No-Limit-Rooms 08 Nadia English

The Milk Bar

Nadia

When I woke up, I didn't know where I was or how I got here. I heard a baby crying. Obviously I was in a hospital bed, but it certainly wasn't a modern hospital room as I knew it.

The room, which is the only way I can describe it, had 10 beds. There were movable cloth partitions that could be pushed between the beds, but none of the beds were screened in this way.

Four beds were occupied, all by relatively young women. Now I realized why the sound of babies had awakened me, because there was a crib next to each of the beds and two women were breastfeeding their babies.

There was a cannula in my left arm, leading to an IV. I tried to sit up but was strangely too weak. I also felt empty, and at the same time my breasts hurt. With difficulty I lifted the blanket with my right arm and looked down at myself. My clothes were obviously a light blue hospital gown. Confused, I looked at the damp spots on my gown where my nipples were.

"Ah, Nadezhda, you're awake. How are you feeling? Do you want to breastfeed now? I'll bring your daughter to you right away!"

Nadezhda? The name meant nothing to me. My name was ...? And the nurse had spoken to me in Russian. But I wasn't Russian, was I? Or was I?

The woman was still standing next to me, smiling, but now her expression seemed worried.

"Nadezhda, are you okay?"

Unable to answer, I shook my head. What was going on here? Who was I? Where was I? Why did I have a daughter?

I struggled to get some words out.

"Excuse me, but I don't remember anything! I don't know who or where I am!"

The smile disappeared from the nurse's face.

"Wait, I'll get the doctor."

As the nurse rushed out of the room, I looked into the curious eyes of my roommates.

It wasn't long before the nurse returned with a man in a doctor's coat. He looked to be about 50 years old, clean shaven, his hair slightly gray.

"Good morning! I'm Dr. Valashenko. Anastasia here told me you were having problems?"

"Good morning, Doctor! Yes, I don't remember anything. Not my name, not where I am. Not even a pregnancy, not even a birth!"

He looked at a clipboard the nurse handed him and read for a moment with a furrowed brow. Then his features relaxed and he began to smile in a friendly manner.

"Her name is Nadezhda Tolstaya. Do you remember her?"

I listened to myself. No, the name didn't mean anything to me. It was completely foreign to me.

"No!" I answered with increasing desperation.

"Hm, do you remember anything else? What is the name of our president?"

President? Which president did he mean? The Federal President?

What was his name again?

"Joachim Gauck?"

Walaschenko looked at me in complete surprise.

"Are you from Germany?"

"Germany? I have no idea. Why?"

"Joachim Gauck, that's a German name! Besides, you speak Russian quite well, but not without an accent."

After a short hesitation, he added in German, "Guten Tag, do you understand me?"

Confused, I nodded.

"Yes, I understood. So I'm from Germany? Where am I here?"

"You are here in the Ul'Yanka Polyclinic."

When I still looked questioningly, he added, "A suburb of St. Petersburg, Russia."

A map of Europe flashed in my mind's eye. It was a large school map hanging in a classroom. St. Petersburg was a large Russian city on the Baltic Sea. Then the image disappeared from my mind as quickly as it had appeared.

I shook my head slowly again.

"The name St. Petersburg means something to me, but I don't remember living here.

Suddenly it clicked in my head. Russia! He must mean the Russian president!

"By president, you mean Putin?"

He confirmed my answer with a nod and a smile.

"That's right! You don't seem to have lost all your memories!"

Now my despair turned to anger.

"Doctor, I finally want to know what happened to me!"

"Of course! Yesterday, you gave birth to a healthy daughter. However, there were complications. It was an unusually difficult delivery. I'm afraid you may have suffered from birth trauma."

Birth trauma? A daughter? I was even more confused than before. If I had given birth to a daughter, how could I forget?

Wait, who was the father?

My head was filled with questions.

Valashenko waited patiently until I looked back at him.

"Doctor, what does this mean?"

"First of all, don't worry! It happens occasionally, though rarely. You may have been under tremendous stress before. Combined with the difficult birth, your mind became disconnected. A protective reaction of the brain. I am not a psychiatrist, but from experience I can assure you that such a state does not usually last long. You will most likely regain your memories soon."

"Soon? How soon? And what do you mean by most likely?"

"Well, in very rare cases it happens that the memory is permanently damaged."

I looked at him in horror.

"But don't worry: that shouldn't be the case for you. I'm sure you'll be able to remember everything again in a few days at the latest!"

"And if not?"

"Don't worry about it! Don't try to force yourself to remember! You had no oxygen deprivation during birth, so all your memories are still there. It is your mind itself that has locked them in. Your memories will undoubtedly return. This rarely takes more than a few hours. In rare cases even days. Only if it lasts a few weeks is there cause for concern. I will now call your friend who admitted you. It's possible that your memory will return as soon as you see a familiar face."

His words calmed me down a little.

But now I remembered my aching breasts.

"Doctor, my breasts hurt so much."

"It's nothing bad! Nurse, can you come here?"

The nurse approached in a hurry.

"Doctor?"

"Bring our patient her daughter!"

"Right away!"

With that, she hurried away again, while he turned back to me.

"Your sore breasts are absolutely nothing to worry about. You have a milk surge. You need to breastfeed!"

"I'll check on you again tomorrow. Take care, Nadezhda!"

Still completely confused, I nodded: "Thank you, doctor!"

Less than five minutes later, the nurse pushed a crib into the room. From it, she took out a small, cuddly baby, who tried to understand what was happening with blind eyes.

My daughter was no different to me. She was carefully placed in my arms, then the nurse straightened my bed so that I was sitting upright.

Completely absorbed, I stared at the little face, saw the little nose, the eyes, smelled the baby's scent and suddenly began to cry unrestrainedly. I couldn't even say why, because all of a sudden I felt happy. When I tried to breastfeed my baby with the help and explanation of my sister, to the amazement of both of us, the milk shot out and into the face of the little worm, which immediately started to cry.

"That's unusual. You already have a child?"

I shook my head in amazement.

"Not that I know of."

"That's not going to work. You'll drown your baby!"

With these words, she took my violently protesting daughter from me and put her back in the crib.

"You're like a dairy cow. That will be good later, your daughter will have plenty to drink. But not now. We have to pump!"

She disappeared from the room, only to return a few minutes later with two small breast pumps and a feeding bottle.

"Put these on and pump away, I'll take the little one next door, where she'll get a bottle and then be changed straight away. I'll show you how it all works this afternoon."

With these words, she took my daughter out of the crib and left the room again.

I looked at the two devices in my hand, somewhat perplexed.

My bed neighbor spoke to me.

"Wait, let me help you, I already know them!"

She stood up and came over to me.

"My name is Lenia, hello, I understand you're from Germany, what brings you here to St. Petersburg?"

I shook my head slowly.

"I have no idea. I can't even remember my name. The doctor said I had birth trauma and temporary amnesia."

She looked surprised.

"You don't remember anything at all?"

"No."

Her look betrayed disbelief.

"Well then, let's not talk."

Hurt, I bit my lower lip. The whole thing sounded so unbelievable, even to my ears.

A little gruffly, she showed me how to put on and switch on the breast pumps. Then she lay down in her bed and ignored me.

"Thank you!" I said anyway.

When I switched the devices on, they immediately began to suck vigorously. I involuntarily moaned out loud because the suction was intense, but also incredibly pleasurable. I could feel the blood rushing to my face because I was actually getting sexually aroused and that was mega embarrassing.

A woman in the bed opposite seemed to notice and started to giggle, but didn't say anything, just winked at me.

Embarrassed, I turned away and tried to think of something absolutely revolting. I actually succeeded and my arousal subsided, although the sucking sensation remained pleasant for me. At the moment, it felt more like a massage.

After a while, the nurse came back and looked at me.

"You're still supplying milk! Are you sure you don't have another child that you're still breastfeeding?"

"I don't know!"

"Well, whatever. You have too much milk. You'll have to express it. If you keep pumping, you'll keep producing so much milk."

At these words she switched off the now almost completely full breast pumps and took them from me.

"Hm, a lot of milk. Mind if they have other children too? A mother has no milk yet."

"Um, no, I'd love to!"

"Good!"

She disappeared with the jars and the pumps while I put tissues on my nipples and pulled my gown back up.

* * *

Lenia didn't speak to me later either, but I did have a brief conversation with the other women who had also been listening. Lina and Kalinka were very young women, not even 20 years old. Yet they were already married. I learned that Russian women married early if they wanted children. There was also a bonus from the state as soon as the second child was born. Almost an average Russian annual salary. So couples who wanted to buy an apartment made sure that the second child came as soon as possible.

These two girls believed my amnesia and therefore didn't ask me about my story or what it was like in Germany.

When visiting time arrived, our conversations ended. Now the fathers were allowed to visit the mothers and their children. Even in the room. This hospital was very progressive, as I learned in passing. In other hospitals, you had to meet in the stairwell and visitors were not allowed in the wards.

Since Dr. Walaschenko had talked about calling my friend, I was very tense inside and curious to see if I had a visitor too. And what he looked like. Who was the father of my child?

Shortly after 2 p.m., a well-dressed man in a suit entered the hospital room, looked around and then headed purposefully towards me. He looked to be about 40 years old, had a goatee and piercing, dark eyes. His mouth played around a smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. I instinctively shivered.

"Ah, Nadezhda, you're fine. I was already worried yesterday. But everything is fine now."

He leaned over me and gave me the usual Russian kiss on the cheek as a greeting, which I accepted with confusion.

I looked at him thoughtfully. Had I seen him before? But as hard as I tried, I couldn't remember anything before I woke up today.

"Excuse me, do I know you?"

The man looked uncertain for a moment, then he started to laugh briefly, as if I had made a surprising joke.

"Sorry, the doc already said that you have a temporary memory lapse. But that you don't recognize me ..."

Now he looked at me very attentively and thoughtfully.

"You can't remember anything at all?"

"No. Not even my name!"

"Then let me help you. Your real name is Nadine Zamora and you're German. And I am Yuri. You've been living with me for almost six months."

"Then you're not the father of my daughter?" I concluded razor-sharp.

His gaze turned strange, the corner of his mouth twisted again into the hint of a smile, as if he was inwardly amused by me.

"No, that's not me. Your daughter's father is dead."

"Oh," was all I could think of at the moment. I felt a faint regret, but no pain. Still no trace of a memory.

I scrutinized him carefully. I assessed whether he was perhaps my lover. He was undoubtedly male, had a strong chin, was slim and had very well-groomed, but also very strong hands, on which two golden rings shone. His muscles were clearly visible under his shirt. This man did weight training, but did not work with his hands. The suit didn't look cheap.

Now I could see part of a tattoo on his neck, a snake by the look of it.

No, he didn't look repulsive, but he didn't seem to be my taste either, quite apart from the fact that he was at least 15 years older than me.

"Are you my ... friend?"

"You mean, are we lovers? No. More like business partners."

"Business partner?" I didn't understand what he could mean by that.

"You work for me!" he declared.

"As what?"

Now he thought for a moment, then he answered.

"Well, in Germany they probably call that a 'girl for everything'!"

"Oh, so as an assistant?"

"Yes, exactly, as an assistant."

A strange smile played around the corners of his mouth again.

"But enough chatting. I have to get going again, the stores are calling. I'll pick you up the day after tomorrow. Have a good rest."

Once again he leaned forward to kiss me goodbye, but close to my ear he whispered: "I have no idea if you really don't remember. But if your memory comes back, don't tell anyone who you really are if you value your life and your freedom! "

I was shocked to see his smiling face as he stood up and kissed me goodbye.

Then he turned around and walked purposefully to the exit without looking back.

Now I had goose bumps. Whatever I did for him, I probably wasn't his assistant. But I refused to think about the other possible meanings of the term 'girl for everything'. No, not at all, never!

As tired and exhausted as I still was, I was no longer able to rest.

After Yuri's visit, I noticed a change in the behavior of both the other mothers and the sisters. Whenever they thought I didn't notice, they whispered, looking bashfully in my direction. I couldn't understand what they were saying, but none of them spoke to me either. Even the nurses only spoke the bare minimum to me. The open friendliness of the first few hours was gone. And the doctor hardly spoke more than ten words to me during the ward round. Something wasn't right, not to mention the fact that I didn't get a hint of a memory back for the next two days. Not even in my dreams, because I slept dreamlessly.

On Friday, I was given my discharge papers during the ward round and told that I could leave. A cab would be waiting for me downstairs to take me home.

When I asked about payment, I was told that everything had already been paid. So I was dismissed.

All the other women in the room who had been there when I woke up had already left. The women who were now in the room were either about to give birth or had just given birth. I didn't know them, so I just shouted a quick 'goodbye' to the room and walked down to the lobby in a dress that was far too loose and sneakers, with my child in my arms.

A relatively young man was obviously waiting for me there, because he approached me straight away.

"Are you Nadezhda? Yuri sent me to pick you up."

"Yes, that's what they call me. Where are you supposed to take me?"

"Well, to your apartment in the club!"

Club? What kind of club? My fears rose up inside me again.

"You'll have to forgive me, but I've lost my memory. What kind of club is this? A brothel?"

His face, which had just been smiling in a friendly manner, suddenly turned serious.

"Yuri already said that you could cause trouble. You just come with us now and don't make a scene. He'll tell you everything as soon as we get there and he has time for you. Now come on."

He tried to grab my arm, but I instinctively took a step back. The porter at reception noticed us and looked curiously.

"Look out, Nadezhda, you have no papers, no money and you're here in Russia illegally. You can't go anywhere. And if you run to the police, they'll lock you up because you've broken our laws. You fled Germany because you killed someone. And there's an international search for you. That's what Yuri wants me to tell you, in case you bitch. He'll tell you the rest. And no, the club is not a brothel. Brothels are illegal in Russia. It's a private club with a bar where you work as a waitress."

Completely shocked, I looked at him. I was a wanted murderer? What was that nonsense? Who had I killed? Yuri's reaction to my question as to whether he was the father came back to me, as did his answer: 'No, the father is dead!

Without resistance, I allowed myself to be taken by the arm and led outside. It was a warm summer's day and the concrete on the street was already hot. In the parking lot, the man led me to a cab, where I sat in the back with my daughter while he took a seat in the driver's seat.

Although I had a thousand questions running through my head, I remained silent throughout the journey. Instead, I tried to orient myself as to where I was and where we were going. In case I had to ask the police for help.

Obviously, we left the city and drove out into the surrounding countryside. Residential development diminished, factories lined the road before they too became fewer. After about 30 minutes, we left the main road and took a rather bad road to a small birch grove. There, just behind the first trees, we came to a closed metal gate a good 3 meters high. When we arrived in front of the gate, the driver honked the horn three times and after less than a minute the gate opened automatically. As we drove through, I saw that the gate was part of an equally high wire fence with barbed wire on top, which obviously secured the area. What kind of bar would need such protection? After about 200 meters, we came to a brick building with a large parking lot in front of it.

When we pulled into the parking lot, my worst fears were confirmed, as the name of the bar was Milk Bar. A huge sign of naked women's breasts, from which milk was obviously dripping into glasses, made it all too clear that there was more going on here than the usual drinks.

"So," said the driver as he switched off the engine and turned to me. Welcome to your new, old workplace. Be friendly to the customers and we'll both benefit. I'll drive more customers and you'll get more tips. Come on, get out, end of the line!"

"Please drive me away from here, please! I'm scared!" I begged the driver.

But he just shook his head.

"Girl, I'm supposed to drop you off here. Sort it out with Yuri, I have to get back to work. So get out!"

When I didn't get out immediately, he yanked open his door, came to my door, opened it and dragged me and my baby out. Then he threw the back door shut, got back behind the wheel and drove off, leaving me coughing in a cloud of dust.

I tried as best I could to shield my daughter from the dust. She had just woken up again and let out a quiet protest. Then she sneezed and looked surprised for a moment before she started to scream.

* * *

The milk bar

With the crying baby in my arms, I stood forlornly in front of the bar. I looked at the building with both curiosity and fear. I searched my memory to see if any of it looked familiar. But there was nothing. There were three cars in the parking lot, two black Mercedes and a dark blue car that was probably Russian.

The main entrance consisted of a heavy double door made of black lacquered wood. There were no other entrances at the front. To the left of the entrance I saw a row of windows, to the right the window openings were bricked up, I could still make out where the window sills were. The floor above had windows everywhere. But all the windows I saw, including those on the second floor, were barred.