The Faces of Strangers by Pia Padukone

help you.”
    Leo shook his head, hunching his shoulders up around his ears. Vera stepped behind him, letting her arms envelop his stocky figure, allowing her hands to trace the elastic waistband of his pants, dipping a finger beneath the drawstring. Leo tensed against her touch.
    â€œRemember when we used to play Defector?” she murmured into his broad back. “Remember how innocent we were? How we had no idea what it meant?” During the Soviet tightening of the borders, a handful of rebels slipped through the cracks. Ballerinas, chess players, fighter pilots—they all sought lives outside the Iron Curtain. While the Soviets tried to keep the news of defections under wraps lest others get ideas, the news inevitably traveled fast, inspiring excitement, support and very often jealousy amongst those who remained in Soviet-run countries. Defection was easily translatable into a children’s game. All you needed was someone to flee, someone to assist and someone to pursue and ultimately banish them to Siberia, a chalk-drawn square demarcation in which miscreants had to sit for the rest of the game if they were caught.
    Vera had been a petite child, and therefore an obvious choice to play the Defector attempting to flee the oppressive Soviet regime. She was nimble and could fit into suitcases, squeeze into bicycle baskets and wooden boxes, contort her limbs to accommodate any mode of transport. It was mostly other girls who were forced into Aider/Abettor roles, pushing the wheelbarrow, riding the bicycle or “driving” the getaway car. When boys played the role, they impatiently hoisted Vera onto their shoulders or cradled her in their arms, clutching her desperately as they weaved and dodged their pursuers. Burly Leo was always cast as a KGB Minder, keeping a lookout for those on the lam. It was in the small courtyard behind the imposing block of gray concrete apartments where both Vera’s and Leo’s families lived that Leo literally first began to chase his future wife. Paavo and Mari cherished their parents’ love story—their romance that began as a game and blossomed into reality.
    â€œSo?” Leo asked, his voice gruff with annoyance. He was well versed with Vera’s tactic of tapping into his soft side, which she managed to locate from time to time underneath the hard armor that appeared to have toughened over the past decade.
    â€œRemember how you used to chase me? I miss that,” Vera said, letting her voice drop into its husky timbre, a pitch that usually brought Leo to his knees.
    â€œThat was a long time ago. When we were young and stupid,” Leo said. “When the KGB called the shots and we stood to attention. When I was a citizen. When I had rights.” Leo tensed his body against hers.
    â€œThat’s not quite how I recall those years before Independence,” she said, releasing her hands completely from around him. He turned to face her. “In fact, I remember some pretty miserable times. Or have you conveniently forgotten them?” Leo looked down at his hands and shook his head.
    â€œI don’t have time for this right now. I have to go to work. That is, if they haven’t found a red-blooded Estonian to configure bus schedules in my absence,” Leo said, clearing his throat. “Did your daughter come home?”
    â€œShe’s my daughter now? What did she do?” Vera smiled, attempting to break the tension as she dabbed at the spilled tea with a dishcloth.
    â€œAs long as she’s that pretty, she’s your daughter. I will reclaim her when her looks go.”
    â€œLevya! That’s terrible!”
    â€œIt may be, but I can’t deal with a pretty daughter gallivanting around town. It’s dangerous. Beautiful things don’t ask for attention. You damn well know what I mean. You need to have those talks with her. You know, the ones about the fine balance between flaunting her body and not letting