The Confession (31 page)

Lena had
gotten over her illness, and Emil and I went to see the few people on Georgi’s list. As I drove and Emil spoke about the long night spent nursing Lena, I mulled over the previous night. I’d never done anything like that before, but while doing it I’d known exactly what to do, and how long to do it. But it hadn’t been me—it had been that other, more sure Ferenc, the one I’d met on the drive to Vera and Karel’s. It was the Ferenc born of the recent past, amid deaths and work camps and infidelities, the Ferenc sick of being able to do nothing. I still didn’t know how I felt about this strange man.

“…was the best thing to do,” I heard Emil saying.

“I’m sure it was,” I said.

Tamas Brest, surrounded by books I suspected he went out of his way to keep dusty, said he hadn’t heard from Nestor since that party for Louis. “Once word got around that my camp book was going to be state-printed, everyone dropped out of touch. As if I’d
done
something.” He puffed on a pungent cigar when he spoke. “And now I’ve got two militiamen in my home. How is
that
going to look?”

Stanislaus Zambra just wanted to tell me that his series of poems remembering the end of Stalinism was finished. “Four months, and all straight from the heart,” he said proudly, then nodded at Emil. “Is he a writer, too?” Emil shook his head. “Well, that’s all right. Nothing to be ashamed of.”

“I’m not,” Emil muttered.

“But Nestor,” I repeated. “Can you help us find him?”

He couldn’t, and neither could Bojan Kuz, though he did suggest we talk to Kaspar Tepylo, which I assured him I’d already done.

On the way to Miroslav Olearnyk’s home out in the Seventh District, I told Emil not to let these writers get to him. “I avoid them as much as I can, and when I can’t, I fall silent.”

“They’re amusing,” he said. “They don’t bother me.”

“But something is bothering you.”

He looked at the windshield—not through it, but at it—and nodded. “What do you think about love, Ferenc?”

I changed gear as we turned into a narrow street cluttered with traffic. “I think I’ll need a drink to answer that.”

He didn’t say anything for a few minutes, and I stopped behind a line of cars, then moved slowly forward with it. “I reread your book last week.”

“Glad to hear it’s worth a second read.”

“It’s good,” he said, but without enthusiasm. “There’s a line in it that always stuck to me. I don’t remember the exact words, but it’s about love of your country. Something about the love of a soldier for his country is the most mature, because it’s about sacrifice. What was it?
If your love is mature, you will not hesitate to sacrifice yourself if the object of your love will benefit.
”

“Yeah,” I said. “Something like that.”

He nodded into his chest, and I stopped again behind a truck filled with bags of onions. “You said it was the same whether the love was for a country or a woman.”

“I remember.”

He turned from the windshield finally. “I’ve been thinking about this, and about Lena. I’m not sure I’m any good for her.”

“That’s a load of crap, Emil. It’s obvious even from the outside that without you she’d go off the deep end.”

He shook his head. “Wasn’t always that way. She used to be the strongest woman I knew. Then we married, and she became steadily more terrified by life. And when she leaned on me, I was happy to support her.”

“Just what I’m saying.”

“But now she doesn’t know how to stand on her own. I can see it getting worse each day. And it will get worse, unless she’s forced to stand on her own.”

“Well, force her.”

“I can’t. If I’m there, I’ll help her. I can’t do otherwise.”

I turned onto an emptier street and got going. “Listen, Emil. I’m not one to give marital advice, but if you truly believe this—if you think your presence is doing Lena more harm than good—then I suppose you’re thinking the right thing.”

“If my love is mature.”

I didn’t answer.

“What about you?” he asked, looking back to the windshield, and through it. “Would you leave Magda if you found out you were bad for her? Would you leave Ágnes?”

“Sure,” I said, but I just wanted to sound decisive. “If I was bad for them, I’d leave.”

Emil let the subject rest. We soon appeared at Miroslav Olearnyk’s block, but he was not in.

At the
station, I saw Leonek for the first time since before the provinces. His hair was a little long, and oily, and he looked pale. But he was smiling about something, and that smile kept me from being able to focus on anything. He pulled up a chair. “Not only has Kliment found Boris Olonov, but he interrogated the son of a bitch. The transcript should arrive tomorrow.”

I stared at him, expressionless. “Did he kill Sergei?”

“Kliment didn’t tell me much, but he did say that while Boris isn’t my man, he
was
one of the soldiers who killed the girls. There’s something else in the interview. He wouldn’t tell me what it was—he wants it to be a surprise. But he said it should begin to bring everything together.”

I continued to stare at him.

“Kliment’s very interested in this case.”

“Of course. It’s his father.”

“Yes,” said Leonek, nodding, his smile wavering. “Look, I’m going to give the Jewish quarter another try. If I tell them we’ve got one of the girls’ murderers, maybe I can get something more. Come along?”

I shrugged.

On the drive, he began telling me about how he had almost given the case up. “So many blind alleys. I thought it would have been easier. What about your case? How’s it coming?”

“It’s coming.”

Leonek patted a dark hand against the horn, frightening an old woman in the middle of the street, and I couldn’t help but think of all the things that hand had touched. “He mailed the interview transcript, it should arrive by tomorrow.”

“You told me that.”

Leonek gave me a look I’d seen before, and only now did I understand where the shame had always come from. “You all right, Ferenc?” He spoke quietly. He didn’t want to ask, but there was no choice. “Is there something wrong?”

I turned to watch a group of workers with pickaxes walk by, their breaths coming out like smoke. “Maybe it’s the thing I had to learn from my wife.”

He brought a hand down from the wheel. He seemed to recognize how close we were in this car, and that he was trapped. Then an ounce of courage came into him, and he put the hand back on the wheel. “I’m not proud of it, Ferenc. But I do love her. Honestly.”

“That makes me feel better.”

“I don’t mean it that way. But I do love her, and I love Ágnes as well.”

He had no right to love my daughter. I shifted, just to watch him lower his hand again. “You know, I would be fully justified in beating the hell out of you. No one would argue this.”

His voice was a whisper. “I know.”

I stared at him as he drove. He had nothing to say—or, he probably had a lot to say, but knew none of it would come out right, so he kept quiet. I didn’t have anything more to say. I only wanted him to know that I knew, and to be afraid. I would not hurt him—I could not do that to Magda—but Leonek didn’t need to know that.

When he came to a stoplight, I placed my hat on my head and opened the door. “Good luck in the Jewish quarter.” I stepped out, and the bright light made me sneeze.

I called
Magda from home. It was a brief conversation; we did not speak of Leonek. Ágnes had become bored by the second day, and her parents were starting to drive Magda crazy. “When are you going to take care of this guy so we can come home?”

“Home?” I asked. It seemed like a word we were no longer allowed to use. “Soon. I’ll bring you back home soon.”

Vera did not come over that night, and on Thursday morning when I arrived at the station, Sev was waiting for me. He waved me over. I moved stiffly. “Ferenc.” He paused. “The morning you discovered Stefan’s body, why were you there?”

I looked at his hands on the desk. “To talk with him about our case.”

Sev moved his hands so his thumbs touched, a movement I remembered from Lev Urlovsky. “I’m just doing my job, Ferenc. You know this.”

“I know.”

“So please tell me the truth.” The absence of emotion in his face always gave it a dull strength.

“What are you getting at?”

He glanced around the empty office. “I am aware of your animosity toward Stefan, and I also know it was unfounded.”

“I know that now, too.”

“Good. So tell me. Why did you go to Stefan’s that morning?”

Just talking about it made me feel as I did when I stood looking down on Stefan’s body—weak. I pulled up a chair. “To talk, Sev. That’s all. I just wanted to talk it out.”

“And you wouldn’t have attacked him again, like you did in that bar?”

“I don’t think so. Leonek is still alive, isn’t he?”

Sev nodded at his thumbs. “Thank you, Ferenc.”

I stumbled back and shuffled through the papers on my desk from the past few days. Among the circulars about new penal codes from the Politburo was a scribbled phone message. Kliment had called.

I struggled with the Russian operators, using the words I knew and listening to them use all the words I didn’t know. I gave them the direct number Kliment had left.
“Da?”

“This is Ferenc Kolyeszar.”

“Ferenc. Thanks for calling. Look.” He paused. “I’ve got some terrible news, you’re not going to like it.”

“I’ve gotten a lot of bad news lately. I can probably take it.”

“Two days ago Svetla Woznica was killed in her village. She was shot once in the chest and once in the head. They found her body in the woods outside town.”

I took a long breath. “I can’t believe it.”

“Believe it. And it’s clear enough who did it.”

“Was he seen there?”

“He didn’t hide. He arrived the day before by train, spent a lot of money in the hotel, and disappeared just before the body was found. He crossed over at Turka.”

“I can’t believe it,” I repeated.

“I’ve seen it before. Some men are that way. If they can’t have their woman, then no one can.”

I fogged over, thumbing my rings until they hurt, remembering that battered face at the train station, kissing my hands. But he was speaking again.

“—can’t do anything about it now. With the proper papers, I could follow him there, but it’s not the sort of thing they’ll sign for. I wish I could.”

“You’ve done enough, Kliment. Thank you. I’ll take care of it.”

“I figured you would, Ferenc. Watch out for yourself.”

As I hung up I looked over at Sev looking back at me. I think that was the closest I ever came to killing Brano Sev, even though he had nothing to do with Svetla’s death. But he was one of many—like the missing Kaminski—whose positions made them feel they could not be touched. I filled his empty features with all the evil in the world. He blinked. I stood up. But instead of ending everything right then, I made myself walk out the door.