“No,” she agreed.
“So why was Papa so mean?”
“He’s been through a rough time.” The excuse felt stale, even though Mendel had only been home a week.
“I don’t care,” Kolya said. “He was mean to Edik, and he made Auntie Vera cry. And he yells at you. I want him to go back where he came from.”
“Don’t say that,” Sofia chided. “He came from a very terrible place, and we’re lucky he returned to us.”
“Then he’s lucky, but we’re not,” Kolya said with a stubborn lift of his pointed little chin. “I don’t like him. I want Dedushka to be my papa again.”
She rubbed at a sore spot in the middle of her chest. How many times could her heart break in one week?
“We just need to give it a little more time,” she said.
“And then what?” Kolya asked, but she didn’t have an answer for him.
“Then we’ll see,” she said. She smoothed the unruly hair away from his face and kissed his cheek.
She returned to the kitchen to find Edik staring listlessly at the table while Yosef and Mendel squabbled.
“You should check them. They’re the perfect place to hide a bug,” Yosef insisted.
“No. Absolutely not,” Mendel said.
“What’s this about?” Sofia asked.
“We should check those box things on your doors. They’re suspicious,” Yosef said. “And Mendel said he put them up recently.”
“There’s no conspiracy!” Mendel argued. “Those were gifts from the rabbi.”
“In the past, that in itself would have been enough reason for you to check them.” Sofia opened the kitchen drawer and pulled out the hammer.
“What are you going to do?” Mendel asked with horror. He lunged to grab her arm, but Yosef stopped him.
For a moment, she was tempted to swing at the religious article with all of her might, knock it off the wall, and shatter it to pieces.
But she checked her temper and turned the hammer around. She used the curved end to pry the mezuzah carefully from the doorframe.
The mezuzah came loose easily. She brought it to the kitchen. The faucet was still running, and the white noise seemed to envelop them.
Mendel looked ready to rip it from her hand, and Yosef stuck close, as if to give her cover. She flipped the rectangular case and slid off the back, the way she had earlier.
“Satisfied? There’s nothing there,” Mendel said.
She ignored him and pried out the parchment.
“Be careful with that!” Mendel moved closer. “The rabbi gave it to me. To protect us. It has God’s name.”
She didn’t unroll the scroll. She held it to her eye like a telescope. “That’s not all it has.”
She handed Mendel the scroll. Handling it reverently, he held it up to his eye, just as she had. “Bozhe moy!” he cursed, as she confronted him with the truth she’d known for days.
He placed the scroll carefully on the table and then picked up the hammer. He stalked from the room. She heard him go to the front door and then stomp through the apartment to their bedroom. He returned with a mezuzah in each hand.
“Check them,” he said, laying them before her.
She opened each one carefully, the same way she had the first. Small black bugs dropped into her palm from each of the scrolls.
Mendel scooped them into his own palm and stormed to the bathroom. He slammed the door, and she heard the toilet flush. Then there was the sound of banging—his head or his fists?—against the door.
She left Yosef and Edik alone in her kitchen and went to check on him.
“Mendel?” she called tentatively.
“Leave me alone.”
She could hear the unmistakable pain in his voice.
“Talk to me,” she pleaded.
“No.”
She pressed her hand to the door and felt the vibrations as he pounded the door under her palm. So much pent-up rage and pain, and she had no clue how to make things better for either of them.
Chapter TWENTY-TWO
ARTUR
“RISE AND SHINE,” a grating voice sang out. Artur lurched out of a deep sleep.
His body protested his waking with a series of unfamiliar aches and pains. He had a sharp headache and a crick in his neck. His legs were cramped.
As he stretched, he realized he had contorted to wedge himself onto a too-short sofa, upholstered in ugly brown velveteen with large bright flowers.
Where was he? He suffered a keen sense of disorientation.
A shadowy figure pulled open shades on a large picture window. Artur blinked and covered his eyes. The sudden onslaught of light made his head pound. He couldn’t hold back a groan.
“Sorry, Yosef. I would have let you sleep, but I need you up and out of sight,” his tormenter said.
Yosef. In a flash, the details of his undercover alias and the events of the night before cut through Artur’s fog.
“I waited as long as I could, but I’ve got visitors coming any minute,” the speaker said, and Artur supplied the details that had been missing a moment earlier.
The man before him, an older replica of Edik, was his father, Ruben. They’d met last night when Artur had dragged in a distraught and still intoxicated Edik. It had been very late. Artur had crashed on the sofa in the living room.
“You want some coffee?” Ruben asked as Artur sat up. “Or maybe a cigarette? I know I’m supposed to quit, but there’s nothing like starting my day with a good smoke.”
“Coffee,” Artur croaked. “Pozhalsto.” He listened for other sounds in the apartment. He didn’t hear anyone else moving around, and he suspected Edik hadn’t yet risen.
Wintry sunlight poured through an open window and highlighted a swarm of dust motes. He blinked his eyes, scarcely believing he was here and this man was talking to him as if he really were Yosef Koslovsky.
How strange to be inside the apartment he’d had under surveillance for the last week!
The garbled audiotapes of conversation hadn’t picked up the musty smell or the manufactured feeling of depression and desperation.
The room seemed to be furnished to highlight the family’s supposed poverty, but over the past week, Artur had seen Edik throw around enough cash that he knew the Soifers were flush with money.
“Come in the kitchen,” Ruben invited, and Artur shuffled behind him, feeling like an old man himself. Ruben set to preparing a large percolator to brew.
“You don’t need to make so much. I’ll only drink one cup,” Artur said.
“My guests are American. They like their coffee,” Ruben said. “They’ll be here soon.”
He scrutinized Artur and then, without asking, reached out and finger-combed his hair. Artur tolerated the grooming. He would be as accommodating as necessary to make Ruben like him.
“By any chance, do you speak English?”
“A little,” Artur lied; he was fluent in English.
“Stay,” Ruben decided. “You’re a good-looking fellow. They might like you. Even if you can’t speak English.”
Americans were coming to the apartment? Now? And Ruben wanted him to stay and meet them? Despite his pounding headache, he was suddenly giddy with anticipation.
The Jews had been meeting with foreigners and passing secrets, and now he had a front row seat. He could discover what else the KGB’s surveillance had been missing. He would hear and see everything, no matter what tricks they used to outsmart surveillance.
There was barely time to slug down a few sips of coffee before the Americans arrived. Maybe he could return to KGB headquarters with a report of real significance. He had something to prove today, especially to Victor.
Ruben threw open the door to the apartment and gave the strangers a warm, jovial greeting, as if they were long lost relatives. They c
ame bearing a large suitcase full of gifts. Artur didn’t get to see what was inside the heavy luggage, but he bet guests like these were the source of the cigarettes and anything else Edik was selling on the black market. The source of so much cash in his wallet.
Ruben ushered them into his living room and hobbled through introductions in broken English.
Artur observed everything from the door of the kitchen, where he drank his coffee. The loud animated chatter seemed to stab at an aching point above his right eye. When Ruben pointed him out to the guests, he waved, pretending to be shy. He wasn’t ready to join them yet.
Ruben asked him to serve coffee. He retreated into the kitchen, grateful for the momentary reprieve from the sound. He needed a few more minutes for the caffeine to work its hangover magic. In the meantime, he snooped through the cabinets and drawers in the kitchen as he set up a tray with milk, sugar, spoons, and napkins. He didn’t find anything of note, but he hoped to have many more opportunities.
Eventually, he would convince Ruben to accept him as a boarder when Edik left for Israel.
He set to filling mugs for the two middle-aged couples sitting side by side and hanging on Ruben’s choppy, pidgin English.
There was another knock at the door. Ruben sent him to answer, and Artur smiled to himself at how easily the old Jew might come to rely on him.
He would be a fixture in this apartment in no time.
Chapter TWENTY-THREE
VERA
“WHERE’S MENDEL?” VERA asked when Sofia greeted her. Having arrived a few minutes early to pick up Kolya, Vera ordinarily would have come into the apartment, but today she lingered by the door, ready to make a speedy exit.
“I don’t know,” Sofia said. “But he’s not here.”
Vera breathed out a gusty sigh, but Sofia frowned, not sharing in her relief. Vera noticed that Sofia’s forehead showed lines that usually weren’t there, and her eyes were puffy and red, as if she’d been rubbing them. Or crying. Had Mendel made her cry?
It couldn’t be easy to have Mendel home.
“Do you need me to babysit this afternoon?” Vera didn’t leave her spot by the door. She fidgeted with the strap of her satchel and didn’t meet Sofia’s eyes. This wasn’t a casual question.
She wanted Sofia to say yes, that they needed her, despite what Mendel had said earlier. She wanted her older sister to give her an excuse so that she wouldn’t feel compelled to help Petya. So that she wouldn’t have to go anywhere near Gennady.
“You’re always welcome to visit if you don’t have other plans,” Sofia said.
Insulted, Vera straightened her spine, lifted her chin. Mendel’s return might have left her at loose ends, but she refused to be an object of pity, a burden.
“I have plans,” Vera said. “I’m tutoring a classmate after school.”
“That’s great,” Sofia said.
“But I could cancel,” Vera added, trying to sound nonchalant. She leaned in and whispered, “I’m worried. About Kolya. He doesn’t want to come home after school. I’ve had to drag him onto the bus. He says he wants to come home with me.”
Truly concerned for Kolya, she told herself she was obliged to report what had happened, but that didn’t keep her from embellishing her point. “He doesn’t want to be with Mendel. He says Mendel’s mean.”
She only spoke the truth, but it gave her a vindictive rush. She was the one—had always been the one—doing the favors. How many afternoons of her life had she given up to take care of Kolya, only to have Mendel discard her now?
“Mean to Kolya?” Sofia yelped and then lowered her voice. “What has Mendel done?”
Her sister’s wide-eyed alarm made Vera backpedal. She felt suddenly guilty. She didn’t want to add needlessly to Sofia’s worries. She only wanted her sister to know that Kolya was unhappy. And to recognize Vera’s importance.
“I don’t know,” Vera said. “He hasn’t said anything specific.”
“He’s still upset about how Mendel treated you. Maybe that’s all?” Sofia asked.
“Maybe,” Vera said, but the hopefulness in Sofia’s eyes made Vera want to say more to ease the concern she’d just kindled. Surely Kolya would have told her if Mendel had bullied him in any way. She thought back to the day before, when Kolya had so fearlessly confronted Gennady. She added more confidently, “Yes. That must be it. Little man. Always trying to be my defender. You should have seen him with Gennady.”
“Who’s Gennady?” Sofia asked, and Vera quickly realized her mistake.
“No one. A boy I know.” She could feel her face heat, and she knew if she saw herself in the mirror it would be an unattractive, blotchy red. She could never hide her emotions. They were always so close to the surface.
“A boyfriend?” Sofia probed.
“No. It’s not like that.”
“Why isn’t it like that?”
“Because it’s not,” Vera said, unable to hide her embarrassment and pain. She yanked open the door.
In her last year of high school, she was told she looked much the way Sofia had in her teens, slim—almost coltish, with lean legs and a long, graceful neck. She should have had a string of boys chasing her, as Sofia had. But she didn’t.
Instead, they seemed to fall over themselves for the chance to make a fool of her. Why?
“Come on, Kolya. It’s time to go,” she called, even though there was no need to rush. Sofia would see right through her hasty departure, but Vera wasn’t ready to confide her newest heartache to her older sister.
It still hurt too much, and she couldn’t stand the pity. Or the shame.
Backing out into the hall and calling for Kolya to hurry up, Vera nearly crashed into Mendel.
“Hey!” Mendel recoiled and jerkily shoved her out of the way.
Vera stumbled. Sofia took a half-step into the hall, calling, “Vera, are you all right?”
Light on her feet, Vera recovered almost instantly. She dodged around Mendel, putting as much distance between them as possible in the narrow corridor. She gave Sofia a reassuring wave and then, without another word, rushed to get away.
“Have a good day at school,” Mendel said. Was he taunting her? She hazarded a glance over her shoulder. Mendel wasn’t paying her any mind. He gazed longingly at Kolya, who stopped before him in the hall.
Kolya glared up at him and answered his father’s greeting with censorious silence. Then he hurried after Vera.
When Kolya caught up to her, he grabbed her hand and squeezed tight, saying all of the things in that one gesture that no one else ever said to her.
Chapter TWENTY-FOUR
SOFIA
SOFIA STEPPED ASIDE as Mendel came into the apartment. He closed and locked the door behind him.
There were so many things she wanted to say to him. Scream at him. What was that painful scene in the hallway with Vera and Kolya? Why had he been so unforgivably cruel to Edik? And was he a spy?
She bottled up her roiling emotions and settled on asking her most immediate question. “Where’d you go this morning?”
“Out,” he said.
Out? That was all he had to say to her? She dug her fingernails into her palm. Mendel hadn’t spoken to her since he’d locked himself in the bathroom and supposedly flushed the bugs down the toilet. And now he offered her only the one word? No apology. No explanation of where he’d gone or what he’d been doing. No reassurances that he would never knowingly plant listening devices in their home.
He wouldn’t look at her.
She couldn’t stay another minute in the apartment with him. She wasn’t ready to make another excuse for the pain he was causing, and she couldn’t be the one trying to pull words from him that he didn’t want to give her. Words she might not welcome.
She tugged on her boots and grabbed her coat and scarf and pushed past him.
�
�Where are you going?” he asked.
“Out,” she almost replied, giving him exactly what he’d given her, but that would be childish. “To see Edik,” she said.
“I’ll come with you.”
“Don’t.” She walked away without looking back. She lost time waiting at the elevator, which apparently was still not working, and he caught up with her in the stairwell.
“I’m not a spy,” he said.
Her steps faltered, but she kept going, down one flight and then another.
Maybe he wasn’t. Maybe he hadn’t known about the listening devices. His surprise had seemed genuine. But he was acting guilty. If not of that, then of something.
She reached the lobby and strode out into the bright spring morning. He followed, but he lagged behind, as if he were having trouble keeping pace with her.
She snuffed out any pity she might feel and walked faster. His agents, parked on the bench, sprang to attention as soon as they saw him.
Soon she had a procession. Herself. Then Mendel several feet behind, with the gap between them widening. Then his agents.
“Sofia, wait,” he said.
She didn’t slow.
“We need to talk.”
She kept going, pumping her arms and legs, nearly running.
“I’m sorry!” he called after her.
The apology was enough to stop her, but not enough to make her forgive him.
Still, it was a start.
When he caught up to her, he was panting from the exertion. “I’m sorry,” he said again.
“Sorry about what specifically?”
“You’re not going to make this easy for me, are you?” He wiped at the beads of sweat on his forehead. She noticed he was wearing his yarmulka, despite the unavoidable evidence that the other items the rabbi had given him offered no protection whatsoever.
Just the opposite.
“Why should I make anything easy for you?” she demanded. “You’ve been a total beast, and I’ve been tiptoeing around you, trying to give you the space you asked for. But you’re the one who screamed at me for coddling Edik. So you tell me, exactly how much slack am I supposed to cut you?” She screamed at him in a whisper, not wanting to put on a show for the agents.
To Catch a Traitor Page 12