Chapter 2
a living legend
Annika had accidentally taken a route that didn’t get her home until well past dinnertime, but she didn’t mind. She stared out the window at the city streets and eventually the countryside, wondering why the pale blonde had mistaken her for someone else, and what the dark-haired daredevil had meant by his comment about finally meeting her.
She came home to Uncle Vince standing in front of the stove in his ancient flannel robe. A cigarette was stuck in his mouth that halfway consisted of a long stem of ash. His friend Tosho sat at the table, typing on his laptop, unconcerned by the acrid stench that greeted Annika’s nose the second she opened the door.
“Aww, sweetie, you made dinner.” She fanned away the opaque veil of smoke that had settled throughout the kitchen and cracked open a nearby window. Vince jerked his head upwards at her sarcasm, causing the ashy portion of his cigarette to fall into the pan.
“Ah, fucking shit,” he muttered as he continued to smoke the rest of his cigarette. “That is the second time I’ve done that today, and now I’m out of eggs.”
“How can you mess up eggs? They’re the easiest thing to cook.” Tosho nodded in agreement. Vince turned to his niece and gave her an exaggerated pout.
“I don’t think I can let you leave. I will starve.” Annika took the dirty pan from him and began scraping the ashy crust into the trash.
“Oh Vince, you have got to learn to make something besides eggs.” She laughed at his pathetic state of bachelorhood and rummaged through the refrigerator, looking for something more creative for dinner. She pulled out a few thick slices of beef and a handful of vegetables.
“You came home much later than I expected,” Vince remarked. “Where have you been?”
“I sort of met some weird people today,” she began, chopping up the onions and potatoes.
“They must have been weird if you are calling them weird,” Vince said, lighting a fresh cigarette. She described to him and Tosho how the people were dressed like they’d come off a movie set and were terrible with money. She told him about the boy with the hypnotic eyes that seemed capable of reading her mind when it came to books and guitars.
“But you liked this boy, didn’t you?” he taunted playfully. “I can tell by the look in your eyes.”
“He was actually a bit of a cad,” she said, turning away so that neither Vince nor Tosho could see her blush. “And then he had the nerve to call me saucy!”
“Then he sounds clever to me,” Vince hooted, but Tosho didn’t laugh. He seemed to be stuck on a detail from earlier in her tale.
“Did you say that the women wore green sashes?” he asked.
“Yep. And long white tunics.”
“That is so bizarre. They sound like samodivi.”
“Does a samodivi walk up to strangers and try to take off their clothes?”
“I’ve seen stranger things in Montmartre. They must be eccentric artists or musicians, just like you,” Vince mumbled as he flopped into the chair beside Tosho. The cigarette bobbing in his mouth ashed all over his bare chest, but he merely brushed it away. Vince had a lot of good qualities, but cleanliness certainly wasn’t one of them.
“I don’t walk up to strangers and try to take off their clothes.”
“Maybe you’d sell more albums if you did?” Vince and Tosho shared a little laugh. Unamused, Annika ignored her uncle and threw the chopped vegetables into a pan along with a pot roast. She covered it with tinfoil and set it in the oven, turning to Tosho.
“So what’s a samodivi, and what’s up with the green sashes?”
“Samodivi is the plural form of a samodiva. They are wood nymphs,” he explained. “There is a Bulgarian legend that they take off their clothes every night before they bathe in the river. If a man is lucky enough to steal her sash, she is obligated to become his wife. I wish the legend were true.”
“You aren’t the only one,” Vince said with a grin. “If it were true, I would have brought a samodiva home for myself a long time ago.”
“Well, these girls totally looked like what you just described,” Annika confirmed. “But even if samodivi did exist, I can’t imagine why a wood nymph would come to a big city like Sofia. Wood nymphs belong in the forest.”
“Maybe they ran out of men in the woods?” suggested Vince. “If you visit with them again, you can invite them over any time.”
“Yeah, okay,” she joked. “If I bump into them again I’ll be sure to invite them all to dinner. The guy said he was from Derbedrossivic, if you know where that is.”
Tosho gave her an odd look.
“Derbedrossivic? There is no such place that I know of. The name sounds Armenian.”
“But Armenia’s on the other side of the Black Sea,” Annika pointed out. “And he said it wasn’t that far away.”
Tosho just looked at her skeptically.
“Maybe it is in Romania. It is not that far by train.” Both he and Annika were content enough to drop the issue, since everyone has a different idea of just how far away is ‘not that far’.
“You know,” Vince said, “your grandmother used to tell your mother and I all sorts of tales about the wood nymphs when we were growing up.”
“I remember Mom telling me about some of them too,” said Annika, “but I don’t remember her calling them samodivi.”
“Perhaps no,” said Vince, squinting his eyes slightly as he recalled old memories. “But your mère tried very hard not to forget our history. That is why she carries around that big treasure chest every time your family moves.”
“You mean that trunk of old lace and books?” Annika asked. She could indeed recall a mysterious trunk that she had never seen the bottom of. It was filled with sentimental objects that her mother didn’t display, like old photographs of family members and toys that threatened to break if they were ever played with again. She’d been curious as a young girl as to the contents, but the trunk was always kept locked up tight in her parents’ bedroom. She had always assumed the contents were probably of no interest to her, but she made it a point to ask her mother about it when she returned.
The smell of dinner had hovered over their noses for long enough, and the conversation became focused over the insect world yet again. Annika chewed on a bite of tender meat and potatoes as she tuned out the latest development of her uncle’s project. She was secretly thinking about returning to the bookstore on her next visit to Sofia, but she was afraid that the owner might recognize her and kick her out. She had stolen a book after all. That night, and for many nights afterwards, she dreamt that she was always running. Running from Danny, running from the angry bookstore owner, running from the blonde who wanted to feel her up, and running from the guy that had already gotten under her skin. Somewhere inside she knew she wanted to stop. She just wasn’t sure why.