“No, it was Greek to me too,” Ivan said good-naturedly. “Deuterium,” he said slowly, a careful pronunciation. “So what does it mean? Who knows? It goes right over your head.”
“Make sure it stays there,” Sasha said, a stern look. “Then it doesn’t go to the tongue.”
Ivan gave him a look, surprised at the reprimand, then backed away, raising a finger to his forehead in a mock salute. “Well. So you don’t need to know anything,” he said to Alex. “Be a dummkopf like me.”
“I was in Leuna once,” Alex said to Sasha. Keep it going. “Long time ago. But that’s not in the Erzgebirge, is it?”
“No, outside the area. A plant there.”
“Heavy water,” Ivan said. “And he thinks it’s heavy to carry.” Still a joke to him.
“What’s so funny?” Irene said, back at the table.
“Too much vodka, that’s what,” Sasha said, then leaned his head into her neck, nuzzling her.
“That’s more like it,” Ivan said.
“What were you talking about?” Irene said, trying to move away without being obvious, a pained expression, embarrassed.
“Nothing,” Sasha said, his face now at the back of her neck. “Workers. Nothing important.”
“What happens if you catch them?”
“We put them back to work. Never mind. What happens if I catch you?”
“Sasha.”
“So you’ll miss me? You don’t show it.”
“You’re not gone yet.”
He pulled away, smiling. “You see, that’s what I like,” he said to Ivan. “That spirit. An answer for everything.”
“Everybody has an answer for that,” Irene said.
“So you were her first sweetheart?” Sasha said to Alex, a question out of nowhere.
“We were children,” Irene said. “Don’t be—”
“It was the same then? An answer for everything?”
“Yes,” Alex said, trying a smile, keeping it friendly. “Everything.”
“You know she’s from a very good family,” Sasha said to Ivan, then looked at her. “So what were you like then? I wish I knew that.”
“Oh, now that you’re leaving.”
“Maybe I’ll come back.”
“Yes? Should I wait? How long?”
“You don’t have to wait now,” he said, leaning forward again. “I’m still here.” His face near hers.
Alex stood up. “The beer goes right through you, doesn’t it? Excuse me.”
Not able to look anymore, suddenly claustrophobic, the air heavy with smoke. He squeezed through the narrow spaces between the tables. Try to remember. Leuna. A grade that needed to be enriched. But didn’t they all? Was that relevant? Don’t write anything down, just remember it. Say a word three times and it’s yours for life. He pushed through the men’s room door. No one. He peed, then leaned back against the washbasin, going through it all again. Someone arriving from Moscow, not a promotion up the ranks. Nuzzling Irene. I know what they like.
“Ah, it’s you,” Brecht said, coming in. “What are you doing, going over your lines?”
“Taking a break.”
“From the Russians?” Brecht said, smiling, then turned to the urinal to pee, a wisp of cigar smoke circling his head. “I saw you. A lively party. Good jokes?”
Alex didn’t answer. Brecht finished, flushing the urinal, but not bothering to wash his hands.
“So, my friend, I hear you’re going to write something for Comrade Stalin.”
“Good news travels fast.”
Brecht looked up. “As you say. They thought it would encourage me. To follow your good example. A poem, just a poem. They think that’s easier, only a few lines, not so many words.”
“Will you do it?”
Brecht sighed and leaned against the wall. “It’s my last country here. Denmark, Finland, Russia, those idiots in Hollywood—I look at my passport and I feel tired just looking. We can work here. And Berlin—” He broke off, drawing on the cigar.
“So you will.”
“I don’t know. I’m not such a model citizen.” He nodded toward Alex. “Anyway, it’s interesting, to make them wait. Some old theater advice.” He held up a finger. “Leave something for the second act.” He started for the door. “So Irene is still with him? When you think how that family— Well,” he said, a twisted smile. “She makes a contribution her way, eh? To the Festschrift.”
The room seemed even noisier now, several more drinks in.
“There he is,” Ivan said. “So now you can decide for us. All those years in America. I said, he’ll know.”
“Maybe,” Sasha said, speaking into his chest, stifling a burp.
“Know what?” Alex said, looking at Irene, sitting awkwardly, one of Sasha’s arms around her.
“?‘GI,’ what does it mean?”
“A soldier.”
“Yes, but what does it mean? The initials?”
“Government Issue,” Alex said. “They used to stamp it on army equipment. Then it started to mean anything in the army. The men.”
“Ha! You see, he knew.”
“So what?” said Sasha, moody.
“So it’s a good joke. In English, a soldier. And in German? Geheimer Informator, a secret informer. So that’s the difference.”
“What’s the difference?” Sasha said.
Ivan jerked his head back, not sure how to answer, his eyes unfocused.
“GIs. Both sides. But ours—” He stopped, losing the thread.
“Do excellent work,” Sasha said. “Without them—” He picked up the glass. “When you have so many enemies, you need—” He tossed back the drink. “How else to keep the Party safe? You know that,” he said to Alex.
“Can I ask you something now?” Alex said, directing this to Ivan but wanting Sasha to hear. “You’re at the Ministry with Sasha? What does it mean when the Party calls in membership books? For review. I hadn’t heard of this before.”
Sasha raised his head, suddenly alert. “This has happened to you?”
“No, no. Someone I met. I didn’t understand why. It’s a security measure?”
Sasha shrugged. “A routine check, are your papers in order, dues, maybe it’s that. And maybe more serious. Without documents you can’t travel. It gives the Party time to investigate, decide what to do.” He looked down at his glass. “I have seen this before. It starts this way. And then—”