Jack knew he had only a few seconds before the bar broke. He adjusted the apron and ran toward the door. When he reached it, he found it closed. He tried to open it, but it wouldn’t budge. Over him, the conveyor shook as if about to come down at any moment. “Sons of bitches! Open the door!” he yelled. Suddenly, the conveyor creaked; then it writhed as if it had taken on a life of its own. “Open this door right now, you bastards!”
Jack decided to try to make it over the barrier before the entire framework collapsed, but when he attempted to climb up, the chain shattered into a thousand pieces and the entire scaffold with the buckets filled with molten iron came down with a deafening crash.
He felt a blow to the head just as a pair of black hands grabbed him and pulled him out. Before fainting, half asphyxiated by the smoke and ash, he recognized Joe Brown calling desperately for help.
23
Had it not been for the discomfort in his hip, Jack would have thought he was in heaven. With barely the strength to move, he saw a young blonde smile at him as she applied an ointment to his forehead. Then a deep drowsiness slowly overcame him until he slipped back into the realm of dreams.
“Jack, can you hear us? Say something, Jack.”
He struggled to open his eyes. His head was spinning. When he managed to focus his vision, at his feet he thought he could make out Joe Brown and Walter. He looked around. To each side of him there appeared to be dozens of patients in a row of beds. He had the impression Joe Brown had a bandaged hand. Seeing Jack move, Walter took off his glasses.
“Where am I?” Jack asked, trying to sit up. An intense pain in his hip stopped him.
“Try not to move. The doc says you need rest,” Walter said.
“What happened? Shit! I feel like a herd of bison ran over my head.”
“A girder hit you on the temple. It was a good knock. They must’ve used all the arnica in the hospital on you,” Joe Brown said with a smile.
“They took some X-rays, and there’s nothing broken. Just little burns all over your body. The worst is your hip. It’s like you have a new belly button down there,” said Walter.
Jack smiled. “You saved me, right?” he asked Joe.
“Well, I heard you yelling. At first I didn’t know where it was coming from, but when I saw the conveyor shaking, I guessed there was someone underneath.”
“And your hands?” He pointed at the bandages covering them.
“Bah! Just a few scratches. I’m back to work this afternoon.”
Jack took a deep breath. His arms and head were bandaged, and he had dressings all over his body. A sudden memory of the Soviet official looking at him impassively roused him. “What is this place?”
“It’s the Avtozavod hospital. Don’t worry. It’s the best in Gorky. You’re in good hands,” said Joe Brown, still smiling. “Well, I have to go. Is there anything you need?”
“No, Joe. Just to get better so I can thank you properly.”
“Don’t worry about that now. Recover. We’re all missing your pork ribs.” He winked.
“When I get back to the village, I’ll treat you to a whole herd of pigs.”
Joe smiled again and left the hospital ward.
When they were alone, Walter took out a cigarette and offered it to Jack. “A good guy, that Joe. It was lucky he was there to save you. Anyway, it’s time for me to get back to work as well. I’ll bring you some more cigarettes on my next visit.”
“Wait! Grab that chair and sit down,” Jack said in a thin voice, as if about to tell a secret.
Walter was surprised but obeyed. He moved closer to the head of the bed and sat down. “Why so mysterious?”
“It was Sergei. He tried to kill me,” he whispered.
“What did you say?”
“You heard. One of his goons started the conveyor after I went down into the pit.”
“But, that’s impossible. It was Sergei himself who had you brought to this hospital.”
“I’m telling you, he tried to kill me!” He raised his voice and noticed a number of patients turning their heads.
“Think it over, Jack. What you’re saying makes no sense. If Sergei had wanted to knock you off, he’d have done it by now. He’s the head of the OGPU here. He can do whatever he wants. And he hasn’t done it.”
“Damn it, Walter! It was no accident!” He thumped the mattress. “For some reason, Sergei must want my death to appear accidental.”
“But why would he want to do that?” Walter peered at Jack through his thick tortoiseshell spectacles.
“How am I supposed to know? Perhaps it’s because I’ve discovered that he’s having Americans taken away under false pretenses.”
Walter sat up, indignant, as if Jack’s words were blasphemy. “That blow to the head must’ve damaged your brain! Sergei’s an honest man. He’s a representative of the Soviet Union, and therefore all he endeavors to do is protect—”
“For Pete’s sake! Look at me! Open your eyes and look around! The Milwaukee Express . . . his wife, Harriet . . . Robert Watkins . . . all the other guys . . . We’ve had no news of them. They’re exterminating us, Walter. You must see it. You have to—”
“All right! Don’t get upset. You say Sergei’s guy watched you go down into the pit. Do you know his name?”
“I don’t know. I can’t remember . . . Orlov! That’s it! His name is Anatoly Orlov.”
“OK. I’ll see what I can find out. You rest and get yourself fit again. I bet you’ll see things differently when you’re feeling better.”
As he tried to sleep, Jack wondered why Sergei would have sent him to the hospital when he could have killed him anytime he wanted. He couldn’t understand it. His head was still sore, but what really tormented him was the deep burn on his hip, which flared up with any movement he made.
He began to consider whether he should flee Gorky. The Soviets still had his passport, but with the money he’d saved, he guessed he could commission a false one from Ivan Zarko.
He was trying to imagine how he would organize his future life in a country like Britain, when he was surprised by the gentle contact of fingers against his forehead. When he opened his eyes, he saw the kind face of the same young blonde wearing a white uniform he thought he’d seen in his dreams. Her smile soothed Jack for a few seconds, until she ordered him to take off his pajama bottoms so that she could change his dressing. When he realized he had to strip, Jack became alarmed. “Couldn’t you do it . . . I don’t know . . . ?” He pulled the waistband of his pajamas down to just below the burn, making sure the material covered his private parts.
The young woman smiled again, and then Jack recognized her. It was Natasha, the attractive nurse who’d been treating Wilbur Hewitt’s arm. If it had been a toothless old lady, perhaps it wouldn’t have unsettled him so much, but her youth and beauty made him feel even more uncomfortable. “Jack Beilis,” Natasha read from his medical report. “We meet again.”
“Yeah. If possible, I’d rather a male nurse took care of these things,” he said in an unexpected attack of modesty.
Natasha gave him a maternal look. “Look, Jack, I need to do my job, but if it’s any comfort, when I did your dressing this morning, I saw everything there was to see, and I wasn’t especially impressed.”