David Bezmozgis - The Free World

Alec pressed the button and spoke. Masha’s voice surged up in response. She said, It’s me, Masha, her voice pouring into the apartment like a swarm of bees, peevish and severe.

Alec turned from the intercom and looked at Lyova and Polina. Neither of them had moved. They looked at him stiffly, Polina with a keen edge of disgust. From below, Masha pressed and pressed the buzzer relentlessly, sending jagged currents through the silent apartment.

Alec pressed the button again and said angrily, Have you lost your mind?

— Let me up, Masha replied.

Alec removed his finger from the button again and stared at the intercom as it shrieked at him. He didn’t turn to face Lyova or Polina, but he felt their eyes upon him. Though he knew he had no right to, he resented them for bearing witness to his scandal and compounding it by the simple fact of their presence. Still, he had no intention of letting Masha up. Go home, Masha, he said, this is not the way.

— Let me up, you bastard, or I’ll scream, came her reply.

From behind him, Alec heard Polina say, in a firm, steady voice, Let her up.

Alec pressed the button that released the downstairs lock and opened the door to their apartment, letting it swing wide. He stepped back and leaned against the wall in the vestibule. Polina set the dishes she’d been holding on the kitchen counter, wiped her hands on a towel, and took her stand at the mouth of the kitchen. Lyova remained at the dining room table. They listened as the echo of Masha’s steps spiraled up the stairway, and waited for the article in its spectacular detail.

Masha did not disappoint. She appeared in the doorway irradiant, her dark eyes burning and her color high from the climb up the stairs. She wore her peach cotton dress, short-sleeved and hemmed above the knee, exposing the soft tan flesh of her arms and her strong, smooth legs. Her black hair, its generous brushstrokes, framed her face to striking effect. But for all this, the focal point was at her mouth: her upper lip was split and swollen.

Masha took two steps beyond the threshold and let her eyes roam around the apartment, taking in the surroundings and the principals. Alec watched her glance at Lyova and then look defiantly at Polina. Him, she studied last, and Alec sensed something fleeting, like a silent gasp, as though the condition of his face had unnerved her. But just as quickly, she seemed to regroup.

— It looks like I interrupted a party, Masha said.

— What did you come for, Masha? Alec asked.

— You’re not happy I came?

— Say what you came to say.

Masha gazed once more around the apartment and settled on Polina.

— Such a lovely apartment, and such a lovely wife. How nice to finally meet you.

— I can imagine, Polina said.

— And this here, Masha said, directing herself at Lyova, this is your housemate? The one you helped go to America?

— That’s right, Carter came for tea and signed his visa in the kitchen.

Masha looked at him with hatred. A hatred mostly, Alec sensed, at being mocked. Like a self-serious child who has not been taken seriously. He watched her fumble for an instant, as from a loss of confidence, and what anger he felt toward her drained away.

— We’ll see how you joke when I tell people what you did to me.

— What did I do to you, Masha?

— This, Masha spat, and motioned sharply to her swollen lip.

— I did no such thing, Masha, and you know it.

Masha turned the force of her fury on Polina.

— He took advantage of me. Got me into a state. And when I wouldn’t agree to an abortion, he did this.

She pointed again to the violence that had been done to her, but Alec was no longer looking at her but at Polina, who stood as if holding her breath.

— Nothing she says is true, Alec vainly declared.

— Believe what you like, Masha said. But I’m here to tell you that if he thought he could get away without consequences, he’s very mistaken. There will be consequences, I can promise you that!

Masha stared at Polina as if to evoke a reaction. Polina held her gaze for a moment before she turned to Alec and said with cold precision, Get her out of my sight.

Masha didn’t protest, but with a small, satisfied smile, she left of her own accord. Alec stole a glance at Lyova, who sat solemnly at the table, before he pursued her down the stairs. Alec reached the bottom just in time to catch the front door as it was swinging shut. He sprang out into the street only a few steps behind Masha and called her name. She spun to face him and, in the darkness, they studied each other, each other’s wounds.

— What did you do this for, Masha?

— You helped your friend go to America, but you did nothing for us, she said, now with flagging conviction.

— You know I never raised a hand to you. I’ve never raised a hand to any woman.

— So what? You did worse. You caused all of this to happen.

She said nothing more, and turned back to the street, where Alec now noticed the white Fiat 500, with Dmitri at the wheel. He watched Masha climb into the passenger seat and the two of them drive off.

Alec stood on the dark street and contemplated what he might do. He thought to walk around the neighborhood for a while, to allow them all some time to recover, but he couldn’t even do that. In his haste to catch Masha, he had left the apartment without any shoes. He felt the rough, cold pavement through his stocking feet.

The front door to the building had locked behind him, and so he had no choice but to ring the buzzer. Nobody answered, but Alec heard, just as when he and Polina had first come to inspect the apartment, the sound of a door opening inside the vault of the building and the descending pattern of Lyova’s footsteps. Presently, the lock clicked and Lyova opened the door — though he remained in the door frame, a forlorn smile on his face.

— I have no shoes, Lyova, Alec said. I’d like to get my shoes.

— I’ll get you your shoes.

— Is that so?

— Alec, don’t be dim. You think I like any of this?

— You’ll forgive me if I say that I’m not particularly concerned right now with what you like or don’t like.

— I’ll bring you your shoes, Alec. What else do you need?

— My wallet. My jacket. My keys.

Lyova balked at “keys.”

— I need my HIAS keys, Lyova, or I’m sleeping in the street tonight.

— You’re going to sleep in the briefing department?

— Unless you have a better idea, Alec said. By the way, where are you going to sleep tonight?

Lyova drew the door shut behind him and returned a few minutes later with Alec’s shoes, jacket, wallet, keys — and toothbrush for good measure.

— Things will be brighter in the morning, Lyova said.

Alec gathered himself and walked the nighttime streets to Viale Regina Margherita and the briefing department. He had never been inside the building at that hour. There was a light switch on the wall in the entryway but he elected not to press it for fear of attracting attention. He rode the elevator and walked the darkened corridor feeling like an intruder, apt to be arrested. Quietly, he inserted his key into the lock and slipped inside the office. Light from the street-lamps spilled through the windows, casting shadows. He picked his way between desks and chairs to where the large photocopier stood against a wall. Beside the machine were stacks of folders, fat with émigré case files. Alec slid these out of the way to clear a bare patch of floor. He lowered himself onto this patch and lay staring up at the ceiling. He’d kept his jacket on for warmth, so he had nothing to cushion his skull from the hard marble. With his left hand, he reached out and took hold of several file folders and placed them under his head. Like this he tried to sleep, shivering a little from the cold, the Persecution Stories of a half dozen émigrés for his pillow.