Copyright: 2003/2004
Warnings: Description of corpses
Summary: Somehow the Cossack child, Alec Trevelyan, had to come to England. This story tries to tell how.
Feedback: yes, please; critical comments highly welcome, mistakes, good lines, anything goes
A/N: The character names are fictional not historical.
Disclaimer: James Bond is the creation of Ian Fleming. The character of Alec Trevelyan in the story is the property of Ian Fleming and the filming companies that produce Bond Films (United Artists, MGM, Eon). No copyright infringement intended. No profit is gained by this work.
Why, why o evil people
Have you separated our hearts?
Now I am an embittered orphan...
Russian folksong
Summer 1945, Austria, middle or end of June
The ache had changed to constant pain. He was so hungry. A grasshopper attracted his attention. His little hand shot forward and caught the chirping animal with a movement practised in innumerable games. Yesterday he had still wondered whether they were edible. Today, he no longer cared. His teeth bit on the fidgeting insect, and he spit it out. Still moving weakly, it lay at his feet. He looked away. Another katydid leaped past. The sickness disappeared and his stomach rumbled, hurt. He grabbed the animal, plugged it into his mouth and crushed it. Hastily he swallowed it down before he could feel nauseous again. If one did not look at it or pay attention to the writhing, one was able to think it was chicken. Further grasshoppers went down into his belly and softened the pain.
The boy fiddled with the metal cup that dangled at his belt. He had to get rid of the taste. The kettle was already empty and no rain interrupted the summer heat. Nevertheless he knew where one could still find water. He slipped through the gloomy undergrowth, which surrounded the clearing. Repeated trips had broken a way trough into the thicket. In the next glade, he filled the little cup with water out of a puddle in the deeply torn soil. The water in there was decreasing steadily. There was a river nearby, but mother had said it would be too dangerous. He must not go there alone. Therefore he drank the yellowish water.
A clayey taste remained in his mouth as he crept back again and leaned against the bark of a fir. His teeth chattered and he lay down in the sun warmed grass. He couldn't constantly disturb mother. She needed her sleep. So did father. The firs seemed to stretch out further up into the sky, whenever he looked up. Sometimes they spoke to him. From time to time, he saw black spots, once many, once fewer. Despite the warmth he shivered. Certainly he would not wake mother if he lay down next to her. Sighing, he sat up slowly and noted the rusty dirt under his fingernails. Had mother not scolded him again and again, that it would be improper? Water was too precious, therefore he cleaned them coarsely without. His hands had to remain like they were. They would become dirty again anyway. Mother would understand. He crossed the small meadow, passed the little fir, evaded bramble branches and slipped around the lilac shrubs, behind which his parents hid themselves from evil people. The boy smiled relieved. Like always father kept guard with his pistol, unmoving as not to be spotted. Mother had said he should not disturb father, therefore he went past him. His mother slept some steps away. Treading softly, he went to her and cuddled up against her motionless body. She was cold, colder than he was. Well, they would freeze together, then. He peered through his eyelashes into her face. Good, she had not woken up. The boy pulled the dirt encrusted horse blanket over himself, put his head on her left breast and his thumb into his mouth. The hammering of a woodpecker mocked a fake heartbeat, lulling him to sleep.