The attacker was eventually caught – although the police had nothing to do with it. He assaulted another lady who happened to be a judo athlete. She managed to immobilize the criminal by holding him down and then called the police. The mugger turned out to be a 23-year-old unemployed guy living around the corner from me. There were a number of victims. Together with other ladies, I was asked to identify the assailant. I did not remember what the attacker looked like (or rather I did not see anything apart from his shape), but I recognized his hands and voice. What’s more, DNA on Oxana’s clothes was identified as belonging to him.
I was also a witness in the court trial. Once again I had to relive the scene and describe it in detail. Then there were the questions. What did I drink at the party? How much? How drunk was Oxana? It was disgusting. It seemed like the attorney wanted to pass us off as drunks.
Only later did I understand the reason. When telling his version of the events, this scoundrel of a criminal said Oxana took a step back, stumbled over and fell, hitting her head. He had nothing to do with it. It was an accident.
“You killed my daughter, you, hellspawn. She was a healthy, cheerful creature. And now she is no more.” It was Oxana’s mother choking on her words (oh, why on earth did she come here?!). “And you say you had nothing to do with it, you son of a bitch.” She was obviously gasping at this point, as if out of breath, and suddenly collapsed on the chair, her hand on her chest. Paramedics were called and diagnosed her with a myocardial infarction.
The criminal was eventually sentenced to nine years in prison for murder, robbery and mugging. Ultimately, he failed in his attempt to play the ‘not-guilty-of-death’ card. I guess I mostly felt relieved because I no longer had to follow the trial. For the more-than-a-year that the investigation and proceedings were underway, it seemed that a day did not go by without someone either updating me on the situation or asking for an update. And all I wanted was to push that awful night out of my mind.
Easier said than done. Long ago I had stopped walking outside when it was dark. The first time I had to return home late after work I had a panic attack. It was as if someone pressed a button in my head. The assault, the cry, my running away unfolded in my mind’s eye. There was no way I could put a stop to it.
Infrequent nights out lost their appeal and became drudgery. I started to avoid get-togethers with the same crowd that had waved good-bye to me and Oxana that night. Partying felt wrong. And I felt out of place at gatherings.
I often met Oxana’s mother with her granddaughter at the playground in our local park when I went there with my younger son. Whenever I saw the old lady I felt uneasy, as if sorry for being around, although she never blamed me for anything. During our meetings, I also came to understand that the girl had moved in with her grandmother.
“Her dad is not to be trusted,” she explained. “His job is the only thing on his mind. He might drive out of town and forget to pick up Lilia from kindergarten. And he feeds her sausages and potato chips.” I also learned that Lilia refused to fall asleep with the lights off and regressed to bedwetting because she was afraid to get out of bed at night. “Even though we sleep together and I can accompany her to the bathroom, Lilia never asks me. She just wakes up and pees. And when I want to get her changed and put on fresh sheets, she absolutely refuses to leave the bed. It seems like it’s the only safe place for her at night,” the poor lady added.
I looked up at an active and cute girl on the jungle gym. She was no different from other kids in the playground. One could not imagine what she went through just by looking at her. But then, my outward life also had not changed much since the assault. Every day I went to work, cooked meals and scrubbed the flat on the weekends. I guess the major difference was that I became more absorbed in my thoughts. When someone addressed me, they often had to repeat themselves before I fully grasped the meaning of their speech. Egor even started imitating me by saying “What” to every phrase meant for me.
But, life goes on. Time does not heal all the wounds, but it scabs them over. The events of that night will always stay with me. Like a chronic disease. Most of the time I am my normal self again – I can be cheerful and enjoy life. And then something happens, bringing back all the pain, despair or terror.
One day I was returning home with my younger son from his friend’s birthday party. He was all thrilled and elated and begged for a themed party for his approaching birthday. We would have to fork out quite a bit for this, but seeing him so delighted filled my heart with warmth and tenderness. I guessed making your child happy was really worth it.
Egor met us with a concerned and preoccupied look and the words: “There is something I need to tell you, Katia. In private.”
“Is everything, okay?” I asked, before realizing how dumb the question sounded.
Egor exhaled noisily and said he would wait for me in the kitchen.
Having given the boy a tablet to keep him busy with video games, I followed my husband. “Has anyone fallen severely ill? Has Egor lost his job? Crashed the car?” – those were the scenarios running through my mind.
“What’s happened?” I looked him straight in the eyes.
“Vasiliev is back.”
My apprehension and anxiety turned to sickening horror as images of the mugging surfaced in my memory.
“But he was sentenced to nine years. Not even a year has passed.” I was barely able to articulate.
Egor nodded. “A friend of mine saw him in the local supermarket. He asked around and found out that he was released because he was in Ukraine. He’s a hero now,” Egor added, curling his lips bitterly.
I buried my face in my hands, unable to bear the sheer terror.
“No, this just can’t be happening. This. Can’t. Be. Happening.”
Transadaptation Volume 6 – Meaning? – Uncertainty, Instability and Extremes Transadapted
January: A Regular Train Trip – Mateusz Tymoszewski (Poland)
February: Growing Up – Adriana Uribe (Columbia)
March: Mess – Veronika Groke (Austria)
April: The Roads We Take – Svetlana Molchanova (Russia)
May: Need – Nadia Silva Castro (Brazil)
June: “Next Sunshine” – Jonay Quintero Hernandez (Spain)
July: Intentions – Narantsogt Baatarkhuu (Mongolia)
August: Planet Kyiv – Anastasiia Leonova (Ukraine)
September: Feeling like a Fool – Ulrike Bergmeister (Germany)
October: Stories of Outcast Souls – Armine Asryan (Armenia)
November: Ronaldinha – Alejandra Baccino (Uruguay)
December: Aimlessly – Krisztina Janosi (Hungary)
Background – Context
Transadaptation Volume 5: Of Flowing Vicissitudes – Life Transadapted, (eds.) Angelika Friedrich, Yuri Smirnov and Henry Whittlesey (2024)
Transadaptation Volume 4: Material Dissent – Adulthood Transadapted, (eds.) Angelika Friedrich, Yuri Smirnov and Henry Whittlesey (2023)
Transadaptation Volume 3: Evanescent – Young Adulthood Transadapted, (eds.) Angelika Friedrich, Yuri Smirnov and Henry Whittlesey (2022)
Transadaptation Volume 2: Conceived – Childhood Transadapted, (eds.) Angelika Friedrich, Yuri Smirnov and Henry Whittlesey (2021)
Transadaptation Volume 1: In the Middle – Prelude to a Contemporary Transadaptation, (eds.) Angelika Friedrich, Yuri Smirnov and Henry Whittlesey (2020)
Peripatetic Alterity: A Philosophical Treatise on the Spectrum of Being – Romantics and Pragmatists by Angelika Friedrich, Yuri Smirnov and Henry Whittlesey (2019)
La Syncrétion of Polarization and Extremes Transposée, (eds.) Angelika Friedrich, Yuri Smirnov and Henry Whittlesey (2019)
The Codex of Uncertainty Transposed, (eds.) Angelika Friedrich, Yuri Smirnov and Henry Whittlesey (2018)
L’anthologie of Global Instability Transpuesta, (eds.) Angelika Friedrich, Yuri Smirnov and Henry Whittlesey (2017)
From Wahnsinnig to the Loony Bin: German and Russian Stories Transposed to Modern-day America, (eds.) Angelika Friedrich, Yuri Smirnov and Henry Whittlesey (2013)
Emblems and stories on the international community
Perception by country – Transposing emblems, articles, short stories and reports from around the world
Credits
Top row (left to right): 1. Saratov, Russia – Listening to music – NataVilman (Shutterstock); 2. Saratov, Russia – Cityscape – Lapandr (Shutterstock); 3. Saratov, Russia – Privokzalny market – Trolleway (Shutterstock)
Middle row (left to right): 1. Saratov, Russia – The Work City – Sarlynx (Shutterstock); 2. Saratov, Russia – Out with the family – Irina Wolfe (Shutterstock)
Bottom row (left to right): 1. Saratov, Russia – The way home – Trolleway (Shutterstock); 2. Saratov, Russia – Residential blocks – Irina Wolfe (Shutterstock); 3. Saratov, Russia – In the snow – Irina Wolfe (Shutterstock)
Source: The Codex of Uncertainty Transposed