“Ha! Don’t trouble yourself on my niece’s account, son. Elizabeth has eyes only for rich guys like Smirnov—that’s the kind of man she wants to be with. I doubt my niece would mind spending the rest of her life with you if you were a sultan, harem included.”
“I’m sorry. I was just trying to be friendly.” He cleared his throat. “One last question.” Jack stopped in the doorway. “At the gates, they confiscated our passports. Do you know anything about that?”
Wilbur Hewitt stood in silence while he finished his cigarette. He clenched his teeth and sat down. “I know a little. What I don’t know is whether you’ll want to hear it.”
15
Jack was oblivious to the skidding and jamming of brakes as the truck hurtled him back toward the American village, because in his head all he could hear were Wilbur Hewitt’s final words: The OGPU retains all the Americans’ passports because their intention is for their owners never to leave the Soviet Union. And he’d added, But don’t worry, if you need to get back when all of this is over, I’ll help you out.
When all of this was over . . . But what if things didn’t go as Hewitt planned? What if the industrialist returned to the United States before anything was uncovered and forgot about his promise? Or what if Jack simply wanted to start a new life in another country? What would he do then? For the immigrants traveling from the other side of the world to put down roots in a country that guaranteed secure work, it might seem a minor inconvenience to have their passports confiscated, but to Jack, it was as reassuring as taking a nap next to a nest of vipers. Why did the Soviets take their passports? Was there something about the Americans they were afraid of?
Why did he care so much? Right then, not only did he have no intention of leaving the Soviet Union, but for him as a fugitive, returning to the United States was out of the question.
He breathed in the icy air that seeped in through the crack in the window, trying to find a moment of clarity that would allow him to reflect properly on his future. The driver, seeing him, gave a stupid smile, as if he imagined that the jolting vehicle had made Jack queasy and as if that were something to be proud of.
Jack closed his eyes. He should really consider himself lucky, he thought. After all, the country that had welcomed him was the land of his parents, a great and powerful nation of hardworking, hospitable people—at that very moment, a driver was taking him to a hot bowl of soup and a free room. What was more, he knew the language, he was surrounded by friends and fellow Americans, and he was going to be paid a salary he’d never dreamed of. Twelve hundred bucks a month! If he kept it going, in five years he’d be sitting on a fortune.
Yes. He was lucky, for sure.
In the canteen, Jack felt like he was back in the States. Dozens of his fellow countrymen were crammed into a timber-clad room decorated for the occasion with handmade American flags and paper balloons, making merry like he’d never expected to witness again. The partygoers sang, laughed, and danced to old-time hillbilly music played on a banjo and two fiddles by a trio of drunken musicians who seemed to be competing with the yelps of the dancers.
Jack spotted the Daniels family and started to make his way to them, eager both to share their happiness and the food and bottle of vodka that sat on their little table. Before he reached them, however, a group of workers pulled him into their circle as if he were one of the gang and forced him to sing along to an off-key “Cripple Creek” to which they were making up the words. Finally, he managed to shake off his new friends with a smile and sit with the Danielses. Harry seemed to be enjoying the party and insisted Jack down a cup of vodka in one go, like a real man. Jack was soon infected by the merry atmosphere, due in no small part to the copious amounts of sausage, bacon, barbecued ribs, and blinis with cream cheese that the cooks had prepared for the welcome celebration.
After finishing off the cup of vodka, he listened to his belly and set to eating what was left of the feast. He took a bite from some sort of hot dog that Harry offered him, and took another sip of vodka to wash it down as he looked around at the people enjoying themselves. He was surprised not to see Sue, but when he asked Harry Daniels about her, he told Jack that she’d drunk too much and had gone back to her room.
Jack set aside his worries and joined the dancers. He ate and drank as if there were no tomorrow until, at around nine o’clock, the women started to clear up. First the trays, then their husbands, dragging them to their rooms. Jack and the Daniels family were among the last to leave. They could barely speak due to the alcohol, but babbling and laughing, they agreed on their way back to their rooms that traveling to Russia had been the best decision they’d ever made.
After trying to insert it in the lock for the third time, Jack looked with a puzzled expression at the key that Harry had just given him. He held it near the lightbulb in the corridor to make sure it wasn’t bent, then tried again. When he thought he was about to manage it, the key slipped through his fingers. Aware of his drunkenness, he smiled like an idiot. At last, he managed to get it in and make it turn. He staggered into the dark room and tripped on his suitcase. He was feeling the wall in search of a switch when a sudden flash lit up the room, blinding him. Jack covered his eyes with his hand, and through the crack between his eyelids, he was amazed to see a figure sitting up in the bed that was positioned in the middle of the room. He was making his retreat when he realized that the person looking at him with surprise was Sue.
He was about to apologize, when she got in ahead of him. “Come in and close the door! You’re going to wake the neighbors!”
Jack shrugged and obeyed her without thinking. “What . . . what are you doing here?” he managed to say.
“Well, I was trying to sleep until you came in and woke me up. Has the party finished? What time is it?”
Jack didn’t respond. He just looked at Sue, half-naked on the bed. “I don’t understand. Harry told me this was my room. He gave me the key, and my luggage is here, and—”
“Sure. The room’s for both of us.”
“Huh?”
“We’re married, remember?”
“But why didn’t you explain that we—?”
“That we what, Jack? That we’ve fooled everyone?”
“No, of course not. Not that. But Walter . . .” Jack couldn’t concentrate.
“Come on. Come to bed, and tomorrow we’ll see if we can sort something out.”
“But Walter . . .”