The president of the court turned to his associate judges, whispering a moment. They ended the conversation with nods, and the president said to the room, “The court will now retire for deliberations.”
The soldiers turned off the cameras.
The president stood, as did the other two judges, and the audience stood as well. Michalec tugged Gavra’s sleeve until he, too, was standing. Only the Pankovs remained in their chairs as the judges walked along the wall and out into the corridor.
The prosecutor and defense attorney followed the judges out of the room.
As they settled back into their seats, Michalec said, “Well?”
Gavra peered over heads at the Pankovs, who were whispering to one another. “I want to talk to them.”
“That’s out of the question.”
“I insist.”
“Listen, Gavra. You know what we want you to do. You strike up a relationship with those bastards, and you’re not going to be able to do it.”
“That won’t be a problem. I’ve done it before.”
“Yes? Do tell.”
Gavra wasn’t going to regale this man with stories of jobs he’d prefer to forget. “The deal is this,” he said. “You give me a few minutes with them, and I’ll do it. You have my word.”
“Is your word worth something?”
“More than yours, certainly.”
Michalec peered over the crowd. Romek came over and whispered something in his ear, then left again. He patted Gavra’s knee. “You’ve got yourself a deal. But I’m depending on you to stick to it. There’s no way out.”
He motioned to the big guard and told him where Gavra was going. The man, despite his size, was frightened, but by then Gavra was already walking around the edge of the chairs toward the front. The guard hurried to catch up.
As Gavra approached the couple, an officer cut ahead of him and squatted in front of the table. “Sir,” the man said to Tomiak Pankov. “Major Ignac Maslov.”
“What army?”
Ilona Pankov turned away with an expression of disgust.
“I wanted to know why you’re not accepting the court’s legality. Don’t you realize you’re only making things more difficult for yourself?”
“Because,” said Tomiak Pankov in exasperation, “there is no legality to this court. Legality is granted by the Grand National Assembly, which these putschists ignore. None of this is legal.”
Maslov nodded. “Also, why did you try to leave the Central Committee Building by helicopter?”
Pankov looked past the man’s head, past Gavra, to the doorway where Andras Todescu still stood. “Because I was advised to take the helicopter by those who were plotting against me, and some of these traitors are right here in this room.”
“Aha,” said the major. He stood up and stepped away.
“They can’t do a thing,” whispered Ilona Pankov. “There’s nothing they can do.”
“Do I know you?” Tomiak said, looking up at Gavra.
“Lieutenant Gavra Noukas of the Ministry,” Gavra said, only afterward realizing how ridiculous this sounded.
“You’re with them, too?”
Gavra shook his head. “I was forced to come here. This is all a surprise.”
Pankov raised a finger. Then, unexpectedly, he smiled. “I remember. A friend of General Brano Sev, correct?”
Gavra couldn’t get the word out, so he just nodded.
“How is Brano? I shouldn’t have let him retire. He would’ve taken care of this mob.”
“Sev?” said Ilona, suddenly taking interest. “I never trusted him. I’ll bet he’s running this from Moscow.”
“I can assure you,” said Gavra. “He’s not.”
“Then where is he?” said Ilona.
“I–I don’t know.”
“Hunting!” Tomiak said suddenly. He wagged his finger. “I remember now. You came out to one of the lodges and we went hunting. I’m right, yes?”
Gavra nodded. “I’m pleased you remember. But, sir, we don’t have much time. I wanted to know something.”
“Yes?”
“Why didn’t you answer the witnesses? Didn’t you have some kind of explanation for them?”
The smile disappeared from Pankov’s face, and his wife made a hissing sound. “You haven’t listened to a thing,” said the old man. “None of you. I will say everything in front of the Grand National Assembly. I won’t recognize these putschists.”
Gavra straightened. They didn’t care, neither of them. “It’s too late. They have the country, and after this no one will be around to take it from them.”
“After what?” said Pankov.
“After your execution.”
Ilona, eyes red along the lids, bared her teeth at him. “So they’re going to do it. They’re going to do to us what they did to our son. Animals.”
She looked away, but Tomiak held Gavra’s gaze a moment. The younger man’s fear had finally left. He turned on his heel, much as the flamboyant prosecutor had done so often, and returned to Michalec, the guard struggling to catch up. “I’ll wait in the corridor until it’s time.”
Michalec nodded at the guard, who followed Gavra out. As they entered the corridor, they passed the three judges and two lawyers, who were filing somberly back inside.
TWENTY-EIGHT
After breakfast, we prepared to go into Sarospatak so Ferenc could show off “the operation.” Magda had stared at me often during the meal, but I couldn’t figure out what she was trying to tell me until I was putting on my coat. She pulled me aside. “What I said last night is true.”
“I know.”
“The other part, I mean. I love you. And I want to help you. I don’t care if what they say about Lena is true. If she worked for them, she did it because she felt she had no choice. No one’s going to convince me otherwise.”
“Thanks.”
Bernard decided at the last minute to join us, because he wanted to find a Christmas tree for Sanja. Squeezed between them in the truck, I realized that, whatever his flaws, Bernard loved his family. “Here,” he said near a cluster of pine trees before the main road.
Ferenc didn’t bother slowing. “Too small.”
“Anything bigger, you won’t be able to fit it in the house.”
“We’re not doing it half-ass this year,” said Ferenc. “We’ll find something on the way back.”
They argued, shooting barbs back and forth past me as we bounced along the shoddy country road, but I wasn’t listening.
Ferenc was right: Lena had worked for the Ministry, probably ever since we married in 1950. Four decades. For four decades, she’d maintained an enormous lie, and I never, not once, suspected.
It was humiliating. I’d lived forty years with a stranger. A liar. How could she have kept it from me during all those drunken years? The only way a drunk can keep such a secret is if she’s living with a complete fool.
Yes, I was angry at my dead wife. I felt like I was the good but dull and dull-witted husband in those films about adultery. The husband who listens to classical music and sucks on a pipe in his study, while in his bedroom his wife is breaking out of her monochrome existence with the gardener or the business partner. She’s filling her
