Russian Goats


Anna would not have worried if Elizabeth had been curvy, like the neighbour whose fake breasts swelled over her low-cut dresses.

But Elizabeth was beautiful and slim and everything that Vladimir found attractive. She was something to be corrupted.

The goats had been in the street and innocently she’d followed them to their home.

‘That is Creole. She likes the drink. You know, alcohol,’ Vlad said, looking at Elizabeth's legs in her tennis shorts. The goat lapped at the spilt beer on the table. ‘The other one is Sasha. She is the affectionate one. Yes, she is a nice goat.’

Sasha nuzzled Anna's arm. The goats stayed close to her, knowing that they were safe there.  Anna hugged her beer.

Elizabeth laughed nervously. She glanced up and down the street. Vlad sat back in his chair, taking a sip of his beer without taking his eyes off her.

‘You live near here?’

‘Yes, just down the road. I wanted to make sure the goats got home safely. Anyway, I better go.’

Vlad jumped up. ‘Would you like a beer? Stay for a drink with us.’

‘Oh no, thank you, thank you.’

‘Stay for one drink,’ begged Vlad, but Elizabeth was already walking away, waving nervously back at them.

‘She doesn't want a beer,’ Anna said, in Russian.

‘Yeah? And how do you know what she wants?’ Vlad snarled, sinking into his chair.

Anna felt the bodies of the goats press closer and said nothing.