David Bezmozgis - The Free World

— That you are pregnant and Russian and that you want to get near the pope so that he might bless your unborn child, whom you have liberated from a godless land.

To his mischievous smile, Polina responded with a grim look that cast a pall over everything. Lyova stopped trying to press ahead. They hit the final marks reserved for them as minor players in the pageant, beside a skinny African priest, four Capuchin friars in their brown robes and knotted sashes, and two Irish girls with plump freckled shoulders against whose earthly allure the Church could never enlist enough priests.

In the end, however, Alec didn’t remember the inauguration for the freckled Irish girls, or Polina’s injured mood, or his pinwheeling thoughts about Masha. He didn’t remember it for the opulence of the ceremony — the censers, and scepters, and the ranks of shuffling clergy. He remembered it for his father’s friend, Josef Roidman, whom he spied in the crowd sometime near the conclusion of the ceremony. Roidman had caught his eye accidentally, only because Alec happened to turn his head at a particular moment. Before he recognized Roidman’s face, he saw the gleam of the Soviet medals pinned to his blazer. From the medals, Alec raised his eyes to see the face. After the slightest pause, they both smiled in recognition. Roidman even waved genially with the top of his crutch.

But by the time Alec gained Polina’s attention, Roidman was no longer there.

— Who? Polina asked.

Alec looked again but didn’t see him. Then he heard a sound, like a collective intake of breath. A second later, he spotted Roidman through the crowd, remarkably on the opposite side of the security barrier, hobbling onto the red-carpeted path that formed a straight line to the pope. Throughout the crowd, various cries rang out. Roidman didn’t slacken his pace. Swinging forward, he reached inside his jacket with his free hand and produced a small Canadian flag on a stick, the kind handed out by the Canadian embassy. He managed to wave it energetically a few times, and to shout something unintelligible, before he was scooped up by the police. He didn’t put up any resistance, and they carried him off like a little parcel. Just as quickly as he’d appeared, he’d disappeared. The entire incident hadn’t lasted more than a few seconds, and Alec wasn’t even sure how many, of the thousands present, had observed it. Or if it had caught the attention of the pope or of the dignitaries to his left, including the man for whom the display had been intended.

Grinning proudly, Alec turned to Lyova and Polina, and said: Ours.

My dearest Lola,

It’s always sad to see the summer end, but this year more than ever. That’s because it occurred to me that we will have now been parted for an entire season. Compared with a week or a month, an entire season sounds like a lot. Here the very first leaves are starting to turn and so I notice more that you are not around.

I know you want to hear our news, but there isn’t very much to tell. Mama and Papa are about the same. The main difference is that Papa has been given a promotion. Well, I call it a promotion. He isn’t sailing anymore, but he is working at an administrative position within the ministry. So he is home all the time now and we get to see more of him. He’s still getting used to the change, but I think it’s for the best. He wasn’t going to sail forever.

For me, it is back to school, of course. Before classes I was invited to attend a meeting of the Komsomol. You will probably not be surprised to hear that the Komsomol leader was very curious to know how you were faring in Rome. He and some of the other comrades enlightened me about the true state of affairs in the West. They turned out to be remarkably well informed about the conditions in Italy as well as in America. They read me accounts in Pravda and from our own local Komsomol newspaper. Naturally, I told them that I was familiar with much of this information, since these were precisely the sorts of articles that Papa has been considerately leaving around the apartment. The meeting concluded on the warmest possible terms. I agreed with them that you had made a dreadful error, and that I, in my capacity as your sister, had failed to dissuade you from making this destructive and counterrevolutionary decision.

As I wrote you before, I have become quite friendly with your mailman. He has introduced me to others like him. I’ve found them all to be very intriguing and energetic. They’ve been kind to me and have treated me almost as if I were one of them. Twice already I’ve spent an evening with them at one of their apartments. Did you know that your mailman sings and plays the guitar remarkably well? I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone quite like him. He knows by heart literally dozens of songs in Russian and Latvian, but also many others in his native language. Just like our songs, theirs are beautiful and sad — and, if anything, sadder. He’s made an effort to teach me, but as you know, memory has never been my strong suit. He claims that my forgetfulness is no match for his perseverance. I think he may be in for quite a shock.

As the saying went, Wonders will never cease, Alec thought.

He’d gone before the dour Riva Davidovna and offered the Karl-sanctioned apartment but she had declined it. The previous day, her son had found them a place in Ladispoli. She thanked Alec for his offer, and mentioned a family from Dnepropetrovsk that was experiencing tremendous difficulties in this regard.

The family from Dnepropetrovsk could burn, Alec thought, and cursed himself for not having acted more swiftly. By the next morning the Horvitzes’ underthings would be part of the Soviet undergarment exhibit, dripping on some balcony in Ladispoli.

Alec had his exchange with Riva Davidovna in the pensione corridor, outside the door to their room. Other émigrés scavenged about the corridor, en route to continue their scavenging elsewhere. As Riva Davidovna prepared to return to her room, her son appeared at the far end of the corridor and skulked balefully over to them. With him was another man, all but recognizable at a distance, and then altogether unmistakable.

— This is the friend of Dmitri’s who helped us find the apartment, Riva Davidovna said, referring to Minka the thief, who extended his hand for a meaty shake.

— As you can see, Minka said, I am still here.

— You have my sympathies, Alec said.

— I’m sure, Minka replied.

— You know each other? Riva Davidovna inquired.

— We have a mutual friend, Alec said.

— Something like that.

Alec wasn’t sure whose friendship Minka was calling into doubt. Or why exactly Minka had bothered with the clarification at all?

— It’s a small world, Minka philosophized. Take me and Dmitri. It’s been more than three years. When we last saw each other it was on another planet. On that planet, there was no Rome. No Rome and, you could say, not much of Minsk either, eh, Dimka?

— No Rome, that’s for certain, Dmitri said churlishly.

— Yes, Minka affirmed. And now look. Here we are. Two wandering Jews. Searching for a home.

Strictly speaking, this was true, Alec thought. Though with their scarred brows and tattooed arms, their pictures would never grace the fund-raising brochures.

Putting her hand on the doorknob, Riva Davidovna informed her son about Alec’s offer.

— Is that so? Dmitri said. You find apartments for everybody or just us?

— You’re the first, Alec said.

— Yeah, and why’s that?

— Something turned up, and I remembered you.