girls did, and when she laughed it was with him, not at him. There were others there, naturally, because it was a warm evening and the authorities prided themselves on the cleanliness of the river, the way they had been able to stave off pollution from the water artery of an industrialized city of more than two million inhabitants. But she seemed oblivious to them, allowing no intruders in the private oasis she was creating for the man who worked at Kiev airport and who had access to the tarmac and the planes.
The parks are numerous in the city, putting those of London and Paris and Frankfurt and Rome to shame. Some are ornamental, with laid out flower beds where the elderly go, others little more than enclosed spaces of bushes and trees where the grass has been permitted to grow, and there are paths that can lead far from the noise of voices. It was to such a place that they walked after the river. His trousers showed a dark and damp stain at the seat from his sodden pants and she, still encased in her costume, hid the shivers she felt. But her trembling was not from any sharp wind, but of what must happen that the guns would go on board the plane; and he mistook the shaking of her hand for an excitement for which he believed he was responsible.
The place they found was some way from the life of the city, hidden and enclosed by undergrowth, and she said to him, 'Don't look, but I can't wear this costume. I'll catch my death if I keep these damp things against my skin.' She had twisted away from where he sat and turned her back on him, and reached behind her to pull down the zip fastener of the dress till it was clear of her shoulders. More contortions and the garment was hanging, straps free, at her waist. Hands now under the skirt of her dress, and the wriggling before it was free and she reached up again to pull the dress back into position. But the zip remained loose and he could see, suntanned by the weather, the knotted outline of her backbone.
'Why don't you take yours off?' she said, matter of fact, as though it were everyday, nothing special.
Though he could feel the clamminess of his pants against his skin he said, ' I'm all right. I think they've just about dried.' There was a huskiness in his voice. The sort of thing the men at work talked about in the canteen during lunch break, and it was happening to him, to Yevsei Allon.
She laid her costume out on the grass neatly and with care as if to prevent it becoming creased, then fell back on to the ground, and with her arms stretched above her head ' I love it here. So peaceful, so beautiful, so quiet It makes you forget everything else.' It was a lie; her thoughts were far from the leaves, and the cool grass. What would they do to the boy, if he did as she was to ask? What would be his punishment?
Perhaps they'd think that he was one of the group, and if they did that would mean the firing squad, or the execution shed. He'd have to work hard to prove that he wasn't. If he were lucky it would be the cattle trucks to Moldavia and the camp at Potma. The Jews had a hard time there, especially from the fascists – there were still fascists there, from the war days, but they were the
'trustees' and now ran the camps and took their revenge on the newest source of prisoners, on the Jews. Perhaps he would not be linked to them, but that was unlikely. They were thorough people, these pigs, and how could poor Yevsei be warned to cover his tracks?. .. poor Yevsei. God, he wants to kiss me, and there's spittle at the side of his mouth, and how many hours since he shaved?… Lucky if he just went to the Labour Camp. He'd be a casualty of the breakout, but there had been casualties before. Six million casualties in the war, and how many since then?
And what war was ever won without the ignorant and the innocent standing up in the cross-fire and dying with disbelief on their faces? Isaac had the tickets, only now for David to get the guns.
They'll give me one. One of my own to hold.
' I don't think you should do that,' she whispered and smiled bravely. His hand was at her kneecap, and his fingers, cold and bony, were skating patterns on her lower thigh.
' I don't know,' he said. He was panting and his mouth was very close to hers.
' I don't really know either,' she said, and looked into his eyes. Was there a squint or not? She couldn't be sure. God knows he was heavy.
Never done it before, poor boy, she thought. Hadn't an idea. But neither had she – couldn't claim the virtue of experience. Could have with Darvid, but… One hand climbing her thigh, the other pushing between her breasts, seeking a nipple to squeeze and hold to, and finding it and not knowing his strength till she cried out, and he believed she encouraged him. The hand higher, searching and brushing gently at her and trying to prise her legs apart, and the one that had been at her breasts gone and the motion of rolling activity as he struggled to release something from the but- toned-down pocket on his buttocks.
'Oh, my God,' she let out. 'The time, it's so late. And I haven't said I'd be out late tonight Yevsei, I have to go… I really must.' But was it too fast, too hurried? Had she merely wound the elastic and in releasing it exploded in him an anger, a teased fury? Out of her orbit, out of her experience. She'd had no need of the casual evenings with stranger boys with a few kopecks in their pockets now that her life was with the group. The anxiety showed in her eyes, the fear that she had damaged the work of the evening. She flitted a hand to his wrist, withdrawing it but consoling. How far along the path must she walk? How deep was the submission required to guarantee the passage of the guns? Hideous, the thought that she had failed them, David and Isaac, that she could not prise apart her thighs for the love of her friends. And Yevsei hovering over her, weight on his knees.
In his confusion she could sit up, disengage, disentangle. 'Another ten minutes, just ten minutes.' Pleading, yet knowing he had lost as she smoothed her dress down her thighs.
'I want to, I desperately want to, Yevsei. But I cannot tonight. You've made the time flee.
Tomorrow I could come back. I could come tomorrow evening. If you want me to.'
Yevsei Allon nodded, bewildered by all that had happened to him. But that was a promise, and he had done nothing wrong, had not upset her. Only the tightness and agonizing frustration to tell him how close he had been to the most triumphant success of his twenty-one-year life, and burning in his hip pocket the sachet he had brought from the coin machine in the cafe.
When they were walking back along the path to the road and the bus stop where they would part she said quickly, Yevsei, you're in freight, that is correct?'
'Yes.' He wasn't proud of it. He'd told her earlier what he did-she'd telephoned him there. Why did she need to ask?
'And you go to the planes to load them?'
'That is done by the porters. Rebecca, what time tomorrow, what time will I see you?'
'But you could go to the plane yourself – if it was necessary?'
'Of course. The same time tomorrow, and I will bring my swimming-trunks.'
'The same time, Yevsei. But I have something to ask of you. There is a friend of mine who is going tomorrow to Tashkent. He is of our faith, of our people, and he must take a package with him. There are some books that he cannot put in his bags in case they are seen. I want you to put them on the plane for him, Yevsei.' She had linked her arm through his, and walked close to him, her hip bouncing against his. I want you to tell me where they are placed so that he can collect them during the flight. When he gets off at Tashkent there are no searches and he can carry them off.'
Still the suppressed, flattened pain fighting the coldness of his pants, but tomorrow there would be only liberation. It was a promise. She had promised. He asked, 'Is it dangerous?' and was immediately ashamed at his reaction as she smiled and shook her head.
'We would not ask anything dangerous of a school friend, much less of one of our faith, one who worships with us.' He could not remember that he had seen her at the synagogue that he visited with his family each week. He felt his arm, encircling her waist, being pushed higher, so that his hand could cup her breast. 'Which flight?'
'The flight to Tashkent. The one that leaves at four o'clock in the afternoon.'
'Bring the package to me at mid-day when I take my lunch- break, at the outer door of the freight offices. Then you will need to telephone me at three, the same number that you used today. I will be able to tell you by then in what seat your friend should sit to recover his books. I can do it for you.'
She kissed him on the cheek, and did not fight when he moved her mouth to his and explored behind her gums and teeth with his tongue. He saw that she was still smiling, a radiant, consuming smile.
Parker Smith was never at his desk before ten in the morning, claiming with a shrug that he could never survive the stampede of the rush hour, but he stayed late to clear his In Tray, load the Out.
He let it be known amongst the men who worked for him that he was most receptive to discussion and exchange of viewpoints after the general office hours had been terminated, when the telephones had stopped ringing, when no secretaries were left on the premises to harry him.
Around seven in the evening he would put his head out through the door to his office and see if anyone was
