Charles McCarry - The Miernik Dossier

Miernik laughed. “Some Polish tourists would be very interesting to a man who keeps a harem. Maybe this is not such a bad idea.”

He cheered up very quickly, a little too quickly perhaps for a man who is going to find himself in the middle of the desert without a passport. He began to rub his hands together, always in Miernik a sign of joy.

“I have always wanted to see Sudan,” he said. “It is an extremely interesting place, you know. The populations, the religion, this ancient society cut off from water, living where no men should be able to live. Not only have they lived, they have been conquerors, even. Fascinating.”

“You seem to know a lot about it.”

“I have studied it for years. One of my secrets, Paul. I want to write a book about it. I even studied Arabic at one time, a little.”

“You speak it?”

“Read it a little. I suppose I would speak it with a Polish accent.”

“That should give Kalash something to laugh about.”

“Kalash. He is no longer very friendly to me.”

Miernik was plunged again into gloom. He reminded me of his outburst in the restaurant a couple of weeks before. “I insulted him. Royalty does not like that.”

“Kalash probably didn’t even notice. He’ll take you along if you want to go. He’ll even get you Somali girls-that’s what he’s promised Nigel and me.”

“Nigel is going?”

“Of course. He wouldn’t miss a trip like that.”

“Then the trip is out for me.”

“Because Nigel annoyed you today? Don’t be an ass.”

Miernik closed his eyes. “It has nothing to do with that. But I could not spend three weeks in a Cadillac with Nigel.”

“Why not? He’s the best man in the world on a trip.”

“It’s something I am not free to discuss. It would be painful for me. I cannot go.”

He got to his feet. His glass had left a ring of moisture on the coffee table. He took out his handkerchief and wiped the table and the bottom of the glass. He staggered halfway across the room before catching his balance with a frown.

“Paul, I say good night.”

I did not quite know how to handle this. According to your calculations, Miernik should have leaped at the chance to go to Sudan. At first, he had done so. Now, for no reason he cared to explain, he had decided that he would not go.

I thought I knew the reason. “What have you done,” I said, “fucked Ilona?”

(Be calm! There is no way Miernik can possibly know that I heard the tapes you have of the great love scene. My tone was joking.)

The effect of my remark was about what I would have expected if I had driven a spear into Miernik’s spine. His whole body jerked, his face flushed. I think sometimes that he is a tortured Catholic; I don’t know what else could produce such a paroxysm of guilt. Miernik sat down again.

“Nigel knows this?” he asked. “Ilona has told him?”

“You mean you have slept with Ilona?”

Miernik began to grin. For an instant he looked positively jaunty. “You will not believe this, Paul, but she asked me. An extraordinary girl.”

“How was she?”

“Very generous, very-inventive.”

“I congratulate you.”

Miernik’s grin got broader. He was more than a little drunk. “Thank you, but I did nothing except surrender. I think she wanted me to die happy.” He rose and began to pace. “The question is, why did she tell Nigel?”

“You don’t know that she did. Why should she?”

“Oh, I know. Why else would he have treated me so badly today? He was joyful about everything that happened to me. At the time I wondered if he knew, but I tried to believe he did not. Guilt-I felt guilt. Standing in front of Nigel’s desk I felt that my fate had been given to me by God for having betrayed a friend. Very odd, the human conscience.”

“Dieu te pardonnera, c’est son métier,” I said. “A minute ago you looked pretty pleased with yourself, old man.”

Miernik shrugged and spread his hands. “She is something, Paul. Now I really will say good night.”

“You’d better think about the trip with Kalash. I think it’s your best chance as things stand now.”

“I don’t think so,” Miernik said. He was smiling again. “Nigel has started to smoke a pipe. How can I lock myself up in a car all the way to Khartoum with someone who blows smoke up my nose?”

He shook my hand and left.

COMMENT: In the above conversation, Miernik showed flashes of humor for the first time since I’ve known him. Maybe this is the comedy of desperation, and then again it’s possible he knows something I do not about his situation. If he is serious about avoiding the trip to Sudan, I see no point in going myself. Do you want me to try to change his mind (a move he would be waiting for if your suppositions about him are correct), or have you some alternate temptation you’d like to try on him?

Please advise.

MIERNIK: Ilona? Here is the hairy beast.

BENTLEY: Miernik? Quelle jolie surprise.

MIERNIK: I waited a week to phone you. I thought you’d admire my self-control.

BENTLEY: I thought you were making a very slow recovery.

MIERNIK: Maybe I will never recover.

BENTLEY: You sound very sick and sorrowful.

MIERNIK: Yes, I suppose I do.

BENTLEY: That’s very flattering. Good-bye.

(Connection broken here. Miernik dials again; Bentley answers on tenth ring.)

MIERNIK: Ilona, I want to talk to you. Don’t ring off.

BENTLEY: Why not? I don’t seem to make you very happy.

MIERNIK: Is making me happy so important to you?

BENTLEY: Making people unhappy is not what I like.

MIERNIK: It’s not you. Hasn’t he told you what’s happened?

BENTLEY: He? Who?

MIERNIK: Your Englishman.

BENTLEY: Nigel? What’s happened with you and Nigel?

MIERNIK: He gave me the sack. My government is taking away my passport.

BENTLEY: (Laughs). Oh, that. I thought it might be something else.

MIERNIK: You say “Oh, that?” This is not merely “Oh, that,” Ilona. If I go back to Poland, I go to prison. If I remain here or anywhere without papers I cease to exist. A man without a passport simply vanishes from life. He is a fugitive from everyone.

BENTLEY: I know. It’s terrible. I’m very sorry, Tadeusz, truly I am.

MIERNIK: What did you think I was talking about? There could be something worse?

BENTLEY: Not worse, more embarrassing. I thought perhaps you and Nigel had been comparing notes.

MIERNIK: Ilona!

BENTLEY: Men are men. I know how you can be.

MIERNIK: I cannot be like that. But I think your Englishman suspects something. He is very, very cold to me.

BENTLEY: Suspects something? How can he suspect anything unless one of us gives him reason?

MIERNIK: Have you given him reason?

BENTLEY: I haven’t seen him.

MIERNIK: Are you sure?

BENTLEY: What the hell is this, a police interrogation? What I do is my affair-not Nigel’s, and not yours either, my friend.

MIERNIK: I apologize. I didn’t mean…

BENTLEY: All right. I am not a piece of property.

MIERNIK: I have been wondering.

BENTLEY: Wondering what?

MIERNIK: If you would like to have dinner again. Tonight.

BENTLEY: I’ve eaten.

MIERNIK: Now you are angry.

BENTLEY: No, just not hungry.

MIERNIK: Tomorrow, then.

BENTLEY: I won’t be hungry tomorrow either, I’m afraid.

MIERNIK: I see. Once was enough.

BENTLEY: There is something I call Ilona’s Law. “Enjoy the experience but watch out for the aftermath.” I see it proved every day.