fun, only to pick up a notebook like this. In fact, a notebook just like this.” He tapped the notebook that lay open by the board. “What are you writing?”
Zhenya said, “When you play chess, you write down the moves to study later.”
“Sounds exciting.” Alexi dropped down on the couch next to Lotte. When she moved to get up he clamped his hand around her arm. “I’ll wait for Renko.”
“Arkady is in Kaliningrad,” Zhenya said.
“Kaliningrad? Isn’t that ironic? In that case, we’ll have to start without him.” He let go of Lotte and placed a gun in the middle of the chessboard, toppling pieces black and white. “New game.”
The bruise on his face was raw. Zhenya wanted to believe that Arkady had administered the punch but couldn’t picture it.
“How can I help you?” Zhenya said.
“That’s more like it. I’m looking for an ordinary spiral notebook of no value and no use to anyone. Like this one, only the language is a little different. I’m pretty sure it’s of a meeting. When you see it, you’ll know. I’ll give you fifty dollars for its return.”
“No.”
“One hundred dollars. You look like you could use the money.”
“No, thanks.”
“A thousand dollars.”
“No.”
Alexi asked Lotte, “Is your boyfriend serious?”
“Totally.”
She was fearless, Zhenya thought.
“He’s turning down a thousand dollars for a notebook he claims to know nothing about? I’m sorry, I just don’t believe him.” He picked up his gun. “This is my X-ray machine. It can tell if someone is lying or not. What kind of gun is it?” he asked Zhenya.
“I think it’s a Makarov.”
“A what Makarov?”
“A 9mm Makarov.”
Alexi ran his fingers lightly over the crosshatching of the grip. “That’s right. And if you put a gun like this in front of most people, they act as if you put a snake on their lap. How many can stay cool? I hear rumors.” Alexi turned to Lotte. “Honestly, did you think he was some ordinary boy? He’s like Renko, a time bomb.”
“What do you want?” Zhenya said.
“I want the notebook. Find the notebook.”
“I don’t know what it looks like.”
“You’ll know.”
“Look for yourself.” Zhenya moved to the wardrobe and opened it up. Shoe boxes poured out, and from every box notebooks spilled onto the floor. “I have hundreds and hundreds of chess games, openings, situations. What do you like? Ruy Lopez, Sicilian, Queen’s Gambit Accepted, Queen’s Gambit Declined? I like the Sicilian, myself.”
“What are you talking about?” Alexi said.
“We don’t have your fucking notebook.” Zhenya reached into the wardrobe and threw more boxes onto the floor. He knew he should have been intimidated. But for the moment, he was brave and saw the world through Lotte’s green eyes.
• • •
The power had gone out in Maxim’s building and he recited by candlelight.
“Lovely,” Arkady said.
“Thank you,” Maxim said. “I used to do an animal for each letter of the alphabet. Remember? I need a fresh wind.”
Arkady opened a window. “You need a fresh liver.”
He helped Maxim off the floor and steered him toward the bedroom. Although the vodka bottle was half-full, Arkady declared it the winner and kicked it under the sofa.
“How did you like the blood sausage?” Maxim asked.
“I’m trying not to think about it.”
“How are we doing?” Maxim groped his way toward the dark hallway.
“Making progress.”
“Missed your plane. Sorry about that.”
“That’s all right. This way you can keep an eye on me. That’s what you’re doing, isn’t it?”
If Maxim’s living room was a tunnel, his bedroom was a pit of male funk, a heady blend of drawn shades, sour beer and aftershave. He was a big man and doubled in weight as he passed out. Arkady searched the blackness for someplace to deposit him, finally tipping him onto the outline of a bed.
Arkady dug a hole for himself on the couch, getting comfortable after he swept aside books, loose change and dog biscuits.
• • •
Zhenya gathered notebooks and Lotte sorted. An hour after Alexi had left the apartment their hands still shook. There was more to cleaning up than merely stuffing notebooks into the proper box, but the task was in itself a healing process. The chess pieces seemed comforted to return to their velvet sack.
The one notebook untouched was the one on the chessboard, where it had lain open all evening. When Lotte closed the notebook she found herself looking at the back cover and it took her a moment to understand that the notebook had been flipped and reversed. Front was back, up was down and, read in the right direction, the pages were full of circles, arrows, stick figures with elements of hieroglyphics, maps and traffic signs in an apparently meaningless jumble of shorthand and code.
21
His pea jacket buttoned tight against the wind, Arkady took giant steps down the face of a dune to the beach. Maxim slogged behind, lurching through a morning fog as thick as cotton batting.
“You’re indecently happy,” Maxim said.
The beach was a mix of pebbles and sand strewn with driftwood and seaweed. In tide pools miniature crustaceans danced on pinpoints back and forth. The kree of gulls rose above the sound of the surf. What was not to like?
Arkady asked, “Don’t you like the beach? Didn’t your father ever take you?”
“My father was rarely caught outdoors. This is the kind of fog he called ‘pea soup.’ ‘Pea soup’ is what this is. Why did you insist on coming here?”
“Just trying to get an idea of the place.”
“It’s all the same. Sand, water, more sand.”
“You said there’s a border on the spit?”
“Of sorts.”
“How long a drive?”
“Ten, fifteen minutes. The northern half of the spit is Lithuanian, the southern half is Russian. They say there are elk. I’ve never seen any. Fog, yes. Elk, no.” Maxim stamped his feet. “You were just going to talk to Tatiana’s sister and return to Moscow. Instead, here we are stranded on a spit of sand with a one-lane road.
