Joseph Kanon - Istanbul Passage

“Not just that. Worn out.”

“A sympathetic figure. And now such a helpful friend.” He took a drink. “Who sent you? Tonight?”

“You know I can’t tell you that.”

“Scruples, at such a moment. If the bullet had got me, would you have told me then?”

“Does it make any difference, who? What’s this all about?”

“Trading with the enemy. A drink with the devil,” he said, holding up his glass.

“He’s not the enemy anymore.”

Mihai looked at him, then down at his glass. “So I wondered, is he a fool? Now I know. Sit down.”

“You’ve got something on your mind?” Leon said, taking a chair.

“My mind, yes. Not on my conscience. Yet. I thought, he doesn’t know. He should know.”

“Know what?”

“Who he is. Your Alexei. Shall I guess what you think? The Romanians. Well, they sided with the Germans. How could they not? The expedient thing. Our friend too. What choice? Then Stalingrad, the Russians push back. And push. Into Romania. Now Germany’s losing and who’s coming? So why not make a deal with them? Throw out the fascists. Fight with the Russians instead. The new expedient thing. But meanwhile some people get caught in between. Our friend, for example. The Russians don’t forgive him. They’re going to put him on trial. Like Antonescu. So he runs. And he has something to sell. Things he knows. I’m right so far, yes?”

Leon nodded.

“Only one bidder in this deal. And better not to ask too many questions. The whole Romanian army was fascist, so, yes, he was a fascist, but now the Communists are after him, a recommendation in itself. In such a situation you take what you can. All right. An opportunist. But our opportunist. That’s what you think, isn’t it?”

“I haven’t thought. I don’t know.”

“But I do. I recognized him. Before I took a bullet for him. You think he’s someone-not so good, maybe, but Romanian politics were like that. Who can blame him for wanting to save himself?”

“You, it seems.”

“Yes, me. I know what he is, Jianu. That’s his name. A butcher. But you don’t know, I think. So what do I do? Keep my mouth shut? Somebody this close to me? Anna I used to trust with my life. We killed a man tonight-you, me. And you don’t even know.”

“Tell me, then,” Leon said quietly.

Mihai nodded to his hand. “Get me another. It hurts.”

“It’s not infected, is it?”

“Such concern. So where to start? King Carol with his hand in everybody’s pockets? The wolf at the door. But still, thank God, the Jews to hate. So, the Legion of Archangel Michael. You know it? The Iron Guard.”

“Yes.”

“A wonderful group. Pouches with Romanian earth around their necks. Little ceremonies where they drink each other’s blood. Like savages. My countrymen. Well, not by then. I’m in Palestine. My family said, how can you be a Zionist? Jassy is a Jewish city. Well, it was. So I’m in Palestine and things get worse for the Jews. Mossad sends me to Bucharest, to get them out. The Athénée Palace, everyone in the same place. You go to dinner at Capşa and bribe someone, then back to the Palace and bribe someone else. You could still do that then. But how many Jews listen? Then Carol runs away with Lupescu, the mistress-and the treasury. For them, at least, the happy ending. No one else. Now Michael is king, but really General Antonescu, the army. And meanwhile the Iron Guard are running wild. Killing people. Government people even. Pogroms naturally, what else? Terrible excesses. Finally, it’s too much even for Antonescu. He sends the tanks out-the army fighting the Iron Guard, fascist against fascist. But Hitler prefers Antonescu. Not so crazy. He sides with him. And so does our friend Jianu. Your Alexei.”

“He was in the Iron Guard?”

“But now he helps Antonescu break them. So Antonescu joins the Axis and the army goes off to invade Russia. A reign of terror in Odessa-that you know from the trials this summer. Deportations from Bessarabia. All the Jews. The Romanians set up extermination camps-the only ones the Germans didn’t run themselves. They killed almost two hundred thousand, we think. Quite a record. My countrymen.”

“And Alexei?”

“Now a right hand to Antonescu. Antonescu liked him. Someone who would betray the Guard? Who better for intelligence work? He knew how to get Russians to come over. The Romanians had good intelligence, right up to Stalingrad. But he had to know about the Jews too. The army carried out the deportations. It was the Guard all over again. Jassy they emptied out in ’forty-one.”

“Your family.”

“Everyone. Then bigger things. Until they started to lose. After Stalingrad, they knew. Antonescu was so desperate he put out feelers-this time to save the Jews, help them get to Palestine. Sell them. I was here then. We bought some out. The Americans more. They had the money. Already Antonescu must have been thinking about the end, making some friends for after. He should have looked closer to home. When he was deposed, ’forty-four, where was loyal Alexei? Nowhere to be found.” He paused. “Until you found him.”

“So he knew. That’s not the same as-”

“Who pulls the trigger? Is that what you mean?”

Leon looked away, flustered.

“Maybe I’ve been going too fast for you.”

“I get the picture. He’d sell his mother. What am I supposed to do?”

“Not let him sell her again. Antonescu goes on trial soon. But not Alexei. Why not?”

“Because he made a deal.” Leon looked up. “He didn’t make it with me.”

“So it’s not your responsibility. Nobody’s.” He took a drink, letting the air settle a little. “Let the Communists have him. Put him on trial. With Antonescu.”

“A show trial. They don’t try people. They shoot them.”

“In this case, well deserved.”

“Maybe he’s more valuable this way. I don’t know. I don’t know what he knows.”

“I know what he is. I said before a butcher. I didn’t tell you why.”

Leon held up his hand. “It doesn’t matter. It’s not up to me-”

“One more thing. Then you decide. The Guard. You remember I said there were excesses. But what’s in a word? Excesses. You know Bucharest?”

“No.”

“Dudeşti was the main Jewish district. Three days they went crazy there. First Strada Lipscani, a killing spree, looting. Then out in the Băneasa forest, making them dig pits before they shot them. The reason for this, by the way? No one said. Enough they were Jews. But the second day, before Antonescu decided to send the tanks, the Guard went even crazier. Maybe they drank each other’s blood again, who knows. For courage. What courage? Who was fighting them? Terrified Jews, begging for their lives? That was the day they got two hundred of them-men, women-and took them to Străuleşti.” He stopped, then tossed back the rest of the drink. “The slaughterhouse. South of town. An abattoir.”

Leon waited, not moving.

“They put the Jews on the conveyor belts. Stripped, on all fours. They made them bleat, like the animals. Crying, I suppose, maybe screaming, but also bleating like they were ordered. Then through the assembly line, the same treatment the animals got. Heads sliced off, then limbs, then hung up on hooks. Carcasses. And then they stamped them, the carcasses.” He said something in Romanian, then translated. “Fit for human consumption. The inspector’s stamp.” He paused. “You decide.”

Leon said nothing, staring, as if the belt were moving through the room before them, blood spurting, running into gutters.

“And Alexei was there?” Leon said, marking time, his stomach queasy.

“There were no witnesses. Among the Jews. Just the Guard. But he’s still with the Guard then. He was seen. Ask him.”