“Ty prosnulsya?” [Are you awake?] he asked peacefully, attempting to aim for his wound with an alcohol swab.
He was trying to by looking at the mirror above the sink.
Transfixed, unable to choose between running away and fighting him again, I stood there, motionless, at the doorway of his bathroom.
“Ne volnuytes’, ya ne ub’yu tebya,” [Don’t worry, I’m not going to kill you.] he said calmly dabbing the bite I had given him as a gift. “Zabot’tes’ o sebe, i ya pomogu vam nayti vashi.” [Take care of yourself and I'll help you find your people.]
“I still don’t understand what you’re talking about. I don’t speak Russian or any of the other 130 Soviet languages.”
“Arkadi,” he said suddenly as if he was holding back a laugh.
“Ar... kadi?”
He narrowed his eyelids. “Arkadi,” he repeated more
