I went to the dentist for my annual check-up. Most people hope they don’t have any cavities, but I hope he’ll tell me my jaw is not a ticking time bomb. But as usual, Dr Shaw bounced my mouth open and shut, asking me to bite down on things to measure the misalignment. Nothing had changed.
“What am I looking at with TMJ?” I asked through teeth that were clenched due to a tensed jaw. “A cortisone shot? Dental plates? Wiring?” Dr Shaw removed the bite plate and squinted at my X Ray. “We’re not in the middle ages,” he assured me. “We don’t wire jaws closed unless they’re severely broken.” He put my x-ray down. “And actually, TMJ is the joint involved, the Temporomandibular Joint. What you have is a TMJ disorder, or TMD.” I relaxed my lower lip. Well, now I knew the proper name for this irritation. “My original question was do I need to get my jaw broken to fix my TMD? Severely broken?” “What are you watching on television these days?” he scolded me, shaking his head. I thought about the wife-swapping show Cara and Niamh had told me about. It gave me a pain in my jaw, and Dr Shaw caught me raising a hand to still it. He raised his eyebrows, and began opening and closing my mouth again. “From the x ray, it shouldn’t be hurting you that much. There’s really no damage to the cartilage discs at the joint, worn down teeth, or sign of arthritis.” Lovely. “So it’s all in my head?” I asked, attempting a dazzling smile. (Ouch) “I didn’t say that,” Dr Shaw countered kindly. “I absolutely believe you are experiencing pain, only that the actual physical manifestations are so slight.” I frowned. (That didn’t hurt.) “That still sound like it’s all my head.” Dr Shaw sighed. “Look, I could give you some treatment, but if I’m not seeing any misalignment or erosion, a bite plate might create one. And a cortisone shot is not something we should be giving out willy-nilly.” He grimaced sympathetically. “It could be bad posture…are you staring at a computer screen all day?” I did use a computer at work, but I wasn’t tied down to it, like Cara was in her job as a network administrator. In PR, there’s a lot of interaction with people, on the phone or in person. You have multiple things to check up on in the course of a project, from brochure layouts to venues for events. I actually spent a lot more time on my feet than most people. I shook my head, and Dr Shaw considered what else could cause the problem. He poked at my ear and neck. “Does any of this hurt?” he asked. “With TMD, you could have trigger points.” I shook my head as he prodded. “Are you sleeping all right? Sometimes lack of sleep can trigger muscular problems.” Again I shook my head. He slid my jaw back and for, listening for the clicking of a misalignment. “It could be stress…” he said. “Have you tried relaxation techniques?” I winced at the memory. My older sister Trish had paid for a course in hot yoga for the two of us a year ago. The sight of two women in their thirties sweating like hogs in clingy exercise gear while failing to hold the downward-facing dog is surely a violation of the Geneva convention. We gave up after three classes (when Trish had to be rushed at A&E to be treated for heat exhaustion.) I tried meditation…but ended up hurling the CD across the room when it advised me to open my “third eye”. Dr Shaw noted my expression. “Have you tried acupuncture?” he suggested, letting go of my face. “A lot of people have good results with acupuncture.” I narrowed my eyes at him. “Aren’t you the one who told me I shouldn’t get shots willy-nilly?” “The needles in acupuncture are much finer so they’re practically painless. Also, nothing is being injected with them.” I had focused only on his first sentence. “Practically painless?” I repeated. Forcing a cheerful smile, he opened a side drawer in the bureau behind the examining chair. “Here’s the name of an acupuncturist people I know go to,” he said, handing me a card. Stellar Hong Li, qualified practitioner of Chinese medicine. Stellar? “But you don’t go to this person,” I clarified, tucking the card into my pocket. I like my dentist, but I wondered if he had a bridge to sell me as well. “I did have acupuncture years ago, for a back injury,” Dr Shaw told me. “Dr Li comes highly recommended.” It was my turn to sigh. “Okay, I’ll think about it.” “I can’t ask for more.” He patted my arm, all business-like. “With TMD, you have to avoid gum chewing, and hard, tough foods. You should be careful when you stretch your jaw, like when yawning or singing.” I was already a terrible singer, but now I’d be mumbling through hymns in church? “I’m really not seeing anything serious. This may just go away on its own. It’s certainly not interfering too much with your life right now. These things have a tendency to go away on their own after a flare-up.” I looked at him sharply. “And then they could just reappear!” Dr Shaw shrugged. “Yes, that’s a possibility. But if you avoid over-stretching your jaw, take over-the-counter pain killers when it’s particularly nasty, try some relaxation techniques as well as the acupuncture, we can successfully treat this.” He slapped his thighs, pulling away from the chair in a smooth business-like transition. “Now let’s get those teeth cleaned, since you’re already here.” He got up from the chair he sat in while examining me and his dental hygienist swooped in, nasty hook at the ready. I fought not to cringe, as that kind of facial movement was not helping me. The hygienist paused over me, and moved her face mask down. “You really should try acupuncture,” she told me. “It barely hurts and it helped me quit smoking!” I tried a polite smile, but my jaw was hurting again. I was looking at the card Dr Shaw had given me that evening when the phone rang. I fully expected it to be Cara, as my other two sisters had already called me to see what the news on my jaw was. “Can you talk, or is your mouth all wired up?” Cara’s voice asked cheerfully when I answered the phone. See Dr Shaw? I’m not the only one who thinks like this… “You’re one to talk, what with your mouth full of wires when you were a teenager!” I teased. Cara hates to be reminded of the braces she wore in her awkward phase. “Shut up,” she said, not unpleasantly. “So, what’s the word?” “No change,” I told her. “I have some misalignment of the temporomandibular joint, to give it its proper name, or maybe I’m just stressed or over-stretching my jaw. So far, nothing is to be done, for fear of making it worse.” “Exacerbating it, to use the proper term,” Cara shot back proudly. “That’s a big word for a little sister,” I cajoled. Cara did the “da dum dum pssht” sound of a drum rim shot. “Well, that’s it for the Cara and Lisa show…so how do you feel?” “The Lisa and Cara Show,” I corrected her. “No change…I’m fine.” There was a pause, and I could almost hear Cara thinking. “You know, Niamh’s been doing a lot of reading up on that big vice bust in America,” she told me. My grip on the phone suddenly turned precariously weak. “Really? Niamh?” “She’s been going through the stats on prostitution, and sex trafficking,” Cara went on. I thought of the discussion I’d had with Jimmy at work. “You know, those two are the same thing,” I told Cara. She groaned. “Yes, Niamh gave me the same lecture,” she said. “Just because a woman may not have been overtly forced into prostitution makes her no less a victim,” she quoted in a robotic voice. She gave a little laugh. “Whoever would have thought that you and Niamh would start to sound alike?” Whoever indeed. “I’m glad to see that someone’s taking an interest,” I said. Hint hint, Cara. I was glad to think of something other than my painful jaw, even if it was the hideous reality of sexual exploitation. “The problem is really wide-spread, and it’s a disgusting reality. This is modern-day slavery!” “I know,” Cara said. “That’s another thing Niamh said, by the way.” “Well I’m glad that someone else cares. What’s she planning to do about it?” It came out far more demanding than I meant, but I didn’t want to be the nice comfortable woman who made sympathetic noises but didn’t do anything. “Well, she’s signed a couple of online petitions, and sent a letter to our MEP.” Cara sounded defensive. “Did you do that too?” I ploughed on, wishing I had also signed an online petition. “Yes. Hey Lisa, we can’t all start an awareness campaign.” “Can’t you?” I asked. “A lot of regular people start movements. Think about the widows and mothers of the vanished activists who dance in public in South America!” “Hey, take it down a notch. A few days ago all you were doing was praying at every red traffic light!” All I was doing? I took a deep angry breath, my jaw enflamed. “First of all, you are never just praying, you are talking to God-“ “Lisa?” It was now Niamh’s voice on the phone. I stood silently, open-mouthed. I remembered not to over-stretch my jaw, and snapped my mouth shut. “It’s Niamh. Cara was making a face and about to hang up. I grabbed the phone so I could tell you I think your campaign against prostitution is inspirational.” “Niamh?” I gurgled. She was saying words I had never expected to come out of her mouth. And certainly not to me. Inspirational? My mouth fell open again. “I’ve been reading up on the subject. I think Cara should get more involved, too. I think we should all do something about the mass exploitation of women and children!” The grand scale of it was alarming, but there were other victims we shouldn’t overlook. “There are male prostitutes as well,” I mumbled. The literature did show that women were dominantly the target group. “Of course, but the majority of the victims are female,” Niamh said with the authority of having read several reports on the topic. “I don’t want to be a man-hater, but the more I read up on the sex industry, the angrier I’m getting. I’m starting to hate the way society sees women, always in a sexual context. I mean, even the term woman…that basically just womb-man.” Uh oh. Niamh certainly was sounding like a man-hater. I was fortunate to have heard Kate debate feminist themes on several occasions, so I had some things to say that might deflect some of Niamh’s fury. “You’re right there, but some languages have different terms for women, sometimes even no gender-specific pronouns. But guess what, the women in those cultures are no better or worse off than we are.” That was a bit of a lie – in some of those cultures women certainly had less rights than we did in Western Europe. “I’m telling you this trivia to help you not dwell on little things,” I explained. “Yes, womb-man kind of sounds offensive if you think about it, but it’s like the term drug-abuse. You don’t abuse drugs, you abuse yourself…child abuse means you’re abusing the child-“ “What are you talking about?” Niamh interrupted. I had lost her, trying to parrot back the arguments Kate had made. I had even kind of lost myself, to be honest. “Look, I have a friend who can explain it much better than I can,” I admitted. “I just want to say you need to hate the sinner, not the sin. We’re all guilty when it comes to treating women as objects; I mean, why do we let ourselves get told by magazines what we should look like? Why do we still have beauty contests?” I was flailing fast; I really wished Kate were around to calmly take over for me. I took a deep breath, and hoped Niamh was still with me. “I’m just really glad that you agree with me,” I said finally. I felt a warm comforting glow when I realised that I was having a calm, productive discussion with Niamh. I suddenly remembered what she had said when she came on the phone. “Cara was going to hang up on me?” Niamh laughed. “You know what your sister is like. She doesn’t like it when you take stands on things. She’ll kick the hornet’s nest, but hates the mess that it makes.” I could hear Cara’s howl of protest, but had to admit, Niamh was spot-on about Cara. Cara had taken the phone back. “Look, I signed the petitions, I just don’t want to burn my bra!” “You know that never happened-“ “Stop with the lectures! I’m getting it in stereo!” she shouted. “All right, I surrender! I’ll go on your take back the night marches and whatever else you’re doing!” “You can just start by praying,” I told her. “That’s what I did.” “And then you started a campaign.” Cara was sounding a lot like Eileen McGrath-Roth. “The Spirit moved me.” I had heard people say that, usually in movies or in testimonies, but I was really glad to be able to say it myself. I smiled, tears welling up in my eyes. Please let my jaw feel better, I prayed. I closed my eyes, letting the tears flow. I relaxed my jaw, and surprisingly, felt no pain. Cautiously, I tested my mouth. I moved my lower jaw from side to side, and it felt normal. “Lisa?” Cara sounded worried. “My jaw doesn’t hurt,” I whispered.
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After going to the hospital, they went to the bar. Piotr made Mircea and Ivan stumble in there right before opening time, to ensure every one of their employees was there to see the show. He even took the crutches away from Ivan, who had to cling to Mircea to stay upright. Mircea’s face had swollen from the pain, and both he and Ivan were pale and drawn from their injuries. The employees all gasped at the sight of them, and Piotr rolled in like a ringmaster behind them.
“Look what that Catholic Church has done!” he roared with theatrical fervour. “It takes money from the poor, turns away the starving, does unspeakable things to children, and look what they do to people who try to stand up to them!” He gestured wildly to Mircea and Ivan. “These two are covered in mysterious sores and are in pain. The doctors can’t explain this – we just came from the hospital!” The bar staff and the dancers huddled together, looking at Ivan and Mircea wordlessly. Ivan groaned. “This is not the work of the Church,” he began, stubbornly refusing to follow the lead of the man who had shot him. Mircea crushed him into his side, effectively muffling his words. Piotr had heard them, nonetheless. “This is the devil’s work!” Piotr declared in a shout that would rival any evangelical preacher’s. Several of the dancers flinched at the words, but Mircea saw the waiter’s eyes roll heavenward. He tried to single the sceptic out. “How do you explain it, then Oleg?” The pain in his jaw kept him from being able to yell like Piotr. The waiter, said nothing, taking in the shattered appearance of Mircea and Ivan. Mircea could see his mind working, realising that if the Church wasn’t responsible, Piotr was. And someone who would handicap his own lieutenants would do worse things to underlings. “What happened? Oleg asked cautiously, pretending to buy into the dramatics. He twisted his face into an expression of horror, and shrank back, practically hiding behind the dancers. “Someone has been crying to the Catholic church about us,” Piotr thundered. “We give you jobs, but you moan to the church about us…Mircea and Ivan went to meet with the priest to explain how we only have your best interests at heart, and he called down black magic on them!” Mircea could feel Ivan struggling against him, trying to say something, so he dropped to his knees, dragging Ivan down with him. “The pain!” Mircea wailed. Actually, his face did hurt. “Look at what the Church did! “Piotr cried. The employees looked frightened and confused, but fortunately, only Oleg still looked suspicious. He saw Piotr’s eyes on him, so he feigned fear as well. Ivan was trying to cry out, but Mircea kept his face pressed into his side. “Do you want to make it worse?” Mircea hissed loudly at Ivan, referring to Piotr. “It hurts,” Ivan managed weakly. “Do you see what that Church has done?” Piotr asked. “They could only bring their voodoo down on Mircea and Ivan – I’m made of stronger stuff.” Mircea grimaced at the way Piotr was able to twist the situation into one where he looked weak. Piotr raised a warning finger to heaven. “Can you see what they do to the frail? They won’t stop at just Mircea and Ivan…if you don’t do what they want, they’ll get you, too!” Piotr now pointed that finger at individual employees, who shrieked as the gesture was turned on them. Mircea was in physical pain and agony that he wasn’t coming off well in this show, but he had to grudgingly admire Piotr’s showmanship. “Stay away from those demons,” Mircea croaked. “They wear the cross, but they don’t serve it!” He thought of Michael with those words and had to fight back a smile. Several of the employees were crying now. Mircea saw his chance to control the show, and grabbed it. “I forgive you,” he said dramatically. “You couldn’t know what unnatural evil you were releasing when you went to them…!” Ivan writhed to get away from Mircea’s grip, and Piotr pounced on him. “Look at how Ivan struggles!” he shouted, forcing Ivan nearly to the ground. Mircea could see that Oleg didn’t believe a word of it, but was truly terrified at the lengths they were going to to quash any rebellion. It was a ridiculous thing to expect people to be terrified of spirits in the twenty-first century, but it seemed to be working on the stupid workers. “Stay away from that Church,” Mircea wailed, and suddenly, his jaw jumped with an unnatural popping sound. Probably all the prodding that stupid drunken surgeon had done was aggravating it. Screaming in the pain he didn’t have to fake, Mircea fell to the ground. Piotr was so surprised he let go of Ivan. Ivan seized his chance and crawled forward. “Make it stop,” he pleaded. Through a haze of agony, Mircea knew Ivan was asking him to stop acting, but the employees thought he was addressing them. “It wasn’t me,” one of the waitresses wept. (She was too fat to be a dancer.) “It was Milla! She said the Church could help us!” There was a collective murmur of assent among the employees. Piotr had grabbed Ivan again, using a hug to smash his face into his shoulder, to keep him quiet. “Milla?” “The new girl at the laundry,” the waitress clarified. “The pretty one.” The fit one, Mircea realised. He rolled onto his back and massaged his aching jaw, remembering her on her knees in front of him. I’ll fix her-! Piotr was trying to appear grateful and magnanimous. “Thank you for telling us,” he said to the waitress. Mircea could see how hard he was poking Ivan in his sore ribs to ensure his cooperation. “Thank you,” Ivan gasped. “Thank you,” Mircea mumbled through his swollen mouth, managing a sitting position, where he was facing the employees. Oleg and a bouncer came forward to help him to his feet. I’m coming to get you, Milla! There was a lot of rejoicing at my bible study when I told people how my jaw pain was gone. Tommy asked if I had gotten my miraculous healing verified by my dentist, but as I barely had signs of TMJ, there wouldn’t be much for him to confirm or deny. All I knew was that I felt much better. I even took the tentative step of chewing gum for the first time in ages, and apart from noticing how quickly gum loses its flavour, I observed no other negative effects.
Kate was strangely quiet on my news. It wasn’t like her not to loudly praise the Lord, so I figured something must be up. She didn’t look like she had suffered really bad news, but something was clearly on her mind. I considered the usual suspects that haunt people’s minds. As a teacher, Kate’s job is fairly secure in these recession times, and romantically, she’s about as much of a dud as I am, so there’s no man worrying her heart. I was curious to find out what was preoccupying her. I pulled her aside at the end of our bible study. “What gives?” I asked, hoping it wasn’t something awful, like a terminally ill parent. She realised how serious she looked and gave me a hug. “I’m so sorry, Lisa…I am so happy for you that your jaw pain has gone away. It’s just something I learned about this week that I can’t get out of my mind!” She pulled back and shook her head sadly. I made a prompting noise, and she sighed. “I went to a talk given by an organisation that works with persecuted Christians abroad,” she explained. “You forget how blessed we are, to live in a place where we can worship freely and not have to go to jail for something like not following the state religion.” “Tell that to CNN,” I joked, thinking of how too often the Republic is tarred with the same brush as the North come the 12th of July. Kate smiled half-heartedly. “A man who works with a Korean relief organisation talked about North Korea.” I raised my eyebrows – there was a Church in the Hermit Kingdom? Kate nodded. “There aren’t a lot of Christians in North Korea. There isn’t a lot of anything in North Korea, so a lot of people will do anything to escape. They think anything has to be better, and that leaves them open to all kinds of abuse.” Kate sighed again. “North Korean women are being trafficked,” she told me. My mouth dropped open. (No pain!) Surely North Korean women were starving – who was buying them, and who would want a half-emaciated person for whatever perversion? “The way to escape North Korea to go North, to China,” Kate told me. “The border with South Korea is one of the most heavily guarded frontiers in the world. As Korea is a peninsula, there aren’t a whole lot of options for refugees trying to escape. Usually, people walk as far North as they can, and then wade across the Tumen river at its shallowest.” I was taking in all the geographical facts Kate had spewed, and thought about what we knew about North Korea. “But how are the escapees doing this?” I wondered. “If there’s wide-spread famine in North Korea, not to mention how heavily militarised a place it is; where do people get the strength to walk and hide?” Kate made a grim face. “That gives you an idea of how desperate people are. The worst part is, it’s mostly women who make the run to China. You know how we’re heartier than men, and have lots more endurance. This is what gets these women through the trek, despite starvation and the forbidding landscape.” I could guess what was coming next. “Oh no. So you’re telling me that after all the heroics of making the journey, there are people on the other side of the river waiting to jump on their weakness.” Miserably, Kate nodded. “It’s a whole industry. Thanks to the one-child policy and centuries of preferring sons, there’s an alarming gender gap in China. You’d think that this would be to the North Korean women’s advantage, but no. China doesn’t want these refugees, as they’re a source of cheap labour, and there aren’t enough jobs to go round in that part of China as is. So these women face deportation, which is worse than what they face in China.” “Worse than sexual slavery?” I’m sure North Korea isn’t a nice place, but I can’t imagine forced prostitution being preferable. “They face execution for leaving North Korea, or lengthy stays in the gulag. That’s basically slow and painful death. Plus, if they had any children in China, they have to leave them behind. North Korea doesn’t recognise marriage to foreigners, and so those children aren’t North Korean citizens…even if their parents aren’t married, and the woman is a single mother.” “So these women would have to leave their children behind…with the slavers.” I was starting to see why Kate was so upset. “I’m sorry I’m not happier for you. I know your jaw was giving you a lot of pain, but that talk came out of nowhere. I was so happy about the Red Light Prayer, and how they made those big arrests in America, but then I hear about how much more evil there is out there, and it’s really depressing!” Kate started crying, and I put my arms around her. “The Chinese husbands treat the North Korean women badly, like unpaid servants who have to do everything,” she went on. “Sometimes the husbands are ethnically Korean, so you’d hope they would be kinder, because they identify with the women, but no.” Kate pulled back to rummage in her pockets for a tissue. Finding one, she blew her nose loudly. “Because it’s China, and there’s still the one-child rule, not only are these women forced to get pregnant, but if it’s a girl they’re carrying, they’re forced to have an abortion.” I covered my mouth, Not that as well! Tommy came over to us, wondering what we were upset about. “Kate went to a talk about North Korea,” I told him. “Not only are people starving and being put into inhuman prisons for the slightest thing, people who try to escape from North Korea are falling into the hands of sex traffickers.” Tommy winced, but nodded. “I’ve heard about this,” he said. “A charity organisation who help persecuted people abroad gave a presentation at my mother-in-law’s church a while ago. They talked a lot about Iran, but they mentioned the plight of women everywhere. They said sexual slavery is incredibly common all over the world.” Kate moaned and blew her nose again. I rubbed her arm soothingly. “It’s just not fair,” she wailed. “So many of my students say it’s not easy being a girl, but they have no idea!” She tried to stop crying, tilting her head back and looking at the ceiling, but it didn’t work. “I look at them, these teenage students, and I think of how there are girls out there younger than they are, being forced into prostitution. Babies being forced into having babies! I feel so powerless!” “You are,” Tommy said, rather unhelpfully, I thought. He took a hold of Kate’s shoulders. “We are weak, but He is strong. You have to have faith. Nothing is impossible for God.” Kate was still sobbing, but the tears stopped flowing. I hadn’t told Tommy about Athletes Against Exploitation yet. “I started a campaign at work,” I said, and Kate’s face brightened. “We’re getting sport stars to come out against prostitution, publicly denounce the kind of trade that goes on at sporting events!” Tommy smiled. “Lisa, that’s wonderful!” He let go of Kate and grabbed me into hug. “I think it will be encouraging for people to hear people they respect speaking out against the sex trade. We need to impact how people think about prostitution, get them to see it’s not okay to use a woman like that.” “Hey, maybe we can reach your difficult colleague with this campaign,” I suggested. “He’s a real sports fan. If one of his heroes condemns it, maybe he’ll change his mind about going to lap dancing clubs!” Tommy turned back to Kate. “It may look like small and unconnected steps,” he said to her. “But it can be like a wave. If hearts can be changed here, they can be changed everywhere. It won’t happen overnight, but things will happen. You heard about the big bust in America?” Both Kate and I nodded. “You see…that, and Lisa’s campaign…God is moving.” Kate wiped her eyes one last time. “Thanks, you two,” she said. “I guess I need to keep my eyes focused on the prize.” “We all do,” Tommy told her. “You have no idea how much I’ve been feeling the way you do, dealing with that stupid workmate of mine!” He shook his head. “And those statistics you two were telling me the other day…it really made me so angry with someone who refuses to see the connection with his own attitude towards women and the sex industry. He simply can’t see how he’s part of the problem…or even that there is a problem.” Tommy sighed, and it was Kate’s turn to pat his arm reassuringly. “What did you just say to me?” she asked gently. “God is moving?” Tommy laughed. “God is moving,” he repeated. He gave us both a peck on the cheek and took his leave. Kate turned to me and sighed once he was gone. “I know how he’s suffering with that colleague of his, but it must be easier, dealing with it from a male point of view,” she said. “It’s so different when you’re part of the victim demographic.” This reminded me of the phone call I had with Cara and Niamh, and how I needed Kate there to help me phrase things properly. I suddenly had an idea. “I think I’m going to have a dinner party this Friday,” I announced. “You have to come!” Kate snorted. “That sounds ominous!” I smiled. “We just all need to clear our heads.” Hopefully, Kate’s inner light would be rekindled and Niamh would be comforted. And Cara -? Well, hopefully, she would behave herself. Mircea spent the next day and half on extreme painkillers and rohypnol. When he came to, his jaw no longer ached, and it felt like the world has a crystal clean edge to it. Things seemed more in focus, somehow. He felt energised, despite having taken a whole chemical cornucopia of things to knock him out. With a determined smile, Mircea got out of bed and pulled on a fresh suit, but didn’t bother with a necktie. It felt strange, like he was half-dressed, and suddenly he had a glimmer of understanding in why Piotr and Ivan insisted on wearing sport clothes. He had some business to take care of, and some of it might come off on to his clothes.
As he needed muscle, he called in a bouncer from the club and Oleg, the sceptical young waiter. Oleg was a muscular, threatening-looking guy, but that’s not why Mircea chose him. He needed a message to get through to Oleg, and anyone else who was thinking of doubting him. Two birds with one stone, he thought as they pulled up to the laundry. The stupid cow of a clerk paled as she saw Mircea come in. She scrambled for the ledgers, but Mircea held up a hand. “I don’t need the books,” he said calmly and evenly, giving her a friendly smile. Her eyes widened in incomprehension. “Is the one they call Milla in?” Mircea asked. Wordlessly, she nodded. Mircea gestured to the back room, and again, she nodded. Mircea nodded at the bouncer, who went to empty the back room of witnesses. The people leaving the room were complaining, but fell silent when they saw Mircea. He nodded pleasantly at them. “We’re going to close early today,” he told the clerk, and signalled Oleg to escort everyone out the front door. He waited until the laundry was empty, and Oleg had locked the front door. “Shall we?” Mircea asked. He let Oleg go into the back room first. The bouncer had Milla pinned to the table, her smock askew and her nose bleeding. Briefly, Mircea wondered what else the bouncer had done to her, but then he realised he didn’t care. He didn’t like the defiant look in her eyes, and she squirmed despite being in the bouncer’s grip. The big hulk of a man grabbed her hair to steady her, but she still glared at Mircea. She reminded him of the missionary Michael, and he didn’t like the way she was still managing to look down on him, despite being ever so much under his control. “Help Dmitri,” Mircea ordered Oleg, hoping he’d gotten the bouncer’s name right. Oleg took a hold of Milla’s right arm, and he and Dmitri brought her over to face Mircea. Taking calm, even breaths, Mircea spat in Milla’s face. She flinched, and lost some of her defiant look. “The Church?” Mircea sneered. She struggled to keep her chin up, but her eyes were darting around, like some trapped wild animal’s. “You went crying to the priests and their lackeys?” He grabbed the front of her smock. “Those rich bastards who take money off the poor and do nothing for the common man…you thought they could help you?” “They don’t make me whore for them!” Mircea gave her a resounding slap, getting blood from her nose on his hand. “No one makes you whore, you stupid little bitch,” Mircea said, wiping his hand on her smock. “You do that all yourself, and you did it gladly until that German pansy told you otherwise.” Mircea tore her smock open, exposing her scrawny chest in a thin vest. Oleg leered, but Mircea didn’t want that. Raping Milla would humiliate her, but it wouldn’t shut her up. He spied a hook hanging on the wall behind her, a long rod they used to hoist wet laundry out of the large cauldron-like industrial washing machines. He tutted pityingly at her, and went to bring the hook down. Milla fought to get free of Oleg and Dmitri’s grasp, wrenching herself back and forth, but to no avail. They were much bigger than she was, and they outnumbered her. “You can do what you like to me,” she bawled. “You already have done, and it didn’t stop me. You can’t use people to bring you money, like dirty playing cards. What makes you think you’re better than us?” Mircea brought the hook down on her shoulder sharply. There was a loud snapping sound, and she went limp on that side. The hook was a bit long and unwieldy, but its power when you brought it down on human flesh from a height was undeniable. Milla’s collarbone was clearly broken. “I think they have a baseball bat under the bash register,” Dmitri said excitedly. “I’ll go get it!” He shoved Milla into Oleg’s arms and went out of the back room. Oleg was holding Milla, who could barely stand, and watched Mircea. Mircea liked the feel of the metal hook in his hands. He jabbed Milla in stomach with it, and she moaned. “What makes me better than you is I’m not a stupid slut whose sole talent is between her legs,” he told Milla. To make a point, he prodded Milla’s abdomen sharply with the hook. “I don’t have dumb dreams of a fairy godmother magically making all my dreams come true in Western Europe somewhere.” He used the hook as a claw to rip the smock off her, scraping skin off her torso as he did. Dmitri came in with the baseball bat, eyeing Milla’s goosepimpled skin as she slumped in Oleg’s arms in her underwear. “There is a God in heaven who’s watching everything you do,” Milla told Mircea in a weak voice. Mircea took the baseball bat from Dmitry, letting the hook fall to the ground with an ominous clatter. “A God who watches, but does nothing,” he retorted. “Hold her steady, out in front of you,” he told Oleg. Bewildered, Oleg shoved Milla in front of him. Mircea touched her face with the end of the bat, caressing it almost. “Do you know what your friends did to me?” he asked her. Milla swallowed hard, but said nothing. Her shoulder was turning a bright bluesish purple, and her arms hung limply by her side. “They used sorcery to give me pain.” Mircea tried to imagine the pain she was currently in form her broken collarbone, but it wasn’t enough to satisfy him. Dmitri picked up the hook from the floor in anticipation of being called on to use it. “They used their powers to give me pain, but they couldn’t kill me. So you have to ask yourself, Milla, how these people can help you?” Mircea let the bat drop off her face. “What did you have to do to get them to hurt me, Milla?” He bumped her chin with the bat lightly. “Nothing!” Milla hissed. Mircea chuckled. “No kopek for the alms box? No little favour for the priest?” “They’re not dirty, like you!” Milla cried. Dmitri moved forward, menacingly, but Mircea waved him away. “I’m dirty” Mircea echoed mockingly. He dropped the bat from Milla’s face. “I can keep my hands off little kids. I don’t swear chastity to everyone and keep my own little harem of altar boys! Are you sure you want to go to these people, Milla?” “They’re not like that!” Milla insisted. “They’re good men.” “Good men who use black magic,” Mircea countered. “That’s God punishing you!” Mircea laughed at her. “Well, I’m the one who’s going to punish you, my little tattle tale!” He grabbed the baseball bat with both hands, the idea being fully formed in his head now. “Hold her out at arms’ length,” he advised Oleg. Oleg complied immediately, pushing Milla forward as he cowered behind her, eyes tightly closed. “I’ll teach you to go crying to the Church!” Mircea thundered. With a small tight swing, Mircea brought the bat against Milla’s jawline. There was a horrible crunching sound, and teeth spurted from her mouth in a bloody arc. Not sure if he had done the kind of damage he wanted to do, Mircea swung the bat again, coming down lower on Milla’s head. The jolt from the impact rocketed up Mircea’s arm, and Milla collapsed, screaming. Her whole face was misshapen, her bloody jaw hanging loose. Mircea nodded to himself, recognising the pain he’d felt two days ago in her wailing. Dmitri swore, turning his face away from her in disgust, and behind Milla, still holding her up, Oleg was crying. “That’s what your little friends did to me, Milla,” Mircea told her, keeping his eyes on the blood running down her vest. “I don’t have supernatural powers, so I had to do it to you the old-fashioned way, but you get the point.” He leaned in as close as he dared to her sobbing mess of a face, wrinkling his nose in the horrible smell of the fresh wound. “No one messes with my business. No one!” He threw the bat to the ground and turned away. He was going to instruct Oleg to take her to the nearest hospital, but he had a better idea. “Dump her on the front steps of that Church she likes so much,” he told Oleg. “Let them take care of her, if they are so concerned!” He noticed how the mess had gotten on to his clean shirt, but missed his jacket entirely. “Call me a taxi,” he ordered Dmitri, taking off his jacket so he could remove his filthy shirt. He stepped aside to let Oleg drag the moaning Milla out. It was hard to tell who was crying more, the wounded Milla or the snivelling Oleg. “Pull yourself together if you don’t want to end up like that!” Mircea snapped at the departing Oleg. Dmitri looked from Oleg to Mircea, grinning widely. It was easy to impress these people, Mircea realised. Going to the machines at the back of the room, Mircea dropped his shirt into a hamper of soiled sheets, thinking he might as well toss it into the rubbish bin. He wouldn’t come back to claim it. “Give me your shirt,” he said to Dmitri, knowing it would be miles too big, but he couldn’t be seen shirtless, like some rent boy. He had a reputation to keep up. I knew Cara would be difficult when it came to the idea of having her and Niamh over to my place for a dinner party with Kate, but I had no idea how difficult she would be, right from the suggestion.
“A dinner party at your place?” she mocked, when I brought it up in a phone call. “Your flat is tiny. You should have had it when you and Peter lived in that house. You had more than enough room then.” It’s been almost four years since we broke up, but Peter is still a sensitive subject for me. The ending of that relationship is why I went “religious” as Cara puts it; it was very painful to realise my long-term boyfriend had no intention of ever marrying me. After the years I had invested in that romance proved to be fruitless, and Peter admitted he didn’t really love me, I was gutted. I wasn’t suicidal, but I really didn’t see the point of living after we broke up and put the house we were sharing up for sale. If it hadn’t been for that nice estate agent inviting me to her church, I don’t know what would have become of me. Finding God got me through Peter leaving. I’m not superwoman – it hurts that Peter has since moved on, marrying someone else after only a year and a half of being with her. I do miss the house we used to have, but I like my flat. And it has plenty of space for a small dinner party, I point I made to Cara. “Still, why do you have to have a ‘dinner party’?” she asked. “Why not just to come round to our place for pizza, like you usually do?” I clenched my teeth, something I can do now without pain. “I want to have a dinner party so my friends can get to know one another,” I explained. “I know Kate, and Niamh is hardly your friend,” Cara said. I remembered how Kate thinks Cara is a bit shallow and giddy, too much like some of her students. But she doesn’t dislike her; she’s always encouraging me to invite Cara along to bible study. “I’m getting to know Niamh better, and I think she would like to get to know Kate,” I pressed on. “She’s very interested in the campaign I’m doing at work, and so is Kate. I thought it would be good to get all of you together.” “An evening of serious discussion with teacher?” Cara sneered. I winced. “Cara, why are you being so difficult?” I was inviting her over for a meal, not invasive surgery. “Last time we talked, you yelled at me for not doing enough for your campaign. It’s your job, not mine. You think they’re going to give you a Nobel Prize for your traffic light incantation?” Cara laughed derisively at me. Incantation? I felt as if I had been punched in the stomach. I listened to my sister laugh at me, tears welling in my eyes. I was tempted to hang up and go to bed to bury my face in my pillow, but I held firm. “Is Niamh there?” I asked in a tight voice. That surprised Cara; she stopped laughing. “Niamh? Why do you want to talk to her?” “I’d like to invite her myself. You’re still welcome to come, but I’d like to ask Niamh directly.” I liked the way my voice sounded calm and collected, even though I felt shattered. I was lucky to have had years of experience in being Cara’s older sister – how many times had I been forced to play the reasonable adult when she was in a strop? She usually saved her venomous remarks for our mother or oldest sister, Muiread; this was the first time that she’d turned on me, and I was a bit shaken. I was stung that she used my failed relationship to hurt me, but it was fair game. It had happened; I should have listened to my dad when he advised me against moving in with Peter. He used the clichéd “why buy the cow if you can get the milk for free?” argument, but he never said “I told you so!” after we broke up. All my family were incredibly supportive of me, even my brother David, whose friend Peter had been. Everyone avoided the subject, and now Cara was throwing it in my face. I took a deep breath and prayed silently. Please give me strength, Lord! “Lisa?” Cara had given the phone to Niamh, and I was so relieved to hear her voice I laughed. I cleared my throat, knowing I must have sounded mad. “Hi Niamh, it’s Lisa.” She knew that! I giggled nervously. “I wanted to invite you over for a dinner party…just you, me, Cara and a friend of mine.” If Cara still wanted to come! “You’d like my friend Kate…she’s very knowledgeable about sex trafficking…” What did that sound like? “I mean, she gives me lots of support for Athletes Against Exploitation. She knows her facts and figures, and she has great arguments…” I sounded like an idiot. Fortunately, Niamh understood what I was trying to do. “She sounds great,” she said encouragingly. “I have a late shift on Friday, but I have Saturday night off.” Niamh was a nurse. “Was that when you were thinking of having the party?” Actually, I had been thinking of Friday, but Kate probably could make Saturday. I had been thinking of going swimming at the gym on Saturday, but I would do that Friday instead. “Sure,” I said. “I’ll call Kate and see if she’s available.” “Okay, great. Shall I give you back to Cara?” I paused. Did I feel like talking to Cara? “No, I’ll talk to her when I’ve talked with Kate, and call back to set everything up.” I smiled brightly, even though I knew Niamh couldn’t see me. “Talk to you soon,” I promised, and hung up. I felt all right when I dialled Kate’s number, but the minute I started talking, I got choked up. “Lisa, are you all right?” Kate spoke into the silence. I’d gotten the “it’s me, Lisa” out before my voice failed me. “What’s wrong?” I cleared my throat. “It’s Cara…she said my flat is too small for a dinner party.” Kate was confused. “It’s not. And besides, why has that upset you so much?” My voice was really small. “She said I should have had it in the house I shared with Peter.” “Well, that wasn’t nice of her,” Kate declared in her teacher voice. I half-wondered if she was going to give Cara lines as punishment. 100 times, I will not mock my sister. “You’ve come a long way, but no one likes to be reminded of what we’ve lost. We all know you’re better off, but to have your sister say something like that-! Did she say nyah nyah as well?” “I shouldn’t get so upset-“ “Yes, you should. That was mean and spiteful, Lisa. Bringing up a past hurt like a major breakup out of nowhere is a terrible thing to do. It really tears a person down – I’ve see my students do it. One girl reduced her supposed friend to tears by bringing up the time she messed her pants in primary school. You hear “that’s why your boyfriend dumped you!” a thousand times in the school corridors, and it’s horrible.” Kate clicked her tongue in annoyance, and I could tell she wanted to give Cara detention, not just lines. “Look, kids do it because they feel bad, and they think by making someone else feel worse, they’ll feel better. So what’s got Cara so angry that she’s lashing out at you?” “She got upset that I told her she wasn’t doing enough to fight trafficking,” I admitted. “Who is?” Kate asked. “I mean, I know you are, and maybe she’s jealous of that.” “I guess we’re all surprised that Niamh is pretty vocal on the topic, too.” “Niamh?” Kate asked. “Cara’s flatmate. She and I never got on well before, but ever since they made those busts in America, she and I can talk. I had told her about the Red Light Prayer, and at the time she didn’t think much of it, but since they made those arrests in America, she’s really been into the topic. That’s why I want to have this dinner party, so you can meet her. You’re so much better with facts and figures than I am. I tried to tell her some of the things you’ve been telling me, and it came out all wrong.” I laughed at the memory. “Oh, so Cara doesn’t like you now getting on with the flatmate you used to have problems with?” Kate concluded. “Niamh was like Tommy’s difficult colleague,” I said. “My version, of course. She used to roll her eyes to heaven anytime I said anything about morality or God.” Kate grunted. “And I’ll bet Cara used to love that, pitting the two of you against each other.” She really didn’t have much of a good opinion of my little sister. “So now you and Niamh get along, and she’s the odd man out, so she resorts to stone throwing. She’s not very mature, this sister of yours, is she?” I felt defensive. “Now she’s not that bad-“ “Lisa, she practically had you in tears a minute ago! Everyone knows what a sore subject Peter is for you. You don’t pick on other people’s heartbreak.” She lowered her voice. “I know it’s a terrible thing to say, but sometimes I can’t help smiling when I hear no wonder he broke up with you being thrown back at a girl who said the same thing earlier. We tell the kids what goes around comes around, but they never believe it.” I thought of Peter and his wife. “Sometimes it doesn’t,” I said sadly. “Justice is in God’s hands,” Kate said firmly. “It wasn’t a good relationship. God has a better plan for you.” I hadn’t had a date in a year. “Sometimes I wonder about that,” I confessed. “You and me both, darlin’!” There was a pause as I thought things over. “Are you feeling better?” Kate asked gently. I was. “Yes…so can you do Saturday night? Niamh has to work on Friday, when I originally planned the dinner party.” “I had tentative plans with some colleagues, but they usually cry off as they can’t find babysitters.” Kate sighed. “If I didn’t face kids every day, I would envy them, but when I think about facing kids in the classroom and then coming home to face your own kids, and I don’t feel so bad.” I laughed. “No maternal instinct in you, then?” Kate laughed too. “No…hazard of the job, I think.” I thought about my colleagues, who were mostly a childless bunch. “I don’t think it’s teaching that turns you off…no one I know, outside my own family and some people in church, have kids. And I’m not just talking about the single people. I know plenty of people who are married and childless.” “Have you ever noticed how people judge people who don’t have kids?” Kate asked. “I mean, it’s one thing if you’re single…I always think they suspect you’re gay. But if you’re married and don’t have children, it’s like something must be wrong…you’ve done something wrong.” I overheard Sheila once talking about that over lunch. She pointed out how people tend to look down on women who have put their careers ahead of family plans. “My boss was talking about that. How women are judged by their fertility…they’re supposed to have kids, and when they don’t, it’s because they’re selfish or defective in some way.” “Defective?” Kate parroted. “Her words,” I said. “She said a woman’s personal life is always fair game…no one ever berates a man for not having children.” “Probably because he could have children no one knows about,” Kate sniggered. “Well, no one believes in a paternal instinct,” I pointed out. “I do,” Kate insisted. “But you’re right. If we get married in our old age, we’re supposed to rush right out and have babies, before our biological clock tick out. No time for us to enjoy married life, just reproduce!” I’m older than Kate. What she said stung – that was my big worry when Peter and I broke up, when I was 32. I’d wasted 5 years of my life in that relationship…would I have time to find someone else before my childbearing years were up? “I’ve upset you again,” Kate deduced by my silence. “I can hear you fretting over being single. God has a plan for us, Lisa. My great-grandmother didn’t marry until she was forty, and that was in the 1920’s, when there weren’t a lot of men to go around in the first place, particularly in England!” I scoffed. “But your grandmother made up for that! Wasn’t she barely 18 when she had your mother?” “The war rushed things. But seeing her mother struggle as a widow with a child made my mother wait. She took her time, getting qualified as a teacher and moving to Ireland. She was thirty-one when she had my oldest brother, which was unheard of in the late 1960’s. My mother’s a great support for us long-term singles.” It was true – the people in Kate’s family married late, if at all. Her oldest brother was still single at 41, and her other brothers and sister had married in their thirties. “We’re still young, Lisa. And if we don’t marry, then God has something else for us. Your boss is right. Women are judged by their fertility, and it’s not fair. Every parent-teacher conference day I think about how some people weren’t meant to be parents!” I laughed a little, but I was still worried. Worried about still not having anyone, and worried about my relationship with my sister. “Kate…what am I going to do?” She sounded confused. “About what?” I wasn’t so sure myself. I decided to focus on the most pressing thing on my mind. “Cara,” I decided. “What am I going to do about Cara?” “Love her,” Kate said. “Let her know that it’s not okay to pick on you, but let her know that you love her.” I smiled. “I have to invite her to the dinner party. Again.” I said good-bye to Kate, and dialled Cara’s number. |