I met her on the Amur river, just outside of Khabarovsk, Siberia. I was 15. She was probobly 19 or 20, and stunningly beautiful, exuding this natural, rugged elegance that held me in pubescent awe. She took the knife from her belt, and slit open the belly of the 250lb fish. I'm still sure that it was her beauty and precision that took my breath away, and not the smell that followed. She looked up at me and smiled, motioning to the glistening sack of roe inside the prehistoric fish. Our eyes met, our hands touched, and our fingers tangled in the slimy warmth of the bloody egg sack, as we carefully removed the caviar. I like to remember that as the first time I fell in love. I never even got her name...