Human Traffic

She was a naïve fool. It took her a while to realise this, which made her an even bigger fool. She had always considered herself to be reasonably intelligent, though she had failed to get into university. But then, she could argue - and frequently did - there were so many young people trying to get good qualifications. It was the only way forward. Competition was intense and more failed than succeeded. Anya was such a one.

She was born in a rural area of Lithuania where jobs and money were scarce. A good education was the road out of the poverty trap, but that was easier said than done. Anya could dream of a better life, but dreams have a way of remaining obstinately elusive.

When she was 19, after the death of her mother, she decided to leave the small country town where she had been raised and head for the city of Vilnius, which was rapidly becoming a destination for western tourists. There was work to be had there, even if it was fairly menial and badly paid. At least in the city she would have a chance of bettering herself.

It took Anya a couple of days to find a job as a waitress in a café. It was not the kind of establishment frequented by tourists with money to burn. The customers were all workers from the nearby offices and factories. There were also some students from the university.

Lunchtime was always the busiest time of day, but even so Anya noticed Peter almost as soon as he walked in. Tall, dark and handsome is a cliché, but sometimes the cliché is true. So it was with Peter. He was blessed with the looks that make female hearts flutter and, even better, a natural wit and charm that made them sigh with longing for his attention.

He was not alone, but was the centre of a small mixed group of students. They were cheerful and a little noisy, but not enough to cause a disturbance. On that first occasion nothing more was said between him and the pretty, young waitress than the giving and taking of an order. Nevertheless, he smiled warmly at her and she blushed with pleasure.

The little group came into the café every day for a week at exactly the same time and Anya always contrived to serve them. The other two waitresses were much older and married; it would be such a waste for either of them to enjoy this brief contact with such a god. She knew it was silly and constantly scolded herself for such foolishness, but that was how she saw him; a god who could sweep her off her feet and take her to a better life.

It was on the third day of the second week that the pattern was broken. Peter came into the café alone. Also, it was past lunchtime. Anya had been devastated by his non-appearance. All his friends were there, but there was no sign of him. She felt like asking them what had happened to him, but was too embarrassed. But later, in the middle of the afternoon, he appeared and sat at a table by the window.

Anya went across to him and smiled. "Hello."

"Hi."

"You're late today."

"Yes," he sighed. "Job interviews."

"Are you leaving university?"

"Got to, I'm afraid. There's been a bit of a financial crisis at home and I can't mess around any longer. Have to earn money."

"I didn't think being educated at university was messing around."

He snorted. "Don't you, now? That's because you've never attended."

"No," Anya quietly agreed. "I haven't. What can I get you today?"

"A coffee and a piece of that delicious apple pie will do me nicely."

"Right."

He grabbed her wrist as she moved away. "I haven't upset you, have I?"

Anya shook her head. "No, why should you?"

"I thought perhaps I was being a bit superior when I said you hadn't been to university."

"Perhaps a little."

"Then I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be."

"You're forgiven."

Anya went back to the counter, ordered the coffee and cut a generous slice of the apple pie. Peter was right. It was delicious and she was always pleased when there was some left at the end of the day and she could take it back to her small apartment. Unfortunately, it didn't happen often enough for her liking.

She crossed back to Peter and put down his order.

"Um. Looks good." He glanced around. There were only two other customers. "Pretty quiet in here."

"It usually is at this time."

"Can you sit down for a minute? Keep me company while I enjoy my coffee and pie."

"Well...." Anya looked across at her boss who was busy tidying up behind the counter in readiness for the end of the day. "Maybe just a minute."

She stayed for five - or was it ten - minutes? She would have liked to stay a lot longer, for they talked easily together, but another customer came in and work intervened. However, it set the pattern for the next few days. Peter stopped coming at lunchtime with his friends and instead came in the late afternoon when they could sit and talk for a while. The boss didn't seem to mind. Anya was a good and reliable worker. She deserved a little sit down and a chat with a good customer; a very handsome customer who seemed to be taken with her. The boss was pleased. He liked Anya and wanted to see her happy.

One day Peter came in full of excitement. "I've got a job," he explained.

"Oh, Peter, I'm so happy."

Anya took hold of his hands without thinking and they stood in the middle of the café staring at each other.

"There's a snag," Peter said after a moment.

"What?"

"It's in London."

"Oh." Anya suddenly felt deflated. He was going away. She wouldn't see him again. Of course, they hadn't 'seen' each other in that way; they hadn't been out on a date. Their meetings had been restricted to a few minutes each day in the public arena of the café. But Anya had dreams.

They came at night in the warmth of her bed and darkness of her room. She was not alone. Peter was there. She could feel his hands on her breasts; shivered slightly as they slowly glided down her body reaching for that most private part of her body which lay between her legs. She would open wide for him and welcome his hardness into the very depths of her. In truth, she was a virgin and hadn't really much idea of what it would be like, but she could imagine how wonderful it would be.

Yes, Anya had her dreams, but now they were to be shattered. He was going away. Far away. To London. To another country.

"I've been thinking." Peter sat at a table, pulling Anya down onto another chair. He still held her hands. "We've not been out together or anything, but I think we get on very well."

"So do I," Anya agreed.

"I enjoy your company and I want to build on our tentative relationship."

Anya blushed at the thought of them having any kind of relationship. But it was all going to end before it started. He was going away.

"I'm going to a good job in London," Peter continued, "and I'd like you to come with me."

Anya was astounded. "Come with you? To London?"

"Yes. You'll be able to get a job, I'm sure of it. They're crying out for workers over there. At the very least you could work in a restaurant or hotel; maybe even something better. And I'll help you. Do you speak English?"

"No."

"I do. Not too bad, even if I say it myself. A result of my privileged education. Anyway, I could teach you. You strike me as an intelligent young woman and I think you'll get the hang of it quickly enough."

"Would we...." Anya hesitated, unsure how to put the question.

"Live together?" Peter guessed and put it for her. "That was the general idea. I really think there's a strong spark between us. We'd be good as a couple."

There were so many butterflies inside Anya she thought it highly likely she would take flight herself. Suddenly, out of the blue, her whole life was going to change. She was going to a better life in another country with the man of her dreams. She could hardly believe it.

*****

She was a fool. She shouldn't have believed it. At any rate, she shouldn't have believed him.

She looked at herself in the mirror and added a little lip-stick; not too much. The painted doll image was hateful. A little taste in everything. Subtlety, that was the name of the game as far as Anya was concerned. She may once have been a simple country girl, but not now; that girl had gone forever. It didn't take long.

The arrangements for their travel were quickly made. Since Lithuania had joined the EU in May 2004 passports were hardly necessary, though it was still required to flash quickly at the immigration people standing around. Rarely was anyone stopped and their papers closely examined. It turned out that Peter was already in possession of a passport and it took little time to obtain one for Anya. She might have wondered about that, but was unversed about the ways of officialdom and the usual slow grinding of wheels.

In less than a week they were on their way and she was able to say 'thank you', 'please', 'no', 'yes', 'hello' and 'goodbye'. It didn't seem much good to her. If anybody spoke in English, even Peter, she was unable to understand a word. It would come, he assured her. You can't expect to speak a completely new language in a few days; it takes time. Be patient.

After a flight of about three hours the plane landed in Heathrow. To Anya it was an unbelievably vast area thronged with people going off in all directions. Metallic voices speaking complete gibberish came out of unseen speakers. Meaningless signs directed travellers to all points, including baggage claim; meaningless to Anya, but not to Peter. He made his way confidently along one corridor, then another and down steps until they were standing by a stationary conveyor belt waiting for it to come to life.

She had one rather battered suitcase of modest proportions to collect whilst Peter...Peter had nothing but a small carry-on bag. She should have wondered about that, too.

As expected they walked through immigration with scarcely a glance from the officials and Anya was suddenly confronted by the awe-inspiring terminal. She was almost open-mouthed at the unfamiliar sights and sounds.

Peter was holding her by the arm as he hurried her along between two barriers. There were numerous people on the other side of it holding small placards that were easily seen by the new arrivals. He went over to a short, thick-set man who held a hastily written name scrawled on a large piece of paper. The two men shook hands and Anya was quickly led towards the exit between them. Not a word had been said, but as they walked the stranger spoke into a mobile phone. Although Anya could hear clearly enough she could make no sense of the language.

They stood outside the terminal for a few minutes and then a car pulled up. The doors opened, a man got out and gestured to Anya to sit in the back. She climbed in, the doors were slammed and the car pulled away.

Without Peter!

Anya looked back. He was walking away and disappeared back into the terminal.

"What's happening?" she asked the man sitting next to her in her native tongue.

He didn't speak, but shrugged his shoulders as if to say don't ask me.

"Stop the car!" she shouted, hitting the driver on his back several times. "Let me out! Stop the car!"

He momentarily lost control and the car swerved slightly. He spoke sharply to the man next to her who responded by grabbing her wrists and pushing her down onto the floor. Fear flooded through her. She screamed and fought hard, but to no avail. He had a tight hold. After several minutes of violent struggle she gave in and sank back against the seat, rubbing her wrists.

What was happening? Where had Peter gone? Why had she been left alone with three men who were unable to communicate with her? The questions kept coming, but there were no answers.

After a fairly short drive the car turned off the road, bumped along a track and came to a stop. The two men in front got out and opened the door next to Anya, who was still laid on the floor. She was roughly pulled out and onto her feet then quickly hustled into a farm-house. In one continuous movement she was taken along a dimly lit passage and into a room almost bare of furniture. There was, however, a bed.

The door was closed leaving only Anya and one man in the room. He spoke to her and gesticulated. She shook her head to indicate her non-understanding. In response the man slapped her cheek, leaving red welts. He shouted and repeated the gesture, but Anya, completely bewildered, stood rubbing her burning cheek. He shouted again, pulled at her clothes and then took off his own jacket.

Enlightenment suddenly came and horrified Anya. He wanted her to take off her clothes. Everything suddenly became clear. She remembered a discussion in the café where she had worked. Some customers were talking about a news item. A Lithuanian girl had been tricked into going to Germany for a well paid job. As soon as she was there some men had turned her into a prostitute. After more than a year she had managed to escape and report her experiences. Anya had only half listened and not thought about it since. But here she was; tricked and helpless in an unknown house and in a country that wasn't even part of the European mainland.

The man shouted again. More gesticulation. Should she scream? Fight? Claw his eyes out? What could she hope to achieve? She was in the middle of nowhere. If, by some remote chance she made it through the door what then? Who might be outside? Someone to help? Or someone to recapture her?

The man raised his hand to strike her again. She wanted to use one of the six English words at her disposal: no. She wanted to, but realising the futility of resistance, she slowly began to unbutton the short jacket she was wearing. He stood watching impassively, his arms folded across his chest, as she removed her garments one by one. She had never been naked in front of a man before, except a doctor when she was twelve and that hardly seemed to count. But now...

She had stripped off all her clothes and stood with her arms across her breasts and hands over her pubic area. She knew that such modesty was all for nothing, but her natural instinct was to keep herself covered as long as possible. The man pushed her down onto the bed and lay on top of her, even though he was still dressed. With one hand pressing her down by the neck he undid his flies with the other.

Anya had some knowledge of a man's anatomy, but she had never seen a penis. She didn't this time as her head was being held back onto the mattress and she could only look at the ceiling. In fact, as she felt his hardness pushing against her labia, she closed her eyes in a vain attempt to blot out what was happening to her. She opened to the pressure and he drove in with no consideration for the tenderness of a virgin passage. A searing pain marked the bursting of her hymen and she cried out, the pressure on her neck making it a strangulated cry.

The man pulled out and she was suddenly covered in a creamy, sticky solution that erupted from his...thing. He closed his zip, picked up her clothes and left the room. She remained where she was, stretched out on the bed with something trickling slowly out of her and onto her leg. After a few moments she sat up and examined herself. It was blood. Her mother had told her about it. The first time; that was all. After that there was no blood.

The first time. This had been Anya's first time. She had dreamed about it happening, but in her dreams her lover was gentle and careful; tenderly caressing and wooing her. It was not like this. The dream had turned into a nightmare. She began to cry.

The door opened and a woman stood on the threshold studying the weeping girl. The newcomer looked a few years older than Anya. With a thin face, unkempt hair and shabby clothes she presented an unprepossessing appearance. Upon seeing the blood on the girl and the stained sheets she tutted and impatiently moved into the room. Seizing Anya, non too gently, by the arm, the woman dragged her out into the passage and pushed her through another door. It turned out to be a bathroom.

"Clean yourself."

The look of incomprehension on Anya's face reminded the woman that the girl was unable to understand English. A flannel was thrust into one hand, soap into the other and a towel over her arm. The message was clear. Words were not needed. Anya was grateful for the chance to rid herself of the blood and - and whatever had squirted onto her from the man.

No. Beast. Not a man. He was a beast to do such a thing.

The door was closed. And a lock turned.

*****

She didn't know it then, but the ordeal had only just begun that day. She had hardly been returned to the bedroom - to find the sheets had been changed - when another man came.

He was naked and masturbating himself to a hardness. The thin-faced woman was still there and she slipped a rubber onto him. He went to Anya and pushed her down onto the bed. He lay between her legs, pushing them open with his knees, gripped her breasts tightly and drove into her, making her cry out.

He was talking as he pounded. The language sounded different from the other. In fact, she could almost fancy she could recognise one or two words. Peter had used them.

Peter.

The memory of his laughter brought a tear to her eye. What had he done to her? How could he? He seemed so nice.

Two words that she hadn't heard before kept coming out of the man's mouth. They were both short, hard and insistent words.

"Cock". He thrust in with the instrument of his pleasure and her shame. More words and then - "Cunt". He repeated both words several times: "Cock and cunt."

The man left as soon as he was finished, but another was already in the throes of being prepared. The rubber was put on, he went to the bed and mounted the helpless girl.

She lost count of how many men came to her that day. Her private parts felt bruised and sore. There were marks on her breasts where heavy hands had squeezed too hard; her nipples were tender to touch. If there was any sympathy in the thin-faced woman it was hard to find. It was dark when she brought some food and a cup of tea and she banged it down on a bedside table with nothing but a growl for words. At least, so it seemed to the exhausted girl.

She was unable to eat, but managed to drink some tea. Had they finished with her? It had been a little while since a man had been brought to her. She could see it was dark outside and she became aware of the sound of a plane passing close overhead. In fact, now she was able to think about anything, she realised there was a constant stream of planes and they were almost on top of the house.

Planes. It was a plane that had brought her to this hell on earth. A plane could take her away. There was another roar above her. So near and yet so far.

She cried herself to sleep, curled into a foetal position and wondered what was to happen to her.

*****

The following day they gave Anya her clothes, hustled her down the passage and bundled her into the car so swiftly her feet hardly touched the ground. They drove for a long time on wide, fast roads, the like of which she had never seen before. There were lots of cars, lorries and buses going in both directions, seemingly all on the wrong side of the road. She gazed out of the window lost in wonderment at the strange world that was flashing past and yet traumatised by the events of the previous day. It could all have been so exciting if she had been free to enjoy it. Instead she was a prisoner condemned to a life of shame and disgust.

The car pulled into a motorway service station and parked. Nobody got out. The three men and Anya sat there and waited. The men talked to each other in their strange tongue and ignored the girl. She knew they were waiting for something. She had no idea what, but one of the men looked at his watch and said something.

They waited.

After nearly half an hour another car pulled in alongside them. The man who had taken Anya's virginity got out and joined another who emerged from the new arrival. They talked fairly briefly and both looked at Anya. It was obvious that she was the subject of their discussion. There was much gesticulation and argument and then a shrug of acceptance from the rapist. He handed over a passport and in exchange received a wad of money, which he carefully counted before opening the car door.