Face Me When You Walk Away

by Brian Freemantle

  The negotiator entered the hospitality suite relaxed, escorted by the producer, Harriet Brindley, a bolster-bosomed woman wearing an ill-advised trouser-suit, given to smoking small cigars and trying to impress people with her outrageousness, which she practised assiduously.

  ‘Magnificent,’ she judged, handing Josef a whisky. She, like the interviewer, was impressed at Josef’s reputation, laughing nervously at the end of sentences, agreeing too readily with his half-expressed opinions.

  ‘You think it went well then?’ queried Josef, politely.

  ‘Undoubtedly.’

  Nikolai and Endelman were in the centre of a small group of people across the room. The author was embarrassingly patronizing in his over-politeness to everyone, thought Josef. The interviewer, a carrot-headed young man whose name Josef had half heard as Deakon was braying with nervous laughter, shoulders jerking at whatever Nikolai said. Josef felt sorry for the man.

  ‘I see it’s caught on in your country, too,’ said the woman. She grabbed two more glasses from a passing tray and handed one to Josef.

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  The producer nodded towards the laughing group.

  ‘Grass,’ she said.

  As Josef looked across, he caught the eye of both Nikolai and Endelman. Very slowly, Nikolai took a cigarette to his lips and Josef saw that it was crumpled and badly made. As he withdrew the cigarette, Nikolai gave a small wave and he and Endelman laughed. Endelman shrugged a ‘don’t blame me’ gesture. Harriet talked on, unaware of the shock effect of her announcement.

  ‘I think it should be legalized, for Christ’s sake,’ she continued, with the vehemence of liberalism. ‘A bloody sight more harm is done by booze than by a little harmless pot. Cheers.’

  ‘Quite,’ said Josef, recovering. ‘Good health.’

  The bastards, the arrogant, conceited bastards, he thought. Another challenge. He wondered if, drug-fogged, they would flaunt their homosexuality. It had been a long time since anyone had dared laugh at him.

  ‘There’s no medical danger, you know,’ insisted the woman. Two weeks before she had had a forum of free-thinking doctors on her programme.

  ‘So they say,’ replied Josef. He wanted to end the boring party and get them both away before they made some noticeable mistake.

  ‘Is he queer?’

  The question was like a cold hand reaching deeply into Josef’s stomach. He turned to the woman, subduing the panic. Her perfume was being defeated by body odour.

  ‘What an odd question,’ avoided Josef. ‘Why do you ask?’

  There must have been some gesture he had missed. Or maybe a remark when he was concentrating upon the interviewer. What was his name? He’d forgotten.

  ‘No reason,’ shrugged Harriet, dismissively. ‘Deakon is, that’s all. I thought it might be a mutual attraction. They seem to have some way of spotting each other. And he seems pretty taken with Nikolai.’

  ‘I think he’s just impressed,’ tried Josef, desperately. ‘Deakon is young. I shouldn’t imagine he’s met a Nobel prizewinner before’

  Josef found her habit of uttering disconcerting remarks irritating. He had to get over to the group.

  ‘Shouldn’t we join the others?’ he said. He couldn’t afford rudeness. The recording could still be edited, he realized, into a harmful programme. ‘Nikolai might need some assistance. His English still isn’t that good,’ he added, with forced innocence. The bastards, laughing at him. The group opened at their approach and Nikolai smiled.

  ‘My mentor,’ said the author, showing off his new English word. Everyone smiled and Josef wondered if Nikolai had shared their joke against him. The author seemed alert and in complete control of himself. No one was smoking now and there was no evidence of any stubs. Josef presumed they had been pocketed.

  ‘We must go soon,’ said Josef.

  Nikolai sniggered.

  ‘Why, Josef?’ he replied, the Russian so rapid that even Endelman would have had difficulty in following. ‘Frightened I might make a scene?’

  ‘Stop it Nikolai,’ warned Josef, at the same speed. ‘I won’t be made to look a fool.’

  ‘But the role fits you so well, Josef.’

  ‘Come now,’ interposed Deakon. ‘No one can understand a word.’

  The interviewer moved his hands about a lot when he spoke, and Josef saw his nails were coated with clear varnish.

  ‘Forgive us,’ he apologized, reverting to English.

  ‘Jeremy has invited us to a party,’ announced Endelman indicating the interviewer.

  ‘We’re going,’ confirmed Nikolai. There was an edge of defiance in his voice.

  ‘It will be all right if other people come, won’t it?’ asked Josef.

  The interviewer and the producer both misunderstood. Harriet smiled, hopefully, and Deakon, imagining the arrival at a party with a Nobel prizewinner and Josef Bultova, beamed.

  ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘I was going to invite you …’

  ‘Two people from the embassy,’ enlarged Josef. He saw Endelman bending towards the author.

  ‘Oh,’ said the interviewer, deflated. The woman buried her face in her whisky glass.

  ‘No,’ said Nikolai. He spoke in English.

  ‘Then you don’t go,’ replied Josef, in Russian.

  Nikolai reverted, too, his English no match for his anger.

  ‘I will not be treated like a child,’ he said, falling back on a familiar protest. ‘I’m going.’

  ‘And two attaches will go with you.’

  ‘I don’t want them. It’s not going to be that sort of a party.’

  ‘Are you out of your mind? Do you think I’m going to let you loose among a load of homosexuals? For Christ’s sake, Nikolai, start behaving sensibly.’

  ‘I’ll make a scene,’ pouted the writer.

  ‘Go ahead,’ invited Josef. ‘And I’ll slap you, like the child you are. And the whole room … and Endelman, the person you are trying to impress with your independence, can witness the weeping collapse of the great Nikolai Balshev, a Nobel prizewinner and fool.’

  ‘Don’t talk to me like that.’

  Josef just stared at him.

  ‘You wouldn’t dare hit me, not in a TV studio,’ protested Nikolai.

  ‘Because of the publicity? Don’t be stupid, Nikolai. They want the interview they have got, not a scandal. I’d insist on walking from here with the film they’ve just shot. Remember, I reserved the right to censor anything I didn’t like. To prevent losing their film, they’d overlook a tantrum.’

  ‘I don’t believe you.’

  ‘Try it.’

  The tension stretched between them, ready to break. It engulfed the others in the room, like a January draught through an ill-fitting door.

  ‘I can’t get out of it now,’ said Nikolai and Josef relaxed slightly.

  ‘I can make an excuse.’

  ‘Everybody knows we’ve had a row.’

  ‘These sort of people live on rows. It seems natural to them.’

  Sure of himself now, Josef turned back to the interviewer. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘Nikolai had forgotten there are other things to do before we leave for America tomorrow. I’m afraid we’re going to have to turn down your invitation.’

  Deakon shrugged, smiling wryly.

  ‘So you won,’ he said, resigned.

  ‘Yes,’ said Josef. Why not admit it? It couldn’t cause any harm. Regaining control gave him a twinge of satisfaction.

  Deakon looked at Endelman, who sighed.

  ‘Sorry,’ said the photographer. ‘We’d have enjoyed it. It’s too bad.’

  The embassy car was waiting for them and initially no one spoke. Nikolai sat between them in the vehicle and Josef was conscious of the author pulling away, trying to avoid physical contact.

  ‘You made me look a fool,’ complained Nikolai, again. ‘So I tried marijuana. Is that a crime?’

  ‘Leave it alone, Nikolai,’ said Endelman. ‘Josef is angry with us.’

&nb
sp; The author sniggered at the mockery. They refused to be unsettled by the silence, whispering and even giggling to themselves.

  ‘My room,’ Josef announced, as they exited from the lift on the fourth floor. He glanced at the note Reception had handed him as he collected his key. The embassy wanted him. Not as much as he wanted them, he thought.

  ‘Splendid,’ jibed Nikolai. ‘Josef’s got a lovely cocktail cabinet. We can all have lots to drink. Drink isn’t harmful, is it, Josef? It’s only drugs you are frightened of.’

  He hurried ahead and Josef was reminded of a court jester, skipping to the crowd. Jesters were sad people, he thought. Inside the suite, Nikolai continued to attempt command, pouring and serving drinks with polite bows. They were still laughing, decided Josef.

  ‘How long does the charade go on?’ he inquired, trying to project the weariness into his voice.

  ‘Josef’s bored!’ exclaimed Nikolai to Endelman, and then swinging back to the negotiator. ‘Are you bored, Josef? Oh dear.’

  Endelman was sitting rigid-faced, refusing to react to Nikolai’s prompting.

  ‘Stop it, Nikolai,’ said Josef. ‘It’s finished.’

  The writer dropped into a chair, then leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, head in his hands, like an eager pupil listening to his teacher. The ridicule was very practised, thought Josef.

  ‘Josef is making threats,’ narrated the writer. ‘It’s so silly, Josef. You know that. You were lucky tonight that I didn’t want to go to that fool’s party. Don’t think you’re in control again.’

  Josef put aside his glass, untouched.

  ‘I made it quite clear to both of you,’ he began. ‘That I could never allow anything that could publicly endanger this tour …’

  He nodded towards Endelman, then continued talking as if he were not in the room.

  ‘Endelman was a mistake,’ he said. ‘The Ministry approved it, but I should have argued. I was always unhappy at the suggestion. There was something odd about it …’

  ‘Josef is justifying himself,’ jeered Nikolai.

  ‘It was even more stupid for me to have done nothing when I found you in bed together.’

  ‘Were you frightened, Josef … of what. I would do? Is that why you wouldn’t act?’

  Again Josef ignored him.

  ‘Tonight everyone in that bloody room except me knew you were smoking marijuana.’

  ‘Poor Josef. He’s upset because he’s too unsophisticated to realize what’s happening,’ prodded the writer.

  ‘The woman even guessed you were homosexual,’ he said.

  ‘So what?’ dismissed Nikolai. ‘I don’t see it’s anything to be ashamed of.’

  Josef sighed, tired of the author’s baiting.

  ‘Be quiet, Nikolai,’ he said, contemptuously. ‘It’s stopping, now. From this moment, I’m resuming control. You’ll do as I say.’

  Again he nodded towards the photographer.

  ‘He’s going,’ he announced. ‘Tonight. He’s either going properly, by himself, or I’ll get people from the embassy to throw him out.’

  Nikolai tried to speak, but Josef waved him to silence.

  ‘There’ll be no scene,’ he predicted. ‘It will all be done in a very calm manner.’

  For the first time, he addressed Endelman directly.

  ‘Do you remember what I told you, when you came to my room after I found you together?’

  The photographer nodded.

  ‘I meant it,’ said the negotiator. ‘In fact, I would quite enjoy the thought of you getting hurt.’

  ‘Have you finished?’ asked Nikolai. The banter had gone from his voice. He was staring directly across the room and Josef knew it was the moment of complete challenge.

  ‘It is over, Josef,’ said Nikolai, picking up the negotiator’s expression. He paused, sipping from his drink. He didn’t need it for courage, realized Josef, but to extend his enjoyment of what was happening.

  ‘I’ve tolerated you, Josef,’ he started again. ‘I’ve tolerated you because I needed your experience and your guidance. But I told you in Stockholm what your role was to be.’

  Josef sat without any feeling. The victor of this encounter would be in charge for the remainder of the tour, he knew. Nikolai, after another sip, was speaking again.

  ‘From now on, Josef, your only function will be to sec everything goes smoothly. I will do what I like, with whom I like. I’ve resented every moment of your overbearing arrogance, every rebuke you’ve ever given me. I’ve counted every slap …’

  He smiled, pleased at the look on Josef’s face.

  ‘I know just why I’ve been allowed to come out of Russia. I know I’m a performing monkey, impressing other countries that Russia can have artists as well as square-shaped men in uniform. I know how frightened everyone is that something will go wrong. And I know just how powerful that makes me.’

  He stopped, unable to avoid the smirk. He knew Josef was worried.

  ‘If I want pills, then Jimmy will get them for me. If I want grass, he’ll get that for me too. Just like he’ll get anything else.’

  Josef rose to the invitation, realizing too late that it had been manufactured.

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘Marijuana is quite tame, really,’ said Nikolai. ‘I like horse much better.’

  Josef turned to Endelman, for explanation.

  ‘He wanted heroin … try it and see what it was like. He said he wanted every experience …’ muttered the photographer.

  ‘You mean …?’

  Endelman shook his head. ‘He smoked it, that’s all.’

  Josef reflected on the incongruity of the sentence, then said, ‘I thought you cared for him.’

  ‘You don’t understand …’ began the photographer, but Nikolai gestured him to silence, determined not to sacrifice the stage.

  ‘Really, Josef, I’ve rarely known anyone more unaware of what’s going on around them. Tonight isn’t the first time that Jimmy’s been told he can get out. I told him, days ago. He might love me. I never said I loved him. He, like you, stays because he’s useful. He’s as efficient in some things as you are in others.’

  Josef shook his head in disbelief.

  ‘I’m a genius, Josef. That’s what everyone keeps saying. No one expects normal behaviour from a genius.’

  Josef realized that Endelman was weeping and felt contempt for the man. Medev had cried a lot, he remembered. And so had his father, in the end. But each had good reason.

  ‘So there it is,’ concluded Nikolai. ‘Without me, there is no triumphal tour for the mighty Soviet Union. So from now on, it goes completely as I direct.’

  He drank deeply and the liquor caught his breath. He almost choked. Josef waited, hopefully, but the writer recovered. There was no sound in the room now except Endelman crying.

  ‘Well?’ demanded Nikolai.

  The transition was remarkable, Josef conceded. Could it only be a few months ago that he had been the shy, stumbling person at the dacha, preferring the loneliness of an insect-veiled lake to contact with even two people.

  ‘It was a good try, Nikolai,’ he said, evenly. ‘I admire your sudden courage, Strangely, I even think it’s genuine. Even in those early days, at the dacha, I knew you were hiding some aspect of your personality, but I never guessed it would emerge like this …’

  The writer was frowning at him, apprehensively. He had anticipated a different reaction. Endelman had stopped crying and was looking, too.

  ‘Endelman goes tonight,’ reiterated Josef. ‘If you want to destroy yourself, you’ll do it in the Soviet Union, not here or in America, where the whole world can see. I’m cancelling the rest of the visit. We’re going back to Russia, tomorrow.’

  Nikolai shook his head, but the smile was fading.

  ‘You won’t do that, Josef.’

  ‘I will,’ pledged the negotiator.

  He went to the bureau and telephoned Listnisky, but before he could speak, the ambassador began talking, explaini
ng the difficulty of contacting Josef earlier. The American President was giving a reception specifically in honour of Nikolai Balshev in four days. Moscow was delighted and Peking was furious. So enthusiastic was the Praesidium that someone from the Ministry of Culture was flying to Washington to attend.

  ‘What’s his name?’ asked Josef. He felt so tired. It was like a weight, pressing down.

  ‘Illinivitch,’ replied Listnisky. ‘Do you know him?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Josef.

  ‘Marvellous, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What do you want me for?’

  ‘Nothing,’ said Josef. ‘Forget it.’

  From the conversation, Nikolai knew Josef had not carried out his threat. He smiled, waiting for Josef to capitulate.

  ‘You’d better get to bed,’ said Josef, looking straight at him. ‘We’ve got a long flight tomorrow.’

  Neither moved.

  ‘Both of you,’ added Josef, in final defeat.

  18

  New York was the ordeal Josef had feared. The Russian suffered badly from jet lag and the numbed, cotton-wool feeling was washing over him as the aircraft taxied into the arrival pier at Kennedy Airport. Endelman and Nikolai had consciously ignored him throughout the flight. He had been relegated to the role of organizer and they acted out their private game and accorded him the politeness of a servant. Josef had endured it, content that neither seemed anxious to draw attention to themselves. Apart from snide criticism of the in-flight film, they had behaved perfectly, spending most of their time playing chess on a pocket set that Endelman had produced.

  The Russian delegation to the United Nations was waiting, headed by Valery Semyonov, the ambassador. A Devgeny man, Josef knew, who would be a constant threat. The Russians carried the traditional bouquets, which Nikolai and Endelman greeted with laughter.

  Semyonov frowned.

  Welcome,’ he said.

  Josef nodded. The photographers were backing away before them as they walked down the finger towards the huge lounge in which Blyne had arranged the first press-conference.