Jack kicked a stone when, as he came out of his new home, he found his car rendered useless once more. It was the second time that he’d woken up to find that the Ford Model A’s tires had been slashed, but on this occasion someone had painted “Soviet Lover” on the windows in red paint. Jack did what he could to wash it off, changed the wheels for some spares that he kept in the garage as a precaution, and started the car. Then, making sure everyone present could hear the engine’s roar, he sped off toward Walter’s workplace.
Jack’s friend was surprised to see him walk into his modest office in the OGPU headquarters. He moved aside the mountain of papers on his desk and offered Jack a chair. Jack refused the invitation and remained standing, pacing from one side of the room to the other. “You have to explain to me what’s happening. You work with the Russians,” he snapped.
There was nobody else in the office, but Walter looked from side to side, as if afraid he was being spied on. He gestured to Jack to be quiet and went out into the courtyard with him. Outside, the loudspeaker was broadcasting the same propaganda that was blared all day at the factory.
“What do you think you’re doing coming here and asking me that?” He brushed aside a few strands of hair that had fallen over his spectacles.
“Damn it, Walter! Three guys have disappeared in two weeks, and everyone’s treating me as if it were my fault. They’ve slashed the tires on my car. If this carries on, any time now they’ll be breaking my legs.”
Walter bit his lip. “And why do you think I might know something?”
“Come on, buddy! If you’d stayed with us in the village instead of moving to the city, you’d know that it’s all anyone talks about. The OGPU showed up at midnight in their black cars and arrested two men, just like that. And we’ve still had no news of Alex Carter, the first guy who disappeared.”
Walter exhaled. “I saw their files,” he admitted in a tiny voice. “My Russian isn’t great, but their names written in the English alphabet jumped out at me, and I asked a comrade to fill me in.”
“Comrade?”
“That’s what we call one another.”
“Sure . . . and what did the reports say?”
“He didn’t give me all the details, but it seems they’ve been accused of being involved in several acts of sabotage.”
“What a load of crap. They’re just fathers who want their kids to be able to eat a decent meal every day. Who in their right mind would think they’d sabotage the very people who put food on their tables?”
“Shhh! For God’s sake, keep your voice down!”
“And where’ve they been taken? To the labor camp?” Jack had heard there was a gigantic correctional facility on the outskirts of Gorky.
“I can’t tell you that.”
Jack raised his eyebrows. He asked Walter if he could at least let him know whether they’d be tried, and his friend nodded, but when Jack asked in what court, he fell silent. “They’ll be put on trial by the OGPU itself,” he finally said without looking up.
“But that’s illegal. How can the people who arrested them be their judges as well?”
“Wake up, Jack! This ain’t America. There’s a revolution going on here, and we have many enemies.”
Jack hawked. He was growing ever more confused by the stance that Walter had adopted. When he reminded him that they knew the people who had disappeared—their wives, their children—his friend became distant, as if he were suddenly being reminded about something from the past.
“I had to leave the village for the same reason you should leave. The Americans are a bunch of deadbeats. They complain about how little food there is and how hard they have to work, without considering that it’s the same for everyone. They’ve forgotten that they fled their country for a reason. The Soviets welcomed us with open arms, and now, if we get along with them, our compatriots brand us as enemies.”
“Listen, Walter.” Jack laid his hands on his friend’s shoulders. “This isn’t about how discontented these men are with the working conditions or lack of food. We’re talking about the fact that our fellow countrymen are disappearing!”
“No, Jack.” He removed his hands from his shoulders. “They might be your fellow countrymen, but they’re not mine.”
Jack fell silent for a moment. “I don’t understand. What do you mean?”
“I’ve given up my passport. I’m a Soviet citizen now,” Walter said firmly.
Word soon spread that the disappeared had been sent to Siberia, though nobody was able to corroborate the rumor. The men’s families were informed that they had been accused of counterrevolutionary activities and sentenced to hard labor, adding that anyone protesting would be given the same punishment. For the time being, the Americans in the village continued to treat Jack as an ally, even if it was only because he could help them get food. Still, the attacks on his car had been warning enough to make him understand that he had to look out for his own safety, and he expressed his concerns to Ivan Zarko, the money changer who bought his dollars.
Zarko didn’t hesitate to offer him his services. “I’ll send you Yuri, my nephew. Not even a bear would dare to come up behind you with Yuri by your side,” the old man assured him. When Jack met Yuri, he couldn’t have agreed more. Zarko’s nephew was huge, and if not for the monosyllables he let out from time to time, he could easily have been mistaken for a bear. They agreed that Yuri would guard Jack’s home at night, but, during the day, they would pretend that he was an assistant mechanic for as long as it took to repair Viktor’s Buick Master Six. After that, they’d find him another role.
As the days went by, Yuri proved to be not only effective as a security guard but also adept at dealing in contraband, and he suggested some ways that Jack could build up his business. “Shoes! People will kill for shoes.”
Jack was surprised when he heard the idea, and for a moment he thought that, had he not had such a well-paid position as a supervisor at the Avtozavod, perhaps the skills he’d learned from his father as a boy could have come in useful after all.
21
In late June, the Buick Master Six was cranked up for the first time, and Jack was glad that Viktor Smirnov wasn’t there to witness it. The engine purred for a few minutes, ticking over like a clock, but then the copper gasket that Jack had fashioned blew, and the motor let out a snort and died. Yuri raised an eyebrow and laughed. “What a heap of junk.”
Jack didn’t see the humor. He’d promised Viktor that he’d have his automobile ready for the grand opening of the firing range that the Soviets had built near the Avtozavod, and he was no longer sure he’d be able to pull it off. Fortunately, Viktor and Sergei had gone to Moscow for political business and would not return until September, so he hoped he had enough time to repair the Buick and make some progress with the investigation. He left Yuri to clean up and went out for a walk. For the first time in months, the sun was shining brightly. What a perfect day, he thought, to enjoy with Elizabeth.