Joseph Kanon - Defectors

“Who?”

“Perry Soames’s wife. Polish. They met—well, I don’t know how they met, actually. Marzena,” she called out.

A woman in boots came around from the garden side, her blond hair protected from the damp by a headscarf.

“Pani, bad girl,” she said to the dog, indulgent, then made a clicking sound which brought the dog over. “She gets excited. Oh, look at the lilacs. I love lilacs,” she said, drawing out the l’s, an exaggerated accent that reminded Simon of the Gabor sisters. “For tomorrow?”

“Yes. You’re early,” Jo said, looking at her wristwatch, a tease.

“I don’t mean to bother—is Frank here?”

“He’s meeting with some people. From the office.”

“Oh,” Marzena said, the code for off-limits. “It’s my icebox. That’s right, icebox? Kaput. I don’t know why. And you know how handy he is.”

“Shall I tell him to walk over when he’s through?”

Simon looked up, hearing something new in her voice.

“If it’s not too late. I don’t mean to bother—” She glanced toward Simon, curious, waiting to be introduced.

“I’m sorry,” Joanna said. “Frank’s brother. Simon.”

“His brother,” she said, a theatrical delight. “Yes, I see it. Now that I look.” And then, to Simon’s surprise, she took off her scarf, shaking out her yellow hair, a kind of flirtation, as if she wanted him to notice her as a woman.

“Marzena, you knew he was coming,” Joanna said, a gentle poke.

“Yes, but you know how I forget things.” A habit meant to be charming. “So. I’m happy to meet you, Frank’s brother.” She dipped her head. “I want to hear everything. How he was, as a little boy. But tomorrow—you must have so much to do,” she said to Joanna. “I didn’t mean—it was just the icebox.”

“I’ll send the handyman over,” Joanna said.

“Can I bring anything to lunch?”

“No, I’ve got Eva to help. Just come.”

“It’s always so well organized here,” Marzena said to Simon, who was looking at her more carefully now. A pretty woman who thought herself a beauty, her face always tilted toward the light, a harmless vanity. Her eyes were lively, the way Joanna’s had been when she danced, and he saw that for Marzena the world was still a ballroom, filled with partners to please. “Were you good friends as boys?” she said. Small talk, just to get a response.

“Yes,” he said. “Best friends.”

“So you know all his secrets,” she said.

“Not anymore.”

“No,” she said, an awkward moment.

Simon bent down to pat the dog, the first he could remember seeing in Russia. But there must be dogs everywhere. Were there breeders? Kennel clubs? The whole pet world that had grown up around them at home? Or had they barely survived the war, a time too hungry for pets. Just a small moment, petting a dog, and he realized again how little he knew.

“Look how she is with you. You can tell a lot about a man from the dogs, how they are with you.” Her eyes on Simon, actively flirting now.

“She must miss Perry,” Joanna said.

Marzena nodded, suddenly fighting back tears, her voice shifting down. “It’s so sad to see. She sits by his chair. Waiting. But of course he doesn’t come.”

“Marzena’s husband,” Joanna said, explaining. “He died a few weeks—”

“I can’t believe it either. I’m like Pani. I look at his chair. Waiting.”

“I’m sorry,” Simon said automatically.

“It’s one thing if you’re old. You expect such things. But so young— At first you can’t stand it,” Marzena said. “But do you know what helps? The dog. After it happened, I didn’t want to get out of bed. But Pani has to be fed. Go for walks. So you get up and you go on. And time passes. Well, you have things to do. You’ll mention it to Frank? The icebox? But only if it’s not too late. He’s always such a good friend to us,” she said to Simon. “Anything to help. Come, Pani.” She made a clicking sound.

Joanna, hands still full of lilacs, watched her go. “Always such a good friend,” she said in Marzena’s accent. “God.” She glanced at her wristwatch. “How about a drink? It’s not too early.”

“What about the mushrooms?”

“They’ll keep.” She looked over at him. “Just one.”

She came back with two small glasses of vodka, giving one to him.

“You know how handy he is.” Marzena’s voice again. “She probably pulled the plug out.” She tossed back the drink. “Bottle blonde.”

“You don’t like her?”

“Ha,” she said, swallowing the drink.

“Then why ask her for lunch?”

“They live in the next dacha over. We’re friends. We’re supposed to be friends,” she corrected herself. “Well, Frank is.” She looked at the Service car in the driveway, then took the glasses and left them on the steps. “Come on.”

They started across the lawn toward the trees, opposite the way Marzena had gone.

“He shot himself, didn’t he? The husband,” Simon said.

“Unless she shot him. Or Frank shot him.”

“What?”

“Not that he had to shoot him. Maybe it was just enough, if he knew.”

“Knew what?”

Joanna waved a hand in front of her face, shooing this away. “Nothing,” she said quietly. “Nothing.”

They had passed into a grove of birches, the ground still wet from the rain.

“Knew what?”

“Nothing,” she said again and then her shoulders were shaking, head down, hiding tears.

“Jo,” he said, his hand on her arm. “For God’s sake—”

“Sorry,” she said, taking a breath, controlling her shaking. “Do you have—?” She reached out for a handkerchief.

He handed her one, then watched her wipe her eyes, blow her nose. “So stupid,” she said, then started shaking again.

He put his arms around her, drawing her head against his shoulder. “Shh,” he said, smelling her, the damp leaves, feeling her against him. “It’s all right.”

She stayed there for a second, then slowly pulled away, blowing her nose again. “Is it? I thought it wasn’t.”

“What’s wrong?”

She looked up at him. “Well, why shouldn’t you know? You know everything else.” Her voice steadier, over it. “You don’t want to watch the show tomorrow without a playbill. The little glances that nobody else is supposed to see. The way she looks at him. Then his jokes so everything seems normal. Send him over to fix my fridge. Send him over. Just like that. Get one in before dinner. It’s quite a show. And me? Blind, not a clue. Why would I suspect a thing? Everyone being so clever. But that’s what he’s good at, isn’t it?” She stopped, then looked down. “But you never think he’d do it to you. You think it’s different.”

“I don’t believe it.”

She smiled, a halfhearted curve of her mouth. “Still the good angel.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I do. Give me some credit.”

“He loves you. He’d do anything for you.” Risk everything, live in hiding.

She brushed her hair back. “Never mind. Nothing like a good cry once in a while. I suppose I look a mess,” she said, pushing at her cheeks. “The funny thing is, I think it’s over. After Perry died—a little unseemly. Even for Frank. Not that it stops her. Come fix my fridge. When all she has to do is pick up the phone. Anything to get him over there. Like before.”

“What do you mean?”

“He was always over there.”

“Maybe he went to see the husband.”

“Why? To talk physics? What would Perry have to say to Frank?”

He heard Frank’s voice at Novodevichy. He drank, he talked. I made notes.

“Of course, you can’t help but wonder. Why he did it. Maybe he found out. Then how do you live with that? So Frank’s not running over anymore.”