David Bezmozgis - The Free World

— He died walking to Rome to straighten me out.

Alec looked meaningfully at Lyova, laying claim to what negligible rights remained to him.

— I’ll go, Lyova said, then took his coat and tactfully withdrew.

Alec and Polina were left together in the apartment, as if under a vast ponderous cloud. Alec thought to speak, though without any confidence in what he might say, but Polina preempted him.

— Alec, there is nothing to say.

As she spoke the words, Alec noticed that on the tabletop, framed between her hands, was a Soviet airmail envelope.

— It’s from Nadja?

— Yes.

— What does she say?

Polina smiled grimly and slid the envelope across the table. — Read it for yourself.

Alec eased himself into a chair at the table and examined the front of the envelope. He saw Nadja’s familiar script, addressed, for the first time, to Polina and to him using their real names. He removed the pages and unfolded them.

The letter began:

My dearest Sister,

It is so hard for me to write this because I imagine that it will cause you disappointment and pain. Even as I write the words, my tears are falling. I have made the most difficult decision I have ever had to make and I am still not sure that I have decided correctly. But after thinking about everything a thousand times over, I have decided not to marry Arik and not to go with him to Israel. I have decided to stay here, in Riga, with Mama and Papa. Does this sound crazy to you? It still sounds crazy to me. But every time I thought of leaving them it broke my heart …

Alec turned the pages facedown on the table. He raised his eyes to meet Polina’s and perceived the change in her — as if a tenacious light had finally been extinguished. — I’m sorry, Alec said. — What are you apologizing for? — I have enough to apologize for. — It doesn’t matter to me, Alec. — I understand that, Alec said. But it matters to me. Polina looked at him blankly. — I’m serious, Alec said. — Alec, it’s too late. — I don’t agree. It doesn’t have to be. Polina rolled her eyes with exasperation.

— Alec, I knew who you were when I chose to go with you. Nobody forced me. If I’ve made a mess of my life, and am now left alone, it’s my own fault.

— You don’t have to be alone.

— Alec, please don’t be dense.

— I’m not being dense. I have lost your trust — I recognize that. You don’t want to go to Canada with me — I understand. You regret leaving your family — so return to them. The same borders you crossed to get here, you can cross in reverse. It needn’t be hard. For all we know, it might even be easier in reverse. If that’s what you want, you should do it. And if it’s what you do, I will go back with you.

— Alec, now you’re being more than dense.

Alec prepared to object. He didn’t see it that way at all. Instead, he had begun to feel illuminated by the idea of returning. It had dawned on him purely spontaneously, but it possessed a seductive logic. If he was looking to commit an act of sacrifice, there was no better altar. If he wanted to prove his devotion to Polina, here was the perfect symmetry. She had forsaken her family for him, now he would do the same for her. He envisioned their return, and his mortification. He saw himself making public statements and disavowals — maybe even on television and radio. He saw himself prostrating himself before one official body after another. He saw himself entering into moral compromises. Becoming a tool of the KGB. Joining the Party. Giving formal speeches against internationalism and in support of the Revolution. Fervently espousing beliefs he did not hold.

The following morning, they bade farewell to Lyova for the third and final time. They descended with him to the street to await the taxi that would take him to the airport. Their farewell was muted, colored by everything that had just passed. When the taxi arrived, Lyova embraced each of them in turn — first Alec, then Polina. With a vagabond smile, Lyova uttered the old Red Army creed: No one and nobody is forgotten! He then ducked his head inside the taxi and was gone.

The night Lyova left, Alec slept on an eiderdown on the floor in Lyova’s half of the apartment. Once Lyova was gone, he assumed his bed.

Before the week of mourning was over, they received word about their papers. Without Samuil, there were no longer any constraints to their application. After such a long period of waiting, they were once again obliged to rush. They packed up their things quickly. The majority of what they’d brought to Rome they had sold, and they’d purchased very little in exchange. Polina did most of the packing, maintaining a barrier of activity between them.

Days before their departure, Alec and Polina traveled to Ladispoli to allow Polina to finally pay her respects and to help with the preparations. The house, when they arrived, was in a state of upheaval. Objects and clothes were piled up in the corners. In the kitchen, Alec saw his mother displaying one of his father’s shirts for Josef Roidman, who stood before her and examined the garment. On the table before her, neatly folded, were other of his father’s clothes — his shirts, his trousers, his blazer. Also on the table were a pair of tailor’s shears and a knitting kit with needles, thimbles, and multicolored spools of thread. When his mother saw them enter, she beckoned them into the kitchen. Seeing Polina, her face flushed and she wiped her eyes with the backs of her wrists, overcome again as if for the first time.

— He is gone, Polinachka, Emma said.

Polina went to embrace her, and everyone observed a solemn moment, until Emma collected herself and remembered what she’d been doing.

— I don’t want them to go to strangers or to waste, Emma said. Josef was his friend. Your father would have been happy for him to have them. Unless, of course, you want anything.

— It’s probably better that Josef take them, Alec said.

— I consider it an honor, Roidman replied.

— They just require some alterations, Emma said.

Polina offered to help, and joined her at the table.

— There are more of your father’s things in the other room, Emma said. It breaks my heart to touch them. But if you feel you can do it, you should do it. And look to see if there is anything you want for yourself.

As he started away for the living room, Alec heard Roidman say, God willing, I will come to Canada soon and visit you wearing this shirt.

In the living room were several cardboard boxes of his father’s things. Alec sat down to sort through them. From the bedroom, he could hear Yury and Zhenya chirping some song in what may have been English. Rosa opened the door and the boys’ voices spilled out louder. Seeing Alec amid Samuil’s effects, she came over.

— Karl took your father’s wedding ring and left you his watch, Rosa said. He’s the firstborn son, so I hope you don’t have any objections.

— No objections, Alec said.

Alec saw Rosa glance at the kitchen, where Josef Roidman was wearing his father’s blazer, with Polina folding and pinning one of the sleeves.

— So she took you back after all.

— She says she will leave me once we get to Canada.

Rosa kept her eyes on Polina as she went about her task.

— She would be right to, Rosa said. But I suspect she won’t. That’s the way we women are.

She looked away and returned to the bedroom, leaving Alec alone with the boxes. They consisted almost exclusively of papers, notebooks, and documents. There were very few personal items. He saw his father’s razor, an unopened bottle of cologne, two pairs of pewter cuff links, and the inexpensive watch, of Soviet manufacture, that Rosa had bequeathed to him. He found that he was able to handle these objects without feeling too much distress. His father’s papers and notebooks he felt far less equipped to handle. To look at his handwriting felt exceedingly personal and painful. He glanced quickly through the documents and packed them away for some future day.