He waited behind the screen until he was certain that Viktor wouldn’t return. Then he came out from his hiding place and walked into Natasha’s office without knocking. He found her squatting on the floor, picking up the remains of several flasks and test tubes.
“I told you to get out!” Natasha yelled, before realizing who it was. Recognizing Jack, she tried to compose herself. “Oh! What’re you doing here?”
“I’m sorry to show up unannounced. What happened?”
“Huh? Oh . . . nothing. I bumped into the sample trolley. Why are you here?” She finished cleaning up, sat herself in an armchair, and tried to act normal.
Jack felt hurt that she was lying to him. He sat opposite her, pondering whether to ask her what really happened, but he decided to be prudent. “I wanted to see you.” He’d promised himself he wouldn’t talk about his feelings, but he found it impossible. “How are you?”
“Busy, like everyone in the Avtozavod.”
“Yes. I heard about Stalin’s arrival, but I mean, apart from the disruption, how are you doing?”
“In relation to us?” She took out a cigarette and lit it. Jack was surprised—Natasha smoked only when she was under a lot of stress.
“Yes, us.”
“Well, to be honest, Jack, not great.” She took a puff that consumed half her papirosa. “But with all these sick people around me, wasting my strength worrying about my own unhappiness is a luxury I can’t afford.” After a long pause, she said, “And you?” She drummed her fingers on the chair’s arm.
“The same, I guess. I miss you.” He hadn’t realized how unhappy he’d been until the moment he saw her again.
“You’ll get used to it. I have. I have my work, and you have your girlfriend.”
“Please, Natasha! Let’s put that behind us. I told you Elizabeth had nowhere to go. As soon as this business with her uncle’s been resolved, she’ll go back to him.”
“And then I’ll go back to you?”
“Look, this is a stupid argument. What is it you think I should do? Tell me! I’ll follow your advice to the letter.”
Natasha was silent. She took a draw that finished off the cigarette, and got up to consult some X-rays hung on an illuminator. “Anything else? I have a lot of work to do,” she said to end the conversation.
Jack also stood up. “Now that you mention it, I need you to tell me about the usual procedure for counterrevolutionary trials—time frames, defense, appeals . . .”
“Why? Are you afraid you’ll be arrested?”
“It’s not for me. It’s for Wilbur Hewitt. A friend’s told me his hearing will be very soon.”
“Sorry, Jack, but I don’t know anything about it.”
“You haven’t spoken to your father? Hewitt’s trial is all anyone is talking about.”
“No, I haven’t. And I couldn’t care less about that American’s court case. I have enough to worry about with my patients.”
“Do you know who could give me some information? Please . . .”
“Tell me one thing, Jack. Why should I help that American?”
“All I can think of to say is because it’s me asking you.” His voice trembled slightly.
Natasha looked at him. She approached in silence and kissed him lightly on the lips, in a way that seemed to Jack as if she were saying good-bye forever. Then she wrote the name and address of a party lawyer on a piece of paper, handed it to him, and with tear-filled eyes, asked him to leave her office.
When he was outside, he wondered why Viktor Smirnov had threatened Natasha and why she had concealed it from him.
34
Jack didn’t know whether to hide the store’s stock or take it to his house. In the end, he did neither. He took the essentials, left some provisions on the shelves, and shared the rest with Joe Brown, Miquel, and the Daniels family, advising them that, to keep up appearances, they should continue to come to the store even if it was almost empty.
One week. That was the time that the lawyer Natasha had recommended had estimated the trial would last. According to the attorney, it couldn’t go on much longer because Stalin had to return to Moscow for affairs of the state.
The lawyer also warned him of the particular circumstances that could work against Wilbur Hewitt. “Usually, common criminals are tried by a committee of citizens made up of twelve people elected in a public assembly, but counterrevolutionary cases are settled behind closed doors by the local OGPU branch. However, with such a high-profile defendant, I imagine Stalin himself will preside over the trial and open the hearing to the public to make an example of him.”
Jack explained this to Elizabeth.
“A public defender belonging to the party? Would anyone in their right mind think that a paid-up Communist will take the side of an American against Stalin and half the Supreme Soviet?”
Jack shrugged. It was what he had been trying to make her understand all along. “The other possibility is for Wilbur to turn down his public defender and choose someone he considers more appropriate. Problem is, I doubt anyone will be prepared to take that risk.”
“Then we’ll do it!”
“What?”
“You and I. We’ll defend him! Let’s do it ourselves!”
Jack slowly shook his head. Elizabeth was clearly out of her mind. “Are you serious? You’d be signing his death sentence, and ours. We don’t know—”
“You just said nobody will want to defend him. You’ve studied the Penal Code. We’ll pay that lawyer to advise us in secret. With the six thousand dollars my uncle gave you, we could—”
“I don’t think it’s a good idea. Anyway, that money was for our passports.”
“Who cares about the passports? We haven’t seen them, and we don’t need them for the time being.”
“Elizabeth, we don’t have that money anymore. I paid in advance. I can’t go to my supplier now and demand he return what he’ll already have shared out. And that lawyer you mention helped me because Natasha asked him to. For no other reason. He wouldn’t agree to advise us for all the gold in the world. Don’t you see? Whoever does it will be a marked man.”
“Give me his name.”
“Who?”
“Your supplier. I’ll speak to him. Or I’ll speak to your friend Walter. Damn it, Jack, I swear to you that if I have to move heaven and earth, I’ll get that money back!”
Jack clenched his fists. He could see that, if he didn’t help Elizabeth, she’d end up dragging everyone down with her. The problem was that he had no idea how to defend a man who deep down he believed was guilty. He sighed loudly before asking her to bring him the Penal Code that he’d left upstairs. By the time Elizabeth returned, Jack had brought McMillan’s documents out from their hiding place. He looked at her imploring, hopeful face. “I’m not promising anything,” he said.
“Well, I am promising you something. If you help me save my uncle, I’ll give you whatever you want. Do you understand? Whatever you want.”
Neither Elizabeth’s pleading nor her tears affected the policeman on guard at the OGPU offices. The man, who looked like a woodcutter wearing a faded uniform, told her that he wouldn’t disturb Sergei Loban by order of the devil himself, but when the policeman stuffed an envelope containing five hundred rubles that Jack had dropped on the ground into his jacket, he knew there wouldn’t be a problem. The man telephoned his superior and passed on Elizabeth’s request. After a brief conversation, he hung up.
“You’ll have to wait for Comrade Loban to finish some business,” was all he said.
Jack and Elizabeth waited, each deep in thought. After several long minutes, the telephone rang. The policeman took the call. Then he turned to them.
“Comrade Loban authorizes Wilbur Hewitt’s niece to defend her uncle and Jack Beilis to act as interpreter. He asked me to inform you that the trial will begin this afternoon, at three o’clock at the Soviet Palace of Justice in Gorky.” He cleared his throat. “If you wish, I will notify the ispravdom so that you can visi
t the prisoner before appearing before the commission.” Without waiting for an answer, he patted the jacket pocket where he’d stashed the envelope of money.
There was no need for further explanation. Jack took another five hundred rubles from his wallet and handed them to him.
35
At half past two, a pair of guards opened the courtroom at the Palace of Justice. Jack and Elizabeth had to wait for the Soviet delegation to take their seats. Sergei Loban, the head of the OGPU, would lead the prosecution. He was followed by a large group of senior figures in the secret police from Moscow, representatives of the Komsomol, and the lucky trade unionists and local party members who had received clearance to share the stage with the Supreme Soviet Leader, Joseph Stalin. Among them, Jack caught a glimpse of Viktor Smirnov. Once they had seated themselves on the rows of chairs that seemed to have been arranged for the occasion, an OGPU officer showed Elizabeth and Jack to a table positioned to the right of the dais, directly opposite Sergei Loban.
From his seat, Jack observed the sobriety of the courtroom, its only adornment a gigantic portrait of Stalin on the wall behind the dais. The executive body, made up of a large contingent of OGPU commissars and members of the Communist Party Committee, sat on two banks of chairs arranged on either side of an empty central seat that he assumed Stalin would occupy. Jack searched for Natasha’s face, hoping to see her in the audience, but the only person he recognized was Walter, who was seated at the back of the room.
Moments later, a Red Army soldier led the American businessman to a chair midway between the defense’s and the prosecution’s tables. Jack gestured to Hewitt, whom he had managed to speak to briefly before they moved him from the ispravdom. However, the lack of time had prevented him from finding a Soviet lawyer to advise them on their defense. Last, an official in uniform approached the dais and announced the arrival of Joseph Stalin. He was received with deafening applause.
Jack could not help but feel awestruck in the presence of the man who, as everyone he knew kept saying, would burn his own family alive to further the revolution. He wore a brown military jacket with red epaulettes, and his decisive manner seemed only to confirm that anyone who did not fear him was either crazy or foolhardy. When the applause subsided, the official introduced the remaining members of the jury, but Joseph Stalin interrupted him and motioned with his hand for Sergei Loban to read out the charges being brought against the prisoner.
Sergei stood, thanked Stalin, and addressed the room. “Comrade Stalin . . .” Another long round of applause interrupted the beginning of his speech. “Comrade Stalin . . . comrades of the Joint State Political Directorate, Soviet commissars, representatives of the Komsomol, distinguished members of the OGPU, people’s counsels . . .” More applause. “Before beginning my address, I must inform you that the accused, an American national, Wilbur Hewitt, has, voluntarily and in writing, relinquished his right to be tried in his own language. He has also rejected the public defender who was assigned to him, and designated as his defender his niece, Elizabeth Hewitt, who will defend her uncle with the assistance of Jack Beilis in the capacity of interpreter. I state for the record that, in this trial, charges are being brought against the industrialist Wilbur Hewitt only, and therefore any other culpability that may derive from the case is excluded.”
Hearing him, Jack let out a curse. His main line of defense was going to center on showing that the upper management of the Avtozavod had plotted to annul the agreement entered into with Henry Ford, waive the millions of dollars owed, and avoid a penalty.
While Sergei listed the crimes that Hewitt was to be tried for, Jack went over his notes in search of a new strategy.
“As everyone in this courtroom knows,” Sergei went on, “the vital work that the state police carries out includes pursuing, detaining, trying, and sentencing all anti-Soviet elements that threaten the rule of the proletariat. However, considering the special nature of this case, its potential international repercussions, and above all, the presence of our leader, Comrade and General Secretary Joseph Stalin, it has been decided that the proceedings will be brought publicly.” He paused to receive Stalin’s assent. “Notwithstanding, since his crimes are so numerous and the damage caused so extensive, this does not prevent the prisoner from being accused of counterrevolutionary scheming, for which the penalty is immediate execution.”
Jack understood that after such a description, Stalin would never allow the sentence to be reduced. He cleared his throat and signaled to Elizabeth to set out the arguments for her defense. The young woman followed the instructions they had agreed on and stood so that everyone could see her contrite face, without a trace of makeup, and with her hair gathered up in a Soviet-style bun.
“Dear sirs. Mr. General Secretary . . .” As she’d agreed with Jack, the young woman paused for dramatic effect. Stalin was unmoved. “I . . . I’m not able to express myself as eloquently as you.” Jack translated each sentence, leaving enough time for the men and women who packed the courtroom to notice Elizabeth’s fragility. “My uncle, Mr. Hewitt, came to the Soviet Union in the hope of doing his job well. Perhaps it wasn’t to help you, or help your revolution—that I don’t know. But I can assure you that he was prepared to sweat blood to make this factory the pride of the Soviet Union.” She looked at Jack for his approval. “I don’t know anything about your laws, but Jack Beilis has studied them, and he tells me that, unlike other legal systems, in this country what is truly important, beyond what the laws say, is that truth prevail.” She waited for Jack to interpret her words. “As my uncle Wilbur wishes, I’ve asked Mr. Beilis to argue his defense without needing to translate every word of mine. However, please consider anything that he says to have come from my mouth. That’s all. Thank you for your attention . . . Thank you,” she said, her voice trembling.
Stalin accepted the request without a hint of mercy, leafed through the report that one of his aides had just handed to him, and ordered the first witness to be called. It was a Soviet worker who testified that he had suffered the consequences of the sabotage firsthand. When Sergei asked him to show those present the stump that he had in place of an arm, a murmur rippled through the room.
The one-armed witness was followed by sixteen more testimonials from injured workers with similar stories. Jack knew that their statements bore no incriminatory weight against Hewitt, but Sergei was cultivating a feeling of hostility that would soon color the atmosphere of the proceedings if he didn’t act quickly to counteract it. When the last witness had finished, he asked to speak, but Sergei interrupted him, requesting an adjournment due to the late hour.
“Permission granted,” Stalin hastily replied. “The proceedings will continue tomorrow morning at ten o’clock.”
As they left the room, Jack turned to Elizabeth with irritation. “Damned Russian! That bastard drew the testimonies out so that we wouldn’t have time for rebuttal, and Stalin consented to it.”
“But you can give your evidence tomorrow.”
“Yeah. After they’ve brooded all night over how your uncle Wilbur is a serial mutilator.”
Once they were outside the kremlin, Jack asked Elizabeth to go home by herself. He needed to see the legal expert whom Ivan Zarko had recommended, and whom he was required to see alone.
It took an hour to find the apartment building, which was in a state of semicollapse, near Monastyrka, in the south of the city. When he found that the address was a doorless room that a leper wouldn’t live in, he thought he’d made a mistake, but a rich voice coming from a shape wrapped in blankets told him to come in.
“Are you the American?” it asked.
Jack saw something resembling the body of an old man emerge from under the blankets. It stank of urine and alcohol. Jack nodded. When the man invited him to sit on a pile of old rags, he declined.
“Have you come alone?”
“Yes. Are you Valeri Pushkin?”
“Silence!” he yelled. “Nobody told you to say my name.”
For
a moment Jack thought Ivan Zarko had got it wrong. He took out the note to recheck the address, but the old man snatched the piece of paper from his hand.
“Yes, that’s me. What did you expect? A slick-haired shyster?” He took off the woolen hat that came down to his eyebrows and revealed a scar-covered face. “Ivan Zarko sent me a message saying you’d pay for my advice.”
“Yes, that’s right, but . . .” Jack fell silent. He doubted this angry old man could defend himself, let alone Wilbur Hewitt.
“Good. Did he say how much?”
“No.”
“A thousand rubles. A thousand rubles and a bottle of vodka. The good stuff, not that crap they sell on the highways.” He kicked an empty bottle, which rolled until it stopped near another dozen empties.
“Here.” Jack took out a thousand rubles. “And another hundred for the vodka,” he said. It was his only option.
“Perfect.” The old man stuffed them into his pocket and smiled. “So . . . Zarko filled me in.” He searched among the trash for a little vodka in one of the empty bottles. “That American’s on trial, and you want to defend him so you can fuck his little niece, am I right?” He found some dregs of vodka and knocked them back.
“No, it’s not that.” Jack wondered whether he should waste another second with this disfigured old man.
“Well, it makes no difference to the case.” He tilted the bottle again in the hope that he could drain a last drop from it. “You want to defend an American who’s already been condemned.” He laughed like a lunatic. “Tell me one thing, boy, and think carefully before you answer, because your future might depend on it: What exactly is it that you want?”
The Last Paradise Page 36