Mr. Koschei

At 11:53 in the morning the birds were soaring and the clouds overhead were drifitng slowly like they didn’t even care. Ivan was lost in Amsterdam – so lost, in fact, that he adopted the walk of the Amsterdamians and rode
The road
Until from a side-street boutique there came a girl in green and black
With a canvas shoulder-sack.
High on smack
She put it back
Behind her back
And blinked at the large crack
In the road
On which Ivan rode.
To no surprise, she advanced from her opium den,
Her smokey purple haze, when
She stepped forward into the road
On which Ivan rode.
Funny thing, a Russian in Amsterdam. He dodged her, swerving violently but keeping his balance on his rented rent-a-bike rented from a surly-looking fellow
Whose eyes were all yellow
He recalled. He swore in his thick Muscovite accent and turned his head to see the drugged-up woman still upright
Clutching her shoulder-sack tight
Like she had some sort of lost treasure that Spielberg would snatch at profit for with a film no better than common street-litter
(I’m not bitter).
Anyway,
Nearly midday
It was and Ivan’s near-accident with the indescribably undescribable woman which caused an almost too-near-accident
Which made a dent
In the front vent
Of a black, 1989 Fiat Punto which came racing,
As though chasing,
Around the corner and knocked Ivan clean from his rented rent-a-bike. He blinked his eyes open slowly and squinted against the bright lights of an Amsterdam ceiling.
He sat up slowly, dizzy, still reeling
From the blow he had been dealt. Luckily the integrity of his rented rent-a-bike was such that it had taken most of impact and lay bent
And twisted grusomely like the vent
On the front of the guilty car. Ivan learned that the driver had sent
For help rather quickly, but he managed to stand without too many groans or grunts
Or disagreements from his body at the stunts
He was pulling so far away
From home, no matter how short his stay. After various bi-lingual formalities and many more uni-lingual unpleasantries Ivan managed to find the address he was searching for in the city. He had not landed too far away from it, either, and it was just his luck,
As he no longer wanted to look
For the building. He was seeking out a Mr. Koschei would was residing
And abiding
Here.
Fear
Rose in the atmosphere
When he mentioned Koschei’s name, and it turned out he was some kind of local Beelzebub. The streets were straight and narrow and it didn’t take Ivan long to locate
The gate
Which lead into Koschei’s lair.
To be fair,
It should be noted
That even as he entered, Ivan quoted
His chauffeur-come-attacker and told himself quietly to be wary.
It was not exactly a scary
Place, but the industrial air of the cold rooms and corridors made his hairy
Arms shiver. From behind him he heard a voice which was deep and commanding. “Welcome,” it said, “I am Koschei, I hear you’re looking for me?”
“Well, you see…”
Said Ivan – but it was too late – for the second time in that hour he found his self tumbling to the ground.
His vision went dark and the only sound
Was the sound
Of laughter as he lay on the cold floor, and the pound
Pound
Pound
Of his heart as the room turned to black.
Waking, again, but this time tied and beaten in the basement of Koschei’s house. Ivan was handcuffed to the drainpipes in the basement but not all hope was lost. He was not alone. Although Koschei slept with his fat ankles resting on a desk made of wood,
Ivan resolved to make good
Of a not so good
Situation. Koschei, you see, owned a notorious harem in Holland, and although he was often questioned no media-man
Nor policeman
Could find fault, even though with Ivan were various
Girls of various
Sizes and shapes. The marajuana air was seducing and everyone relaxed a little. Ivan was happy it was sedating Koschei and even happier that it rendered him incapable of fathom the shit he was truly in. He spoke slowly to one of the girls there – a girl who
Felt instantly as though she knew
All the torment in Ivan’s dark Russian eyes. The sedative was transformed into a floating, stuffy feeling of love and Ivan’s new-found amour released him just as the beast was waking. Koschei sat up quickly
And his expression became sickly
Just as quickly
As he had sat up. No-one fucks with Koschei! “Никто не ебат со мной! Especially not whores and cock-suckers named Ivan!” He flew into a rage and all the girls in his harem screamed like girls are often wont to when faced with a charging lump of very angry, very rare Russian beef. Kristina, one of the other girls in the house of sin
Was calmer than the others because she knew that Koschei was allergic to dogs. She also knew that there was a dog outside the door because it had a favourite bin
In which in liked to root.
It would loot
Whatever morsels it could and sat there happily snacking. She opened the door and grabbed the mutt, thrusting it into Koschei’s face. He blew up in a red swelling almost instantly and everyone escaped amidst the chaos within. Ivan’s day got a lot better then –
When
Everyone ran away, he jumped on the next plane from Amsterdam airport with all the girls from the harem, and their destination just happened to be Portugal! The dog remained blissfully unaware of the events and just as uncaring when it found hunks of jerky in one of Koschei’s desk drawers, grinning to himself as he became more and more sedate
In the strange, spicy, hashish-laced air, and he slept until late.