woman asked.

"Yes, Jonathan Bennett," I said hoarsely. I had to cough to clear my throat, "why do these people want to beat me up?"

"You ruin her life. They say you think her... I don't know word...woman who sell sex," the woman responded with her hands on her hips. I think she thought the same of me. My breath caught in my chest. Tamara must think of me as garbage. My eyes teared up as I looked back at the woman.

"I love her," I said, the words choking, "that ring...I meant to ask her to be my wife." Words began to be exchanged. "Where is she?" I tried to interject. I switched Armenian, "Where is Tamara?" I couldn't bear her hating me.

"They say you lie," the woman said, "you not see her for year. Now you want...buy sex. Hurt her more."

"I was in a hospital," I said quickly, "my legs were shattered. I was in a coma for two months. I had no idea..."

"Slow, slow," the woman demanded. She grasped English better than I grasped Armenian, but she had her limits.

"I was in a hospital," I repeated slowly, "I was in a coma for two months."

"Coma, what is this word," she asked.

"Knocked out, unconscious, asleep," I said until she nodded so I could continue "my leg bones were shattered. I couldn't walk." I signaled for her to translate. More words were exchanged, and I only understood a tenth of them. I was beginning to think Ruben was a lousy teacher.

"You family try pay her. Send her away." the blonde woman stated. The expression of the older woman was just this side of evil. I had no answer for this, but the truth.

"My father and mother were foolish," I said, "they didn't like me with Tamara." More words were exchanged. I noticed the grip had lessened on my arms. I stood up straighter but didn't make an attempt for freedom.

"Why not family like her?" the blonde woman asked. I could see this was going to drag out. We had a fairly large audience in the hallway.

"She doesn't speak English," I answered, then added more truth, "because she is not American." I was going to get it all out in the open while I had an interpreter. I watched the black haired woman's face soften as more words were exchanged. She was nodding to the blonde woman as she rattled off her response.

"She not like you. You not Armenian." The blonde woman was holding back a smile. I felt as if I had crossed some line. The we-no-longer-want-to-kill-you line.

"Is she Tamara's mother?" I asked. The blonde woman nodded. I thought for a second then took a risk. The truth was working so far.

"Tell her, if Tamara asks me to leave, I will leave Armenia," I said slowly, "until then, I don't care whether she likes me or not." The blonde woman smiled at me. She turned and exchanged more words. She was still smiling when she turned back to me.

"She not hate you now," the blonde woman chuckled. My arms were released, and the two men attempted to brush me off and straighten my shirt. I was sure my face was a mess. Tamara's mom held out her hand and smiled when I took it. She pulled me into the apartment while she called out some instructions that involved the name, Tamara. I suspected the men to be Tamara's brothers. One responded to his mother and took off down the hall. The other two entered with me. Thankfully, the blonde woman entered as well.

Unlike the drab hall, the apartment was plush. Red seemed to be the main color, with large paintings covering the cement block walls. An accordion divider, as tall as a man, was used to block off a portion of the Soviet boredom on one wall. The divider had an intricate medieval scene with a red flowered border. I was led to a red couch that was sitting on a very fine throw rug. I started to sit down and then reconsidered when Tamara's mother scolded me. I didn't understand the words, but the tone was clear. She pointed at the floor where I stood and walked off. I stood still as ordered.

"My name Viktoria," the blonde woman introduced herself.

"I'm Jonathan," I returned, "I owe you my thanks." I felt a little foolish standing in the center of the room, under orders, with the others moving about examining me.

"No problem," Viktoria said, "you good entertainment." She laughed, which forced a smile to my lips. She looked a lot friendlier without the scowl on her face.

"I'm glad you decided to stay. I'd like to avoid more misunderstanding."

"I would not miss,' Viktoria responded with a sly smile. I saw something there in her face. I was the butt of a joke, or I was missing something. Maybe both.

"Yana," Tamara's mother said, pointing at herself. She had returned with some towels and pot full of water.

"Yana," I repeated. She smiled as she lay a towel on the couch and indicated I should sit. I did. She didn't seem like someone you said no to. Especially since two of her enforcers had taken chairs, sporting the same interest on their faces as Viktoria. She knelt in front of me and placed the pot on the floor. She pointed to one of the men, "Garik," then at the other, "Davit." I nodded to both who smiled back.

"Tamara's brothers?" I asked Viktoria. She chuckled while nodding. A few words were exchanged between the brothers of which I understood little, but the tone indicated humor.

"They say sorry," Viktoria snickered, "they thought you insult sister." I knew the interpretation was missing something. I had heard the word American and something less than favorable.

"You are a diplomat," I told Viktoria. She looked confused. The word was too much for her, so I let it go by waving my hand and smiling as if it didn't matter.

Yana dipped a washcloth in the water and brought it to my face. She spoke in a tone one would use with a child as she began to wash under my nose. I almost reached up and took the cloth from her, but Viktoria shook her head no. The cloth came away bright red, with more blood than I had expected. Yana turned to Garik and spouted a command that had him bounding off.

After rewetting the cloth, Yana returned to my face with more tender words. Her free hand would tilt my face this way and that with no thought as to my fighting it. It took a few more dips of the cloth to clean my face to her satisfaction.

Garik returned with what looked like toilet paper. Yana grabbed it without a word, tore off a section, rolled it, and promptly stuffed it up my left nostril. Obviously, she thought it should be lodged all the way in my brain. I gasped at the final push and Davit laughed. He rattled off a statement that had Garik joining him. I looked at Viktoria, who smiled.

"They have memories," Viktoria answered the unanswered question. I guess Yana was used to bloody noses. A few moments later, I had two wads of toilet paper stuffed up my nose and Yana was satisfied I wouldn't bleed in her house.

"Thank you," I said in my best Armenian. She smiled and then gave her boys a stern look. I guess they were sparse with their thank-yous.

"Where is Tamara?" I asked Viktoria. Viktoria had a conversation with Yana that seemed to make Garik and Davit smile. I understood that she was coming, but missed all the nuances and the part that was making Tamara's brothers smile.

"Armen will bring," Viktoria said. I assumed Armen was the older brother who lived next door. I wondered why Tamara wasn't here.

"She doesn't live here?"

"Down floor," Viktoria replied, pointing at the floor. I guessed that meant downstairs.

"She has her own apartment?"

"No," Viktoria said and didn't elaborate. Thoughts entered my head. I should have known that Tamara had gone on with life. I was bedridden, so it didn't occur to me to move on. The sly smile on Viktoria's face had me prepared for a surprise. One, I suspected, I might not like.

Tamara's brothers started conversing as their mother left the room with the dirty towels and water. Viktoria found humor in what they were discussing. I knew it had something to do with me. I looked between Viktoria and them with concern.

"What are you talking about?" I asked when the pressure got to me.

"Not important," Viktoria replied. She said something to the brothers, and they all started to laugh. Yana returned with a scowl that halted the laughter quickly. She spoke, and all discussion stopped. She sat down next to me on the couch and patted my knee.

"Tamara worry," Yana said slowly, in simple Armenian words. Probably the same words found in an Armenian first-grade reader. The look in her eyes was loving, almost parental. I assumed she meant that Tamara was worried about me. "She can't find," more simple words.

"I had trouble finding her as well," I said in English, then looked at back at Viktoria. She interrupted my words, which brought a smile to Yana. We waited, and I listened to brief conversations where I understood one word in ten. The talking ended when the door opened.

Armen walked in, and a worried eyed Tamara followed. I stood when I saw her. She carried a bundle and didn't approach as I neared. She carried a child. Viktoria was looking between us, her eyes wide with anticipation.

A series of thoughts ran through my mind. Tamara was a nanny; possibly she found another job downstairs. No, the way she held the child spoke of love, not duty. She had it close under her breasts as if it belonged there. Of course, she found someone else. The watery eyes fit. She was too pretty to be alone. She had too much love.

The expression on her face denied another love. I had seen that expression before. Once, in the hovel, she held out a pot with embarrassment. The look was near the same but held more concern. Her eyes searched mine, and I saw something there. Our time together had allowed me to read slight changes in her expression. The way her shoulders curled toward me and the way she resettled the child in her arms. Entire sentences were there, and my throat thickened. It was my child, our child, she held.

I moved forward, more hesitant than I should have. I wasn't prepared to be a father. Tamara saw my nervousness and her eyes swelled. Her hand pulled the cloth away from the baby's face, letting me see it unobstructed.

The child was sleeping, it's skin perfectly pale. It's mouth was moving rapidly like it was feeding from a breast. There was a calmness about it. Something so perfect. I felt my eyes fill. It didn't matter if I was ready or not. The desire to wrap the child in my arms and protect it from the world was overpowering. I looked up at Tamara.

"I never thought anyone could be as beautiful as you," I said in English. Viktoria unnecessarily translated. I could see that Tamara understood when her smile grew. I added my arm to help cradle the child and found Tamara's lips. They were as soft as I remembered. A year did not diminish the love I felt in them. I ignored the conversation that erupted behind me as I lost myself in Tamara and our child.

"I love you," I whispered in Armenian. Ruben at least taught me that well. I felt passion when our lips merged again. A felt the desire grow as it had in the hovel so many months ago. Tamara pushed me away gently, a smile holding a promise for later.

"Mother here," Tamara whispered slowly. I smiled back, knowing that she felt the passion as well. I held out my arms and without hesitation, she placed our sleeping child in them. "Milena," she told me my daughters name.

Milena fit her perfectly. She was so light and so comfortably asleep in my arms. "Milena is beautiful," I said carefully in Armenian. I guess I got it correct when Tamara blushed with pride. I turned back to the couch with my bundled treasure. Yana was beaming like her daughter. I now understood why she thought I had ruined Tamara. They had thought I left Tamara with a child to raise on her own. In some ways, I deserved a bloody nose.

"You like surprise?" Viktoria asked me as I sat down with Tamara. I could see the thrill in her eyes. She had been waiting for this all along.

"She's perfect," I replied. I looked at Tamara. "They're both perfect." Viktoria chuckled while she translated. Yana responded, and Tamara shook her head. I looked between them both and then at Viktoria.

"Your family not like you now?" Viktoria asked. I smiled at the thought. They were convinced I had to choose between Tamara or my family. I guess my parents didn't make a very good first impression with Tamara.

"I think Milena changes everything," I said. I placed Milena in Tamara's arms making sure Milena's beautiful face was exposed. I pulled out my phone and snapped a picture. I had no idea what ungodly time in the morning it was back in Chicago, but I sent a text nonetheless. A picture of my daughter in her mother's arms. The words simply said, 'your granddaughter.'

I sat back on the couch and greedily took back the sleeping baby. I wanted so much for her to wake up, but I didn't want to disturb her sleep. All my thoughts were jumbled. Milena changed everything. Tamara curled into me, and I made room. She liked me caring for Milena. Like I had any choice. God knows how much more of myself I would lose when Milena opened her eyes, which I prayed was soon.

"I am so sorry I wasn't here for you," I said to Tamara. She understood, but Viktoria translated anyway. "She is so wonderful. I can't believe we made her," I added. Tamara smiled and tucked herself closer. Viktoria started to translate and Yana interrupted with some quick commands that sent everyone but Tamara and I scampering away. Yana smiled at me and left to what looked like the kitchen. The woman was smart.

I wrapped my arm around Tamara, and we shared Milena between us. Our child slept as we found each other again. All my reservations were consumed by her lips. It didn't matter that my Armenian sucked. It didn't matter that I didn't have clue-one on how to raise a child. Tamara and I would fuck up parenting together.

My phone rang. I pulled it out and smiled at the caller ID. My mother always kept her phone close when I was out of the country. It didn't matter how old I got; she worried all the same. "Mother," I said to Tamara in Armenian. She nodded as I put my mother on speaker. Even if Tamara couldn't understand, I didn't want to go private right now.

"Sorry to wake you, mom," I said, "you're on speaker with Tamara and me."

"Oh," my mom stuttered, not expecting a public conversation. I heard some shuffling, probably putting on her robe as if we could see her. "I...she's beautiful, Jonathan...so beautiful."

"She is incredible, I'm holding her, and I still can't believe it," I replied. I gave Tamara a quick kiss to ease her mind. I could tell she was apprehensive.

"Jonathan...I did things I regret," I could hear tears in my mother's words, "I didn't...I thought...I wasn't thinking. I am so sorry, Tamara." I translated as best I could. I am sure it came out something like, "Mother sorry." Tamara nodded and wiped at her eyes. I think she could hear the grief in my mother's voice.

"Oh, Jonathan, I'm so sorry," my mother continued. I thought it was done with. "Tamara tried to find you, and I told the embassy things when you were unconscious. I don't want her to hate me." I looked over to Tamara and saw her stiff face. She was tolerating my mother, not forgiving her.

"Did you know where Tamara was?" I asked. I was trying not to be angry, but this could be an issue. God only knows what Tamara thought of me during that time.

"I'm am really sorry," my mother admitted without saying so. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. My anger flared, but the child in my lap refused to let me show it. Right at that moment, I hated my mother. I reached forward and disconnected. The strain building in my shoulders faded with the end of the call. If my mother knew, then most likely Kimberly knew as well. I moved Milena fully to Tamara's lap. I dropped to my knees in front of her.

"I'm so sorry, Tamara," I said in English. There was no way I could say it clearly in Armenian, "my mother didn't understand. She was a fool." I paused for a moment, looking into her dark eyes. Her family's initial reaction to me made complete sense. I would have beaten myself up. "I love you," I said in Armenian. Her forgiving smile was so lovely. She reached forward and pulled me up to her. She may not fully understand what transpired, but she understood my current desire. Her lips forgave me in so many wonderful ways. I was hoping I would learn to forgive myself and maybe even my mother.

A coo in Tamara's lap broke our kiss. I looked down at baby blue eyes that were full of curiosity. They moved all over my face in wonder as I searched hers. A smile I couldn't control forced my lips to curl. Milena copied mine, hers was a toothless smile and held unbridled excitement. Tamara giggled as my heart melted. I was no longer Jonathan; I was Milena's father. She and Tamara were now the most important people in the world.

I spent the next few minutes making Milena laugh. I never thought I would be one of those idiots spouting foolish gibberish to babies. Milena's smile was just too precious, and her unpracticed toothless laugh made my heart sing. Tamara was biting her lower lip to control her smile as I played with our daughter. I loved life at that moment.

Tamara eventually made me lie down on the couch. I had Milena sitting on my stomach as Tamara slowly pulled the tissue I had forgotten about, out of my nose. She was muttering something about brothers as she struggled to undo what her mother had done. I had fun flexing my stomach, making Milena bounce that in turn, caused her to smile.

Dinner was a casual affair. I had refused to answer my mother's two attempted calls. I was still angry at her and needed to stew a bit before I could forgive her. Yana served a very tasty sausage dish, laced with garlic, called Yershig. She served it with bottled water that seemed out of place. Viktoria was invited to help translate.

I spent most of the dinner trying to find out facts about Milena. Her birthday, how the birth went, and everything else I could gather with words. Milena slept fairly well and could almost make it through the night now.

I found myself slightly jealous when Tamara decided to feed Milena. Tamara was struggling to keep a straight face with Milena attached to her breast, as I failed miserably to hide my idiotic concern. It was such a beautiful thing ruined by my stupid brain.

I explained, as best I could, about my hospitalization. There were small bouts of words between Tamara and her mother as I explained. From what I could understand, Tamara was going through a litany of I-told-you-sos and Yana was admitting she had misjudged me. My parents had stirred up a hornet's nest. I explained how Ruben had given me the clue that led me to them. They all agreed that Ruben was a better friend than Armenian language teacher.

I excused myself to use the restroom. One of the few things I could ask about in Armenian without error. Tamara showed me the way, leaving Milena in the arms of her mother.

The apartment only had one bathroom. The place was utilitarian and contained little in the way of conveniences. The perfect Soviet hovel. There was a toilet, tub, and sink. The tub was full of water with a handled pot sitting on it's ledge. I looked at Tamara, who mimed lifting water from the tub with the pot and filling the toilet tank. She turned on the faucets, and they gurgled a bit, but no water came out, showing me the lack of plumbing. She mimed washing her hands and using the pot to rinse them off. Her motions were quite clear. Her words of explanation were lost on me. I wondered how they got water into the tub if the plumbing didn't work.

Tamara moved over to the corner and crossed her arms across her body and smiled. It took me a moment to realize that she intended to stay as I relieved myself. In my best Armenian, I told her to get the heck out as kindly as possible. She shook her head and laughed. I could see the moment on the mountain in her eyes when she was forced to pee in the hovel with me present. This was some kind of loving revenge. If I remembered, I had peed also in that hovel. Of course, she went first. I shrugged my shoulders and unzipped my pants. I could hear her snickering as I emptied my bladder into the toilet, keeping my back to her as best I could. I couldn't help it, as strange as it was, it made me smile. When I was done, and parts put away, Tamara was biting her bottom lip thinking herself funny. It made me laugh, which set her off as well. We needed it.

I flushed and refilled the toilet tank. I then washed my hands as Tamara dumped water over them. As I was drying them on a towel, Tamara scooted up behind me, her body molding to mine as she whispered something in my ear. I heard the word love mixed with others, her hands roaming over my chest emphasized the words. I turned in her arms, and we kissed passionately.

"I change," Tamara said, in simple Armenian I could understand, "Milena change me." She took my hand and placed it on her stomach and moved it along her hips. I could hear a little anxiety in her words. Silly fears about the changes in her body and my reaction to them. I smiled into her lips and let my hand travel to her butt. I pulled her in close and let my tongue wake up the feelings I had been waiting a year to feel.

"Beautiful," I whispered, unable to express much more in Armenian. Her smile was all the confirmation I needed. The mother of my child desired me. A part of my body was suddenly concerned about the sleeping arrangements for the night. In some ways, surviving on a mountain top is easier than normal life. In other ways, Milena existed. I greedily wanted both.

Dessert was something called Paklava. A pastry with a gut of cheese that I found very tasty. It went well with the potent coffee Yana served.

I asked Viktoria about the water and received a lesson in Armenian history. An earthquake destroyed most of the infrastructure in the late 1980s. Although electricity had been fully restored long ago, the water systems had yet to be fully rebuilt. The Kurkjian buildings had water from seven at night until three in the morning. There wasn't enough pressure to feed the whole city at the same time. Everyone bathed at seven, and then they filled the tub and some jugs for the next day. To them, it was just part of life, a minor inconvenience.

I was holding Milena, watching her sleep in my arms when a discussion erupted between Tamara and her mother. Viktoria looked away as if it wasn't happening. Tamara's brothers were trying not to laugh. I heard my name in the mix, and I could see Yana trying to make a point and Tamara putting her foot down. When it was over, Tamara looked at me.

"I go you tonight," Tamara said slowly, in Armenian. Yana looked less than pleased. I was more than pleased. Tamara had a stubborn look on her face. I knew it was for her mother, but it also dared me to say no. I smiled, the same smile I used on the mountain when we were thinking the same thing. I loved the smile I got in return. I looked down at Milena. "Both my loves are with me tonight, my beautiful one," I whispered.

Viktoria called us a cab. Tamara went downstairs to pack up a few things. She was staying with a grandmother I had yet to meet. From what I could discern, her pregnancy caused friction, and the family thought it best that she and her mother had some distance. Yana shooed the brothers away but kept Viktoria to translate.

"You leave?" Yana asked through Viktoria.

"Leave?" I pondered, "Leave for where?"

"Leave Tamara and baby. Go home," Yana clarified.

"I just found them," I said, my anger rising, "no one is taking them away now." Viktoria waved her hands, trying to erase her statement. She thought for a moment then started again.

"You stay with Tamara long time," Victoria restated. Yana was looking confused. They were asking if I had intentions of leaving Tamara. Yana didn't like Tamara staying with me. She was trying to figure out if I was in it for the long haul.

"Forever," I said. Viktoria didn't understand the word. "Long time," I restated, "til I die." Her eyes widened, and she translated, hopefully correctly, to Yana. Yana looked at me when Viktoria finished.

"Tamara my baby," Yana said. It needed no translation.

"Milena my baby," I said, raising my daughter from my lap, "Tamara my love." Yana eyes looked me over as she assessed the truth of my words. Finally, she nodded and reached into the pocket of her dress and withdrew my ring box. She pushed across the table to me.

"You marry?" Yana asked.

"If Tamara say yes," I answered in Armenian before Viktoria could translate. Yana smiled and rattled off words that left my realm of understanding.

"She say," Viktoria said with a smile, "If Tamara say no, you see her. She change Tamara mind." I laughed as I took the ring box. I had a future mother-in-law in my corner. Right then, I liked her more than my mother.

"She think maybe you not stay with Tamara," Viktoria said unprompted. They were Viktoria's words and not Yana's. She was becoming a friend. I still had some trust to earn. I gave her a smile.

"I'll never leave Tamara again," I said. Viktoria smiled back. I think she was Tamara's friend as well.

Tamara returned with Garik. Between the two of them, there were two suitcases and two gym bags. My eyes widened. Tamara smiled at my surprise.

"Me," Tamara said, indicating her one small suitcase, "Milena," she continued, pointing at the rest. I looked down at my sleeping daughter and laughed. She fit in the notch of my arm yet had more stuff than Tamara and I combined. At least Yana was laughing as well. I guess she had a little more trust in her daughter.

The trip back to the hotel went without incident, and I think I finally got the tip right. A calm smile and the tip of an imaginary hat from the cabby confirmed it. I had a crib brought up to the room, declined the fourth call from my mother, and brought Tamara to the first real room we would share together.

Tamara worked quickly, setting the crib to rights and organizing Milena's stuff while I entertained Milena on the bed. I found out that she was rather ticklish. I would run my finger lightly along the instep of her tiny feet, and she would laugh and kick at me. It was most entertaining.

Tamara sat down behind me, leaning her head over my shoulder and watched as I teased our daughter. I could feel her smile on my cheek as Milena and I played. Arms came around me, hugging me close. Shivers ran down my spine when I felt lips kissing lightly, just below my ears. It was arousing, but I could feel her desire only to convey love, not excite. Not, at least, while Milena was awake.

The mood was broken when Milena's face became distorted, and a series of wet sounds emitted from her bottom. Milena seemed relieved. Tamara laughed and stood back. I looked up at Tamara with apprehension and a small amount of hope. I saw only humor in her face as she collected a diaper from one of the gym bags. She was desperately trying not to look happy. I think I was about to experience a little revenge for missing the birth of my child.

"Jonathan," Tamara called in her lovely accent. I turned and caught the diaper that she tossed my way. The smile on her face was brutal. She expected me to change my first diaper right that moment. I smiled back as if it was going to be an easy task. Inside, I was cringing.

Undoing the old diaper was easy, opening it brought back my survival instincts. Tamara found my face hilarious. Milena began kicking her feet with excitement, making an awful runny mess worse. I was handed moist wipes and began trying to clean up the discharge while trying not to look at it. For such a tiny butt, my daughter produced a large mess. It took a lot longer than I expected to clean it all up. I rolled the dirty wipes into the foul diaper and closed it up. Tamara had a plastic bag ready for it. I powdered Milena's butt as instructed and affixed the new diaper under Tamara's watchful eye. Milena thought the whole process was exciting.

When I looked up to Tamara, emotionally exhausted, she tackled me right there on the bed. The kissing was fierce. I suspected I passed a test. Milena started cooing next to us which ended our quick bout of passion. I didn't think Tamara could be any happier. Somehow, she found my changing the diaper thrilling. I was secretly hoping my daughter would fill another as I wrapped Tamara in one arm and tickled Milena's foot with the other.

It took a long time to get Milena to sleep. She was in a playful mood, probably due to the new surroundings and an overly attentive father. Once her eyes were closed, her practiced mother was able to deposit her in the crib without her waking.

"Shhh," Tamara warned me with her finger to her lips. The smile in her eyes told me I would have trouble following the command. She shut off the main light and began unbuttoning her blouse. I stopped her with a kiss, moving her arms to her sides. I wanted so much to undress her myself.

"I have been waiting a year," I whispered in English. She needed no translation since the tone was more important than the words. "I want this to last," I added as I began to complete the unbuttoning of her blouse. She smiled and allowed me to my pleasure. I pushed the blouse over her shoulder and let it fall to the floor. My lips began tasting her newly exposed skin. It was softer than I remembered. I delighted in the shiver I sent through her body as my fingers explored.

"Shhh," I warned as a moan escaped her lips. My smile matched hers as she saw the humor in my warning. I undid that clasp on her bra and released her heavy breasts. She whispered something as I explored them, I am sure explaining their increased size and weight. I cared not for the biology, only the beauty. That they feed my daughter made them more wonderful though I took care not to use too much pressure. Light kisses and tender caresses brought more lovely sounds to my ears.

"Shhh," Tamara giggled to me. It was her making the sounds. I suppressed my laugh at the irony. I undid her pants and slowly lowered them. Above her panty line, I could see light lines of her pregnancy, the marks of motherhood in the dim light. Tamara's hand covered one as she whispered her concern. I dropped to my knees and moved her hand. My lips caressing the marks, loving what she had gone through without me, trying to erase my guilt for not being there. Her hand found my hair as I kissed every line, following them across her belly. I looked up as I lowered her panties.

"I love you," Tamara whispered, her eyes glossy with tears. Guilt flooded through me. I hadn't been there when she needed me. I wanted her to know that I would be there from now on. Nothing would drag me away again. She stepped out of her panties, and I kissed the top of her soft mound. I rose, and our lips joined as she began undressing me.

Tamara showed no further shyness when my clothes found the floor. Her hand wrapped around my obvious arousal as she whispered tempting words in my ear. I understood one in ten, but the idea was very clear. My hand found a home between her thighs. Her words lost structure as I explored. I could feel her lips curving on my neck as I softly played with her. She was as excited as I.

We fell upon the bed and Tamara pulled me between her legs. There was so much room compared to the hovel, no cold, yet the feeling was the same. There was no more impending doom forcing us into each other's arms. We simply didn't want to be anywhere else. Eye to eye, I entered her. She wrapped her legs around me and held me deep as we shared the same air. I tried to move, but she countered it by lifting her hips, and a smile emerged on her face. She whispered something about putting things together, joining. I relaxed, letting my smile merge with hers. She wanted to hold me in her, just feel me. I couldn't think of a better place to be.

"A little bit of heaven," I whispered. Tamara nodded though she didn't understand a word of my English. I played with the hair, forcing it behind her ear with caressing strokes. We lay, studying each other, sharing looks and smiles, speaking volumes without a saying a word. In time, our bodies revolted, no longer able to withstand such stillness. We moved with the grace of knowing lovers, accenting each other's movements and enhancing the pleasure we found in each other.

Tamara lost herself first, something I was worried my growing excitement wouldn't allow. Her pelvis rose, grinding into mine, The movement, and her moans set my body on fire. I joined her on a luxurious flight into the clouds. Both of our bodies stiffened, my face buried in the pillow in an attempt to not wake Milena.

We held each other as control returned to our muscles. Tamara, giggling, was kissing my shoulder. "We are damn good at that," I said in English when my breath returned. Tamara agreed, knowing my meaning if not my words. I laughed at her happy eyes, and she broke into laughter as well. It was a wonder that Milena never woke.

++++++++++++++++++++++

I awoke as Tamara was untangling herself from me. Milena was crying. Not an end-of-the-world cry. A small cry announcing she was awake. I sat up to ease Tamara's movements. Rubbing the sleep out of my eyes, I heard Tamara soothing Milena as she picked her up. Tamara sat down on the end of the bed and began feeding our daughter. I scooted behind Tamara, kissing her shoulder and watched Milena suckle with her eyes closed. I wasn't even sure she fully woke up.

Tamara leaned into me with a sigh. I became her back support, lightly caressing her sides as her head fell back on my shoulder. We shared a brief kiss as Tamara shifted to make herself more comfortable in my arms. Both mother and child had their eyes closed. I smiled at the wonderful experience. It was a habit of love for the two, but it was new to me.

My daughter was a pig. I lightly stroked her cheek as she suckled. I could feel her muscles working hard. I wondered if it was painful for Tamara. She didn't seem to be bothered as she lay contented against my back. I felt Tamara smile when I lightly caressed her breast trying to figure out how it all worked. I kissed Tamara softly, and she closed her eyes again. The whole situation was surreal and well worth the loss of sleep.

Finally, when Milena was fully sated, her mouth lost contact with the nipple. I smiled at her contented face lost in dreamland. Tamara shivered awake when I moved. I calmed her and lifted Milena carefully in my arms. Tamara sleepily whispered something I didn't understand as I moved toward the crib, my daughter snuggled to my chest.

Milena made a gurgling sound and belched in her sleep. I have no idea what mother's milk smelled like straight out of the breast. I now knew it had a very unpleasant odor when it came back up. I held Milena away from the mess she just made on my chest. Tamara was stifling a laugh as she whispered something close to "I told you so." I laid Milena carefully in her crib and turned to a smiling Tamara who was waving me toward the bathroom. The diaper and the spit-up were happy revenge for me missing so much. I had to smile when Tamara began cleaning me up. She seemed so pleased that I took it well. Daughters were messy. They made up for it by being so damned cute.

I, again, fell asleep in Tamara's arms.

We spent the next day being tourists. Tamara was showing me the sites of Yerevan, walking where we could and driving when we had to. Milena rode on my chest in a baby sling thing that allowed her to see everything without expending any energy. Every once in awhile, I had to hand her over to Tamara. Milena needed reassurance that mom was still there.

We were at the foot of the Cascades, a beautiful art deco version of the Hanging Gardens of Babylon, when I decided to risk everything. I knew what I wanted. I believed Tamara wanted it as well. There was fear all the same. I retrieved the little black ring box and placed it into Milena's hand. I pretended not to notice as she tasted it and let out a grunt when it didn't fit in her mouth. Tamara, a mother who knew her grunts, turned and quickly removed it from Milena's fingers. She was talking, mostly to herself as she examined the small box with confusion. Milena reached out to try and grab it back, but mom wasn't having it.

Tamara opened the box, and a million expressions crossed her face in a second. She looked up at me with wonder in her eyes. I decided it was best to go formal and dropped to one knee. Milena thought it a game and gave me a garbled laugh.

"Marry me?" I asked as well as I could in Armenian. I would have gladly died for the smile that appeared on Tamara's face. I knew her answer before she spoke.

"Yes," Tamara said in heavily accented English. She dropped down to my level, Milena getting more excited, and kissed me like it was our last day on earth. It was the same kiss that I found in the blizzard minus the desperation. This kiss had a future.

Milena started kicking and flailing her arms, thinking we were playing peek-a-boo. Tamara broke the kiss with a laugh, leaned down farther to kiss her daughter and reassure her she wasn't forgotten. We rose, and I placed the ring on her finger. It was a little loose and would need to be resized. Milena was impressed by the shiny bobble and insisted on playing with Tamara's finger. It kept Milena busy for a few more moments as we shared another kiss.

I had done it. A wife and a daughter in one day. Tamara wrapped her arm into mine and leaned against my shoulder as we walked. Like me, she wanted to be as close as possible.

We ate a quick dinner in the hotel restaurant. We would have lingered, but Milena was starting to get fussy. I guess all the sightseeing had worn her out and she was done with new stimulation. I could see that Tamara was worried I might change my mind now that I was seeing the crabby side of my baby girl. I just smiled and did my best to keep Milena entertained. The waiter did wonders making sure the food was delivered quickly. I over tipped for his attentions.

Once we were back in the room, Tamara was trying to sooth Milena, who seemed unhappy with everything. I could see that she was over tired and just needed to close her eyes. Tamara was more concerned with my reaction to Milena's fussiness and was trying desperately to get her to settle down. It was a chain reaction; upset daughter triggering upset mother which, in turn, further upset daughter. I remembered what my mother told me once, about when I was but a babe and the one thing that would quiet me down.

I filled the tub with about two inches of warm water. I took Milena from her reluctant mother, stripped her down, and sat her in the tub. The crying sputtered out as the warm water caressed her legs. She stared at it as I held her upright. She leaned down forcibly and began to splash, not happy, but no longer crying. Curiosity overwhelming her discomfort.

I felt a breath in my ear and magic words mixed with love. I turned and found my future wife's lips. They were filled with emotion, so much love as she cradled my head in her hands. Milena yelled out and splashed, causing water to find her face. She sputtered in surprise as Tamara quickly grabbed a towel and lovingly dried her face. Milena shook off the towel and went back to the water. Tamara sat down next to me. We spent the next half hour watching Milena tire herself out. When her head started drooping, and the eyelids refused to remain open, we dried her off, dressed her, and laid her in her bed. Daughters were crabby. They made up for it by being so damned cute.

Tamara attacked me on the bed. I surrendered willingly.

++++++++++++++++++++++

We awoke before Milena. I checked her breathing, as I had her mother so many months ago, and found it steady and without stress. I guess we wore her out. I crawled back into bed and just held Tamara. She snuggled into me, and I had a flashback to the hovel, trying to stay warm. This time, I didn't apologize when I tucked my hand under her breast. Milena only let us enjoy each other for about ten minutes. It was enough though I could have stayed that way for few more hours.

Tamara called her mother as she fed Milena. There was a long discussion with a lot of smiling. I could pick out pieces as she told her mother about the proposal. I wondered if I didn't plan it enough, maybe making a more romantic gesture. I let the idea fade away. Too much had happened to stall for a better time. Milena needed a father, and I needed the both of them.

"Mother make lunch," Tamara told me once she hung up. I smiled, nodded, and added a kiss, so she knew it was fine. She added something about outside, and I think park. I guessed it was going to be a picnic. Milena would like that, so it was good for me. I sat down and watched my piggy daughter monopolize my fiancée.

My mother hadn't tried to call me again in over twenty-four hours. I checked my phone to verify it and wondered if it was time to forgive her. It was her memories I accessed to quiet Milena the night before. I knew I couldn't be angry with her forever. She had a right to know about the engagement. I did some quick math and knew it was the middle of the night in Chicago. I decided I would call her that evening and straighten everything out.

We spent the morning in the hotel pool. It was too early for the tourists, so we had the whole thing to ourselves. Milena thought it was the greatest thing in the world. She struggled to break loose from my arms and fully enjoy the water on her own. I found that dipping her down to her neck and bouncing her back up made her ecstatically happy. So we traveled around the shallow end, bouncing up and down, splashing, and chasing mommy around. I now understood how children could make people do stupid things. Only Tamara, myself and Milena understood our game. The only reward was Milena's smile, which was payment enough.

We were well pruned by the time we left the pool. Milena put up a small fuss when we lifted her and her waterlogged diaper out of the pool. Tamara took her in her arms and cooed sweet things that seemed to satisfy her. I had a future olympic swimmer on my hands.

This time, when I entered the Petrosian household, I was greeted warmly by my future brothers-in-law. The two youngest examined Tamara's ring and kissed her cheek and shook my hand. I feigned blocking a punch and we shared a small laugh. Armen wasn't present and I was surprised not to see Yana until I saw her emerge smiling from the kitchen, dressed in an apron that was covered in flour. I was shocked when I saw who followed her out.

My mother, in an equally dusted apron, came out of the kitchen. Her hair not in its usually perfect place. Her smile defied the rest of her appearance. "Mom," I stuttered. She smiled at me then went straight to Tamara.

"I am sorry," my mother said in Armenian as poor a mine. She repeated it, and Tamara nodded, looking at me in shock. My mother hugged Tamara and began to cry. Then Tamara cried and hugged her back. I could do nothing, my arms full of Milena. Tamara sputtered out her forgiveness that needed little translation and wiped her eyes.

My mother turned to me with tears on her cheeks, "may I hold my granddaughter?" I walked over and placed Milena in her arms. Milena, doing her part, smiled at the attention. My mother was immediately in love. "I am so sorry little one. I'm a stupid woman thinking I know best," she said to Milena, but I knew it was meant for me. Milena thought she was playing and gave her a toothless laugh. Tamara smiled at me and nodded. I had been instructed to forgive. Tamara had forgiven me, so I had no choice but to comply.

"She likes you," I said quietly to my mom.

"She does, doesn't she," my mother said smiling, "does her daddy like me?"

"I love you, mom, you know that," I forgave, "I was just angry."

"You had every right, and I'll try not give you reason to be angry again," my mother said, her eyes never moving from Milena's. My daughter seemed enchanted with my mother. Maybe it was her earrings, large silver disks waving below her lobes.

"She is so beautiful," my mother said to Tamara. I interpreted as best I could. Tamara smiled again and directed my mother to the couch. They sat down together, ignoring me while they played with Milena. Milena was doing her part to duplicate smiles and grabbing fingers.

"Mother happy now?" Yana asked me quietly. I nodded. "Son happy?"

"Yes," I answered in Armenian, "very happy." Yana gave my arm a squeeze and headed back into the kitchen.

"You came here alone?" I asked my mother when I realized it.

"Your father and Ruben are with....Armen," my mother said as she played with Milena's feet. I think she was counting toes. I knelt down in front of the three and took Tamara's ring hand in mine and showed my mother.

"We're engaged," I announced carefully. I wasn't sure what I expected since she took my coming to Armenia pretty hard. She raised her eyes from Milena and smiled at Tamara.

"I am so happy for you two," she said. I translated it to "she happy." The smile didn't need translation. It was honest and held no reservations. My mother had finally surrendered to my reality. Milena made it easier for her. Tamara and my mother hugged again which, I have to say, made me feel good.

Armen, my father, and Ruben entered a moment later. I went to greet my father, but my mother short-circuited the reunion.

"Frank, come see our granddaughter," my mother called, waving my father over. My dad smiled at me, happy to see his wife smiling again. Milena got more attention as my mother explained everything that unfolded. Tamara got more hugs, and I shook hands with Ruben.

"Armen says he knocked you around a bit," Ruben chuckled.

"Him and his two brothers," I said, "it's your fault we couldn't understand each other. You're a lousy teacher."

"Maybe I had a lousy student," Ruben hit back. I laughed knowing he could be right. I never did well in Spanish when I was in high school. "She really is a beautiful woman," Ruben added, indicating Tamara.

"She is that," I agreed, "lucky for Milena, she got more of Tamara's genes than mine."

"She has the Bennett nose," my mother announced, overhearing my conversation. Unconsciously, I reached up and felt my nose, still a bit sore from the fight. Milena had a little button nose, not a big honker like mine.

"She's pretty like her mother, " my father diplomatically slowed my mother's desire to mentally claim ownership.

"Yes, she certainly is," my mother agreed. Ruben translated. Tamara was a lot cuter blushing. My mother moved Milena to Tamara's lap and rose. "I promised to help with the cooking," she said, before giving me a quick kiss on the cheek. "They're both lovely," she whispered.

"Help cook," I told Tamara, who was confused. Ruben repeated my words in the correct Armenian phrasing. I rolled my eyes since Tamara had already understood. Tamara patted the cushion next to her, and my father sat down. He took Milena in his lap and instantly became a babbling fool, keeping the smiling Milena enthralled.

I sat down and found out what had transpired to bring my parents to Armenia. As I suspected, my mother was the driving factor. Ruben was brought along since he was the only Armenian speaker they knew, and they wanted to limit any issues they might encounter. Smart to avoid the fist fights.

As soon as my mother had seen the picture of Milena, she knew she had made some terrible mistakes. My father set the itinerary and hired Ruben. They had been with Yana for a few hours before we arrived. We weren't warned because my mother feared I might stay away. I had been angry, but not that angry. The fact that they flew out first chance showed their commitment to me and my new family. I was a lot happier with my parents at that moment. Tamara seemed just as happy that all was going well.

They had already heard about the engagement from Yana. My father had been talking to the male head of the family, Armen, about the impending marriage. Essentially wishing to contribute financially to the wedding. They were moving faster than I was now. I sensed that I may have overstepped some Armenian custom, not conversing with Armen before asking Tamara to marry me, not that I would have accepted any disapproval either way.

Ruben assured me that the birth of Milena and Tamara's love overrode any concerns they had about me. I had already greatly overstepped on the mountain. The rest was me making things right in their eyes. According to Ruben, I had done well.

I walked into the kitchen and saw something amazing. Yana and my mother hard at work. Yana, obviously in charge, and my mother happily following charade like instructions. It was some bonding thing between the two. I leaned against the doorframe and watched them work.

"What's for lunch?" I asked my mother. She looked up, her hands coated with some brown flour.

"I have no idea," she answered smiling, "it smells delicious, but I'm not sure what everything is called." she tilted her head toward Yana, "she sure is a good cook." Yana looked over at me.

"Good Chef," I translated pointing at her, not knowing if there was a word for cook or if the context was necessary. Yana smiled and rattled off something about good help.

"I think you're a good helper," I translated again.

"It's kind of fun," my mother added, "I'm dying to taste the results." She paused for a moment, "you really don't need language, you and Tamara?"

"Nope," I said smiling, "we figure out the important stuff and ignore the little things. It's more honest that way. I suspect we'll have our first fight once we learn to talk." My mother laughed, and Yana just shrugged her shoulders.

"I'm sorry I tried to keep you two apart," my mother apologized, "I should have just trusted your heart."

"I know mom," I said quietly, "I'm sorry for hanging up on you."

"I deserved it," she said, nodding her head, "though not answering my other calls was just rude." She was smiling so I laughed. It was the right reaction. She meant it was rude, but she understood. I wouldn't dare ignore the next call. I left them there before they drafted me to help.

++++++++++++++++++++++

The weather was perfect. Summer was breathing its last gasp adding a subtle warmth to the impending fall weather. The trees were just beginning to change to their autumn dress, but they still held tight to their leaves. The men acted as mules carrying down the bags and baskets of food and implements to the park. My mother walked with Tamara, insisting on carrying Milena. Tamara smiled at me every time she caught my eye. There was a new happiness there, something had shifted now that my parents were on board.

We pulled two picnic tables together and covered them with a white sheet that Yana had brought. Davit tacked the cover to the table in a practiced maneuver that indicated the family picnicked often. We were joined shortly by an older couple, Raphael and Elina. Raphael was Tamara's uncle. They brought Tamara's Grandmother with them. She was introduced as 'Meemaw' and obviously held in high regard. For a woman who could barely walk, her mind seemed very alert as she watched me like a hawk. Her gray hair was pulled tight to her head and secured in a single ponytail. It gave her an old strict schoolmarm look. Every time I caught her looking at me, I smiled. She would match my smile with her own, though I wasn't sure if it was forced like mine.

Tamara whispered something to Viktoria who leaned over and translated to me. It seems Meemaw was suspicious of my intentions with her granddaughter. I wasn't sure I could do anything about it. Time would eventually prove me honorable.

The food was excellent. Everyone spent considerable amount of time thanking Yana and my mother for the feast. Armen broke out a bottle of red wine and poured everyone a small dixie cup. Not exactly the Ritz, but it was appropriate for the surroundings. He then made a quick speech that Ruben translated for the Armenian impaired.

"Soon I will gain another brother," Armen said, "a man who conquered a mountain to steal my sister's heart." I rolled my eyes at his embellishment, "Though he has a weak nose," his brothers started laughing and Tamara gave Armen a pair of dagger eyes, "he stood his ground and refused to yield. Strength to protect my sister and my precious niece. I am proud to announce Jonathan's engagement to my sister, Tamara." There was a cheer and everyone lifted their dixie cup and drank, Meemaw included. Yana scolded Armen with a smile. I think she would have preferred something more formal.

I had to spend some time explaining the weak nose reference to my parents. They were shocked at first, but let it go when I explained the language barrier that created it. The rest of the party went well until Garik got into an argument with a family sitting at another table about fifty feet away. I had no idea what started it, but when I saw Armen and Davit move, I followed.

Garik was standing his ground, arguing with another man about his age. The man's male family members had gathered around, obviously ready to take the argument to the next level. I recognized some of the words. It was a heated discussion over a girl named Angelina. Armen and Davit moved to the side of Garik, I joined Garik to the right. The intensity grew and we were outnumbered five to four. For some stupid reason, I thought we could take them if it came to that. I felt very Armenian at the moment.

I set my fighting stance when I saw one the men move forward in obvious aggression. I was about to find out how weak my nose really was. Strangely, I had little fear knowing I had the Petrosian's next to me. This is what it is like to have brothers.

A voice in calm Armenian invaded the argument from off to the side. An elderly man that looked familiar stepped forward, his voice steady yet commanding. For some reason, the argument ceased as he spoke. He pointed at me, mentioning something about a mountain. The other family looked at me with wide eyes. There was some whispered discussion, and I could see their stances pull back from the brink. The man spoke again, pointing at Garik and the other instigator. I heard him mention Angelina and point back to me. I really wanted to know what I was missing.

I watched as the old man diffused the argument and had Garik and his rival shake hands. I was amazed at how easily he accomplished it. He smiled at me when it was over and held out his hand.

"Mikhail Popov, Mr. Bennett," the man said in English. His accent was Slovic, but elegant. He spoke English very well. His face was fatherly in the warm way. His eyes had me trusting him almost immediately. I took his hand in mine.

"Jonathan, please," I responded as I shook his hand, "what did you say to them?"

"I told them that you're the mountain man," Mikhail chuckled, "you survived a blizzard and jumped off a cliff to save your girl. I asked them if they were ready to go that far."

"I kind of fell off the cliff."

"Negotiations are about subtlety," Mikhail said, "intent is much more important than reality. Tell me you wouldn't have jumped for her." Of course, I would have.

"Who are you?"

"I was on the plane," Mikhail said, "I brought the helicopter back."

"Oh!" I said smiling and shaking his hand harder, "I think we owe you our lives. It's a small world to find you here."

"Actually, I was looking for you," Mikhail said sadly, "You weren't conscious when we first met. I was hoping you knew of my brother." My thoughts went back to the crash. I lost my smile when I remembered dragging the man, half his face missing, under a tree and burying him in pine needles. It suddenly felt wrong, like I hadn't done enough. "I was hoping he had survived as I had. We could find no trace but you and Tamara in the snow."

"I'm so sorry," I said softly, "He died in the crash. I buried him under a tree. My god, I forgot all about him. I was so wrapped up in finding Tamara. I should have tried to contact you." Mikhail let go of my hand and placed it on my shoulder.

"No, the living come first," Mikhail soften my guilt, "to know how he died is a huge weight lifted. I had nightmares of leaving him to freeze or starve to death."

"I don't think he knew what happened," I added, "I don't think he suffered." The hacked up face returned to my mind again. No, no one lived for more than a second after a trauma like that. Mikhail gave me a fatherly smile.

"Would you return and show me where he's buried?" Mikhail asked. My first thought was absolutely not. I shoved it aside and considered his pain. I knew I wouldn't want to leave my family member to rot on a mountain top. I glanced at Tamara, who was in a deep discussion with Meemaw. I wouldn't leave her, that's for sure.

"Yes," I agreed, "I can do that."

"Good." Mikhail smiled, patting me on my shoulder, "very good." He paused for a moment, "I really should say hello to Tamara. I understand you two are an item."

"Engaged."

"Well, at least something good came of the crash," Mikhail said as I led him to our picnic area.

"Mikhail!" Tamara shouted as we approached. She brought Milena with her smile to meet up with us. It made sense, them knowing each other from the rescue. They traded words, and Mikhail doted over Milena for a few minutes. I was kind of proud of the compliments I only half understood.

"I fear my brother and I were the cause of the accident," Mikhail said in English. His tone never wavered from the pleasant conversation he had with Tamara, so she assumed it was a repeat of what they had discussed.

"Pardon?"

"Nikolay and I work as mediators," Mikhail took a deep breath, "a year ago we had our hands full in Ukraine, talking between the Russian separatists and Euro-centric loyalists. The altimeter failure was sabotage."

"I didn't even know there was a mechanical reason," I admitted. Mikhail tickled Milena; I suspected to keep Tamara unaware of what we were discussing.

"The pilot was yelling at the altimeter when went into the mountain," Mikhail smiled, belying the real conversation, he kept saying 'this isn't 4,000 meters.' I found the cockpit and the altimeter had been misadjusted. I can only say I'm sorry to be the cause." He paused a moment, smiling at Milena, "then again; she is a very beautiful little girl. I am glad something good came from it."

"And you want a trip back to find your brother?" I asked. I imagined all sorts of repeat attempts.

"I don't charter in advance anymore," Mikhail said, "no one knows my full itinerary, not even me. You still willing to go?"

"Yes," I said without thinking. He could have lied to me, so I took his trust and added some of my own. Mikhail changed to Armenian and spoke with Tamara whose face became concerned. She looked at me then back at Mikhail and said yes, nodding with hesitancy.

"I told Tamara what you agreed too and asked her if it was all right," Mikhail said, "I left out the sabotage unless you wish me to tell her."

"No," I said, adding a comfortable smile. I moved closer to Tamara and gave her a kiss on her cheek. I knew she didn't like the idea of me going back to the mountain, but Mikhail saved our lives, and his brother deserved some respect.

It was later that evening when I decided hiding things wasn't a good way to start a marriage. With Ruben's help, I explained my impending trip back to Azerbaijan next week and the cause of the crash to Yana, the brothers, my parents, and a frightened Tamara.

"You not go," Tamara said in simple enough language.

"I have to agree," my mother added, not needing to wait for Ruben. Tamara's face was all the translation she needed.

"I think I have to," I said, "we would have died up there if Mikhail hadn't come back for us. I owe him for Tamara and Milena." Tamara shifted closer to me, not wanting me to go and unable to disagree.

"I go with you," Garik interjected. He had an adamant look about him. I was about to disagree when Yana interrupted. I had to wait for the translation.

"Yana thinks Garik should go with you," Ruben said, "he climbs with a group a few times a year and knows a lot about the mountains." I looked at Garik, who nodded firmly.

"I don't like this," my mother said. There was a mother's apprehension in her eyes. She never liked me traveling around the world and now I was heading back to the crash site. Yana nodded when Ruben translated.

"Men do stupid things for stupid reasons," Yana commented, "at least this stupid thing is for a good reason." I think she was talking about her boys as well as me. She understood a brother wanting his brother back. My mother conceded when Ruben translated. She knew I was going, and she owed me some leeway after the way she treated Tamara.

I stood up and held out my hand to Garik. He rose and shook it. "Thanks," I said, "I could use the help." He wore a proud smile when Ruben translated. I fully understood then that Tamara came with a family. They would risk for me as much as they would risk for each other. I vowed to do the same.

++++++++++++++++++++++

Tamara was a nervous bundle. She had agreed to my going back to the mountain, but was terrified I may not come back. When Milena was finally asleep, I went to work easing her fears. Though we had shared much, I had never ignored my own desires to heighten hers. I put aside my selfish needs and began with loosening the muscles in her shoulders.

Tamara moaned and sunk her body into my manipulations. She tried to turn, but I kept her there, facing away from me as my fingers worked on her shoulders. She whispered something about her fears, but the words broke up as I worked the knots out of her neck. She reached behind her and caressed my thighs as my lips followed my fingers along her neck. Such soft sweet things came from her mouth.

I laid her on her back and, with her mild protests, began to kiss my way down her body. I found that I could cause little tremors with light flicks of my tongue. She only tried once to lift me into position to join with her, then gave up in a giggle when I found her belly button.

The smell of a woman in desire is intoxicating. Years of evolution had honed the scent into a bouquet that took my breath away. I forced myself to slow and tease the inside of her thighs with light kisses. When Tamara sensed my intentions, I heard her whisper something. I glanced up into frightened eyes. I smiled and she lay her head back down, unsure of what was about to happen.

I made love to her with my lips. After a swift intake of breath, Tamara's moans defied her initial fears, and I felt her muscles surrender to me. I loved how I could make her squirm. Her body reacted in the most wondrous ways. I had no idea what she whispered between her gasps, but I took it as encouragement, so pleased when her hands combed through my hair as I sought her pleasure.

"Jonathan," she almost yelled. Her back arched and I felt her body let loose, shaking as I lovingly teased her most precious flower. I continued as her body collapsed, her hands caressing my head. Suddenly she began laughing, pushing me away. I relented as she now found me more ticklish than arousing.

"What you do to me?" Tamara smiled, pulling me up her body. I could see the joy in her eyes. She was weaker and stronger all at the same time. I was weirdly proud of myself. A man who had just fully conquered a woman. She rolled me over with laughter in her eyes and straddled me. It took her no time to conquer me.

"You come back to me," Tamara ordered as she rested in my arms.

"Yes, my love," I responded. I could still feel her apprehension, but I had dulled it a bit.

++++++++++++++++++++++

Mikhail organized the whole trip. He booked flights and then canceled them when we arrived at the airport. He then hired a new charter on the spot. His carefulness reassured Garik and I. Garik brought a backpack full of climbing gear just in case. He made me carry an additional length of rope that I hope we wouldn't need.

We couldn't delay the trip since winter came early to the mountains. A blizzard would be deadly though we had enough gear to survive it if necessary. It was four days after the picnic when we flew over my first home with Tamara. I couldn't see the hovel, but our makeshift flag was shredded and tangled in the tree it had been tied to. Tamara's signal was still ingenious.

We set down about a mile east, the only clearing on the ridge large enough for a helicopter. The pilot was skilled, somehow putting down on the gradual slope without issue. He stayed with the helicopter as Mikhail, Garik and myself hiked back to the campsite carrying the stretcher to bring home Mikhail's brother.

The hovel was surprisingly intact. I smiled at its construction. The inside had obviously been invaded by storms, but the outer shell was still solid, and I suspected, would still block a good portion of the wind. I crawled inside, looking at what was left of our first home. I could see that Tamara had left everything when she was winched up to the rescue helicopter. I found only one thing worth taking back with me. A little humor for my return.

Nikolay was exactly where I had left him. There didn't seem to be any animals besides birds on the ridge, nothing large enough to disturb his remains. Unfortunately, decomposition wasn't so lenient. Through Mikhail's tears, we pulled Nikolay from under the tree. I held my breath as we worked, not wanting to breathe in what looked horrible to the eyes. Both Garik and I had to walk off in the middle of it. I lost my breakfast. I assumed Garik experienced the same.

Mikhail had assumed the worst and brought a black body bag with him. I was glad for his forethought. The task became infinitely easier when we zipped Nikolay inside. We took turns carrying the stretcher though Mikhail's age limited the time he could help. It took over an hour to get back to the helicopter and load Nikolay on board.

Our supplies were, thankfully, unneeded as we took a day and a half to return to Armenia. Garik was amazingly unfrazzled traveling in foreign countries. He seemed to relish the adventure, minus the dead body. I was impressed with his confidence.

Mikhail left us at the Yerevan airport as he took off to Russia to bury his brother. His thanks were almost embarrassing, not to mention his constant apologizing for being the cause of the crash. I accepted his card and a promise that if I should ever need him, I would call.

I walked into the terminal and happiness stood before me. Tamara had an honest smile of relief as I moved into her arms as quickly as customs would allow. She put me in a death grip and tried to break some ribs. Her lips made up for her over enthusiasm. Just as wonderful as I remembered. Traveling was holding less and less appeal for me.

Garik got a kiss on the cheek for bringing me home safely. He looked at me with a knowing smile. Yes, for a brief moment, Tamara had forgotten that he was home safely as well. Yana and my mother were waiting with Milena in one of the many rows of chairs downstairs from the boarding ramps. Milena seemed pleased with my hugs and kisses. I loved how my daughter smiled.

++++++++++++++++++++++

It was late when Tamara and I returned to the hotel. We needed more permanent housing, but for now, the hotel allowed us to be alone together. No other family interfering. We swam with Milena until her eyes drooped. She was asleep when her head hit the mattress.

"Home still there," I told Tamara in Armenian, adding a sly smile.

"On mountain," Tamara clarified. I nodded.

"Found something," I said as I took my shoes off. She waited for me to continue, which I did not. Finally, curiosity got the better of her.

"What?"

I went to my suitcase and wadded the item in my hand, hiding it as best I could. I then walked back to the bed and sat down.

"Nothing," I said like a jerk. My smile was frozen on my face. Tamara put her hands on her hips and gave me the look only a mother could make. It was weakened by her own smile.

"Give," Tamara said, holding out her hand. I could tell she was both intrigued and frustrated with my teasing. I laughed as I opened my hand, letting a pair of yellow panties with images of strangely posed ducks, hang from my fingers. Tamara's eyes went wide and she tried to snatch them away.

I laughed as I quickly moved them to the other hand and stood away from her. The panties were a little faded for being exposed to the elements for a year. I had washed them up in Azerbaijan and found them still cute as hell.

"Give," Tamara said, both laughing and demanding. I think I saw color entering her cheeks. A little embarrassment at owning such childish things. She had no idea how sexy the thought of them on her was. Sort of reliving the mountain in my mind. I held them up, just out of her reach, but she tried for them anyway. I spent the next few moments playing keep away.

Eventually, Tamara promised me kisses for their safe return. I relented, handing over the panties and leaned in for my reward. She flicked my nose with her finger and ran to the bathroom laughing like a schoolgirl. Touché. I broke down laughing at how she suckered me in.

It took a few minutes of begging to get Tamara out of the bathroom. A lot of apologizing and promising not to tease her again. She laughed a lot of it off before the door finally opened. My mouth fell open. A goddess dressed in nothing but cute ducky panties emerged. There was no hesitancy in how she moved. She knew exactly what they did to me and used it to her full advantage. The night was my personal vision of what heaven should be.

++++++++++++++++++++++

The wedding was a month away and I needed to protect my income. I called Doug Finley and he was ecstatic I called. The business was chugging along but he preferred a fast clip.

"I still have the Peruvian deal in the works," Doug said. I could almost see the smile on his face. "If you could close that, we would be flush for the year, maybe two years."

"I figured you'd have that done by now," I said.

"Nope," Doug sighed, "they aren't that trusting. The want to shake a human hand and have things signed in front of them. You know me - I don't do the third world."

"Wimp," I joked.

"It was always where you shined," Doug complimented. I like how he said it. It's good to know you're wanted. "I bet you can knock it out in a day or two."

"Okay," I added, "I have two more mouths to feed now, so book the flights."

"We're rolling again," Doug yelled into the phone, "damn the torpedoes, full steam ahead." His excitement was contagious. I liked my work again.

++++++++++++++++++++++

Tamara took the trip in stride. Milena needed to be provided for. My agreement with Doug had profits distributed by time worked. I still received a token amount when I wasn't working, but that was trivial to a full share. My savings wouldn't last forever. It was time the father emerged out of his love-induced vacation and provided for his family.

Tamara spent the next two nights making sure I knew why I wanted to return home. It was totally unnecessary, but I didn't let her know that. I enjoyed being convinced of something I was already sure of.

My parents had already returned to Chicago. I moved Tamara and Milena back in with Meemaw. I gave Tamara a budget and asked her if she could find a home for us.

"Armenia?" She asked, her smile spreading across her face.

"Yes," I said. My job meant travel and home base's location really wasn't overly important. There was no reason to haul her to Chicago when I was already getting used to Yerevan. Meemaw's eyes lit up during the discussion.

"You stay in Yerevan ?" Meemaw asked Tamara.

"Yes," Tamara said loudly as she jumped into my arms. I hadn't realized how much it meant to her. She was willing to go to America, but only for me.

"You good man," Meemaw said with the first honest smile she gave me. That's why she held me at a distance. She was afraid I was taking her granddaughter and great-granddaughter away from her. Tamara hugged me hard. You would have thought I had given her the world. In a sense, I guess I unknowingly did.

Meemaw actually gave me a hug when I left for the airport along with wishes for a safe trip.

++++++++++++++++++++++

Jorge Chávez International Airport was like every other airport in the world. If you closed your ears to the Spanish, you could be in any large airport of any major city. I moved slowly across the terminal carrying my one bag. I had a five hour wait before my last jump, a small prop plane. I knew I had to get back on that horse.

I caught a quick meal at an airport diner. Everything had pictures and numbers which was helpful for my weak Spanish. I have always been afraid of local cuisine in airports. I stuck with a burger and fries thinking no culture can screw up Americana worse than what I have forced down in America itself.

I moved to the waiting room for SeePeru, a small local firm that specialized in small haul trips. They had a manned counter and logo, so they seemed more professional than many companies I had used in the past. I verified my trip with a pleasant young woman who spoke a smattering of English that softened my weak Spanish.

I sat in the first row of three empty rows of chairs and retrieved a book I had been reading on and off since my rehab ended. I had a hundred pages to go, so it looked like I would finally kill it this trip. I thought about how Tamara had chewed into my reading time. I regretted none of the loss. Tamara was a lot warmer than a book, and Milena was more fun. I chuckled to myself, which made the young attendant give me a strange look. I just smiled and opened my book.

"Are you flying to Ayacucho as well?" a well dress man said as he sat next to me, leaving a single empty chair between us. His appearance was perfect. Casual well tailored suit with perfect hair that looked like it wouldn't move in storm. His moustache sat proudly on his lip, well groomed like the rest of him.

"Yes," I replied, wondering how he knew to start in English.

"Then we will share the plane," he said cheerfully. His South American accent gave his words an attractive flair. I suspected he was U.S. educated by the confidence in his English. I lowered my book and decided to talk since that is what he intended.

"Jonathan Bennett," I said, holding out my hand.

"Emilio Campos," he said, taking my hand and shaking it with more strength than necessary. Two more gentlemen in suits sat down in the rows. One behind Emilio and the other a few chairs farther down the row. "Ignore them," Emilio smiled, "they are my shadows." My interest in him increased immediately.

"I'm trying to close an import deal," I said, turning my body toward him. You never know when you'll meet someone important in small countries, someone who can help grease the wheels of commerce. "handmade pottery for the American market."

"Really," Emilio said brightly, "you purchase other things besides pottery?"

"We have a unique clientele," I said as warm as possible, "mostly functional art items. The history of the art is as important as the quality of the item itself. I guess they are best described as unique conversation pieces. Things you can't find in Walmart."

"Intriguing," Emilio commented. He thought for a moment, looking into space. "You wouldn't have interest in small metal sculptures. Not really functional, but they are unique and handmade."

"You have any pictures?" I asked. I smiled when he reached into his suit jacket and retrieved his phone. It took a few moments as he cycled through a few photos until he found what he was looking for.

"He has better pieces, but here are some of them," Emilio qualified as he handed me his phone. I went through a few pictures of shiny sculptures that looked pretty far out there. The last picture was a metal horse. It was beautiful and highly sellable if it had a history.

"This horse have a story?" I asked.

"My uncle has ranch," Emilio explained, "it is his grandson that produces the sculptures. He modeled that after his horse, Tempestad, just before he was put down." I looked at the picture again.

"How big is it?"

"About a foot from head to tail," Emilio replied, holding his hands about a foot apart.

"If he adds a write up in English about the horse and affixes some kind of signature or logo, this is very sellable," I said, "the more pieces he can develop like this, the better. The abstract stuff I can't really move. It needs an art gallery."

"How much would something like the horse sell for?" Emilio asked, his interest at a new height.

"With the additions I mentioned," I paused as I thought, "maybe three grand a piece, the artist would get a third of that." I watched Emilio's eyes widened. He shifted his body, facing more toward me.

"Would your firm be interested?"

"We could be, if we could be assured of a certain volume."

"It takes him a week or so per sculpture and his brother had started learning," Emilio added.

"A play on the family thing always works well," I added, "a family crest can increase value and create word-of-mouth."

"Do you have a card Mr. Bennett?" Emilio asked. I pulled my card out of my pocket and handed it over. Emilio snapped his finger at one his shadows and the man produced a card. Emilio took it and added something on the back with a pen.

"This is my private number," Emilio instructed, "you can get me anytime night or day. If you make a deal with my cousin, I will make sure he honors it." I took his card and glanced at the front.

"Colonel Campos?" I said with some surprise. He smiled at me.

"I can also help with export issues," Emilio said with a chuckle. I read a lot into that statement. I wondered if I would have more issues if his cousin wasn't offered a contract.

"I think this might work out well," I said. My phone rang before I could continue. It was Tamara. She knew I was on layover and I had forgotten to check in. "Excuse me a moment," I apologized. Emilio nodded with a smile. I stood and walked to the other side of the room to answer.

"Hello," I said in Armenian.

"You not call," Tamara responded. I could hear the relief in her voice.

"Sorry."

"Okay," Tamara continued, "you check plane?" I tried not to laugh. One crash and she thought I should do a once over on all planes.

"Plane is okay," I said, trying not to let the humor through.

"You check," Tamara insisted. She heard the humor. She knew my tone better than I did. I think we could just hum to each other and get meaning from it.

"Okay," I said with seriousness, "I love you."

"I love you," Tamara added, "You check plane. You come back." I could feel her apprehension and looked over at the Colonel. I wondered if anyone had it out for him. We said goodbye as best we could. My Armenian was improving, but the phone made it difficult. I walked up to the counter and spoke to the attendant.

"Ahh," I stuttered trying to think of a good way to put it, "is there some kind of inspection performed on the plane before take-off?" The attendant looked at me confused. The request was a bit heavy for her English. I turned to Emilio.

"This may seem a strange request," I hesitated, "but I wonder if you can ask if they inspect the plane before take-off. My fiancée is worried I might have a repeat of an incident. Not that I expect one, but I don't want to lie to her."

"You had a bad flight?" Emilio asked. I spent the next few minutes explaining the crash, my fiancée, daughter, and the suspicions as to the cause. Emilio listened intently, and I noticed his shadows' interest as well.

Emilio turned to the shadow behind him and rattled off some Spanish, a command about inspecting the plane much more thoroughly than I intended. The shadow jumped and moved out the door quickly.

"I would like an inspection as well," Emilio said with a smile, "I never question a woman's intuition. So you met your future wife in a plane crash. That is a wonderful story for your grandchildren. My wife and I met at a dance. Not nearly as romantic, but I did accidently tear her dress."

"No," I said with surprise, "you rip a woman's dress, and she married you."

"I was her ride home," Emilio continued, "I was young and so excited that such a beautiful woman would let me escort her. I closed the car door too soon and ruined her dress." He laughed as he thought about it. "She yelled at me like I had run over her pet or something. It was her passion that thrilled me. It took me two weeks just to get her to speak to me again. I think the struggle made me want her all the more."

Emilio and I spoke for a while. I found out he attended UCLA for a degree in geology before he joined the Peruvian special police. He traveled around the states when he could and even visited Chicago once. He started the conversation with me because he wanted to keep up his English skills. He didn't like losing what had taken him so long to gain.

The shadow came back and had a heated conversation with Emilio. I could see the Colonel appear in Emilio's stature and words. Commands flowed, and both shadows took off to complete the tasks. Emilio grabbed his phone and made a call. His tone was not pleasant, and I could make out enough to know that something was wrong with the plane.

"Tamara...is it?" Emilio asked. I nodded, "It looks like Tamara has saved you. And me in the process." I could see his shoulders straightening. He had a strong authority about him. "They have found a device on the plane. Some kind of improvised explosive."

"Shit!" I commented. The odds of this happening to me twice were astronomical.

"Appropriate word," Emilio continued, "my men are searching for the mechanic who worked on the plane this morning." He looked at me with steel eyes, "I would not want to be him today."

"This can't be happening twice," I said.

"I have enemies," Emilio admitted, "you seem to have bad luck picking traveling companions." He paused for a moment, then gave me the bad news. "I am shutting down the airport. I am sorry, but a bomb on a plane forces my hand. Every plane must be inspected now."

"That makes sense," I said. Only an idiot would consider it isolated.

"I would like to offer you my home for the night." Emilio's manner changed back to cordial. "I can offer a good meal and we could talk more over a glass of wine."

"Maybe a cousin could drop by," I said with a smile.

"Yes," Emilio replied as he laughed, "we must find our silver linings where we can.."

"I would be honored," I agreed. It was a much better idea than trying to find hotel and eating by myself. I enjoyed talking with Emilio, and his political power couldn't hurt.

I would classify Emilio's home as more of an estate. It had a high brick fence surrounding the property and an automatic gate for entry. The grounds were immaculate. Every bush and tree trimmed professionally. The house itself was a modern example of Spanish colonial architecture. A breathtaking example.

The dinner was excellent and Emilio's wife, Florencia, was as beautiful as he had indicated. With that beauty came an air of sophistication that she tampered down when she noticed how familiar Emilio and I were. Her English was good, so I was able to include her in the conversation. It was a very pleasant evening.

Emilio's cousin, Alejandro, joined us for dessert. He was a young man whose grasp of English was equivalent to my skills with Spanish. We mostly spoke through Emilio and Florencia. He brought the horse along with pictures of other non-abstract work. Each modeled after a physical structure, be it animal or building. Looking at them as a set, they were a good representation of Peru. Our clients loved to be worldly and paid dearly to do it with class.

I explained the marketing necessities and harped on the need to embellish but not lie. My customers had a tendency to take trips to verify their acquisitions and see if they could get more on the cheap. A lie would spread like wildfire and destroy an artist quicker than a bullet to the head. I promised to send samples of logos, crests, and history copy so that they could put something together. I also agreed to draw up a contract if he could meet the criteria. Alejandro was ecstatic. I had a sense that his family had looked down at his art, and I was his shining moment in the spotlight.

The guest room was beyond anything a hotel could offer. Emilio enjoyed his luxury and didn't spare it for the guests. My room had its own patio, which I enjoyed while I called Tamara. She was so relieved I didn't get on that plane. I suffered a few I-told-you-sos and assured her I had a high ranking official helping me deal with the issue. I made her tell me about her and Milena's day to change the subject. Tamara emphasized that Milena missed me almost as much as she did. She didn't enjoy me traveling without her. Maybe she feared I would get stranded with another woman.

I slept quite well tucked into the Egyptian cotton sheets.

++++++++++++++++++++++

I was sipping coffee, having showered and changed, when Emilio joined Florencia and I in the kitchen. She had been grilling me about Tamara, wanting to get the details about how we met. I suspect Emilio had only touched on the surface of it.

"We found the mechanic last night," Emilio said, "we convinced him to be talkative." I tried to ignore what that meant. I also decided I would play on the up and up with Emilio and his family. Only the truth and no false promises. "I was surprised to find out his payment came from America." Emilio paused, "my enemies are here and lack foreign connections. I rather hope they haven't internationalized their hatred."

I waited for Emilio to continue. I didn't want to insinuate something about the drug trade since he had never told me who his enemies were. He seemed the type to bend a law or two, but never break it out right. Maybe he didn't bend enough when drug money was at stake.

"The man was foolish, thinking we Peruvians can't trace wire transfers. Or maybe the account holder isn't aware the funds were transferred. He could be a patsy." Emilio was rubbing his chin as he thought out loud. "Either way, I have contacted your FBI, and they have agreed to look into it. They don't like bombs on planes any more than we do." Florencia handed Emilio a cup of coffee, and he sat down.

"Are you going to open the airport today?" I asked, sipping my coffee. If he didn't, I hoped he would let me stay another day. I would have liked a tour of the grounds. It was almost like a botanical garden.

"It is already open," Emilio replied, tipping his cup to me, "I have a plane waiting to take us to Ayacucho," he smiled as he spoke, "for Tamara's sake, it is under guard until we take off." I laughed as if it was silly. Secretly I was deeply thankful.

"I'll mention it to Tamara," I said, tipping my cup to him.

"Next time you visit, you should bring her," Florencia said, and Emilio quickly agreed. I had friends in high places. And they made damn good coffee.

The ride to the airport was interrupted by a call for Emilio. He changed to his Colonel's voice, so I knew it was work. It was obvious it had to do with the bomb though my grasp of Spanish made it difficult to understand the one-way conversation. My face must have gone ghost white when I recognized a name I didn't expect to hear. Emilio looked at me, and I could tell the pieces were quickly falling into place for him as well. He ended the call and switched to English as easily as breathing.

"Doug Finley is your partner?" Emilio asked. I nodded as the round peg found the round hole. "I am not his target, am I?" The bile in my stomach began to rise. The young boy, Mikhail's brother, and pilot I never knew. Doug was trying to kill me.

"Fuck!" I yelled, slamming the side of my fist into my leg.

"I think he is after you, my friend," Emilio said with some regret. The image of Mikhail's brother, half his face missing flooded my mind. My hand was shaking in more anger they I had felt in years. He almost killed Tamara. "Why would he do such a thing?"

"Reciprocal life insurance," I growled, "the bastard wants the business and the five million. God help me, I going to kill him first." Emilio's hand covered mine.

"No, my friend," Emilio said calmly, "we are going to make sure he comes back to Peru. We have an extradition treaty with the U.S. and the crime was on our soil."

"And Azerbaijan's," I added.

"That may be more problematic," Emilio said, "I have evidence and from what you have told me, they do not, or do not wish to pursue it."

"He killed people!" I said.

"Does it matter if he rots in my prison or theirs?" Emilio said. I saw a glimmer in his eye. Doug might have been after me, but Emilio was to be on the same plane. It was as personal to him as it was to me. "He will find Peru a very uncomfortable place."

"There are fates worse than death," I added grimly.

"See, you understand." Emilio smiled. I again wondered what Emilio was capable of. When it came to Doug, I no longer cared. The worse, the better. Doug owed the world three lives and a year of my rehabilitation. "I have the mechanic's testimony and the wire transfer, and you have the motive. I can make sure the courts are not forgiving."

"I need to fly to Chicago," I said. Emilio nodded.

++++++++++++++++++++++

I walked into F&B Imports a little disheveled from the two flights I took to get back to Chicago. Betty Crawford looked up from her desk in surprise and instantly stopped what she was doing.

"Mr. Bennett," Betty said with excitement, "I didn't know you were coming in this morning. I thought you were in Peru." Betty ran the place. She was a single mother with the last of three kids just entering high school. She has worked with us for over seven years. Every company has that key employee, the one that could only be replaced if you hired three other people. Betty was our irreplaceable.

"Good morning Betty," I said, my smile defying my intent, "is Doug in?"

"Yes, he came in early," Betty replied, "I heard you were getting married. The girl you crashed with." A dreamy look took over her face as she continued. "That's so romantic." I didn't want to quash her dreams, so I let her go on believing the time on the mountain was more like a vacation.

"The heart wants what the heart wants," I said with a smile, "you'll have to meet Tamara one of these days."

"I look forward to it," Betty said honestly.

"I need to have a private talk with Doug," I said, losing my smile, "you may want to take a break. Maybe refresh that cup of coffee." I watched Betty's face change as she began to realize I wasn't happy.

"Is there a problem, Mr. Bennett?"

"Yes," I said, remaining calm, "and you don't want to be part of it."

"Is this something to do with the missing money?" Betty asked, her eyes darting to her desk and back, "I'm sure it's just an error. I'm going over the books again."

"How much is missing?" I asked as the new revelation widened my eyes. Betty became hesitant.

"Mr. Finley didn't tell you?"

"Mr. Finley has not been forthcoming lately," I said, trying not to make it sound as ominous as it felt.

"A little over 35 thousand," Betty almost stuttered, "but I'm sure it is just a clerical error. I've made some mistake; I just have to find it." I could almost feel Doug's greed from where I stood. Emilio never told me how much the mechanic was paid. I wondered if Betty had just told me what my life was worth.

"Leave it for now," I said, forcing a smile on my face, "I'm sure we'll figure it out. Why don't you get a cup of coffee and let me discuss it with Doug."

"Mr. Bennett, I don't want to be the cause...."

"Betty, this has nothing to do with you," I interrupted, "and I don't think you made an error." Betty's eyes widened as the implications crossed her mind. "Please, you don't want to be here right now," I added, indicating the door with my eyes. Betty rose, hesitantly grabbed her coffee cup, then headed out the door in silence.

I took a deep breath, steeled my resolve, and entered Doug's office without knocking.

"Jonathan!" Doug exclaimed. My entrance had startled him greatly. That I was alive probably had him pissing his pants. I kept a false smile on my face as I approached his desk.

"Decided to return early," I said, holding out my hand as I neared. Doug rose to shake my hand. His eyes still twitching in surprise. When I approached close enough, I retracted my hand and thrust my fist into his face. There was a mountain of anger behind that sucker punch. I had no desire that the fight be fair. I could hear the cartilage in his nose collapse as my knuckles tried to find the back of his skull. His knees buckled as his arms flailed upward.

"That's for a boy whose name I don't even know," I yelled. Images of the child flying from Tamara's arms fueled more rage. I drove the next punch into Doug's unprotected stomach, just below the ribs. I could hear the air forced from his lungs. Doug dropped to his knees gasping for air.

"A pilot, someone you didn't even know," I screamed as I brought my fist around with everything I had, catching him in his ear and driving him to the ground.

"Mikhail's brother," I added to the list as Doug withered on the floor. The thought of Tamara dead on a mountainside entered my mind. I could feel myself lose it as began kicking Doug's prone body. I had an insane desire to see him suffer unimaginable pain.

"Mr. Bennett!" Betty screamed. I stopped mid-kick. Doug was motionless at my feet, not even moaning anymore. My heart was beating so hard; I wasn't even sure it wouldn't burst. I turned to Betty with unbidden tears in my eyes.

"He put a bomb on my plane," I stammered, "he killed three people trying to get to me."

"Oh God!" Betty said, covering her mouth with her hand. She started backing away as if I were insane. At that moment, I believed I was. I moved to Doug's desk and sat heavily in the chair.

Two men in blue windbreakers appeared behind Betty. The jackets had a gold image of a badge over the left breast.

"Mr. Doug Finley?" the man on the right asked. I sighed and pointed to the Doug on the ground next to the desk. The two men moved quickly once they noticed Doug's prone form.

"Please move over there, Sir," One of the men said, pointing to the far corner of the office. I rose and moved as ordered, my heart finally starting to slow.

"What's going on?" Betty cried. She was an emotional wreck. I would have preferred she would have stayed gone for a few more minutes.

"What is your name?" The taller of the two men asked me as his partner checked on the condition of Doug.

"Jonathan Bennett?" I replied, "the one he tried to kill." I pointed at Doug.

"He's alive," the other man said, "we're going to need an ambulance."

"I'm agent Moretti, U.S. Marshal's office," the taller man said, "we have a warrant for Mr. Finley's arrest." He was informing Betty as well as me. Betty was in shock, leaning against the door as the scene unfolded. "Do you mind telling me why he is in this condition?" I took a shallow breath and lied.

"I confronted him about a bomb on my plane," I answered, forcing my body to relax, "he came at me, and I defended myself." Moretti nodded as his partner handcuffed the unconscious Doug.

"Do you think his explanation of events will differ from yours?" Moretti asked. His partner rose from Doug and retrieved a handheld radio from his hips as he walked out of the room.

"Probably," I admitted, "but he kills people. I suspect he lies as well." I was surprised on how easy it was to wrap my crime, justified as I thought it was, in a web of deceit. I would have made a good criminal. I could hear the other agent requesting an ambulance over the radio. Betty was still shaking near the door.

"I'm sorry, Betty," I said softly, "I would have wished you didn't see this." She now knew why I had asked her to leave. I wondered why she hadn't told the Marshals. I wasn't worried about an assault charge, beyond the time it would keep me away from Tamara and Milena.

Betty pointed to the corner of Doug's desk. I could see the pain in her eyes. I walked over to the small stack of stapled sheets of paper. "He asked me for that this morning," Betty said, then broke down. It was our reciprocal life insurance policy. "I didn't know why he wanted it," she added as tears overwhelmed her. I looked at Doug's prone form as it started to stir. The bastard didn't even wait until I was reported dead.

Moretti moved quickly to Doug's side. I think he feared I would go at him again. I just smiled knowing Doug was done and took a step back to ease Moretti's fears.

"Mr. Finley," Moretti said louder than necessary, "do you know where you are?" Doug nodded and said something about the office.

"Mr. Finley, I am agent Moretti of the U.S. Marshall's office," Moretti continued, "I have a warrant for your arrest and an order for extradition as requested by the Peruvian government." I could see the realization of what was happening roll across Doug's bloody face. I couldn't help myself.

"I would fight the extradition with every dollar you have Doug," I added with glee, "I know a Colonel down there that wants to meet you. He was supposed to be on the same plane as I was." The idea of Doug bankrupting himself on lawyers and still ending up in a Peruvian prison made karmic sense to me. Doug's breathing was coming in gasps, and it wasn't driven by what I did to him. It was his predicament coming home to roost.

Moretti began reading Doug his rights as I watched his eyes lose their strength. I had never fed off someone's loss before. My mind reveled in his downfall. I felt vindicated and empowered. And then, like the flip of a switch, I felt like shit.

People died. More almost died. Physical pain and freedom deprivation would never make up for it. Doug deserved everything he got, but even death would do nothing to rectify what he had done. I let Doug go. Not physically, but mentally. He wasn't worth the brain power and certainly not worth losing myself and living in a personal cesspool of hatred.

"Maybe we should step outside and let these guys work," I mentioned softly to Betty. She wiped her eyes and nodded. "I need to tell you about my daughter," I added and wiped my own eyes. Hatred chewed up way too much energy.

++++++++++++++++++++++

"Why she send flowers?" Tamara demanded in Armenian. For some reason, Florencia had sent flowers to me at Yana's address, the one I had given to Emilio for the time being.

"It's nothing," I said. It was hard to explain over the phone. I thought Tamara would be happy I was flying home to her the next day. Instead, she thought I was entertaining another woman. I had to work on her trust. I certainly wasn't a Don Juan, and I already had the most beautiful woman in the world.

"I can't read letter." Tamara said stiffly. I couldn't remember if I mentioned the language barrier between Tamara and me to the Campos'. It was probably in English since they knew my Spanish sucked.

"Get Viktoria," I suggested. I heard doors opening. I could tell Tamara was walking down the hall. There was a brief conversation after Viktoria answered the door. I could hear the pain in Tamara's voice. I wished I was there.

Viktoria started laughing as she deciphered the letter. I could hear Tamara demanding to know what was so funny. Viktoria spoke quickly with humor in her voice. There was silence after she was done speaking. I heard Viktoria chuckle again Tamara told her to stop it.

"I love you," Tamara said quietly in the phone. There was a little embarrassment in her voice. I tried not to force the issue.

"I love you, too," I returned, almost making it sound like a question.

"You home tomorrow?" Tamara verified.

"Yes," I replied, "11:35 PM." It was going to be a long two days of travel.

"Meet you at airport," Tamara said. I think my Armenian was getting better. I no longer had to think hard during simple translations. I almost told her not to, but her tone made it important to her.

"Good," I said, "I will see you tomorrow."

"I love you," Tamara repeated. There was more contrition in her voice.

"I love you too," I responded before disconnecting. I had no idea what was in the letter, but it obviously wasn't the love note she expected. I also knew that talking about it on the phone was not the route to take. I would find out when we were together again.

++++++++++++++++++++++

My parents took me to O'Hare airport. They were as shocked as I was about Doug. They had known him and his parents for many years. He was the last person we would have suspected to go all evil on the world.

No assault charges were brought. I suspected Doug didn't want to alienate me any more than he already had. He would need my signature to liquidate his holdings in F&B Imports to pay for his legal defense. I would sign anything that separated us further, including a loan to buy him out.

I promoted Betty to run the U.S. portion of the business. She had been doing most of the work as it was, and already had access to all the files and bank accounts. I let her hire her replacement, a fine young man that seemed driven to succeed. It meant a lot more money for her family and no more bombs on planes for me.

Betty's first task was to solidify a contract for Emilio's cousin. Her in-depth knowledge of the process made me question what Doug had been doing for the last few years. I found out Doug was in debt up to his eyeballs and in the process of buying a yacht when the boom came down. I suspected he was playing playboy on my dime and dumping the work off on Betty. I considered it on the job training for Betty.

My mother brought a small note from Kimberly with her. It was handwritten on a small flowery card that was usually reserved for thank-you notes.

Jonathan,

I'm sorry I lied about Tamara's whereabouts. It was selfish. I was hoping you would come back to me if you failed to find her. We weren't perfect, but we were better than lonely. Please ask Tamara to forgive me. Give your daughter my love.

Kimberly

"She was afraid to see you," my mother said as I finished the note. I thought about the hatred I had wasted on Doug. It seemed silly to expend more on Kimberly. I wondered if I wouldn't have done the same if the roles were reversed. I would like to think I wouldn't, but I never thought I would try to beat a man to death either.

"Do you have a pen?" I asked my mother. She fished one out of her purse and handed it to me. I added a note to the end.

Kimberly,

I could never hold it against you. The heart makes us do stupid things like loudly breaking up with a lovely woman in a public hospital. As a friend, I still love you dearly.

Jonathan

I handed the note back to my mother and asked her to give it back to Kimberly. I found it funny that Tamara and I could share no language and yet understand each other perfectly. Kimberly and I needed a translator to function.

++++++++++++++++++++++

I was exhausted when I stepped off the plane in Yerevan. I was two hours behind schedule and wanted nothing but a shower and some sleep. Tamara changed those desires instantly. She was waiting at the end of the concourse, bouncing on her toes and waving when she saw me. I had no idea where the energy came from. My heart started pounding, and muscles woke up. I ran to her arms. I had almost forgotten how soft her lips were.

"Milena?" I asked. For some reason, I wanted to see her as well.

"Asleep with Meemaw," Tamara smiled, saying it like I was a fool to think she would bring a baby to the airport in the middle of the night. I laughed at myself before I enjoyed Tamara's precious lips again. It was so good to feel her arms around me.

The cab ride back to the Kurkjian buildings was quick. There was little traffic at that time in the morning, and Tamara was there to make sure the cabbie didn't take the long way. Tamara pulled a folded letter out of her jacket and handed it to me.

"I sorry," Tamara said. I could see it in her eyes. I unfolded the letter and turned on the overhead light.

Dear Tamara,

Your intuition has saved my love as well as yours. I send these flowers as a friend in hopes that we will find time to meet in the future. I wish to know well the person who has saved my precious family.

Florencia Campos

I laughed when I shouldn't have, but it was too delicious.

"I say sorry," Tamara insisted. I wrapped her in my arms again.

"No matter where I go, my love," I whispered in her ear, "I will never stray from you. You and Milena will always be first in my thoughts." Though it was in English, Tamara understood perfectly. Her smile returned with a little foolishness in her eyes. I thought it looked adorable.

++++++++++++++++++++++

Tamara and I slept in a bed designed for one in Meemaw's apartment. It was cramped but twice the size of the hovel on the mountain. It brought back a few memories of staying warm in the most wonderful way. It was Milena who woke us early the following morning. After she had been fed and changed, I spent a good part of the morning making her smile. She was getting stronger, raising up on her knees and rocking back and forth. I knew she was about to be independently mobile.

Yana cooked a large brunch for my return. The family gathered in her apartment and feasted while I explained, with the help of Viktoria, about what had happened the past week. Tamara had already passed on the gist of it, and I was only filling in the blanks. Yana was happy it was over and done with. She had resolved herself to an American son-in-law and didn't want it to change. The brothers wanted more details of my brief insanity. A blow by blow replay of my useless revenge.

I shocked everyone by asking Garik if he wanted to work for me. I had decided that I needed to limit my traveling since I had a family now, and Garik seemed to love the trip to Azerbaijan. I could hire him as an independent contractor with bonuses tied to the inking of deals. He was both excited and hesitant.

"What would I have to do?" Garik asked.

"Travel to find product," I replied, "I'd take you on a couple of trips to get you started. In time, you'll recognize what we're looking for and be able to head out on your own. You can hire interpreters when needed to get your through the negotiations."

"I can hire people?" Garik queried with reservation.

"In time, when necessary. You always need to keep in mind what the company will make and balance that with the fees you need to pay." I smiled, "and your own pay, of course."

"How will I know if it's the right stuff?"

"Our clients like to mix art with functionality. Uniqueness, a good history, and quality are what you need to look for. Usually, you start with a lead, so you're not traveling blind." I was mixing Armenian words with English. I was getting better at it, and Viktoria was having an easier time translating and Garik was grasping the concepts quickly.

"What do you mean about history?"

I thought about it for a moment. History was the marketing part that our clients loved so much. It was more in the presentation, the stuff they could tell their friends. I looked down, trying to figure out a way to explain it. The rug at my feet would be a good visual aide. It was certainly high enough quality and well made.

"Take this rug," I instructed, "it is very well made and has a wonderful design." I dropped to the floor and moved to the corner, lifting it back to look for a label. "A label sewn into the rug with a company logo or family crest helps give it history." There was no label, so I moved to another corner. "You want the name of the artist, maybe a sewn signature to give it a one-of-a-kind type of feel." Still no label.

"You will not find a label," Tamara said before I moved to another corner. I looked closely at the back of the rug. It had a very high knot count. The quality was excellent.

"This must have cost a lot," I mentioned in passing as I rose to continue the instruction. Yana chuckled, her face flushing.

"Mother made it," Tamara said as if I should have known. My eyes widened as I dropped back down to my knees and reexamined the craftsmanship.

"You made this?" I asked Yana.

"Yes," Yana replied. She was beaming with pride.

"She and Meemaw each make a few a year," Viktoria added, "They sell them to the families here." Victoria looked to Yana, "she sold the last one for 95,000 drams." Yana was still blushing, proud of her accomplishment. I did some quick math in my head, maybe 200 dollars.

"200 U.S. dollars?" I asked. Viktoria thought for a moment. Armen, whose math was better than mine, answered.

"About that, maybe a bit more," Armen said. He seemed proud of his mother and grandmother.

"Who taught you?" I asked Yana, my smile growing.

"Meemaw and her mother taught her," Yana replied.

"Mom is teaching me," Tamara added. She rose handing Milena off to her Armen. She walked over to the wall and began retracting the large accordion divider I thought was just decoration. An old loom in excellent condition was exposed with another rug about a third of the way done. I rose from the floor in awe.

"That is history!" I said to Garik, "add a few touches and that's what we look for."

"American's would want my rugs?" Yana asked.

"With the right documentation, they will pay thousands," I replied, "they want a piece of your story."

"I am nobody," Yana said, suddenly out of her depth.

"You are an artist from a long line of artists," I said almost laughing at what had hidden in plain site, "Your family history, as far as you can trace it back, is what they want. They want to know they are supporting that history and becoming part of it. You just have to list it out for them."

"You can teach me," Armen said to Yana. Davit pulled forward in his seat and began nodding his head as well.

"It can be Garik's first successful contract," I added. Tamara scooted in behind me and wrapped her arms around my waist.

"I love you," Tamara whispered in my ear as the conversation in the room began moving quickly, excitement infecting everyone. I turned in Tamara's arms, ignoring the questions being flung at me. I had a lifetime to answer them.

The world disappeared as I lost myself in Tamara's lips. We were back on the mountain, a blizzard we no longer cared about was raging around us. The only thing that mattered was the moment and that we held each other. A squeal brought our minds back to reality.

Milena was waving her arms in Armen' s lap, trying to join the excitement by yelling for attention. She was our new mountain, a storm we couldn't ignore. I laughed at her antics as I swept her into my arms. Life was good. Life was very good.

++++++++++++++++++++++

Tamara

++++++++++++++++++++++

"Are you sure?" I asked the doctor. My belly was barely showing, and I felt no different than when I carried Milena.

"I know my job, Mrs. Bennett," the doctor said, almost insulted. I smiled warmly while I tried to let the ramifications settle in my mind. I finished dressing as I thought how this would affect Jonathan. I knew now that I needn't fear him leaving me anymore. Those fears were borne from the initial interference of his mother....and Kimberly.

I hated the way that Kimberly looked at Jonathan at our wedding. She was so American and way too pretty. He didn't notice, but I saw it her eyes. I couldn't blame her, but I didn't have to like it. She said and did all the right things yet her eyes would linger on the man I held most dear.

The jealousy ended when she embraced me with tears in her eyes as she said goodbye. She said something I didn't understand, but we both knew why she was leaving the reception early. I also knew I would never see her again. She left as a friend, saying her goodbyes to me and not to Jonathan. She loved him enough to disappear. I could never leave him, so she was stronger than me...or never loved him like I did.

Jonathan's Armenian was growing stronger. I no longer needed to see his body language to understand him. I loved how his accent butchered the language. Every time he told me he loves me, my ears would do a little dance, and the little girl in me jumped up and down.

"You might have to revive my husband when I tell him," I informed the doctor. The doctor rose from his chair and smiled at me.

"A blessing in any form, is still a blessing," the doctor said as he put his clipboard off to the side. I wondered if that was true. I rubbed my growing belly and knew my love would be no different. The idea of it was warming in my mind. As the revelation finally took hold, I laughed. The doctor seemed pleased and chuckled himself.

I found Jonathan entertaining Milena in the waiting room. Ever since she started walking, Milena needed constant supervision. She had the Armenian tenacity mixed with American unbridled curiosity. Jonathan was busy building some kind structure with wooden blocks, and Milena was having a ball knocking it down. He was having as much fun as she was. It was some game they invented and only they knew the rules. How high could he make it before she pushed it over? I loved how he could make her laugh.

"Having fun?" I said, announcing my presence. Jonathan turned with a smile as Milena, once again, destroyed the structure he had been building. He rose quickly, sweeping Milena up in his arms.

"Mommy's done," He told Milena in his lovely Armenian. "And how is she doctor?" he asked. The doctor moved out from behind and winked at me.

"Very healthy," the doctor replied as he moved toward his office, "it is a good thing for a woman in her condition." He left swiftly, leaving me to break the news. I wasn't sure if it was a good or bad thing.

"And how is Milena's brother or sister?" Jonathan asked. I tried to figure out how to tell him without freaking him out. He looked at me funny as I stalled for the right words. I knew he was reading my body language and already knew something was wrong. "Tamara?" He queried again, with a little fear in his voice.

"It may be both," I said, sucking in my breath.

"What?"

"Boy and girl or two of either," I said, watching his eyes travel through a million emotions, "the doctor only knows there are two."

"Twins?" Jonathan gasped, his eyes looking stunned. I moved forward to soften the blow and a smile formed on his lips, "Twins," he repeated, more to himself. He slid Milena to his left arm and pulled me in with his right. "Twins," he repeated dreamily as his lips found mine. I leaned into him and felt Milena kiss my cheek thinking it was a new game.

"They will drive us insane," Jonathan said humorously, "my mother is going to flip." His eyes found mine in that loving way he had. "We survived a plane crash; we can survive twins," he said, pulling the three of us tightly together.

A warmth spread over me. Memories of the first time Jonathan took me, warming the blizzard away and my fears with it. He looked at me with those same loving eyes. We could weather any storm, even twins.

"The mountain, my love," I said softly, "was the easy part."