“That’s right. And what’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing, I suppose. It’s just we Soviets should always do our job well.”
Jack raised an eyebrow. The constant discovery of so many curious details about the Soviet Union would surely make this his most frequent facial expression. “Well, in that case, there are two reasons why you could accept it. First, because, judging by your accent, you’re not a Soviet. And second, because those two rubles aren’t a tip, but a reward for helping us. Or have you forgotten that you backed up my version of events with the guard?”
The man stammered, not knowing what to say. Before he could respond, Jack made him close his hand and put the money away.
“Thank you, sir.”
“Jack. You can call me Jack. And don’t worry. Nobody will know you accepted it,” he said, before turning to leave the canteen.
When he stepped outside, a punishing cold struck him in the face. He pulled his overcoat tight to protect himself from the blizzard and looked at the row of streetlamps disappearing into the distance. It was the route the driver had taken, so if he followed it, sooner or later he’d reach the Americans’ bunkhouses. He’d started walking in the snow, when he heard some rushed footsteps behind him.
“Mr. Jack! Wait, Mr. Jack!”
Jack turned around to find the cashier in the red hat again.
“Here, sir,” he said, offering him a newspaper-wrapped package. “Some steaks. It’s not true that there’s not enough food. Well, it is, but nobody will miss these steaks.”
“Well, blow me down; I knew you weren’t a Soviet. What’s your name?”
The man smiled. “Agramunt. Miquel Agramunt, sir.”
“Well, thanks, Miquel. But don’t call me ‘sir.’”
Jack had managed to avoid any further encounters with Sue by sleeping on a straw mattress on the floor in Joe Brown’s room. It had been five nights, enough for his bones to begin to ache and for him to develop a nasty cough—his lungs were unused to such extreme cold. When she asked him why he had frozen her out, he told her that he valued and admired her as a friend, but that what had happened on the night of the party he could only put down to having drunk too much vodka. She slapped him. From then on, Jack tried to avoid her. When it was impossible, he greeted her curtly, for she seemed to interpret any friendly gesture as an attempt to get close to her. On the sixth night, Jack found her waiting for him outside Joe Brown’s room. She was toeing the floor impatiently, and her face seemed to be burning with a dangerous mixture of fury and alcohol. Sue told him to come back to her, or she would tell Walter that he had tried to force himself on her. She was swaying from the drink and slurring her words. Jack ignored her. He wanted to believe that it was the alcohol talking, but it was worrying. He didn’t know what he would do about the problem, but decided to say nothing to her until Walter returned.
One person he hadn’t seen again was Elizabeth. Through her uncle, he knew that she’d turned down a modest prefabricated house in the American village to move into a mansion in Gorky that the Soviets sometimes lent to foreign executives. According to the industrialist, his niece passed the time going from party to party, which he disapproved of but had little choice but to consent to—she was an adult, after all. Elizabeth’s parents had died when she was a child, and Hewitt and his wife, who were childless, had brought her up as well as they knew how. However, after the attack of meningitis that saw his wife end up in a psychiatric hospital, Elizabeth had become rebellious. He didn’t blame her for it—she was young and had too much spare time—but that did not stop him from occasionally criticizing her behavior.
As Hewitt had told Jack, her maidservant was the only person able to contain her, and perhaps that was why Elizabeth made no objection when the woman requested to return to the United States.
Jack offered to teach Elizabeth Russian when he was off work, to help her fill up some of her free time, but Hewitt didn’t even consider it. His niece knew exactly what she wanted, and it didn’t include learning new languages. Not unless the person teaching her was rich enough for her to find him attractive.
“And how rich would that be?” Jack asked.
Hewitt burst into laughter. “More than you could earn in a lifetime, you can be sure of that, son.”
His reply didn’t impress Jack. He was ready to show Hewitt that, even compared to Smirnov, Jack Beilis was a good catch.
16
Just one in twenty-two.
After studying every word of the reports, Jack had reached the conclusion that, of the twenty-two accidents that had taken place in the various Avtozavod plants, twenty-one seemed to be the result of the factory’s abysmal administration. However, for one he had found no explanation.
He informed Wilbur Hewitt of his conclusions.
“Are you absolutely certain?” the industrialist asked him after running his eyes over Jack’s report.
“Absolutely. First I separated the incidents in which workers had been involved from those that affected only machinery or production. I was able to consult the files for the injured operatives.” He showed them to Hewitt. “Igor Pavlov, twenty-six years old, Ukrainian, left arm amputated when he got it caught in a press while it was running. Outcome: production halted for twenty-six hours for cleaning and repairs to the molds.”
“And?” Hewitt felt his arm in its sling.
“Now comes the worrying part. Previous profession: farmer. Experience as operative: two weeks’ training and one week as a worker.”
“I see . . .”
“Olga Moskovskaya.” Jack laid the file on the desk. “Thirty-four years old, Azerbaijani, several cuts to her face and chest that required stitches when her hair was caught in the engine conveyor belt. Outcome: production interrupted for one hour to free her clothing and hair. Previous profession: farmer. Experience as operative: one week’s training and one day as a worker.
“Mikhail Lenovski, eighteen years old—”
“Also with no experience, I presume. Is every case the same?” Hewitt broke in.
“Almost identical: peasants, farmers, housewives, herders . . .”
“Good. Nothing more than carelessness, then. And the rest?”
“Sir, I wouldn’t call these accidents careless, when they could have been prevented if—”