The Last Paradise

by Antonio Garrido

  Zarko didn’t hesitate to offer him his services. “I’ll send you Yuri, my nephew. Not even a bear would dare to come up behind you with Yuri by your side,” the old man assured him. When Jack met Yuri, he couldn’t have agreed more. Zarko’s nephew was huge, and if not for the monosyllables he let out from time to time, he could easily have been mistaken for a bear. They agreed that Yuri would guard Jack’s home at night, but, during the day, they would pretend that he was an assistant mechanic for as long as it took to repair Viktor’s Buick Master Six. After that, they’d find him another role.

  As the days went by, Yuri proved to be not only effective as a security guard but also adept at dealing in contraband, and he suggested some ways that Jack could build up his business. “Shoes! People will kill for shoes.”

  Jack was surprised when he heard the idea, and for a moment he thought that, had he not had such a well-paid position as a supervisor at the Avtozavod, perhaps the skills he’d learned from his father as a boy could have come in useful after all.

  21

  In late June, the Buick Master Six was cranked up for the first time, and Jack was glad that Viktor Smirnov wasn’t there to witness it. The engine purred for a few minutes, ticking over like a clock, but then the copper gasket that Jack had fashioned blew, and the motor let out a snort and died. Yuri raised an eyebrow and laughed. “What a heap of junk.”

  Jack didn’t see the humor. He’d promised Viktor that he’d have his automobile ready for the grand opening of the firing range that the Soviets had built near the Avtozavod, and he was no longer sure he’d be able to pull it off. Fortunately, Viktor and Sergei had gone to Moscow for political business and would not return until September, so he hoped he had enough time to repair the Buick and make some progress with the investigation. He left Yuri to clean up and went out for a walk. For the first time in months, the sun was shining brightly. What a perfect day, he thought, to enjoy with Elizabeth.

  As soon as he learned of Viktor’s departure, he had taken the opportunity to arrange a date with the young woman, and he didn’t want to arrive late, so he accelerated his newly washed Ford Model A through Gorky’s narrow streets.

  He found her sitting on her mansion’s porch, busy untangling her hair. With the mild temperature, Elizabeth had shed her overcoat, showing her figure. Jack honked his horn and held up the picnic basket he’d prepared. She smiled and approached to inspect the freshly cooked pork chops. She said hello, opened the passenger door, and took her seat.

  “Where’re you taking me?” she asked.

  Jack didn’t hesitate. “Let’s go to the river.”

  “I ain’t got my bathing suit,” she replied, winking, aware that, even in summer, nobody in their right mind would swim in the Volga’s icy waters.

  “Then we’ll have to bathe naked.” He smiled and started up the car without waiting for a response.

  They stopped on a hill near the Oka River from which they could see Gorky like a distant park dotted with little white bricks. The temperature was so pleasant that if not for the bottle of vodka that poked immodestly out from the basket, Jack would’ve sworn he was back in America. Elizabeth laughed as she told him about the progress she’d made learning Russian, which her teacher described as backward steps, if anything. Jack was happy. Elizabeth felt close and relaxed, as if they’d been going out together forever, and he loved the feeling. They chatted for hours about their lives, their routines, their projects. Finally, she admitted that she was sick of the Soviet Union, and that all she wanted was for the factory to start running smoothly so that her uncle Wilbur would be transferred back.

  “And when you return to New York, what’ll happen to Viktor?” asked Jack, instantly realizing the poor timing of his remark.

  “Nothing. Why does he come into it?”

  Jack cleared his throat. He admitted that he’d assumed she and the official were engaged. She burst into brazen laughter. “Oh, don’t be so old-fashioned, Jack. We’re in the country of liberation! Haven’t you seen that you don’t have to be married to have children?”

  Jack felt even more confused. “You’re thinking of having children?”

  Elizabeth looked at Jack as if he understood nothing.

  “Come on, let’s get back to Gorky,” she said, straightening her hat. “I don’t want you thinking we really are going to bathe naked.”

  They met several times over the next few weeks. On Jack’s days off, they frequented the cool banks of the Oka, strolled through Gorky’s shopping quarter, and went to the parties that senior officials held at their homes. Whenever they met, Jack would try to take their relationship further. Yet she seemed to change her mind for no apparent reason, as if her desires shifted depending on which way the wind was blowing. No sooner did she seem to be interested and warming to him than she would become distant and speak to Jack haughtily, treating him like a stranger. When that happened, it riled Jack, making him question why he was even bothering with such a fickle young woman. But the moment Elizabeth gave him a smile, he was disarmed by her beauty.

  “So, when will you go back to the States?” she asked him when they came out of the theater. That Saturday they’d seen The Cherry Orchard.

  Jack had asked himself the same question a thousand times. He longed for New York’s nightclubs, its hustle and bustle, its avenues packed with colorful cars, but as a fugitive, he was aware that he’d never be able to enjoy them again. Elizabeth’s question made him wonder why he was staying at the Avtozavod when he already had enough money to move to any other European country. He guessed he was still in Russia because life was simple there, but that answer didn’t satisfy him. After all, the only things he liked about the Soviet Union were going out with Elizabeth and continuing to amass his fortune. “When I have enough so that you’ll agree to marry me,” he said without thinking.

  She laughed as if he’d cracked a joke. Then she adjusted the emerald necklace that Viktor had given her and looked him in the eye. “Jack, honey, if I wanted to marry an aging millionaire, I could do it right now.”

  To Jack’s surprise, on the last Sunday of August, Elizabeth agreed to have dinner with him in the American village. When he went to her mansion to fetch her, she appeared on the porch wearing a simple close-fitting dress and holding a bottle of vodka. Jack took the bottle and kissed her hand. Then he helped her into the car and drove slowly toward the village.

  He’d offered Yuri the day off in exchange for giving the house a thorough clean and decorating the living room with flowers, but seeing the results, Jack realized the young man hadn’t quite understood the word thorough. As for the flowers, Jack wouldn’t have noticed the difference had Zarko’s nephew left a dish of salad on the table. Fortunately, Elizabeth seemed to pay no attention to it, and she made herself comfortable in a chair while Jack lit some candles. He poured her a glass of vodka and raised his own decisively. “To love in the Soviet Union,” he toasted.

  “To love, plain and simple.” She drank her vodka in one shot.

  They had drunk half a bottle by the time they set the main course aside and Jack got up to serve dessert. He took the chance to brush his lips against her neck.

  Elizabeth stood to return the gesture, but he held her from behind, stopping her from turning around. As he kissed the back of her neck, he heard her breathing deepen. He prolonged the moment until she couldn’t hold on any longer and turned to seek out his mouth. When their lips met, Jack thought he would go crazy. He pressed her against him. He kissed her vigorously, then delicately, delighting in the flavor of her mouth, which half opened to allow their tongues to meet.

  They let themselves fall onto a sofa in each other’s arms and continued to kiss, biting each other, caressing, searching with their hands for the regions of the other’s body they didn’t yet know. Jack slid his fingers under a dress that seemed to be shrinking away from his grasp, as if desire were making it move by itself. He unbuttoned her dress and searched for her breasts with his mouth. She offered them to him and
groaned when he took possession of them. They slid onto the woolen rug as Elizabeth, anxious and evasive, nevertheless pressed her bare skin against Jack’s torso.

  When Jack entered her, he thought he would die. He wanted to pinch himself to make sure it was really happening, but her groans were as real as her mouth, as the hands that pulled him closer and held him, as real as the slender legs that were wrapped around his waist and the fresh sweat that pearled on her face. He kissed her until his lips hurt, and kept kissing, kept moving, madly and then slowly, with fire and then tenderness, with love and with desire, while their bodies blazed, reared, and convulsed, faster and faster, until they exploded together. Then, exhausted, they fell asleep, holding each other.

  Jack had never desired anybody so much. He would wake up dreaming of Elizabeth and go to sleep remembering her. The rest of his waking hours were a torment from which work couldn’t rescue him. In the mornings, he wandered around the assembly plants, trying not to make any more enemies among his fellow Americans, but it was difficult. The discontent in the Avtozavod was spreading like water from a burst pipe, dampening the spirit of the ever more hungry and exhausted workers. But Jack barely noticed it. His senses were dulled to the world around him, captivated by a woman whose almost unreal beauty seemed to be pulling the strings of his destiny. He was constantly imagining her beside him, naked; he remembered every look, every groan, every kiss, and the memory tortured him every empty, endless hour that he was not with her. Then, when he was by her side, desire gnawed at him, hungry and desperate, but she was distant, as if she’d erased the night they’d spent together from her mind; or worse still, as if it had never happened. Elizabeth laughed and spoke to him in a friendly way, with the empty amiability that she would offer an acquaintance, but not with the passion of a lover. Jack didn’t know why, but Elizabeth had erected a wall between them. And Jack suspected that Viktor’s imminent return was the cause of her remoteness.

  22

  The summer flew by. Gradually, shoes were replaced by felt boots, and thick ushankas were donned instead of summer hats. And when the cold arrived, more workers began to disappear.

  The most conspicuous disappearance was Harriet Carter’s. Convinced that the Soviets had murdered her husband, the Milwaukee Express’s wife had launched a desperate protest campaign, which, though initially ignored, eventually found a response. One morning Harriet went out for a meeting with Sergei Loban and never returned. Something similar happened to Robert Watkins. In his case, word was that he’d caused a scene in the foundry after hearing that the Soviets were refusing to return his passport. That night, he was arrested by the Black Crows and never seen again.

  They weren’t the only ones. The entire Collins family was arrested and charged with counterrevolutionary activities. Yet, in the American village, everyone knew that the Collinses’ only crime was trying to inform reporters from the New York Times in Moscow about their desperate situation.

  Jack observed the events in silence. It was what Hewitt had advised him to do, and following his advice to the letter seemed like the safest course of action. He had put off the repairs on Smirnov’s car to concentrate on his work at the factory after Wilbur Hewitt warned him that if he didn’t make some progress in his investigation, they would be forced to revise the terms of his contract. Still, though it was true that there had been few developments, Jack wasn’t allowed to nose around during the night shift, when most of the suspicious incidents had taken place.

  Hewitt remained firm. “I’ve told you a thousand times.” He set aside his newspaper, fed up with the young man’s excuses. “A night inspection would attract attention, and the last thing Sergei’s going to authorize is something that could alert the saboteurs. And if the head of security says niet, then it’s niet.”

  “But while Sergei’s in Moscow, maybe you could find a way to—”

  “To buy us a one-way ticket to jail? Is that what you want?”

  Jack thought he had reason to suspect that Sergei himself was implicated in the sabotage, but without hard evidence, there was no point in telling Hewitt.

  He was certain that if he wanted to make progress in his inquiries, he would have to find a way to get around Sergei’s rules. The opportunity arose when Viktor Smirnov, on his return from Moscow, turned up at the American village to check on his Buick’s repairs.

  “What do you mean it’s not ready? You’ve had it for months!” the Russian yelled.

  Jack assured him that he would have repaired it by now had he been in possession of the right equipment, but the problem was the copper gasket. “I tried to fabricate one using the materials you provided, but with the first explosion, it melted like butter. At the Avtozavod, there’s a machine that would solve the problem, but they won’t let me use it. That’s why I was waiting for you to get back.”

  “I see . . . and what machine would that be?” Viktor grumbled.

  Jack explained that he would need access to a specific press in the assembly section. “I’d only need a couple of hours. The problem is, it’s always operating.”

  “Then I’ll make them stop!” the Russian decided with the expression of a dictator being contradicted.

  “I’m afraid it’s not that simple. This machine’s one of a kind, and taking it out of operation would affect production. However, there is one thing . . .” Jack pretended to mull over an alternative.

  “Yes?”

  “Once a week, during the night shift, they stop the machine to change the molds. If I could use it then, I’d have enough time to get your Buick ready before the grand opening of the firing range.”

  “Without fail?”

  “Without fail.”

  “And when do they next stop the press?”

  “Tonight, as it happens.”

  The moment he went through the factory gate, Jack realized that he was walking into the lions’ den. All hope of escaping unharmed after flouting Sergei’s orders lay with Viktor Smirnov, who walked beside him, one pace behind the armed guard who was leading them to the assembly plant. He hoped that the Soviet official’s presence would free him of any responsibility, though it meant he had to attempt to lose Viktor for long enough to find the evidence that would confirm his suspicions.

  Via the endless corridor that ran parallel to the assembly line, they reached the location of the press that Jack had mentioned. The armed guard warned them not to leave without his permission, and then he left them alone to work. Jack pulled on some regular overalls instead of his own white ones, opened his kit bag, and took out a micrometer, the ruined gasket, and a wooden template that he had previously perforated, making holes that lined up with the cooling ducts. Viktor asked about the procedure.

  “This machine can be used to press or punch, depending on the mold. We need to punch holes in the gasket aligned with the combustion chambers and cooling ducts. But to make the material harder, first I have to reduce its thickness. Compress it.”

  Viktor looked perplexed.

  “Let me put it another way,” Jack said. “Imagine you’re using a rolling pin to spread out the dough for a rectangular pastry. Suppose we use the rim of a glass to cut out six holes in the dough and take out their centers. Follow me?”

  Viktor nodded.

  “At that point, you might think the gasket was ready, but if I press it with the roller again, not only will it become thinner, but it will also expand, including into the holes, which would reduce their diameter. Right?”

  “I guess so.”

  “Right. If it was a gasket, in reducing its diameter, the explosion from the cylinders would burn the projecting rim and totally destroy the part. However . . .”

  “Yes?”

  “If I change the order of operations and press the gasket before making the perforations, the part won’t go out of shape however hard I stamp it, because it will already be fully compressed.”

  “Very clever, but you’re boring me to death! Will it work or not?”

  “Yes, if I do it carefully.
This press has a micrometer gauge that will allow me to measure any deformation, but it’s a delicate task that will take time to do right.”

  “Then don’t let me keep you. We have two hours until the next shift.”

  Jack got to work. After Viktor had watched the procedure for an hour, his interest began to wane. “This is torture!” said the Soviet.

  With greasy hands and a sweat-covered brow, Jack looked at Viktor. “Well, the most boring part’s still to come. Out back there’s a heated room where you can help yourself to some tea. I’ll let you know if I need you.”

  Viktor didn’t think twice. He nodded and, yawning, went off to seek refuge in the staff room. As soon as he’d left, Jack took a finished gasket from his kit bag and switched it for the one he was making. Then he took the micrometer and a notebook, and disappeared among the mass of automobiles that filled the plant.

  He was inspecting one of the bearing assembly machines that had been sabotaged, when a guard appeared and aimed a rifle at him. “What are you doing in this sector?” he demanded, his finger on the trigger.

  “I have authorization from Viktor Smirnov. I’m—”

  “American? Step back. Move away from that machine and empty your bag.”

  Jack spread its contents on the floor. With his foot, the guard separated the tools and the unusable gasket. “Like I say, I have authorization. You can ask—”

  “Lower your weapon! What’s the meaning of this?” Viktor broke in. Seeing that Jack was no longer at the press, he had set out to search for him.

  “This man claims he has your authorization, sir.” He stood to attention when he recognized the official.

  “That’s right. Though he should have stayed at the other end of the corridor.”