“No . . . it’s just that . . . you’d do well to keep away from that man.” Her voice faltered.
“Viktor? Since I arrived, he’s done nothing but help me.”
“Viktor doesn’t know how to help anyone but himself.”
“How would you know? Do you know Viktor well?”
“Sorry, but I’d rather not talk about it. I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”
Jack had to swallow his curiosity. He didn’t know what to say. All that occurred to him was to ask about the people wounded in the recent demonstrations. Natasha seemed to relax again.
“It was terrible,” the young woman said. “There were dozens of casualties: young, old, women . . . I don’t understand how the police could have responded so brutally.” She took a last bite of her breakfast.
“They may have had their reasons. I mean, it’s possible those young men, old men, and women were so desperate they didn’t fear whatever retaliation came their way. That, or . . .”
“Or?”
“Or quite simply, the police overstepped the mark.”
“You and your prejudices against the Soviet Union!” Natasha stood up. “Those who died were counterrevolutionaries trying to destroy everything the country has built. And my father would never authorize—”
“All right, all right! But do you know what? This whole counterrevolutionary thing is starting to sound like a chorus you’ve all learned, as if it’s been drilled into you since kindergarten. I hear it from you, from Sergei, from Viktor, from the police, from officials, from operatives . . . and from that irritating radio channel they broadcast in every corner of the Avtozavod day and night!”
“I have to go. Thanks for the sausage,” Natasha said.
“Wait! I didn’t mean to upset you. It’s just . . .”
“What?”
“That when it’s not counterrevolutionaries, it’s the capitalists, or failing that, the imperialists. You see enemies everywhere and . . . damn it, some of us have come to help you!”
“Sure. Anyway, Jack. It was a pleasure getting you out of that bathtub.” She gave him a fleeting kiss.
“Wait. You’re leaving, just like that?” he yelled when he saw her starting to go down the stairs.
“No. We Soviets aren’t as rude as you think.” She smiled at him. “Come by the hospital whenever you like,” she added, before turning around again and leaving the house.
31
Jack spent some of the next week tidying up his house. He cleaned and organized it, and the repairs carried out by Yuri on the carpentry work finally made it look like a proper home. However, most of his time he dedicated to running the store, which, with the arrival of the festive season, was in full swing.
On Christmas Eve 1933, Joe Brown cashed up and showed Jack their earnings. After adding up the total again, Jack shook his head.
“What’s troubling you, Mr. Beilis? It’s quite a lot more than we expected.”
It was a while before Jack answered. He was remembering his father. It was exactly a year since his death. “It’s not that, Joe. And I told you not to call me Mister.”
“If it’s about the customers again, let me tell you that if not for this store, even more of them would go hungry. And you won’t stop me from calling you Mister, sir. You’re my boss now, and for as long as you are, you’ll have to put up with it.”
“I see. Here.” He handed him the bonus he’d decided to share among his staff. “But Mrs. Newman can’t feed her sick kids, and Burton’s caught typhus, and—”
“And you looked the other way when you caught his eldest son stealing four pieces of meat. Do you think I didn’t notice?”
“They would’ve rotted anyhow.”
“Sure . . . well, I know people who’d kill for that rotted meat.”
Jack decided the conversation was over and continued stacking empty crates. The exercise was strengthening his hip, and as Natasha had predicted, he could now manage without crutches. However, his memories were still plagued by old wounds.
He longed to see Natasha. After the episode with the bathtub, they had continued to meet, and though the young woman was friendly, for some reason their encounters felt clandestine. Natasha always chose solitary parks for them to walk in, where they could kiss and fondle without being seen, huddling together to keep out the cold. But she refused to go to his new house, giving him excuses that he didn’t understand. However, the young woman asked him to trust her, so he did.
That was why he was surprised when, that evening, just before they closed the store, Natasha showed up at the door wearing her overcoat and ushanka, her blond braids falling onto her shoulders.
“Hello!” he said, startled.
She waited for a few seconds in the snow, until he invited her in.
“I thought I was going to freeze to death!” she said with a smile. “How’s it all going?”
“Fine, fine. Come in and sit near the barbecue. We’ve just put it out, but it’s still warm.” He pointed at the terra-cotta grill that Miquel and Joe Brown had built in a corner. “What a surprise. What brings you here?” As she took off the ushanka, Jack admired her bright, affable face.
“It’s the twenty-fifth tomorrow. It’s just another day here, but I guessed it would be different for you. That you’d miss your family, and the gifts, all those things.” She took a package wrapped in newspaper from her case and handed it to him. “I thought you’d like this.”
Jack unwrapped the package with curiosity, without admitting that he didn’t usually celebrate Christmas, either. When he tore away the last piece, he discovered the beautiful cover of a copy of F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby.
“Heavens! Thanks a lot. But, how . . . ?”
“I remembered you reading in the hospital to keep yourself amused. A few years ago, an American patient gave me this novel, hoping that reading it would help me love his country, but I’ve never had time. And anyway, even if I’d wanted to read it, I only understand a little English.” She laughed. “He told me it was a wonderful story about New York, and I thought you might like to remember your city. And maybe you could read it to me.”
“Well, thanks again. I must say I was surprised to see you here, in the village. Lately, with all the hiding away we’ve been doing, I’ve gotten used to having a secret lover.”
She smiled when she heard Jack’s description of their relationship. Though it had been half in jest, she planted a kiss on his cheek as a reward and sat beside him. “So, will you read it to me?”
“I’ll do better than that.” He set the book aside and returned her kiss. “I’ll take you to New York so you can see it for yourself.”
Natasha laughed like a little girl. “I don’t know if I should. I hear people eat disgusting things there, like hot dogs.”
“Bah! You shouldn’t listen to that Communist propaganda.” He laughed. “Anyway, after trying those sausages the day you surprised me at home, I doubt anything will frighten you. My God! I don’t think I’ve ever eaten such disgusting sausages.”