David Bezmozgis - The Free World

— You think you can just do what you please? Iza demanded. You can’t do business like this. People will find out. I’ve got a witness.

— Who’s your witness? Dmitri asked, and motioned disparagingly to Alec. Him?

— That’s right, Iza said.

— First you get him out here so we can smack him around, and now he’s supposed to be your witness?

— Now don’t you go making up tales, Iza said bitterly, and sought Alec’s eyes in solidarity. We’re friends from way back. He knows the truth. He knows nobody would dare touch him, because they’d have Karl to answer to. Everybody knows this.

— Is that right? Dmitri asked. Is that what everybody knows?

It was after this that the violence started.

When Iza fell silent, Dmitri, Minka, and the Italian kid stopped beating him. They stood panting from their exertions and the Italian kid trained his flashlight on Iza’s huddled form. Dmitri kneeled down and placed his hand on Iza’s neck to check for a pulse. He then frisked him, going into his pockets and pulling out loose change, his wallet and passport. The passport was the only thing that held his interest. Alec watched him open and study it.

— Stupid piece of trash, Dmitri said to Iza’s inert body. I should piss on your fucking Australian passport. A piece of trash like you gets out while I’m stuck in this shit.

He flung the passport down on top of Iza.

He then wheeled around and slugged Alec in the face. Alec felt the impact like black shards inside his head. Before he knew what had happened, he found himself on the ground next to Iza.

— So that you understand who you’re dealing with! Dmitri spat.

He peeled off a number of bills and threw them in Iza’s general direction.

— That should be enough for a taxi to the hospital.

Alec didn’t bother to get up as Dmitri, Minka, Angelo, and the Italian kid packed up the briefcases and took them away. Minka, with his broken hand, could carry only one case, so the Italian kid carried three. They stepped out of the ruin and into the field. Before too long, their flashlight beams were swallowed up by the dark streets of Ostia Antica.

At four in the morning, from a hospital in Ostia, Alec was finally able to call home. Polina picked up after one ring, and answered in a voice completely alert.

— I thought I’d have to apologize for waking you, Alec said.

— Where are you? she asked, her tone balanced on a point between anger and fear.

— In Ostia. In the Villa del Lido hospital.

— What happened to you?

— Nothing too terrible. It’s just my face. A few stitches over the eye. I think they’ll still let me into Canada.

— What’s the name of the hospital again?

Alec heard Polina turn from the phone and ask, Do you know where the Villa del Lido hospital is? She turned back and said, Lyova says he knows. We’ll be there soon.

It took an hour, and Alec spent that hour sitting in the emergency waiting room, drifting off to sleep and then jolting awake when his hand made accidental contact with the plaster over his left eye. Dmitri’s punch had cut him for six stitches, and he’d done a considerable amount of bleeding before the Italian doctor had treated the wound. On the dark road on the outskirts of Ostia Antica, his swollen, bloody face hadn’t helped him to flag down a car. Several cars had slowed, only to speed away when they caught sight of his face. Add to that his poor command of Italian and then, worst of all, Iza — compared with whom Alec looked like the picture of health. Hours passed before an elderly couple picked them up, the old man even helping Alec to lift the unconscious Iza over the fence — no easy task — and put him in the car. Alec didn’t have the words to craft an explanation for their predicament, he managed only grazie and ospedale. It didn’t much matter since the man and his wife, though kind, were not naïve. They even declined the money Alec offered. As they drove, Alec’s main concern was that if Iza croaked, he’d have the courtesy to wait until they were out of these people’s car. As for himself, he tried his best not to bleed on their upholstery.

Polina and Lyova arrived just before dawn. Alec saw them from a distance and watched as Lyova detained a doctor who pointed them in two directions, neither of which was correct. Alec rose from his seat long enough for Polina to spot him. She walked briskly toward him, her expression becoming graver the closer she came. She stopped before him, regarded his injury, and then, almost as if she might cry, brought her hands up to cover her mouth.

— My God, who did this to you? she said.

— It doesn’t matter, Alec replied.

— Did you call the police?

— It wouldn’t do any good.

Lyova drew up and also appraised Alec’s eye.

— What did they do that with, a belt buckle?

— I think just a fist.

Lyova leaned in closer to inspect the wound. He clucked his tongue appreciatively.

— In the end it will be an improvement. You were too handsome for your own good.

— It’s not a joke, Polina said, reaching across to touch Alec’s cheek below the wound. It’s horrible.

— Have they discharged you? Lyova asked.

— I think so.

— In that case, you’d probably like to go home.

They left the hospital together and crossed the street to where Lyova had parked his van. Alec felt exhausted, but he made a point of walking under his own power. When they reached the vehicle, Lyova turned to Alec and said, I imagined telling you this under happier circumstances, but I’ve received some good news. I told Polina last night. The Americans gave me a visa.

Alec had been leaning on the van, but he straightened up and shook Lyova’s hand.

— Congratulations, you’re a free man.

— More or less, Lyova said.

— What’s the less? Alec asked, and stumbled back. He felt a dark wave wash over him. Lyova still had hold of his hand and prevented him from falling.

In the van, Polina cradled Alec’s head in her lap. They rode in silence. Alec’s mind cleared and he thought gratefully that Polina hadn’t brought up Iza Judo, and so spared him the trouble of getting into it. When they got back to Rome, he planned to contact Syomka. Syomka could assume responsibility for his idiot brother. One way or another, Alec was sure that Syomka would manage to get Iza on the plane to Melbourne. If his arms and legs were broken, he’d put him in a wheelchair and stick his passport in his mouth.

— What did you decide to tell Nadja? Alec asked.

— I decided to tell her what’s in my heart.

— To come?

— I can’t tell her not to come. She’s the dearest person to me. I want to see her. Besides, she would be hurt if I wrote her not to come. But I’ll tell her to choose for herself. I’m no longer there. I can’t help her. Not with our parents, and not once she leaves. And I’ll accept whatever she decides.

It was still very early when they returned to Trastevere. The neighborhood was only just beginning to stir. In the apartment, Polina asked Alec what he intended to do.

— Take a shower and sleep, Alec said. And you? You didn’t sleep either.

They went into the shower together and Polina washed the dust of Ostia Antica from Alec’s skin — also the blood: some of it his own, most of it Iza Judo’s.

In the bedroom they drew the shutters and slipped into bed, Polina resting her head between Alec’s shoulder blades.

— I’m to blame for last night, she said. I sent you out to him.

Her words reached him from the rim of sleep. His body felt like a bottomless cavity through which he plunged in glorious free-fall. The wound over his eye pulsed like a beacon, its round blue signal growing fainter the farther he descended. He tumbled into a dream in which he was pursued along the dark streets of Ostia Antica by large brown Roman dogs, a breed depicted in ancient mosaics. He heard them snarling and panting and felt their breath on the back of his neck. He sought vainly for a place to hide in the ruins, but the dogs kept coming. They would soon catch him and tear him to pieces. Up ahead, standing by the side of the road, Masha watched in impassive silence.