David Bezmozgis - The Free World

For the enchanted moment, Roidman envisioned a scene in the hospital ward. All is white. The iron beds painted white, the bedsheets white, the doctors and nurses in their coats white, shafts of white light through the windows, and Fanny in a white nightgown with white bandages over her eyes.

Carefully, a doctor bends down and removes the bandages, placing them in a white enamel bowl. Fanny’s dark eyelashes are revealed, her eyes still closed. Slowly, tentatively, like petals to the sun, her eyelids open.

With a contented grin, Roidman said: Our day will also come, Samuil Leyzerovich. I am certain of that. Our patience will be rewarded and we, too, will be released.

My dearest Lola,

Prepare yourself, because I have some big news …

Alec had collected the envelope from the mail slot and, as was their habit, he’d left it on the kitchen table for Polina to discover when she came home. He then went out to the corner store for groceries and cigarettes. When he returned, Polina was at the table with the letter spread out before her. At the sound of his entrance, Polina raised her head and gave him a tentative, perplexed look.

Alec asked, What is it? and joined her at the table.

— Arik Farberman got his visa, Polina said.

— Imagine that, Alec said. They’re really cleaning house.

Polina paused.

— He’s proposed to Nadja, she said.

— You don’t say.

— She asks me what I think she should do.

— Arik is a real Zionist, down to the bone, Alec said. Or at least he was when we left.

— He still is, Polina said.

— And is there more going on between them than just the visa?

— There is.

— A lot? Alec asked.

— How much does there need to be? Polina asked dryly.

In response, Alec could only smile.

— If Arik is the same as when we left, he won’t go to Canada or America. Only Israel. Is she ready for that?

— She says she is, but he’s filled her head with ideas and you know how she can be.

— What are you going to say?

— She’s my sister; I love her, and I want to see her.

— So then tell her.

— Is that reason enough, that I want to see her? It’s not like I’ll be next door.

— You think she’ll be worse off in Israel than in Latvia?

Alec had asked the question almost without thinking, as if it could have only one plausible answer. But in the way Polina received it, in the flash of acrimony in her eyes, he saw himself reflected as a dullard and a fool.

— She is asking if she should leave her home and abandon our parents in their old age to follow a man she hardly knows to a strange country: What would you have me tell her?

— If you put it like that, then of course, Alec said, feeling a swell of anger. You must write to her immediately and keep her from making this terrible mistake.

Polina continued as if she hadn’t heard him.

— And she’d be going to Israel, with its wars, its terrorist attacks. Where she would never be completely accepted.

— Into the lair of the Zionist aggressor, Alec said, now surprising himself with this upsurge of patriotic indignation.

— Don’t twist my words, Polina said. I’m not saying anything I haven’t heard you or Lyova say.

— Fine, so what are we debating? It seems we are all in agreement. You, me, Lyova.

Alec found that Polina’s invocation of Lyova also irritated him. He thought: What is Lyova doing in our private conversation?

Polina looked at him coldly and said, I see that I was wrong to say anything to you.

It felt to Alec like a storm had blown in out of nowhere. He couldn’t understand what had given rise to this strange disagreement. Why was he being attacked? He hadn’t designed the Soviet Union. He hadn’t founded the state of Israel.

They sat locked in this stalemate when the intercom buzzed and Alec got up to go to the device. Through the speaker, swirling with electric clicks and pops, a man’s voice burbled out. The voice wasn’t one Alec could place immediately. Who’s asking? Alec said, and the response came back: It’s me, Iza. Iza Judo.

— It’s not a good time, Iza. Come back later.

— Would I bother you for no reason? Iza said.

— Later.

— Five minutes, Iza said. I’ll come up.

Alec looked ruefully at Polina.

— Go, I’m not keeping you.

— Wonderful, Alec said, and trudged down the stairs.

When Alec opened the door, he came face-to-face with Iza, who wore an overeager expression, as if he’d been wound up like a child’s toy. Or, more precisely, wound himself up.

Since the day Iza had propositioned him in front of the briefing department, Alec had seen him only in passing, now and again, usually at one of the pensiones, where Iza would be accosting a batch of new arrivals. But it had been weeks since he’d seen him last. If Syomka hadn’t still been employed by the briefing department, Alec would have assumed that the brothers Bender were safely naturalized in Australia. Instead, here was Iza, emitting urgency and venality.

Over Iza’s shoulder, the late afternoon sun had ripened and saturated the pastel colors of the buildings down to their grains. Iza’s close-cropped head was rimmed in ocher. His tan vinyl jacket, the sleeves pushed up over his thick forearms, had a warm translucence.

Assessing the building and the street, Iza mused, I don’t think I know anyone else who lives around here.

— It’s not popular with Russians.

— How’s the rent?

— Not too bad.

— A lot of drug addicts?

— They keep to themselves. And, besides, we don’t have anything to steal.

— It’s all right here. Very Italian. If you like that sort of thing.

Iza grinned and interrupted his patter long enough for Alec to take note of a white Fiat 500 parked half on the sidewalk just at the edge of the building. The driver’s window was rolled down and Dmitri was leaning out, watching them. Beside him in the passenger seat, white as a bulb, was Minka the thief. Neither of them twitched a muscle in greeting.

Iza glanced at the Fiat and back at Alec.

— Something big is going down, Iza said conspiratorially.

— What’s that?

— A serious deal. High stakes.

— Great, Iza, but what’s it got to do with me?

— Your brother’s involved.

— I’m sure it’s not the first time. But I don’t meddle in his affairs. Which is how he likes it. Me, too.

— Not this time.

— Not this time, what?

— This time he wants you along.

— Why’s that?

— I couldn’t say. Those were his words. I didn’t think to ask why. You know him. He doesn’t like to be questioned.

— It doesn’t seem a little strange to you, Iza? This is how you prepare for a big deal? Karl wants me along but I don’t know anything about it? Instead he sends you over without any warning? Let’s say I wasn’t here.

— But you are here.

— What if I wasn’t?

— What if? What if? Look, if Grandpa had tits he’d be Grandma.

Alec considered Iza to be a dolt and he wasn’t thrilled about the prospect of going anywhere with him, or with tight-lipped Dmitri or with Minka the thief, but at the same time he felt a masochistic urge to spite Polina — to punish her by going on this rash, dubious adventure.

— Where’s this happening?

— Ostia.

— And how long will it take? Alec asked.

— No time, Iza said and grinned, tasting victory and enamored of his powers of persuasion.

He spun himself around and headed toward the car.

— And what about getting home? Alec called.

— Don’t worry about it, Iza said, glancing backwards.

— I’m not interested in taking the train, Alec said.