21 – End of the Road
At half-past noon it was bloody hot and something majorly loud was eating my brain. I crawled out of bed, leaving Elena blissfully in dreamland. If it wasn't for what sounded like an infinite number of frenzied gamelan players, and the pizza oven-like heat, I might have slept longer. As it was, some kind of cacophony, blaring from beyond a tall hedge, was my surreal—welcome to Marmaris—wakeup call. I booted the laptop and free-jacked Internet access from randomly appearing wireless networks.
The problem we faced was that Elena had been allowed only two months in Türkiye, instead of the three they gave me. Renewing her visa wasn't an option. Given the stitch up in Odesa, and Mama's psychopathology, Elena's passport was very likely compromised. Besides that, if it wasn't when we left Ukraine, it certainly would have been when Tanya got back to Russia empty-handed. The clock was ticking, and we had to make it out of Türkiye before time was up.
~
Elena burst through the front door, laden with bags of groceries. I was sitting in the dark, staring at a laptop like a fortune-teller.
“Olives! Real, from here, from Türkiye.” She juggled the grocery bags to the kitchen counter. “Olives, Meg! There are trees right here—”
“We've got to talk.” I spun the laptop toward her. “There's no easy way forward. You aren't allowed in, or over, or through any country from here to Canada. And there is a lot of ocean between here and home.”
“I know this.” She sighed, pulled a kitchen chair up beside mine, and rested her chin on my shoulder. “But what can I do? Meg, we've run out of road. There is only ocean now. We have two months left.”
I waved at the laptop. “Simple. We need a solution.”
“Solution, Meg, you will go home to Canada.”
My throat tightened. “Not without you. Don't you get it? I will not— I can not, leave you behind.”
“You are a prisoner because of me!” Elena stood, paced toward the patio. “I cannot go with you! Do not you see? You are in jail with me.” I tried to speak. She held up a hand. “No, Meg! I do not want to take from you all this, that is— it is— that is you! Your freedom, Meg! It is what you are to me. How can I take this?” She took a long, shuddering breath.
Something caught in my throat and I found myself fighting back tears. “We'll go to Russia if we have to. Hide out there.” The bloody Turkish Riviera wouldn't be the end of us.
“But, so what? Russia, Ukraine, Türkiye, they all will not let us be together. You have forgotten why we are here now? Hiding like the fox from the hounds.”
We'd been through it, over and over; an endless, grinding, life-consuming search for a way to be safe, equal. Ordinary. “I ken what you say. There's just no way around it. We have to make it to Canada.”
“And if two months runs out?”
“I won't abandon you.”
“You should not be a prisoner because of me. I will hide in the desert before ever going to Russia. Russia is my death! But Meg, it will not be the end of you. I love you too much.”
I swallowed hard enough to dislodge a tonsil and managed, “Aye, right. Then we have to be on our way home in two months… or less.” I brought up a website. “Have a look at this. Here's what I've been thinking.”
Elena sat back down, leaned closer to the screen. “Oye, choomeechka! Alexi's business friend showed to us this site in Odesa.”
“I know, but I used it to look for boats around here. Let me tell you, there's one heck of a lot of them. I mean, this town is absolutely yacht-central.”
“You are thinking to buy a boat? In Odesa, you said—”
“I know, but this is different. I think it's our only option. There are people here: professionals who sell boats. Not sorry blaggers like Alexi. There are boats here that can cross oceans.”
“Cross ocean!” Elena's hands shot up in a you're-bloody-cracked gesture. “In Odesa it was the Black Sea, Meg! Not the ocean.”
“Come on… just listen. People sail yachts across oceans all the time.” I picked up my—by then, seriously worn—paperback about round-the-world yacht racing. I shook it in front of her. “Crikey, they even do it all alone. All the way around the world without stopping, just for the sport of it! I can assure you, people, even families with weans, cross oceans in yachts all the time.”
“But they can land in Europe, on islands, or even the USA!” She drew in air through her teeth before adding: “And, yachts can go all the way to Canada without stopping for petrol?”
“Of course!” I slapped the paperback down on the table. “Yachts use wind for propulsion. They can go anywhere! Even, all the way around the world without stopping, just for the fun of it.”
She grabbed the paperback, jabbed at the cover photo. “This is a little sailboat! Not a yacht.”
“It's not that little.” I took the paperback from her. Best she didn't see the photo section. “Come on, have a look at this website with me. There are definitely yah— er, sailboats here that can cross oceans.”
Elena scanned the website. “The closest to a yacht I have ever been is once when we with Dmitry travelled to Antalya. I saw, in the harbour, many masts. Just seeing masts, Meg. That is all I know of yachts, and are they not a lot of money? You can afford such expense?” She gaped at the listings. Prices were six figures and beyond.
“I can borrow money against my house.” Besides, what were the chances I would run the loan all the way up? The clock was ticking. It was our only option—which means it wasn't a choice, but a chance.
