Chapter 6: Newspeak

BRINKMANSHIP

Neena Alexandrovna to Svetlana Nikitechna

Electronic AudioMemo: Re: Vyera: Language Tuition, Stage 1

I am taken from my cell, back to the interrogation room but this time, the only one there apart from me is my abductor, the girl Neena.

She looks up as I am brought in. She smiles. I really hate her when she smiles. She motions me to sit at the table. There doesn't seem to be any reason why I should not. I look at her steadily. I want her to be quite clear about how I feel. I want her to know how angry I am, at what she has done to me.

As I sit to face her, I have my first really good look at my abductor. Its just her and me. There are no distractions from the bustle of a street in London or the terror and fatigue of the interrogation they put me through. She is a little shorter than me. Very pale blond hair, pale grey eyes, slightly prominent cheek bones and lips full and lips everted just a touch. In another place and at another time, I might find her lips very inviting. Very kissable. But now she holds no sexual attraction for me. When she has spoken – after she had cold water poured over me – I noticed she has straight white teeth and a little midline gap. The sort of person who has a broad smile. She reminds me slightly of Maria Sharapova, the tennis player – there's the same rather determined look, the same air of someone convinced she can better whoever she choses.

On the table there are some plain white index cards, a pencil and two books. One has large funny-looking letters printed in it. The other is a picture book (1). On the cover it has cartoons of small children with words beneath each picture – pictures of The Kitchen, The Hall, The Garden, The Shop and so on. It's the sort of book you might use with a young child learning to read. Neena also has what looks like an "audio wand" such as you get at a Museum, to guide you around the exhibits.

I gaze steadily at Vyera. There is clearly a lot of work to do with her. Vyera should learn quickly, given her abilities but of course there will be obstacles. Nevertheless, she has made a very good impression on me over the past few days, during her interviews

She is an attractive specimen. She - of course – does not have the usual Slavic facial features and she looks different perhaps just a little exotic. She is a few centimeters taller than I am which means she has to look down just a little when I speak to her. Slaves should get used to glancing down and not looking at their Owners or Superiors in the eye! She has an attractive face with a very attractive head. Being shaven really suites her. Her ears are well formed but quite small and sit neat and parallel to her skull. She has attractive straight teeth and a strong chin. It's not quite an English face and not quite a 'Baltic' face, either. I think it's her pale green eyes which mark her out? Somewhere in between. Her genetics, no doubt. It's always a pleasure to work with attractive material and she is definitely attractive. For a moment my mind strays to an image of Vyera spread out on my bed. Tied in position. On display. She will be such a tasty girl to play with especially when she has accepted her fate...

However, I have to push these interesting prospects to one side. It is time to begin and I intend to begin with a lesson about names

The girl Neena begins the lesson or what ever it is we are supposed to be doing but she keeps muttering into a small dictating machine. It's so rude! Does she want to talk to me or doesn't she? If I could, I would just get up and walk out. But I am too tired and frightened to do anything of the sort – and where would I go? Finally, she decides to pay me some direct attention.

"Ah, Vyerka!" (2) she begins. I'm confused. I thought she was calling me "Vyera" but perhaps I misheard. "It's time you began to learn something of your new language. We will start with your name. Your full name is Vyera Anatolyevna Kuznetsova. Do you understand?" She looks at me getting no response but not appearing worried by it. "There is a problem though. Vyera is an adult name and you are a slave, so we need something else." None of this makes any sense but perhaps it is the least absurd feature of my life here. "We will call you Vyerochka, which is the child's version of Vyera, like 'little Vyera' do you see?"

I'm now beyond mere anger at the patronising way she is speaking to me. How dare she talki to me this way, How dare she say I'm no more than a child. I should be back at work, writing my PhD. She's talking to me as if I was at Primary School.

But it gets worse. Neena hasn't finished. "Now, if you have done good work and we are pleased with you, we will call you Vyerochka. This is right for a good child or a good slave but it's not good for slaves to be praised too often. They forget their place, forget that they are," she almost spits it out, "owned. It would not be good for that to happen would it?" She isn't in the least interested in my reply. "So we will use Vyerka, which is the right form for your name in these circumstances. Never Vyera, sometimes Vyerochka but mostly Vyerka. It almost rhymes with the English word 'worker' - which is what you are going to be, for the rest of your life. So, Vyerka, I want you to make notes on these cards and learn the words in this book and learn these words from this book. Each word in this book has a number and when you enter the number on the wand, you will hear me say the word for you. Do you understand?"

I make no attempt to hide my feelings. They must be clearly visible in my face.

She doesn't respond; she just raises one eyebrow in reply. Then: "Do you understand?" she begins.

"Understand?" I snap back. The anger coursing through me is the perfect antidote to the fears that Neena and her male colleague stirred up in me yesterday. "Look - let me tell you, you can not do this! You just cannot do this! I will be missed. When I don't turn up at work people will come looking for me. The police will be sent for and when the police find me, they will find you!"

Neena leans back in her chair and regards me with a half smile playing on her lips and starts speaking into her blasted dictating machine again.

The interrogation has taken its toll but I can see the anger and defiance clearly written on our little slave's face and she is still ready to put up a fight.

I find her resilience surprising. It is hard to imagine a young woman, naked and bald, behaving as bravely as Vyera does. Her whole manner reinforces Anatoly Sergeyevich's (3) view of her, which I feel absolutely sure, is not what Vyera intends! I sit quietly listening to her rants. There is no point in interrupting. She spoke bravely but her words show that she still completely misunderstands her situation. After a monent's reflection, I feel rather pleased. I could have some fun. I look at Vyera carefully. There is quite a stubble on her head. I recall our intention to have all her body hair lasered off. I wonder how she will reconcile herself to that?

"Hmmm?" is all she says finally chooses to speak to me. She doesn't contradict me, doesn't argue, she just leans forward, holding my eyes with hers and asks, "Little rabinya Vyerka, just where do you think you are?"

I hadn't really thought about it, until she asked. Where I am is about the walls and the doors. I haven't been thinking about the world outside.

"Where do I think I am? I don't know. London, I suppose or somewhere near there."

"So, little slave Vyerka thinks she is in London?"

And now at last my spirits soar! She has made a mistake! She has got a word wrong. She – and all the rest of them - are pretending to be Russians and they have got a Russian word wrong!

"Yes. You are holding me in London or somewhere near there and by the way, now I know, I know absolutely for sure, that this is all some form of pretence, because the word for slave in Russian is 'sluzhanka', not ... not that other word you said.

"Rabinya?"

"Yes: the Russian for slave is 'sluzhanka': Ylena Zhukova told me. And she really is Russian. She told me"

Vyera had begun to threaten me with the possibility of a rescue by the British police so I asked her to tell me where she thought she was. In her opinion, she is being held near London! Her remark shows how disorienting her treatment has been. Even though everything is so alien Vyera is hanging on to the idea that she must be somewhere near home. It's perfect, I thought. She is completely out of touch with the reality of the situation. And, if that was not enough, she is unaware of the true meaning of 'sluzhanka'. Wonderful!

"I see," she turns towards me and continues, slowly. "That is understandable but wrong. On two counts. First, words. Sluzhanka means servant. That is appropriate for consensual games, I suppose." She looks as one who is genuinely considering the point; as though she had not reflected on the matter before. Then she puts the thought to one side as interesting but in the context of now, irrelevant. "But this is not a consensual game anymore. This is reality. Reality needs the real word. The real word in Russian for a female slave is Rabinya. You are now rabinya." The word is bluntly spat out. It sounds like a bluntly efficient word, a stark and bleak word. It lacks the smoother, more sensual sound of sluzhanka. She is obviously pleased to disillusion me.

"Second, geography. You are not in London. Nowhere even near London, as you would realise at once if you went outside to see for yourself."

"Well how can I go outside when you keep me locked in here?"

I see her pause for a moment. I can tell that she thinks me naive. It's as though she's waiting to turn every word I utter against me; like some sort of judo fighter sparring with their opponent, tempting them into a false move, ready to use an opponent's strength and weight against them.

Neena calls out to the air: "Open the cell door and the outside door."

There is a mechanical click from the cell door in reply.

"Vyerka..."

"My name is Jenny and I would prefer Mrs McEwan from you."

"Of course." Neena nods understandingly but ignores my request, the irritating, patronising smile still playing on her lips. "Vyerka, why don't you go outside and see for yourself? You will find the doors open. Go into the corridor, turn right, walk through two other doors and turn left through the door into the garden..."

I look back at her in disbelief. I can't imagine why she is letting me do this. The idea of something other than these four walls distracts me from the fact that I am still naked, just as I have been for the whole time I have been here.

I can see that Neena is enjoying the way that I'm still seething with rage, still trying to hold on to my name. It's hard to tell what she really thinks though, what she is really trying to achieve.

As I stand up uncertainly, Neena says. "Oh, you will need something on your feet. What size do you take?"

"What? Er, 40, European."

"Good. So do I. Borrow my clogs. Here."

Walk a mile in your opponent's shoes, they say. Well that is exactly what I will do. Walk to freedom in the shoes of my enemy. The girl Neena slips her feet out of a pair of bright pink wooden slip-on clogs and pushes them towards me across the cell floor.

I am momentarily taken aback by her easy suggestion that I should just walk away from them. Where is the trap? Perhaps they have got what they really want from me and they are going to let me run away whilst they all make their getaways too?

I stand, not sure what to do next; held captive by indecision as I have been by the walls and doors. I catch sight of Neena. She seems to be looking at me almost sympathetically as I put my feet into her clogs and turn towards the door.

"Vyerka?"

I pause again. Held by the sound of this strange new name she calls me by. I turn to look at her. I am hoping it will be for the last time.