Istanbul Passage (41 page)

At first, he felt it was more spray from below and then he felt the drops on his head, random but steady. When he raised his face there were more, coming faster. He flattened himself against the rope, hunching his shoulders to keep the rain from dripping down his collar. Cold, seeping into his wool jacket. He heard Alexei swear to himself. But maybe it would make Gülün hurry, decide his tip had been wrong. If it had been a tip.

More flashlights sweeping through the sleeping quarters, bunk by bunk. At least they were dry there, not soaking on deck like the others. Another whistle signal, maybe calling the searchers back up top. How long before they gave up? You couldn’t get everybody in a roundup. People hid beneath floorboards, squeezed behind stairs. The wind came up again, blowing rain against the ship, and Leon shivered, his hands stiff with cold, clothes heavier, pulling at him.

Then a loud crash, a lifeboat being lowered off its davits.

“There’s some mistake. These people are refugees.” Mihai’s voice, closer now, the search party moving to this side.

“Take the cover off.” A policeman, not Gülün, the rest of his
Turkish cut off by a freighter’s moaning foghorn, not too far off, the rain like a light curtain, making everything blurry.

The whistle blew again in the hold, lights moving away. Just the deck now and the lifeboats, hiding places exhausted. They were going to make it, hanging like bats in the dark.

The ship lurched in the wake of the passing freighter, the ladder swinging out again, farther this time, then crashing back to the hull, their shoes banging the metal, knuckles scraping. Alexei moaned. Then another swing, pushed by the momentum of the first, shoes hitting the side again.

A light appeared on top, someone shouting in Turkish.

“Nothing,” Leon heard Mihai say.

A bright shaft pointed downward, flashing, then fixed on where they had just been, the curve of the hull keeping them just out of its beams, stopping short, not strong enough to reach all the way to the water. Frantic shouts, Leon holding his breath, then a sudden burst of gunfire, an automatic spitting bullets.

“Stop!”

Leon flattened himself against the ladder, head tucked in. Maybe just a warning shot. Wouldn’t Gülün want them alive, a prize catch? Unless it didn’t matter to him, Leon guilty, Gülün commended either way. The hull was smooth, nothing to grab on to if the ladder swung again. Another burst. Leon could actually hear the shots hitting the water, feel a quick thud on the rope. They must be spraying bullets into the dark, just to see if there was anything to hit. And there would be, a matter of minutes before the ladder swung out again into the light.

“Idiot!” Gülün screaming now, the sound of running on deck, passengers whimpering in the background, the gunfire loud as bombs to them. Leon’s muscles locked still, waiting. “Don’t shoot! Alive, you idiot!” Wanting his day in court after all.

Leon glanced down. Black, nowhere to go, his body getting
heavier in the wet clothes. He felt more drops on his hands, then looked at them. Not icy, warm, thicker. He moved his head to taste. Blood. Alexei dripping on him.

“Are you hit?”

“A scratch,” Alexei said, but panting, in trouble.

“Haul them up,” Gülün was yelling. “Get the searchlight.”

Alexei gave a stifled cry with the first jerk of the ladder. No winch, just hands heaving it up. They felt the ladder rise then stop again, bouncing, one of Alexei’s feet slipping from the rung, so that his hands took more weight. Leon looked up to see Alexei’s leg poking at the air, trying to find a footing again, then a new light, almost blinding. The police yanked the ladder again, shaking it, and Alexei’s other foot slipped, his body sliding down toward Leon, feet dangling, just his hands now, one of them dripping blood.

“There they are!” One of the policemen, pointing his gun into the light.

“Don’t shoot. Just get them up here. Help with the rope.”

Another pair of hands, a heave, this time with real force, just as a swell rolled the boat, the ladder swinging out as it rose, the jerk upward finally stronger than Alexei’s grip. His feet smashed into Leon’s head, then the rest of him, a rock slide, Leon’s hands leaving the rope without his being aware of it, just rolling into an endless fall, Alexei clinging to his jacket, dragging him, and then not there, only the shock of icy water.

For a second he was too stunned by the cold to register anything, almost unconscious, then all the sounds came, the shouts from up top, the ladder flapping back, the frantic splashing, Alexei spitting and gulping water. Leon moved toward him, suddenly followed by the light, which had picked them up. Alexei was flailing, slapping the water at random and gasping for air. I don’t like boats. Leon swam over, his clothes like weights. He tried to approach from behind, cup Alexei’s chin above water, lift him up to a float, something he could
tow, everything he’d been taught. Boys who couldn’t swim would clutch at you, make things worse.

“Alexei. I’ve got you.” Meant to reassure, take away some of the panic. “Lie back.”

Gurgling, not hearing, just seeing Leon and grabbing on, a desperate clinging, his head slipping under, pushing himself back up again on Leon’s shoulders, wheezing for air. More shouts from the ship, the
thwack
of a life preserver hitting the water somewhere near, then nothing, the muffled quiet of underwater, Leon sinking under Alexei’s weight. He forced himself up, bobbing.

“Let go. I’ve got you. We’ll both—”

Then under again, swallowing water this time, Alexei on top, trying to climb on him, a human raft. Leon tried to move away but only managed to wriggle in place, as if he were wrapped in chains, and now he was sinking again and he realized, an ice pick of fear, that he could die. Saving Alexei. A man who’d do anything to survive, Leon nothing more than driftwood, something handy. His lungs began to burn, churning the same used air. And for a crazy second he thought of where he was, that he might drown somewhere in the view from Cihangir, Alexei’s hands still gripping his coat, taking him down too.

A hint of light-headedness, no time now. Get up. He turned his head, his mouth near Alexei’s hand, and bit down sharply. Only a second of release before the hand started clutching again, but enough for Leon to duck away, then surface, sucking air, Alexei still grasping his other hand. He looked over, their eyes locking, Alexei’s glassy with terror, and Leon saw what Alexei must have seen in the others, his victims, the terrible last moment when they knew they would die, a kind of animal bewilderment. Now his turn. All Leon had to do was let go of his hand, not responsible for any of it. An easier death, except for the frantic eyes, how the child must have looked, slipping from Anna’s grasp. And what if she had held on, pushed under by the thrashing, the child not even aware that Anna was taking water, sinking?
He let his hand grow slack, making Alexei struggle to keep it, and he saw how it must have been, even the same dark water, Anna letting the hand slide away to save herself, not knowing the child would take her under either way.

Alexei made a noise, flinging his mouth back for air, arms flailing again, then his head dipped, as if he were being pulled under, and Leon imagined hands at his feet, Străuleşti hands clawing at his cuffs, proof of the rightness of things. Except things were never made right. They passed, that’s all.

He swam closer, pulling Alexei up, then holding him under the chin, keeping his head above water. “Listen to me.” His voice rough hoarse.

Alexei’s hands came up again, grasping. Leon smashed down on them, pulling free, then caught Alexei’s coat as he was going under, twisting his body around so that Leon was behind as he yanked him back up, hand under his chin again. A violent sputtering.

“Fucking listen to me,” he said into Alexei’s ear. “I’ve got you. Do you understand? You’ll be okay if you do what I say. Do you understand?”

Alexei nodded, making an indistinct sound, his breath a ragged gurgling, his hands still punching the water.

“Stop,” Leon said. “Try to float.” A meaningless term, Alexei’s legs still scissoring beneath them. More sounds. “Stop, or I’ll let you go. I’ll let you go.” A muffled squeal, then the feet stopped, now rigid, a new deadweight, even heavier. “Relax. Let the water do the work. It’ll hold you.”

Another noise from Alexei’s throat, a yelp of disbelief. Weren’t there pools in Bucharest, lakes in the mountains? Why hadn’t he learned to swim? He tried to imagine Alexei as a boy, a kid in the streets, but no picture would come and he realized that he knew nothing about his life, that he was just a stranger who’d dropped in at the end of it, like the life preserver thrown from the deck. “I’m here,” he said.

Alexei stopped thrashing, so quiet that for a second Leon thought he was gone, but that would have made him stiffen and Leon felt instead his body growing limp, a giving in. He moved closer, the back of Alexei’s head resting against his chest, another breath, not as ragged, his body looser, moving with Leon’s as a wave lifted them, entirely in his hands. No escape hatch to the roof, gun drawn at the door, only Leon.

Leon looked up past the misty halo of the bright light, the deck railing crowded now, people yelling and waving their hands, seeing a different drama, a sea rescue. Mihai was motioning him left. He glanced over—the life preserver, bright white against the water. He paddled toward it.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you.” Afraid any movement would startle him now.

On the deck, there were more whistles, instructions, a new rumbling from the passengers. Leon heard Gülün ordering the police boat to pick them up. In a few minutes they’d be caught, netted up like fish. Saving Alexei for what? Saving himself. To be a murderer, the running itself evidence against him. He grabbed on to the bobbing ring.

“Here, hold this,” he said, but Alexei didn’t reach for it, safe where he was, and Leon saw that his arm was bloody, stanched only a little by the cold water and now starting again to leak through his matted sleeve.

He thought for a moment of putting the ring over Alexei’s head, but he’d never manage to work his arms through, not the bleeding one, so he just hung on, keeping Alexei’s head up against him.

“They’re coming?” Alexei said.

“Yes.”

“So we didn’t make it.”

“We’re alive.”

“For the Russians,” Alexei said, his voice low.

“Hang on!” Mihai yelled through the megaphone. Around him, people were looking down through the light rain.

Leon’s arm began to cramp on the lifesaver, feeling the cold. Think what to say to Gülün.

A minute later, he could hear the boat coming around the bow, another light shining toward them. Alexei turned his head.

“They’re coming,” he said.

“Just hold on,” Leon said, missing his tone.

“Let me go.” And then, before Leon could react, he twisted his head free of Leon’s hand and dropped away, pushing against Leon’s chest.

Leon stared for a second at the water, the empty space where Alexei had been, before he realized what had happened.

“No,” he said, as if they were having a conversation, then “no” again, this time to himself.

He ducked under. The lights, so bright above the surface, stopped after a few inches, everything black. But he couldn’t have gone far, a few feet. Leon dived down, then started back up where Alexei had gone under, reaching for anything, hands stretched out, water running through his fingers. He broke the surface, gulping. Nothing.

“Leon!” Mihai shouting from above.

He dived again, deeper this time, hearing a motor now, the boat closer. He moved his arms, sweeping across the space in front of him. Water. Then a piece of something, cloth, not seaweed. He snatched at it, using it to pull himself closer, then brought up his other hand, more cloth, a jacket, holding it now with both hands, kicking, pushing them up. When they hit the air, Alexei started coughing, too weak now to fight back when Leon grabbed his collar from behind. The boat light swept in an arc, followed by a sudden shot, Leon not sure whether to duck again, a helpless target.

“Stay where you are,” a loudspeaker said in Turkish, evidently a warning shot, fired when they disappeared. More yelling from the deck.

“Let me go,” Alexei said, barely audible.

“Hang on. I’ve got you,” Leon said, ignoring this, holding him up.

Alexei stared at him, eyes suddenly wide, undefended, taking him in as if Leon were the last thing he would ever see. “Why?”

“Almost there,” Leon said, reaching for the lifesaver.

Alexei coughed, choking on some water. “I’m tired.”

“Almost there,” Leon said again.

“No, tired. It’s enough.”

Leon glanced over. Alexei’s head had begun to loll. How much blood had he lost?

“Not yet,” he said, “I need you,” Alexei looking up at this.

A rope hit the water near them, more lights.

“Grab hold!”

Leon looked at it, winded, still holding Alexei. A second to get his strength back.

“Move!” Another shot fired into the air, like a whip cracking, then sharp cries from the ship, oddly like dogs.

“Tell him to go to hell,” Alexei said, barely lifting his head.

“You can’t stay in the water. We’ll freeze.”

“I don’t feel it.”

“That’s worse. You should.”

“Yes?” Alexei said, looking up. “Ah.”

He took Leon’s hand, smiling faintly, an awkward clutching, not a shake, not expecting to be towed by it, just making contact. Leon looked back, surprised, a camera shutter opening, seeing him now, the kid in the street, just a glimpse before he could run away again.

“All right,” Alexei said, nodding, his eyes going to the boat. “It’s your move.” His voice faint, running out of air, part of the quiet that was filling Leon’s head, the clock finally stopping, at an end.

Gülün’s boat was rocking nearby, the motor still churning, policemen shouting and pointing to the rope, all distant noises, background sounds where the ticking had been. There was no next move, just an automatic reach for the lifesaver, then a hook to drag them in,
check. And the
Victorei
in Gülün’s hands, all the anxious people on deck pawns again. His idea, somewhere they’d never look.