He decided to light what remained of the candle and conduct a cursory inspection of the premises, something he’d avoided doing in the night, fearing someone might notice the light and discover him. When the wick flared up, a weak light illuminated the space, revealing a clutch of machines that looked unusable, posters strewn on the workbenches, dried-up ink rollers, and rusty guillotines. He examined a few of the posters, and seeing that they consisted entirely of anti-capitalist screeds, he left them where he’d found them. Heading to the cubicle where Walter had told him the lavatory was, he discovered an open drain in the floor. Beside the lavatory was a little window closed with a shutter. He gave it a couple of whacks, and the lock flew apart, the hatch coming away from one of its hinges. He peered through the cavity. The window looked out onto a small well. He breathed with satisfaction, knowing that, if necessary, he could jump outside. He blew out the candle. The morning light was coming in through the window, brightening the room. His stomach complained of hunger.
He allowed the hours to pass—six more than he’d agreed with Walter. His watch showed twelve o’clock. He paced from one corner of the room to another. He was beginning to consider making his escape, when suddenly he heard some quick footsteps that stopped at the entrance. Jack pricked up his ears and stood in silence. Then he gave a start when he realized that the padlock was being handled. He prayed for it to be Walter but retreated to the window, fearing it could be the police. Slowly, the shutter was lifted. Fixing his eyes on the metal screen, Jack felt his pulse surge. When it was halfway up, he threw caution to the wind. “Walter?” he asked. But no one answered. He decided he had to escape.
He was about to jump out of the window when a soft voice told him to stop. Jack slowly turned. When his eyes had become accustomed to the light, he could not believe what he saw. At the entrance, silhouetted against the clear day, stood the slender figure of a young woman.
Once inside, she told him her name was Sue and that she was Walter’s fiancée. Before Jack could utter a word, she lowered the shutter and added that Walter had sent her to help him. She took a loaf of bread from her worn purse and handed it to him.
Jack didn’t respond. As he tucked into the bread, he stole a glance at the newcomer. She might not have been a classic beauty, but she was the kind of vivacious girl who would attract the gaze of any young man. She was a redhead, her age probably close to his own, though she could easily have been younger, slim as she was. He suddenly realized that he had forgotten the most important thing.
“Where’s Walter?” he finally asked.
“To be honest, I don’t know. He said he had to take care of some business; that’s all he’d tell me.” She smiled.
Jack swallowed the last mouthful of bread and licked the crumbs from his lips. He asked for a cigarette, but Sue didn’t have any with her.
“And did he tell you when he’d be back?” He didn’t want to be more explicit—he was unsure how much the girl knew about the fight with Kowalski’s men.
“No, but I don’t think he’ll be long. Truth is, he was being pretty mysterious, and my Walter isn’t like that. Did something happen?”
Jack tried to change the subject. New York girls loved to talk about their boyfriends, so he steered the conversation in that direction. Sue was true to form and chattered away. She told him that she’d met Walter four years ago, at the diner where she served coffee, and that since then they’d been inseparable.
“Moody’s was out there, opposite the printer’s. Walter had breakfast there every morning, and sometimes, when I served him, he’d tell me wonderful stories about equality between races and peoples.” Her freckled face lit up. “He was so interesting . . . so different from the other oafish guys. But that was before they closed the diner. Well, Moody’s and every other restaurant in the area,” she complained. “Now I clean stairways for a pittance.”
Jack believed her. It was obvious from her threadbare stockings, the ladders of which she’d tried to mend with little success. The young woman fell silent for a while, and then said, “Has Jack told you about our plans?” Her pearly eyes were bright with joy. “He must have. Walter tells everyone. We’re going to leave this damned country soon and go to a place where happiness isn’t just for the rich. We’re going to Russia . . . the last paradise—”
Jack struggled to his feet and limped to the shutter, cutting the girl short. He looked through a crack. “Well, I hope it works out nicely for you,” he said tersely before locking the shutter from the inside with the padlock and going back to his chair.
“Wow, you’re quite the talker! Not like my Walter, he—”
“Are you sure you don’t know where he is right now?” Jack cut in. Sue’s smile froze.
“I told you. He had to take care of some business,” she replied, clearly irritated. “He said to me that we shouldn’t worry, to wait for him to get back.”
“Very well. We’ll wait.”
Jack picked up some pamphlets, planning to pass the time reading them.
It was two hours before the screech of brakes tore him from his thoughts. He immediately ran toward the window, but Sue, who had already gone to the shutter to peer through a crack, reassured him.
“It’s Walter.”
“Walter has a car?” He was surprised.
“Come on! Help me with the shutter.”
Jack ran to assist her. As they lifted it, Walter’s face appeared, looking troubled under his large tortoiseshell spectacles.
“Make some space! We have to hide this old clunker!” he said.
Jack couldn’t imagine where Walter had found a car, but he supposed it must be part of his escape plan. He and Sue moved aside the junk that blocked the path, and Walter accelerated the old Studebaker until it almost hit the Linotype. Then he leapt out of the car, and together with Jack, lowered the shutter.
“What happened?” Jack stammered. Walter’s face was flushed as he took Jack’s arm and moved him away from Sue.
“Bad news,” he whispered as he looked back to check that the young woman wasn’t listening. “Kowalski . . .” He shook his head and clenched his teeth.
“What?” Jack felt a knot form in his stomach.
“He died this morning.”
“Oh God!” He slumped into a chair.
“We have to disappear, Jack. Take a ship to Russia, right now. It’s that or we’ll both be off to the gas chamber.”
“For Christ’s sake! How many times do I have to tell you? I don’t want to go to Russia,” he growled.
“Then you should reconsider. Anyway, they’re not just after you; they’re searching for me, too,” replied Walter. “I’ve risked my neck to help you, but if you want to throw your life away, I won’t try to stop you. Your things are on the car seat.”
Jack didn’t reply. He went to the automobile and opened the door. There was little there worth keeping: a couple of changes of clothes, a worn-out overcoat, a folder containing various documents, a broken old phonograph, and the splintered picture frame with the photograph of his mother, which he contemplated as intensely as the semidarkness allowed.
“And my passport?”
“It wasn’t there, and I didn’t see much else,” Walter said apologetically. “When I arrived, the door had been kicked down and the apartment turned upside down. That was all they left. I put a chest of stuff in the trunk. Here. Your driver’s license. Now you can go and ruin your life.”
Jack didn’t hear him. His hands trembled, clutching Irina’s portrait. Then he cursed himself. The only option he had thought up involved fleeing to Canada via Buffalo, but for that he probably needed a passport. It was as if Walter read his mind.