make this.” It was more than he could bear. He tossed both paintings on the sofa and reached for his hat.
24
Emil, sitting on the edge of Leonek’s desk, looked surprised when we entered together at noon. Leonek did too.
I called the forensics lab to give them Antonin’s address. Emil appeared as I hung up. “You guys together, then?”
“For the moment. Can you see about this Vlaicu guy? He might know something.”
“Already did. He’s having a show.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow night, seven o’clock. Have you heard about Malik Woznica?”
I peered up at him.
“He came by yesterday. Looking for us. Seems to think you found his wife and didn’t give her back.”
“What did Moska do?”
“Told Woznica he was mistaken-it was a wrong ID. What else could he say?”
“I better talk to him.”
Emil shook his head. “Don’t. I started to, but he put his hands over his ears and told me to leave his office.”
I called the civil records office over at the Ministry of Justice and spoke to a man with a guttural Polish accent. “This is Militia Inspector Ferenc Kolyeszar. I need some information about a divorce and a marriage.”
“We close at three.”
“It’s one now.”
“Then you’ve got plenty of time to come over.”
“I’d rather not. The name is Kullmann. Antonin Kullmann. He divorced his wife Zoia Lendvai in ’forty- eight.”
There was a long, phlegmy sigh, then a bang as he set the receiver down.
I wedged the phone between my ear and shoulder and watched Emil sitting opposite Leonek, where they pored over more interviews, muttering to each other now and then.
“Antonin and Zoia Kullmann,” said the unhappy clerk. “It’s right here.”
“Good. Is there any mention of who Zoia Kullmann married afterward?”
“Of course not. This is a divorce certificate.”
“I want to know who she married. It would have been the same year, or the next.”
“You’re really going to have to do this yourself. I’m busy here.”
“Comrade,” I said. “This is a direct request from Colonel Mikhail Kaminski, from Moscow. I suggest you take care of it.”
Another pause as the threat registered, and he envisioned everything it signified. “Moment.”
Moska came out of his office with a sheet of paper and went over to Brano Sev’s desk. I hadn’t noticed Sev’s arrival. He had the silence of all those in his field, and I wondered if he had heard me use Kaminski’s name. Moska showed him the paper, then they conferred quietly. After a minute or two, he straightened and returned to his office, going out of his way not to look at me.
“Please tell Comrade Colonel Kaminski that there is no record of a Zoia Kullmann or a Zoia Lendvai remarrying in 1948, or any year since then.”
When I hung up, Emil dropped his pages and came over. “I’ll tell you what,” he said. “You bring Magda to this Vlaicu show, I’ll bring Lena, and beforehand we can all have dinner at our place. That way we won’t look so much like a couple of flatfoots.”
“Flatfoots?”
“It’s American,” he said proudly. “American for cop.”
25
There really was no getting out of it, and since, for once, Magda wasn’t occupied with Lydia, we arrived at the Brod household at five. Agnes was happy to see us go. “Have a good time!” she called from the door, and that only made me worry. Lena’s olive, floor-length dress seemed a little much for the occasion, but Magda complimented it with sincerity.
“Come now,” said Lena as she used her pinkie to wipe excess mascara from her eyeball. “ You need nothing to help you shine. When you’re as over-the-hill as me, you’ve got to buy your beauty.”
Emil opened a bottle of champagne.
We drank in the living room and listened to a sweet-voiced American singer on the record player-Sarah Vaughan, Emil explained-and began to loosen up. Despite her apprehension when I had told her our plans, Magda was awed by the size of the apartment and the glittering rocks hanging from Lena’s ears. “Tell me,” she said after her second drink, “what is it like to travel out of the country?”
“Haven’t you been?” asked Lena.
Magda shook her head.
Lena took a deep breath before launching into a description of the glories of international travel. She had been to Paris, Rome, Zurich, London and Stockholm, and had found each one more enchanting than the last. “Except, perhaps, London,” she said as her lip began to twitch at the corner. “Well, it’s obvious, the problem with that town, isn’t it? It’s filled with the English. What a dry, dour race. Do you know, not one person in all of London looked at me crossly? If I bumped into someone-you know what they did? They apologized. Can you believe it? The entire nation, and not a single testicle among them. But,” she said, looking sadly into her empty glass, “Westminster was beautiful.”
Emil had gone with her on a couple trips, but admitted he seldom had the urge to leave. “I used to love to travel. But I don’t anymore. Not sure why. Anyway, it takes twice as long for me to get a visa. I just slow her down.”
Lena stood to refill our glasses. “They seem to think I couldn’t stand to leave the country for good if my husband wasn’t with me. They don’t know much, do they?”
Emil slapped her thigh as she passed, then held up a finger. “Let me show you something.” He went to another room and returned lugging a large reel-to-reel recorder.
“Not that, ” muttered Lena.
He set it heavily on the coffee table and plugged in a microphone. He flipped some switches and the reels began to turn, the tape sliding through metal gears and heads to the take-up reel, humming.
“I don’t hear anything,” I said.
Magda leaned close. “I think I hear something.”
“It’s recording,” said Emil. He returned to his chair. “Just act normal. I haven’t had a chance to use it yet, and I want to see what we sound like.”
It took a few more drinks to act normal, to pretend that the big humming machine in the middle of the room did not exist. But we did normalize finally, touching on the Magyars, which was the only subject that could effectively silence Lena, then the Sixth of November Strike. “It’s a shame,” Emil said. “I would have liked it to do something in the end.”
“You don’t think it did?” said Magda. “I was under a different impression.”
“What was your impression?” I asked her.
“I don’t know. I don’t mean it accomplished anything really apparent. More than anything it set a precedent, don’t you think? It’s clear that, if another crackdown like that comes along, there’s an option for people. Striking is an option.”
“But striking’s always been an option,” said Emil, leaning into the debate. “It’s been done enough times in
