selected two books and headed to foreign fiction for something that would aid her sleeping while in Moscow. It didn’t take long to pick two more books. Even if they didn’t manage to lull her to sleep, they would at least help her while away the hours of wakefulness.
Outside in the street again, the cold came as a shock after the overheated air of the bookshop. Her cheeks tingled as she surveyed the scene. In the short time she’d been inside, the city had come alive. Now the sidewalks were crowded and young people hung around in small huddles. Across the street a group of young soldiers on weekend leave walked up the street, a bounce in their step.
The strap of her book-laden bag was digging into her shoulder. There had to be a café close by. She could have something to eat and start looking at her new books. For sanity’s sake she needed to pass at least a few more hours before she could go back to the hotel.
She walked to the corner of the block and turned left. The street sloped gently downwards and it was slow going with the weight of the books over her shoulder and patches of ice underfoot. At the bottom of the street the slope evened out and she stopped for a moment. On the opposite side of the street, a few hundred metres to the left, she spotted a coffee place and headed that way immediately, carefully trying to avoid the many pedestrians rushing towards warm destinations of their own.
It happened fast, too fast. One moment she was glancing into a shop window at a display of decorative Russian porcelain and the next her right shoulder was wrenched back painfully.
She saw a young face, a beanie pulled low over the forehead, hands pulling at the strap of her bag.
‘No!’ she yelled. ‘What are you doing?’ Somehow she managed to keep her grip on the heavy bag. ‘Stop, help!’ Still she held on, clutching it to her body, but the young man was stronger than his skinny frame looked and he started dragging her down the street.
‘Stop!’ She aimed for his ankles. The kick was clumsy, without any real power, and she only managed to land a weak blow to the side of his leg.
He glanced around and she caught another glimpse of mean eyes and the determined curl of a lip. She wouldn’t let go. If she could hold on long enough, someone might help her.
‘Help!’ she shouted, but no one did and she could feel her grip starting to slip.
Amelia held on and held on, but she could feel her strength waning. The young man – boy – turned around and for an instant released the tension on the strap. She felt herself stumbling backwards. And then, with another sharp yank, he pulled again and freed the bag from her grip.
The victorious smile was smug and brief. He snarled something incomprehensible at her and set off. By the time she regained her balance, he’d reached the end of the block. Once more time he looked around and then he disappeared around the corner.
There was no point in trying to follow him. He was too far ahead, she’d never catch up. And he looked just like every other Moscow weasel. There was no way she would find him again.
She looked around. No one had even tried to come to her aid! On the opposite side of the street, a few people stood staring at her vacantly. She glared at them and felt the urge to shout at them for not helping her, but in the same instant the adrenalin left her body and all she was aware of was her aching arms and shoulder. She pulled off her gloves. Her hands were red and swollen.
Stunned, she assessed her situation. She didn’t know what to do. Would it help to find a member of the militsia ? Or maybe she should try and follow her assailant. She leaned against the closest building, trying to garner a coherent thought. No, she couldn’t approach the militsia . Only an idiot would ask them for help right now. It would merely invite more trouble. And trying to pursue her attacker would be futile. He was gone, hadn’t even hesitated to show her his face, just to
Outside in the street again, the cold came as a shock after the overheated air of the bookshop. Her cheeks tingled as she surveyed the scene. In the short time she’d been inside, the city had come alive. Now the sidewalks were crowded and young people hung around in small huddles. Across the street a group of young soldiers on weekend leave walked up the street, a bounce in their step.
The strap of her book-laden bag was digging into her shoulder. There had to be a café close by. She could have something to eat and start looking at her new books. For sanity’s sake she needed to pass at least a few more hours before she could go back to the hotel.
She walked to the corner of the block and turned left. The street sloped gently downwards and it was slow going with the weight of the books over her shoulder and patches of ice underfoot. At the bottom of the street the slope evened out and she stopped for a moment. On the opposite side of the street, a few hundred metres to the left, she spotted a coffee place and headed that way immediately, carefully trying to avoid the many pedestrians rushing towards warm destinations of their own.
It happened fast, too fast. One moment she was glancing into a shop window at a display of decorative Russian porcelain and the next her right shoulder was wrenched back painfully.
She saw a young face, a beanie pulled low over the forehead, hands pulling at the strap of her bag.
‘No!’ she yelled. ‘What are you doing?’ Somehow she managed to keep her grip on the heavy bag. ‘Stop, help!’ Still she held on, clutching it to her body, but the young man was stronger than his skinny frame looked and he started dragging her down the street.
‘Stop!’ She aimed for his ankles. The kick was clumsy, without any real power, and she only managed to land a weak blow to the side of his leg.
He glanced around and she caught another glimpse of mean eyes and the determined curl of a lip. She wouldn’t let go. If she could hold on long enough, someone might help her.
‘Help!’ she shouted, but no one did and she could feel her grip starting to slip.
Amelia held on and held on, but she could feel her strength waning. The young man – boy – turned around and for an instant released the tension on the strap. She felt herself stumbling backwards. And then, with another sharp yank, he pulled again and freed the bag from her grip.
The victorious smile was smug and brief. He snarled something incomprehensible at her and set off. By the time she regained her balance, he’d reached the end of the block. Once more time he looked around and then he disappeared around the corner.
There was no point in trying to follow him. He was too far ahead, she’d never catch up. And he looked just like every other Moscow weasel. There was no way she would find him again.
She looked around. No one had even tried to come to her aid! On the opposite side of the street, a few people stood staring at her vacantly. She glared at them and felt the urge to shout at them for not helping her, but in the same instant the adrenalin left her body and all she was aware of was her aching arms and shoulder. She pulled off her gloves. Her hands were red and swollen.
Stunned, she assessed her situation. She didn’t know what to do. Would it help to find a member of the militsia ? Or maybe she should try and follow her assailant. She leaned against the closest building, trying to garner a coherent thought. No, she couldn’t approach the militsia . Only an idiot would ask them for help right now. It would merely invite more trouble. And trying to pursue her attacker would be futile. He was gone, hadn’t even hesitated to show her his face, just to
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