realized this was where chickens were beheaded. Farther out in the yard was a wooden box shaped like a small coffin. A tattered tablecloth was over the box, and broken utensils and tin plates were placed neatly. A child’s game. The little girls already pretending they are mothers.
It was quiet here. Komarov closed his eyes, breathed the cool night air, and remembered his own yard, his porch, a place in which he was alone with his thoughts of the old days in the GDR and of Gretchen and success. When he thought of Tamara Petrov, especially the way she stared into his eyes after she’d spit in his face, Komarov realized he had an erection. Komarov opened his eyes, turned to the house, and imagined Horvath sneaking up at night like the Gypsy landlord sneaking up on his father after the night at the opera.
As he walked back to the house, Komarov remembered the phonograph and the Gypsy records. How fitting it would be to greet Horvath with the melodies of his ancestors.
Before he went into the house, Komarov turned and saw in the distance the shadow of a man outlined against the lights of the village. The man turned slightly, and the outline of his AKM was visible for an instant. Then the man stooped back down and disappeared.
Komarov lit a cigarette and entered the house.
30
At dawn, in a field not far from the village of Kisbor, a black Skoda flecked with bits of straw sat in a ravine. From the dirt road bordering the field, the Skoda could not be seen because of the ravine’s depth. One would have needed an aircraft to spot the Skoda, and it would have looked like a derelict because of its dull black finish and the dust and dirt and straw covering it.
So he would not have to go out into the morning chill to change, Juli helped Lazlo put on the ragged peasant clothing they had stolen from a clothesline during the night.
“Remember,” said Lazlo, “if I’m not back by three o’clock tomorrow morning, you leave for the Czech border.”
“I remember. But it wouldn’t hurt to wait a little longer. I can stay here for days with the groceries you bought in Yasinya. So there’s really no reason for me to hurry off.”
Lazlo stopped buttoning his shirt and stared at her. “Three o’clock, Juli.”
“I don’t want you to have to hurry, Laz. I’ll wait a little longer.”
Lazlo picked up the trousers he had removed, took the sock out of the pocket, and handed it to Juli. “The rest of the money is in here. Enough rubles to bribe a guard. The road west of here parallels the frontier. Go to the first guard post to the north. Ask the guard for directions to Uzhgorod. Once he gives you directions, ask if he knows where Laborets Castle is. If he launches into a lecture about how Prince Laborets was murdered in the year 903, bring out half the money.”
“How do you know all this, Laz?”
“Yesterday in Yasinya I bribed the woman in the market.”
“How did you know she was a contact and not an informer?”
“Tamara.”
“We owe Tamara a lot. If Nina and the girls are with you when you return tonight, will there be enough bribe money for all of us?”
“I don’t know,” said Lazlo.
“Why don’t you take back some of the money in case you need to use it later?”
“I’m hoping I won’t have to bring Nina and the girls with me. If there is no Komarov, there will no longer be danger for Nina.”
“You’ll kill him.”
“If I can.”
“What if he’s not there?”
“He’ll be there. He’s put his reputation on the line, even sacrificing his own men to make us into suspects. Now he must protect his interests. And he must do it personally so no one will uncover what he’s done.”
“You don’t think higher officials are involved?”
“If others were involved, news coming out about Chernobyl would be different. They’d be talking sabotage, piling up evidence.”
Juli held out the sock containing the money. “Don’t make me take all the money, Laz. Take half. We’ll meet somewhere on the other side.”
Lazlo squeezed her hand around the money. “I can’t. I don’t know if it’s enough for two. If I don’t come back by three in the morning, you’ve got to go. I’ll still meet you on the other side.”
Juli felt tears in her eyes. “Why didn’t you simply tell me you kept half the money?”
Lazlo held her shoulders and shook her. “Because I can’t lie to you. And you can’t lie to me, Juli! I’ve got to leave for the farm knowing at least your freedom is guaranteed! The woman in Yasinya said you can’t go to the guard post once it’s light out. You must leave here at three!”
When Lazlo left the Skoda, Juli lowered the dew-soaked window and watched him climb the ravine and walk along the rim. In the brimmed hat, loose-fitting trousers, and tattered coat, he looked like one of the farmers at the Kopelovo collective where she wished they could have stayed and lived together in the tent forever.
Before disappearing beyond the edge of the ravine, Lazlo turned once and waved. The sun was beginning to rise in the east. A new day was born. Juli held her abdomen and wept.
Finding the workers of the Ulyanov collective farm was a matter of elimination, a matter of finding unplanted fields and locating the mechanical planters. Because the collective was several kilometers across, it took Lazlo most of the morning to locate the planters.
Cousin Bela was a mechanic and was always in the vicinity of equipment that had to be kept running.
From a ditch at the edge of the field, Lazlo watched three planters traverse the field, sometimes abreast, sometimes one or the other pulling ahead. After watching the planters for an hour, they finally passed close enough for him to recognize Bela aboard one of the tractors.
It was eleven o’clock. A truck carrying seed for the planters was at one end of the field. Lazlo had seen workers stop at the truck for water and knew they would eventually go there for lunches they brought with them. On his way to the end of the field, he saw a woman standing on the platform of a planter. She was thin and wore a brightly colored skirt over trousers. She reminded him of the previous week at the Kopelovo collective, how Juli had looked when she dressed this way, her long brown hair coming out from her kerchief and blowing in the wind as she bent to join him in the tent after an afternoon at the washtub with other women. The simplic-ity of the image made his eyes water as he crawled along the ditch.
Shortly before noon, the tractors turned the three planters around, the engines shut off, and farmers converged on the truck. As Lazlo wondered how he would be able to speak with Bela in private, Bela walked out to one of the tractors and peered into the engine compartment. Lazlo knew he might not have another chance. He stood and walked quickly out to the tractor.
Lazlo lifted his brimmed hat as he approached. “Bela. It’s me, Lazlo.”
“Lazlo! I didn’t recognize you. How did you get here? Have you been to the house?”
“No.”
“Don’t go there. They’re waiting for you.”
“Hey!” shouted one of the men near the truck. “Who’s the idler out there?”
Bela stood in front of Lazlo and shouted back, “It’s Lajos from the Kalinin collective! He needs mechanical advice!”
“Hello, Lajos!” shouted the man.
Lazlo waved but kept his head down.
“Come behind the tractor,” said Bela.
They stooped behind the tractor, Bela peering through the open engine compartment until he was satisfied no one was coming.
“They hate Lajos,” said Bela. “No one wants to hear his constant complaining. If you shake your fist like this occasionally, you will look the part.”
