Jack stammered. He’d thought Hewitt would congratulate him on his investigation, but instead, he was yelling at him. “I . . . I didn’t accuse anybody,” he said in his defense.
“Don’t you see? The Soviets will never admit that there are traitors in their ranks. Now Sergei will take your report, present it to his superiors, and blame the Americans for the sabotage.” Hewitt collapsed into his chair. He pulled a bottle of vodka from a drawer and took a long draft. Then he offered the bottle to Jack. The young man copied him. “Sergei’s a sly old dog,” Hewitt went on. “He needs to show that he’s got the factory under control, and he knows that the best way to do that is to divert attention from the real problem.”
“But if he knows what the problem is, why doesn’t he deal with it?”
“Because he can’t. The saboteurs are spread throughout his own workforce: people tired of being exploited, peasants taken away from their land and forced to work at the Avtozavod, people who are just goddamned hungry. When the sabotage started, they tried to contain it by repressing the workers, but it only made matters worse. Now Sergei will have an excuse to start arresting Americans.”
Jack didn’t buy Hewitt’s argument. The industrialist was blaming discontented Soviet peasants for the sabotage, but his findings showed that the perpetrators had technical expertise that the Soviets undoubtedly lacked. When he said as much, Hewitt became furious.
“Well, if you don’t want to see your fellow countrymen dropping like flies, you’ll have to prove yourself wrong. Oh! And one other thing. Your salary. I’m sorry for the inconvenience, but the Soviets are checking my accounts, and it’s difficult to justify cash payments. I’m not saying I’m going to withdraw your wages . . . but you’ll get them when you’ve earned them.”
19
The young man in the red hat made sure nobody saw him unloading the last sack he’d carted to the American store. “I don’t know why you’re fixing his toy for him,” Miquel muttered when he heard that Jack had agreed to repair Smirnov’s Buick. “That Smirnov’s a disgrace, an arrogant snake. They say that Stalin himself protects him. I don’t know whether it’s true, but it’s obvious he’s very well connected within the party. Just look at him strutting around like a peacock all day in his fancy car and his immaculate uniform, as if he owned the place.”
Jack ignored the chatter. All he cared about was the chance to get closer to Elizabeth. “Well, the best thing you can do with a good-for-nothing is keep him entertained,” he said, hiding the rack of ribs in the tool cart he was going to use to shift the meat. “Same as usual?”
“Da. Same.”
Jack paid Miquel the agreed amount and said good-bye. Then he pushed the cart to the woodshed, where Harry Daniels’s elder son was waiting for him. Jack had persuaded him to help sell the goods in the American village in exchange for some of the food.
After Hewitt told him about the difficulties paying his wages, Jack had decided that dealing in contraband was the best way to bridge the gap. Profiting from people’s hunger might not be viewed favorably, especially by Walter, but in his mind, everyone was a winner: he provided an essential service, made a reasonable profit, and his fellow Americans received a little pork belly to make up for the alarming decline in food rations. He guessed that sooner or later Hewitt would resume paying him, but in the meantime, it would do no harm to cover his back. Jack had planned the operation to avoid any slipups that might alert the Soviets. Since the guards were stationed at the entrance on the fenced perimeter, he’d arranged for payment to be made in the dormitories, while the food would be dispensed in the courtyard latrines, through a cavity made in the sewer wall where neither the buyer nor the seller could see each other’s face.
He and Jim finished butchering the pig and buried the cuts in the snow.
“You know what to do. Take the money first, and sell the portions one by one,” Jack reminded him.
“The Robertsons haven’t managed to raise the money. What should I do about their order?” said Jim. He was nineteen years old but thought like a much older man.
“How’s their daughter? Has she recovered?”
“Nah. She can’t shake off the pneumonia.”
“Then give them the girl’s share, and sell the rest to the Phillipses.” Jack usually gave priority to workers with families. “And tell him, if she doesn’t improve, to come and see me. I know a nurse; I could see if she would help.”
Jim followed Jack’s instructions to the letter, word got around, and for the next few days Jack supplied the village with fresh and cured meat. Unfortunately, news spread beyond the confines of the American village, and before long, the Soviets stepped up security, searching residents for suspicious goods.
Though he still had not received his wages from Hewitt, Jack decided not to continue dealing in contraband goods. However, when he told Jim he was shutting down the business, the youngster reacted as if he were taking away his last possession.
“You can’t do this! Look at us.” He showed Jack his undernourished arms. “I need those ribs. My parents need them.”
Jack stood his ground. It was true that the American village was growing hungrier by the minute, but the Soviet workers were suffering the same hardships without complaining. At any rate, he couldn’t even remember why he had decided to start smuggling food in when he already had a privileged position. “You’d do the same if you were me,” he said in his defense.
“Sure. And if you were in my shoes, what would you do?” the young man shot back. His face was red with desperation.
Jack looked at him. He really had lost weight, as had the others in his family, whereas Jack had gone up a hole in his belt. He would have liked to help the youngster, but he didn’t know how to do so without putting himself in danger. Miquel wouldn’t do business with anyone but him. He pondered for a moment. He cursed himself and spat out the piece of smoked meat he was chewing. “All right. I’ll tell you what we’ll do. I’ll keep the business going with the same terms, but you’ll be in charge. If for whatever reason we get busted, you’ll take the heat. It’s the best I can do.”
Jim stammered a thank-you, and Jack nodded firmly. He left the youngster to clean up and went up to his room to wash. He was late for his engagement. As he dried his hair, he told himself that he’d just made the most stupid mistake of his life.