David Bezmozgis - The Free World

On his third day at the briefing department, standing before the newly arrived émigrés at their cafeteria orientation, Alec felt like a fraud. He felt tempted to confess that, not one week before, he had been sitting in their place, and that he knew no more about Rome than they did. But he was aware that this kind of revelation would only sow panic.

After the orientation Alec made the rounds of the émigrés’ hotel rooms. He distributed U.S. emigration forms, priming people for their Persecution Stories and, if necessary, their Party Stories. Some people came prepared with a vast catalog of grievances that they had been compiling their entire lives; others needed some interpretive assistance.

A couple from Berdichev found the concept particularly boggling. The wife looked at Alec like he was obtuse.

— What do we need this for?

— Nobody’s saying you need it. The Americans need it. You’re claiming refugee status. To be a refugee you need to have been persecuted.

— The entire country was persecuted.

— Did you and your husband attend university?

— Yes. Both of us.

— Was it the university of your choice?

— I was not an exceptional student. I had no grand designs.

— And your husband?

— He has a good head for academics. He had wanted to study history.

— He wasn’t accepted?

— Not into that faculty.

— How come?

— What do you mean how come? Look at his nose.

Alec had landed in the briefing department after a brisk evaluation by Matilda Levy. She had walked him through the HIAS offices while rattling off the various positions and personalities.

— Konstantin is our messenger, Matilda said when they passed the table reserved for the messenger. He is going to Canada. After one month he could find his way without the aid of a map not only in Ostia and Ladispoli, but also in Rome.

At the doors of the transportation department, a room that smelled strongly of body odor, cigarettes, and fried food, Matilda Levy introduced Alec to three of the four men who worked there. They looked up from their particular stacks of documents and submitted to the introduction in a cursory way, disguising not at all their displeasure at having to engage in the formality of greeting a superfluous person. The fourth man, Matilda explained, was at the dockyards coordinating the movement of freight. The slightest mistake and you had disaster — a family lands in New York but their dining room set lands in Melbourne.

— You do not seem to me an imposing man, Matilda said.

— Imposing? Alec asked, not understanding.

— A man to give orders to other men, Matilda said. No, they would eat you alive on the docks.

As neither the docks nor the musty office held any appeal for him, Alec saw no reason to contest Matilda’s perception of him. Besides, she was essentially right. His father was imposing and enjoyed issuing decrees and orders. Karl had this capacity as well, although he didn’t derive the kind of pleasure from it that their father did. Whereas the only thing Alec detested more than being ordered around was having to order someone else around. Basically, he was of the opinion that the world would be a far more interesting and hospitable place if everyone — genius and idiot alike — was allowed to bumble along as he pleased. “More freedom to bumble” neatly described his motive for leaving the Soviet Union.

— You are the type that prefers the company of women, Matilda Levy said as they stepped away from the Transportation Department. Is this correct?

They stopped in the hallway and Matilda Levy peered boldly into Alec’s eyes, squinting slightly as if in this way to achieve a better vantage into his innermost character.

— Yes, it is correct. I have always preferred the company of women, Alec said and, after hesitating one instant too long, smiled.

The smile, Alec immediately felt, was a mistake. Under Matilda Levy’s peculiar scrutiny and under the demands of a foreign language, he had momentarily been unable to act like himself. He had intended only to deliver a simple statement in the English language and season it with a little charm but had instead, because of the yawning gap between his words and his smile, presented for Matilda Levy’s consideration a man who was either licentious or deranged or some combination of the two.

Matilda Levy seemed to regard him ruminatively.

— Yes, she said, I believe it is so.

Alec wasn’t sure what she meant: What was so? He had temporarily lost track of what they had been talking about. Matilda Levy appeared before him transformed, as though she had stepped out from behind some scrim that had been obscuring a more vital Matilda Levy. Alec sensed that she was now differently disposed to him. They were no longer administrator and prospective employee, but rather woman and man — with complementary desires and bodies. For Alec’s consideration Matilda Levy presented the physical Matilda Levy: hips, breasts, legs, hairdo — adorned with nylons, necklaces, bracelets, bulky rings, and lipstick.

Saying nothing further, Matilda Levy swept around and, wielding her bosom like a prow, sailed down the hall, to the stairwell and beyond. Alec followed in her wake. It had been a long time since he had found himself in this position. More often, he led the way. Other times, the act of seduction was performed in a spirit of mutuality. Nobody led. Hand in hand, both tumbled together. But Alec couldn’t imagine himself tumbling hand in hand with Matilda Levy. He could imagine other scenarios, though these, even cast in the most favorable light, were either comic or absurd. Nevertheless, as Matilda reached the bottom of the stairwell and crossed four lanes of traffic, Alec felt that he had to seriously consider the possibility. Could it be that his job with HIAS was conditional upon becoming Matilda Levy’s lover? Far stranger things happened with astounding regularity. His mother’s cousin, raided by the police, once tried to swallow an inventory list. When one of the officers attempted to pry it out of his mouth, he bit off the policeman’s finger. Compared with that, sleeping with Matilda Levy for a middling job at HIAS seemed perfectly reasonable. And with every successive step Alec took he asked himself: Should I do it? The answer, of course, resided in the question. If you asked yourself if you should do it, you shouldn’t do it.

Matilda Levy inserted a key into the lock of a nondescript building and stepped inside the shadowy lobby. She did not look back to check whether Alec was behind her. She pressed ahead with implacable resolve, as if everything was foregone and settled, as if she and Alec had come to an agreement. Alec supposed that maybe he had agreed to more than he’d suspected. Between a man and a woman, the merest look has sexual implications. For all he knew, Matilda Levy could have taken his smile for a marriage proposal. He thought to say something, to clarify his position in some diplomatic way, to alter the tone, but Matilda Levy’s silent determination discouraged talk.

In spite of all this, Alec found himself inspecting the lobby for suitably concealed corners where the act could be consummated. This was purely reflexive, a consequence of Soviet privation. It was one thing to attract a woman, quite another to find a place where you could be together undisturbed. One time, in a bind, he had convinced a girl to climb up onto the broad bough of an oak tree. She’d feared falling, tearing her dress, losing a shoe. He’d had to reassure her, and also hoist her up on his shoulders. She was not a large girl but neither was she a natural climber. “What are we, squirrels?” the girl had complained. “If only,” Alec had said.

But this was the way it was with any human endeavor, great or small: one had to be blessed with a skill for it. Some people were good with numbers, others never forgot a face, others still had perfect pitch — as for himself, he could usually find a decent, serviceable place to copulate. Naturally, if you had such a skill, you couldn’t simply turn it off. In this respect it was like being a thief or a spy, habitually taking stock of your surroundings. Even in the presence of Matilda Levy, Alec still couldn’t help but notice that there was, to the left of the mailboxes, a narrow hallway that branched off at an obtuse angle and led to only two apartments. In his estimation, at this time of day, that hallway represented better-than-average odds. And, like a thief or a spy, Alec felt the nagging temptation to try his luck just to see if his instincts were still sharp.