Nameless was first published by Ginosko Literary Journal in February 2018.
Nameless
The light of the early morning lets me know we’re finally safe for a few hours. As the sun rises, the world I left home for beckons me through the window, but we’re both trapped in here. Two girls – unseen by the people of Amsterdam – still praying for the freedom we were once promised.
When we first arrived in this place, my head was full of stories – whispers of the new world just waiting for me here in Holland. They were left there by a man, a man who appeared at my old home one day, like a shadow in the morning light, who said he could spirit me away. My mother was worried and afraid, but since my father had died, she couldn’t take care of all her children anymore – she thought the eldest would have a better life abroad. She was wrong.
The man offered my mother some money and promised that I would earn even more once I was settled in my new life. When she asked what I’d be doing, he replied, “Hostess work in a nightclub.”
I wasn’t sure what that meant at the time, but my mother seemed pleased with it. I was asked to leave the room – to go and see to my brother and sisters – while the adults continued to talk about what the future held for me.
I still don’t blame my mother for what happened, she wanted what was best for me, and I wanted what was best for my family. When the devil talks only of light and hope, you don’t try and look for the darkness hidden in his words.
So I was taken away, my mother gave up my passport and I travelled with the man to Sofia. The journey was a long one and I was left in the back of the car with nothing to eat or drink. All I could do was stare out of the window as the world I knew drifted away…
The man never told me his name, and stopped talking to me once we were about an hour away from my village. I wanted to go back, but I had no idea how I could…I was trapped and I always would be from that moment forward.
We remained in Sofia for a few days; I was kept in a small, dark room with two other women. The one seemed excited about her new life and kept a smile on her face the whole time we were together. The other girl appeared as afraid as I was – staying in the corner of the room and whispering to herself quietly. None of us ever spoke to each other. My only comfort came in the prayers my father had taught me, and I constantly found my lips forming soundless words to free my soul from where I was, even if my body would have to stay there.
Eventually, a different man came to see me and told me all my documents were ready, and that we would leave for Amsterdam in the morning. The other girls seemed jealous of me, but they still said nothing. I was the first of them to leave.
I don’t remember much of the journey from there – I was still afraid, but part of me truly believed I would be leading a better life in this new country. More importantly, I thought I’d be able to send money back home to my family, so that they could share my success, too.
Everything I hoped for evaporated once I finally saw where I’d be staying. It was a horrible, dirty place – a building hidden in a backstreet – as if the city itself wanted to forget it was there. The man who had driven me to this place opened the backdoor of the car and quickly led me inside.
The hall we entered was full of smoke and the stench of sweat hung in the air like a bad memory. A woman in a long fur coat came over to see me, and asked if I knew what work I would be doing there. I answered that I did, but that I hadn’t been trained as a hostess and slowly admitted I wasn’t sure what exactly what I’d have to do…
The woman’s mouth curled into a smile and she waved the man behind me away. I felt safe with her for some reason, and the way she slid her arm around my neck made me feel at home for the first time since I’d left my village. My mother often wore an old fur coat, and the way this woman’s sleeve embraced me was like being back in my mother’s arms…if only for a moment.
“I have a man here to see you,” the woman said softly in my ear. “He wants to spend some time with you, alone.”
I glanced up at her and my trust began to crumple away, there was a look in her eyes as if she were examining a pig for slaughter.
“Don’t be frightened, sweet one,” she whispered, before lifting my face up to hers. “He’s a kind man, a friend of mine, you’ll be safe with him.”
I let the woman lead me into one of the backrooms of the club. It was made up like a bedroom and a short man was already sitting on the bed when we arrived. The woman and man began talking in a language I didn’t understand, but both of them were laughing a lot. It seemed to me that they really were good friends.
The woman finally removed her arm from around my shoulders and instead led me by the hand towards the man on the bed. She crouched down a little and tried to put my hand on his leg – I pulled it away immediately and ran to leave the room. She grabbed my wrist and slapped me across the face.
“Do you have any idea how much you owe us?” she shouted in Bulgarian, before turning to the man and talking quickly in her own language. She looked back at me and her voice took on a much quieter, darker tone. “You have the passport, the visa, staying here with us! So much to pay off…”
I shook my head violently and tried to make for the door again. The woman twisted my wrist so hard I thought it would snap in two. I fell to the floor in pain and she pushed me back towards the man.
My face lay almost in his lap and she applauded me wildly. “Now you have the right idea!” she snorted. “Please him and you please us.”
The woman said something again to the man before turning on her heel and leaving the room. I was left completely alone with this stranger, bent on my knees before him, his eyes hungry like the stray dogs of my village – a hunger I knew could never be satisfied. He would always want more.
I couldn’t understand anything he said to me, but he made himself clear by the way he pushed and pulled me about. He would snarl something at me through gritted teeth, his breath hot on my face and neck, and all I could do was focus on the door. I was just waiting for the handle to turn, for my family to burst through and rescue me from this inferno I had found myself in.
My father used to read the bible to me before he died. Whenever he would describe hell, I always hid myself under the covers of my bed – but he would slowly pull down the sheet and assure me that no girl so sweet and innocent could ever end up in a place like that. He was wrong, too.
I never stopped looking at the door the whole time; I tried to study every inch of it to take my mind away from the pain.
The man left the room wordlessly after he’d finished, and for a brief moment I was completely alone.
It couldn’t last. It didn’t last, and the woman from before swiftly re-entered the room just moments later.
“It won’t always be so difficult,” she said, “if you don’t resist next time.”
The woman lifted me off the bed and set about making it up again – whilst I just stood there completely numb. Painfully, slowly, life started to return to my broken body and I grabbed my clothes to cover my shame. As I struggled to get dressed, I could see the woman was doing everything possible to avoid looking at me – as if somewhere buried deep inside of her there was something like shame for what she had let happen. As if looking at me and having to physically face the consequence of her cruelty would be too much – and shatter her fragile little world. I knew at that moment she was the biggest coward I had met so far.
Eventually, she ushered me upstairs and casually opened the door into another small room – the room that was to become my final prison. Another girl was already there, one much younger than me, seemingly asleep on a mattress in the corner of the room.
The woman pointed to the girl and whispered, “She’s from the same place as you, I arranged that.” I think that was intended as an act of kindness, another way for her to absolve herself of everything she had done…and all that she would do.
And that’s how I ended up here with Ivana. Here in this prison cell of a room overlooking the beautiful city of Amsterdam. A city whose bells chime every hour as if they’re trying to call us to freedom, as though they’re trying to tell us to keep the faith. Now is the between stage where we will be given food and water, a few hours where we don’t have to put our bodies through the burning agony of having strangers explore us – exploiting us like the shores of a foreign land. A few hours a day is all we have, and it’s never enough to close the wounds.
I hold Ivana’s hand tighter in my grasp and smile softly at her – the morning light faintly warm on our bodies. I haven’t got the energy to smile at her warmly like I used to. When I first met her, I would tell her everything would be all right, that it would all become easier. I’ve stopped saying that to her now, I know it won’t be.
Ivana never tells me the things she’s done since arriving here; she’s never once let a word of the past pass her lips. She’s focused on the future – on us – on the here and now. I try to manage her expectations and dreams, a girl so young should be able to hope for the world, but I have to gently stop her from running away from reality. I don’t mean to be cruel, but I know it’s kinder to protect her from shattered illusions. She truly believes that any day now we’ll be free, that this infinite debt we’re in will somehow be paid off – that our captors will let us go and wander the streets of Amsterdam and live the lives we were promised. I wish I had that kind of hope, but I don’t.
Though I have no faith in our captors, for as long as the city continues to cry out to us – I will dream of escape. Working in the dark is for the devil, so we must wait for the light to burn his eyes, for the city’s sweet music to ring in his ears – only when he is blind and deaf will we be able to slip away unnoticed. That is why each time the handle to our room turns I feel my heart leap, once it was always with the hope for some saviour. Now, it is with fear of who might lie behind it…
When we first arrived in this place, my head was full of stories – whispers of the new world just waiting for me here in Holland. They were left there by a man, a man who appeared at my old home one day, like a shadow in the morning light, who said he could spirit me away. My mother was worried and afraid, but since my father had died, she couldn’t take care of all her children anymore – she thought the eldest would have a better life abroad. She was wrong.
The man offered my mother some money and promised that I would earn even more once I was settled in my new life. When she asked what I’d be doing, he replied, “Hostess work in a nightclub.”
I wasn’t sure what that meant at the time, but my mother seemed pleased with it. I was asked to leave the room – to go and see to my brother and sisters – while the adults continued to talk about what the future held for me.
I still don’t blame my mother for what happened, she wanted what was best for me, and I wanted what was best for my family. When the devil talks only of light and hope, you don’t try and look for the darkness hidden in his words.
So I was taken away, my mother gave up my passport and I travelled with the man to Sofia. The journey was a long one and I was left in the back of the car with nothing to eat or drink. All I could do was stare out of the window as the world I knew drifted away…
The man never told me his name, and stopped talking to me once we were about an hour away from my village. I wanted to go back, but I had no idea how I could…I was trapped and I always would be from that moment forward.
We remained in Sofia for a few days; I was kept in a small, dark room with two other women. The one seemed excited about her new life and kept a smile on her face the whole time we were together. The other girl appeared as afraid as I was – staying in the corner of the room and whispering to herself quietly. None of us ever spoke to each other. My only comfort came in the prayers my father had taught me, and I constantly found my lips forming soundless words to free my soul from where I was, even if my body would have to stay there.
Eventually, a different man came to see me and told me all my documents were ready, and that we would leave for Amsterdam in the morning. The other girls seemed jealous of me, but they still said nothing. I was the first of them to leave.
I don’t remember much of the journey from there – I was still afraid, but part of me truly believed I would be leading a better life in this new country. More importantly, I thought I’d be able to send money back home to my family, so that they could share my success, too.
Everything I hoped for evaporated once I finally saw where I’d be staying. It was a horrible, dirty place – a building hidden in a backstreet – as if the city itself wanted to forget it was there. The man who had driven me to this place opened the backdoor of the car and quickly led me inside.
The hall we entered was full of smoke and the stench of sweat hung in the air like a bad memory. A woman in a long fur coat came over to see me, and asked if I knew what work I would be doing there. I answered that I did, but that I hadn’t been trained as a hostess and slowly admitted I wasn’t sure what exactly what I’d have to do…
The woman’s mouth curled into a smile and she waved the man behind me away. I felt safe with her for some reason, and the way she slid her arm around my neck made me feel at home for the first time since I’d left my village. My mother often wore an old fur coat, and the way this woman’s sleeve embraced me was like being back in my mother’s arms…if only for a moment.
“I have a man here to see you,” the woman said softly in my ear. “He wants to spend some time with you, alone.”
I glanced up at her and my trust began to crumple away, there was a look in her eyes as if she were examining a pig for slaughter.
“Don’t be frightened, sweet one,” she whispered, before lifting my face up to hers. “He’s a kind man, a friend of mine, you’ll be safe with him.”
I let the woman lead me into one of the backrooms of the club. It was made up like a bedroom and a short man was already sitting on the bed when we arrived. The woman and man began talking in a language I didn’t understand, but both of them were laughing a lot. It seemed to me that they really were good friends.
The woman finally removed her arm from around my shoulders and instead led me by the hand towards the man on the bed. She crouched down a little and tried to put my hand on his leg – I pulled it away immediately and ran to leave the room. She grabbed my wrist and slapped me across the face.
“Do you have any idea how much you owe us?” she shouted in Bulgarian, before turning to the man and talking quickly in her own language. She looked back at me and her voice took on a much quieter, darker tone. “You have the passport, the visa, staying here with us! So much to pay off…”
I shook my head violently and tried to make for the door again. The woman twisted my wrist so hard I thought it would snap in two. I fell to the floor in pain and she pushed me back towards the man.
My face lay almost in his lap and she applauded me wildly. “Now you have the right idea!” she snorted. “Please him and you please us.”
The woman said something again to the man before turning on her heel and leaving the room. I was left completely alone with this stranger, bent on my knees before him, his eyes hungry like the stray dogs of my village – a hunger I knew could never be satisfied. He would always want more.
I couldn’t understand anything he said to me, but he made himself clear by the way he pushed and pulled me about. He would snarl something at me through gritted teeth, his breath hot on my face and neck, and all I could do was focus on the door. I was just waiting for the handle to turn, for my family to burst through and rescue me from this inferno I had found myself in.
My father used to read the bible to me before he died. Whenever he would describe hell, I always hid myself under the covers of my bed – but he would slowly pull down the sheet and assure me that no girl so sweet and innocent could ever end up in a place like that. He was wrong, too.
I never stopped looking at the door the whole time; I tried to study every inch of it to take my mind away from the pain.
The man left the room wordlessly after he’d finished, and for a brief moment I was completely alone.
It couldn’t last. It didn’t last, and the woman from before swiftly re-entered the room just moments later.
“It won’t always be so difficult,” she said, “if you don’t resist next time.”
The woman lifted me off the bed and set about making it up again – whilst I just stood there completely numb. Painfully, slowly, life started to return to my broken body and I grabbed my clothes to cover my shame. As I struggled to get dressed, I could see the woman was doing everything possible to avoid looking at me – as if somewhere buried deep inside of her there was something like shame for what she had let happen. As if looking at me and having to physically face the consequence of her cruelty would be too much – and shatter her fragile little world. I knew at that moment she was the biggest coward I had met so far.
Eventually, she ushered me upstairs and casually opened the door into another small room – the room that was to become my final prison. Another girl was already there, one much younger than me, seemingly asleep on a mattress in the corner of the room.
The woman pointed to the girl and whispered, “She’s from the same place as you, I arranged that.” I think that was intended as an act of kindness, another way for her to absolve herself of everything she had done…and all that she would do.
And that’s how I ended up here with Ivana. Here in this prison cell of a room overlooking the beautiful city of Amsterdam. A city whose bells chime every hour as if they’re trying to call us to freedom, as though they’re trying to tell us to keep the faith. Now is the between stage where we will be given food and water, a few hours where we don’t have to put our bodies through the burning agony of having strangers explore us – exploiting us like the shores of a foreign land. A few hours a day is all we have, and it’s never enough to close the wounds.
I hold Ivana’s hand tighter in my grasp and smile softly at her – the morning light faintly warm on our bodies. I haven’t got the energy to smile at her warmly like I used to. When I first met her, I would tell her everything would be all right, that it would all become easier. I’ve stopped saying that to her now, I know it won’t be.
Ivana never tells me the things she’s done since arriving here; she’s never once let a word of the past pass her lips. She’s focused on the future – on us – on the here and now. I try to manage her expectations and dreams, a girl so young should be able to hope for the world, but I have to gently stop her from running away from reality. I don’t mean to be cruel, but I know it’s kinder to protect her from shattered illusions. She truly believes that any day now we’ll be free, that this infinite debt we’re in will somehow be paid off – that our captors will let us go and wander the streets of Amsterdam and live the lives we were promised. I wish I had that kind of hope, but I don’t.
Though I have no faith in our captors, for as long as the city continues to cry out to us – I will dream of escape. Working in the dark is for the devil, so we must wait for the light to burn his eyes, for the city’s sweet music to ring in his ears – only when he is blind and deaf will we be able to slip away unnoticed. That is why each time the handle to our room turns I feel my heart leap, once it was always with the hope for some saviour. Now, it is with fear of who might lie behind it…
