David Bezmozgis - The Free World

— You didn’t consult with them before you decided?

— We are here, they are there, you understand. If the day comes when they are able to join us — and I hope it will — then they will have to come to Australia. Or, if they don’t like it, they can always go to Israel. This may not sound very nice, but it’s the truth. Now, of course, you are traveling as one family and so, naturally, it is better.

— Naturally nothing. It remains to be seen what is better, Samuil said.

With that, Iza rose and excused himself. He had enjoyed his visit but had to attend to some affairs. For practical advice, he recommended settling in Ladispoli instead of Ostia. Ostia was overrun by Odessans. Ladispoli was populated more by people from Moscow, Leningrad, Latvia, Lithuania. In short, it was more civilized. But both towns were on the seashore. Both were close to Rome by train. If they liked, he would make himself available to help them find an apartment. Having lived there for seven months, he knew the system. He could protect them from the meklers, the unscrupulous apartment brokers. And, if they required, with his experience, he could also help in other ways. For instance, if they had optical equipment — cameras, lenses, telescopes — to sell, he could secure them a much better price than they would get on the open market.

— That’s very generous, Emma said, as Alec accompanied Iza out of the room.

In the hallway, when Alec said goodbye to Iza, he noticed a handful of men roaming from room to room, knocking on doors each with his own shoulder bag.

— Well? Samuil said, when Alec returned.

— Well, Alec replied.

— Glad to see your friend?

— What do you think?

— I just hope you didn’t agree to sell him anything.

— Of course not.

— Or tell him what we have. All the time he sat there, his eyes were on our bags.

— I said, Thank you and goodbye.

— With a character like that, what he can’t buy he’ll steal.

— I wouldn’t worry about Iza, Alec said. I know him. If he poses a danger to anyone it’s to himself.

They had no other visitors. After they put the room into some semblance of order, Samuil reluctantly followed Emma up the steps to see Karl and the grandchildren. In their former life, Alec had never seen his father do anything reluctantly. He did what he wanted or he did nothing at all. Almost in spite of himself, Alec couldn’t help pitying his father — even knowing that the only reason Samuil consented to climb the flight of stairs was that he preferred to sit in a room with Karl, Rosa, and the boys than to sit in a room with Alec and Polina.

— Quick, Alec said, before they come back.

— I haven’t slept. I haven’t washed, Polina said.

— Sleeping, washing. You’re the most beautiful woman in Rome.

Polina gazed at the squalid, overheated little room.

— This is Rome?

— We could open a window.

In the afternoon, everyone was called down to the cafeteria for lunch. Since the Joint Distribution Committee had yet to provide them with Italian currency, the meal was furnished by the hotel. Two Italian waitresses shuffled through the cafeteria, dispensing bread rolls and apricot preserves. For families with bambini they also brought milk. After the rolls were exhausted the waitresses disappeared into the kitchen. It soon became evident that the rolls constituted the entire meal.

— This must be a mistake, Rosa said.

Later, when they were served a dinner of lettuce followed by macaroni, a former dissident circulated a petition among the émigrés. He promised to file a formal grievance with both HIAS and the Joint. A number of people signed, though Alec declined and Karl forbade Rosa from adding her name.

— These people control our fate and you want to antagonize them because of a salad? Karl said.

When his turn came, Samuil sneered at both the petition and the petitioner.

— I didn’t sign your petitions before and I don’t intend to start now.

— What do you mean by “your” petitions, comrade? retorted the dissident.

— You know very well what I mean. It’s lucky for you we are no longer back home, because, over there, I assure you, no Zionist agitator would be so quick to call me comrade.

— My luck then, comrade, the dissident said, and moved on.

Alec, Samuil, Polina, and Emma retreated to their room. In one suitcase, Emma had stashed several dozen packets of dehydrated chicken noodle soup. In the same suitcase, she also found a box of crackers. Polina had several cloves of garlic, four potatoes, and a Spanish onion which she had bought in Vienna. There was also half the salami that she’d packed for the train. Alec withdrew a pot from one of the duffel bags and lined up with his neighbors by the bathroom to fill it with water. Everyone in line held either a pot or a kettle. Back in the room Emma set the pot to boil on a glowing hot plate. On another hot plate, Polina had placed a frying pan into which she deposited sliced onions and potatoes. The water had just started to boil when the lights in their room dimmed, flickered, and then cut out entirely. Immediately, shouts and curses rang through the hotel. Alec waited a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the dark, and then, by the vestigial glow of the hot plate, sought out the bag that contained their flashlights. The flashlights were jumbled in with windup, skittering toy chicks; tin Red Army soldiers; pocket knives; abacuses; miniature wooden chess sets. As a mark of Soviet ingenuity, the flashlights did not require batteries. They were mechanical, powered by a long metal trigger. One repeatedly pumped the trigger, thereby generating light and a faint buzzing sound.

Pumping his flashlight at the rate of a quick pulse, Alec stepped out into the hallway. Other people emerged from their rooms also pumping their little flashlights. The effect was reminiscent of the countryside at dusk. It was as if, one after another, nocturnal insects were awaking to pursue their nightly business. Before long, Alec could no longer distinguish individual sources. The buzzing lost all cadence and dominated the hotel. Alec heard it from the floors above and below and, all around, he saw the flitting yellow halos cast by the low-wattage bulbs. Not far from him, crouched against the wall, a boy spooned soup from a metal bowl which his mother illuminated by flashlight. Alec looked the length of the hallway and saw doors open to every room, the occupants peering out or congregating in groups. At the end of the hall, a man strummed a guitar and sang the first line of a melancholic war ballad: Dark night, only bullets whistle on the steppe. Interspersed throughout the hallway, other voices joined in and obliged him to continue. Alec passed an elderly woman who leaned against the railing, like a bygone movie heroine, singing, immersed in sentiment. For the first time, a sense of community pervaded. People suspended their quarrels and commiserated about the shitty hotel: no elevator, no food, no power.

As Alec turned back toward his room he heard the familiar piercing voices of his nephews. There was a bounding on the stairwell and two darting beams of light. The boys raced down the steps and then along the hallway, shining their lights into people’s faces. The boys were seven and five; the two-year age difference half that of his and Karl’s. Yury, the elder, and the more reserved of the two, looked like Karl, square and sturdy, and tried to emulate Karl’s laconic manner. Zhenya, on the other hand, though only five, showed the ill effects of his mother’s and grandmother’s coddling. He was overfed and impudent — qualities that Alec hoped he would outgrow. Emma was fond of pointing out that he himself had been a hundred times worse than Zhenya at that age.