The Last Paradise

“Ten.” She opened the curtains without ceremony to allow the sun to assail Jack’s reddened eyes. “Holy Mother of God! What a room!” she added, dancing around it. “It’s bigger than my house! What’ve you done? Swindled someone?”


“It’s a long story.” He went to the bathroom to wash his face. “Shit, I’m going to miss my meeting.”

“Meeting?” Sue said with surprise, but Jack didn’t answer.

He looked himself up and down. His pants were creased; his shirt was, too. He went to the wardrobe and flung it open to find that it was empty.

“What about that chest?” Sue pointed at it.

Jack looked at the trunk that lay at the foot of the bed, which until then he’d taken to be just another part of the furnishings. He confirmed the initials inscribed on it. G. McM. George McMillan. He assumed it must be his luggage, and that in the hospital where he was recovering from appendicitis, he wouldn’t miss it. Jack needed clean clothes, so he examined the lock.

“Do you have a hairpin?” he asked Sue.

She took one from her hair. “What’re you going to do? Pick it?” She gave a nervous laugh.

“Quiet!” he ordered.

Jack took the hairpin and poked it into the lock, moving it until he heard a click. He looked at Sue with an anxious expression, as if waiting for her approval to open it. She nodded.

Jack had hit the jackpot. The chest contained everything a traveler could need and much more than he could have imagined: a folder of assorted documents, a case of cigarettes, a silver lighter, a comb, a shaving set, three bottles of painkillers, two pairs of shoes and two pairs of pants, a suit, three shirts, a magnificent overcoat, and several changes of underwear that Sue handed one by one to Jack, who spread them out on the bed like trophies.

“Will they fit you?”

“I don’t know. I think so. Did you see this? The guy even packed cologne.” He showed Sue the bottle of Flo?d that he’d just discovered. “I’m going to clean myself up.” He took the shaving set and a change of clothes and headed to the bathroom. Through the half-open door, Sue watched Jack take off his shirt, leaving his torso bare. “By the way, how did you find me?” he asked as he began to lather his face.

“Joe Brown told me that the bunch of flowers you bought was for a party at the Metropol, so I guessed you’d be here. Who were they for?”

“What?” He cursed Joe Brown for being such a blabbermouth.

“The flowers. Who were they for?” she said as she sat on the bed, stroking the sheets.

“Oh! For Hewitt.” He was unsure why he’d lied. “I heard he was recovering at the Metropol, so I brought them as a gesture.”

“Flowers for a man?” Sue pulled a face.

“Sure. Here in Russia it’s considered a courtesy between men. I explained it to Joe. And how did you find my room?” He tried to change the subject.

“Oh, well, in the garden I saw that guy you saved on the ship. What did you say his name was? Hewitt? Yeah, that’s it, Hewitt. He was the only person I knew, so I asked him. You should’ve seen my face when he told me you were staying here. I think I was as surprised as I was the first time I saw a boy take his pants down. So anyway, I thanked him and came up. Hey! You still haven’t told me how you ended up sleeping in another man’s room,” she said, looking at McMillan’s trunk.

Jack didn’t answer. Sue imagined it was because of the noise from the shower, which had been on for a while. She got up and went to the bathroom door that Jack had taken care to leave only narrowly open.

“Jack. Can you hear me?”

Sue opened the door a little. Jack, his eyes closed in the shower, didn’t notice her. But instead of closing the door, Sue stood for a few seconds looking at Jack’s naked body as he let the water wash over his skin. She continued to admire it until he began to turn around. Sue gave a start and retreated.

When Jack came out of the bathroom, dressed, combed, and perfectly shaved, Sue was sitting on the end of the bed again. Jack was surprised to see her lower her head, as if embarrassed. “What is it? Do I look bad?” He tightened the belt.

Sue told him to relax, assuring him that he looked straight out of a Charles Atlas advertisement. She stood and helped him put his jacket on. It was a bit too big, but close enough for Jack to wear without feeling uncomfortable. He thanked Sue for her help and completed his transformation with a few drops of aftershave.

“Come on! That’s quite enough dressing up. Walter’s waiting for you at the Commissariat with his friend Dmitri, the one who’s going to help us.”

“Huh? Oh, sure! Damn it, I completely forgot. This . . . I’m sorry, Sue, but I can’t go with you,” he said apologetically.

“Are you serious? I came all the way here to fetch you.”

“I know, but I can’t. Would you go and meet him, please? Tell him I’ll see him at the guesthouse later.”

“No!”

“What?”

“I’m not leaving this room without you! We have been waiting for you without knowing whether you were alive or dead, and I didn’t cross Moscow on a flea-ridden tram just for you to say sorry and not come to the Commissariat. We need you, Jack! Us, the Daniels family, and Joe. They’re waiting for you, too.”

Jack bit his lip. He didn’t like letting them down, but an offer like the one Hewitt was making him was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

“Really, I can’t. Anyway, you don’t need me. There was an English interpreter at the Commissariat, and you have the Amtorg contracts. Walter can sort out everything himself. For God’s sake, you can’t expect me to do everything for you.”

“I can’t believe you’re doing this to us, Jack!”

The young woman’s face was a mixture of astonishment and disappointment, like a little girl who had just learned Santa Claus wasn’t real. She retreated to the door. Jack was silent with shame, but remained where he was.

“Think what you want, Sue. I can’t tell you what it’s about, but trust me, you would do the same thing if you were me.”



Hewitt didn’t seem to care that Jack showed up wearing an outfit that belonged to his employee McMillan. In fact, when Jack confided to him that he’d found the sick engineer’s trunk open, Hewitt not only approved but encouraged him to use the clothes.

“After all, McMillan bought them with Ford Motor Company money, right? If you hadn’t taken them, I might’ve had to buy you something. Anyway, I’ll send someone to take care of your belongings later. Have you had breakfast?” He didn’t give him time to answer. He laid his copy of the New York Times on the table and called to the waiter. “What will you have?”

“I’ll have whatever you’re having.” Though he was Jewish, he didn’t follow the religion’s dietary laws.

“Good choice! We’ll have coffee for two, and bacon, fried eggs, sausages, and French fries. The American newspapers always reach Moscow a week late”—he pointed at the out-of-date broadsheet—“but I can’t live without them.”

Jack didn’t pay much attention to the newspaper. His head still hurt, but he hadn’t lost his appetite.

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