by Thomas Swan
Ilyushin explained.
“Come with me,” she said.
They followed her from the room and back to a door that opened into the reception office. She sat at the switchboard and dialed several numbers before she smiled and began speaking. After a minute’s conversation she put down the phone.
“This is a new position for me,” she said. “I have not heard that name, but there is a V. Karsalov. I have asked for his file.” She talked with Yakov for another minute, then grew silent and sat bolt upright, alternating fixed stares at Yakov, then toward Oxby.
“She tells me she is the assistant supervisor, but there is no supervisor at this time. And it is a new position for her. Her name is Tonya. She was born in Russia, but has lived in Tashkent from the time she was three years old.”
Oxby looked at his watch and shifted impatiently in the chair. “Do you speak English, Tonya?” Oxby asked.
“Ahngleeyskee?” she said, drawing out the word. “Nyeht.”
Oxby turned to Yakov. “Do you believe her?”
Ilyushin said he did.
“I don’t think there’s an abundance of efficiency in this place,” Oxby said wearily. “Can you think of a way to speed things along?”
“They don’t hurry in this country. Especially in the summer months.”
“Perhaps she would like a nice dinner tonight. Or a few thousand of the local currency.”
“You would corrupt a pretty lady by giving her a handful of sum?”
“She’s too pretty to be corruptible. But, even here, everyone has a price.”
Yakov shook his head. “We could lose her cooperation.”
The telephone rang. A jingling, metallic sound. “Allo, allo,” she said, then followed a stream of Russian sprinkled with Uzbek phrases, all of it speeding past Oxby without recognition. Some of the Uzbek was lost on Yakov.
“I have asked for V. Karsalov’s file,” Tonya said in her efficient way. “I cannot say how soon it will be brought to us. For now, it is not necessary.” She stood, and motioned toward the door. “Come with me.”
Off they went, Tonya taking long strides, leading the way to an elevator that dated to the year Number 7 was built. Making sounds Oxby had never heard, it creaked and ground its way to the top floor. Tonya spread the gate apart and walked to the middle of the floor. She stopped in front of a door with number 411 on it. She turned to Yakov.
“I do not know all of the patients, I said I have just come myself. Be aware that you and your friend may be shocked by what you find. Some patients are very ill. They may stare at you and not talk. Some will make no sense if they do. And you should know that some live in a distressful way.”
Oxby understood parts of what Tonya had said. Yakov filled him in on the rest.
“Distressful,” Oxby repeated the Russian word. “Interesting way to put it.”
Tonya nodded, then tapped lightly on the door. A shuffling noise came from inside, but the door was not opened. Tonya tapped again. She said, “Vasily Karsalov, can you hear? You have visitors from St. Petersburg.”
The shuffling grew louder, then a key was turned in the lock and the door slowly opened. The man who had opened the door stood several feet inside the room. He was dangerously thin, and though he had a full beard, the hollows in his cheeks were clearly visible. He had a full head of gray hair and with the beard it made his face seem almost tiny. Oxby noted that his eyes were clear, not rheumy as he had feared. He was average height and slightly bent forward. Oxby’s initial impression was that he could be fifty or as old as seventy-five.
Tonya had been correct. The room was distressful, though disheveled and unkempt more accurately characterized its clutter and the odor of unwashed clothes.
The room, like all the others, had been a classroom. It was a large room with a high ceiling, and light fixtures that consisted of round, porcelain reflectors and clear bulbs. But half the fixtures had bulbs and apparently even those had long ago burned out. Along the outside wall were several tall windows. A tattered window shade had survived in one of them. There was the usual complement of furnishings, including a bed, chest of drawers, armoire, one large upholstered chair plus two rickety wooden ones, a floor lamp and a table lamp, shelves with books, and other odd paraphernalia.
Most unusual of all was the way Vasily Karsalov was dressed. His pants and shirt were nondescript, but in a room where the temperature hovered near a hundred degrees, he had put on a naval officer’s jacket. On the dark blue epaulet that hung lopsidedly from his narrow shoulders were two and a half gold stripes and a single gold star. Oxby didn’t know it, but Karsalov had promoted himself two full grades from mladshiy leytenant to kapitan leytenant.
“Here is your Vasily Karsalov,” Tonya said.
“Dobriy deyehn,” Yakov said, and held out his hand.
Vasily did not respond, nor offer his own hand.
Yakov turned to Oxby, clearly uncertain how to proceed. “What should I—”
“Tell him we are happy to find him. That we will return in the morning. Ask him if there is anything we can bring. Brandy or cigarettes. Or food. You might also say that we can go to the hotel for dinner tomorrow if he would like.”
Oxby patted Yakov’s arm, urging him to translate the message. But it wasn’t necessary.
In halting, but completely comprehensible English, Vasily Karsalov said, “I would like brandy and cigarettes.” He nodded at Oxby. “I will think of other things and tell you tomorrow.”
Oxby grinned broadly. “English? You speak it?”
Beneath the heavy beard, Karsalov, too, was smiling. “Some. I will try.”
Oxby ushered Tonya and Yakov from the room and said, as he closed the door, “This is a good beginning.”
As the elevator made its noisy descent, Yakov said, “We have come all this way to find him, and you go away without barely saying a word. Why is that?”
“Our first job was to find him. That, we accomplished. Second was to determine his state of health, particularly his mind. To that, we have a partial answer. He is articulate and, as a bonus, he has learned to speak English.”
They reached the first floor and followed Tonya to the reception office. On the desk were several folders. She sorted through them, then handed one to Yakov.
“These are medical reports. You will see that the last completed examination was made three years ago. I cannot say what changes may have occurred since then.”
Yakov sorted through the pages. “This one, Jack. It says why it is that Karsalov was sent here.”
“A diagnosis?”
“As best I can read it. Four years ago it is dated. There was arteriosclerosis, and I see this; multi-infarct-dementia.”
“Sounds bloody awful. Ask Tonya if we may borrow the records. Tell her we’ll return every one in the morning.”
After Tonya agreed to release Karsalov’s file, Oxby and Yakov went out to find Hoja waiting impatiently. He scolded the two men for causing him to miss a meal with his family, a brief display of anger meant to elicit a few extra dollars, not demonstrate his familial affection. On the return trip, Yakov confessed that he continued to be mystified by the way Oxby conducted their first meeting with Karsalov.
“In my business patience is most often rewarded. Vasily Karsalov has lived in that sorry room for a long time and he will be there tomorrow and the next day. I invested the hours until tomorrow to assure his confidence in us. He has tonight to think about the brandy we’ll bring, and the cigarettes. And a good meal. He’s lost touch with simple pleasures and now we are going to take them to him. Thirty minutes ago we walked into his room as strangers. He was surprised. Frightened, perhaps. I did not want to begin our discussions under that cloud. Tomorrow when we meet, we will be friends.”
Yakov turned to Oxby and smiled. “And, you are a good friend.”
Chapter 21
Viktor Lysenko went through the tedious process of working past agents and government functionaries, then took a taxi directly to the Hotel
Uzkekistan in the center of the city. He locked the door to his room and phoned Trivimi Laar.
“You arrived on time, I see,” the Estonian said.
“A good flight. Not crowded.”
Neither spoke for a half minute, each listening for the slightest hint that Viktor did not have a secure line. Likely an unnecessary precaution, one that was taken nonetheless.
Viktor spoke first. “Galina threatened to leave. Oleg is pushing too hard. And I will say that to him when I return.”
“It is his way,” the Estonian said. “He bullies so you won’t forget he must have his way. Quit if you want. But consider that he will not be happy if you do.”
There was another brief silence while Viktor considered what Trivimi had said. “Where do I find Vasily?”
“Oleg was lucky. One of his old connections made a contact in the Uzbek government. Karsalov is in the military hospital—”
“But, where, damn it. I was told there are ten buildings in the hospital.”
“Building Number 7. You know it is in the north part of the city?”
“Yes,” Viktor said impatiently.
“Don’t get too hot because Oleg sent you without Galina. Do your job well and he’ll forget his complaints.”
Viktor made a list of purchases and chores. In the lobby he exchanged dollars for sum. He was told he could buy clothes in the GUM department store, a few blocks from the hotel. He then bought a pair of jeans, a short-sleeved shirt, socks, black sneakers, and a belt. He also found cigarettes and matches.
Back in his room he changed into the clothes he had bought and approved of the way he would blend in among the other young Russians on the street.
A twenty-minute tram ride took him to a gate that at one time had been the entrance to the military grounds. The tram operator gave him directions to the hospital. It was now 11:30 and the sun was nearly overhead. The temperature would again climb to over a hundred degrees. A car passed and when it approached the building several hundred yards ahead, its red brake lights flashed and the car stopped. Two men got out and went into the building.
Viktor walked on. When he was alongside the car he saw an old sign that hung crookedly from a crumbling concrete post.
ZDANIE 7.
Oxby and Yakov went directly to the elevator and up to the fourth floor. Before they reached his room, the door opened and Vasily Karsalov stepped into the hallway.
“I was afraid you would change your mind.”
“No fear of that,” Oxby said. “We’ve been shopping.”
Each carried a package and handed their gift to Vasily as they entered his room. Yakov gave him a small bouquet of yellow roses and a single, white peony. Vasily stared at the flowers, unsure what to do with them. “In case you do not have one,” Yakov said as he produced a little vase made of plastic. The flowers went into the vase and Vasily gave it a place of importance on his bureau.
“That is good brandy,” Oxby said. “Make it last a long time.”
Vasily took the brandy and several packages of cigarettes from the bag. He opened one of the packs, took out a cigarette and lit it. The smoke made him cough, but he only smiled and inhaled deeply again.
At the path that led into Number 7, Viktor stopped and surveyed the grounds, then the building. He was close to the car that had deposited the two men and now recognized it as a taxi. He walked over to it. All the windows were lowered and the driver was slouched low in his seat, his head resting on a purple red pillow.
“Is this a hospital building?” Viktor asked.
Hoja opened an eye and looked up to find the owner of the voice. “It was, and may still be. Everything changes.”
“Was that a doctor who got out of your taxi?”
Hoja’s other eye opened. “Who asks?”
“I am looking for a Dr. Stolov. My father was his patient.”
Hoja pulled himself up and rested his hands on the steering wheel. He studied Viktor carefully. “I don’t know that name.”
“There was another man,” Viktor said, rummaging through his pockets. “I have the name, but can’t find it. But you can help me.” He smiled. “There were two men in your taxi. Do you know their names?”
Hoja watched Viktor’s smile snap on, then off. He shook his head and turned the ignition key. A simple nyeht was his answer and he drove off.
Viktor watched the taxi disappear behind Number 7. As it did, a bus painted in camouflage colors appeared, its diesel engine clacking loudly, its exhaust exuding a stream of black smoke. It stopped in front of him and the doors opened. One by one in what seemed to be slow motion, old men began to file off the bus and proceed up the path. Viktor fell in behind a white-haired veteran, the stump of his left arm protruding from his shirt sleeve.
Out of a plastic bag Oxby took packages of cheese, biscuits, and cans of German beer. From another bag he emptied an assortment of fresh fruit and arranged it on the table. In that setting, with a soft light falling through the window, and the fruit on top of a faded brown towel, it resembled a still life by Cézanne. Vasily Karsalov watched, bemused. He was not wearing his officer’s jacket, instead it was draped over the back of the chair he was sitting in. Yakov sat on the bed and Oxby pulled a straight-back chair close to Vasily, forming a tight-knit triangle.
Oxby sat comfortably, relaxed, his legs crossed, his always available notepad on his lap. “If I speak too quickly,” he said in English, “please raise your hand. And stop me if I use a word you don’t understand.”
“It is a beautiful day,” Vasily said, pointing at the window.
“First rate. That’s what we would say in London.”
“You are from England?”
Oxby nodded. “But I am visiting with Yakov Stepanovich, who is an old friend. He was in Petersburg during the war.”
Vasily shook his head. “It was called Leningrad. It should be Leningrad today.” Vasily drank some of his beer, savoring it. “Why are you talking to me? Did I do something wrong?”
“No,” Oxby said. “We want to test your memory.”
“It will be hot again. Yesterday was very hot.”
“It is cooler if you go outside. We’ll go for a walk. Would you like that?”
“I don’t like to go there. They may not let me come back to my room.”
“Vasily, were you in the navy when you were a young man?”
His eyes widened. “I was in the navy. It was bad. They said I killed someone.” He took another sip of beer.
“I don’t think so.”
“Yes. They said that. It’s true, you know.”
“That’s a reason we have come. To tell you that they were wrong. But do you remember the navy?”
Vasily nodded. “Maybe I remember.”
“Can you tell us some things you remember?”
Vasily stared blankly at Oxby. “Brandy. I want some brandy.”
Oxby thought a moment. “Later, Vasily. You can have another can of beer.”
Vasily handed the empty can to Oxby. “There is nothing to drink in this place.”
“It’s a hospital,” Oxby said.
“I am not sick.”
“Tell us what you remember when you were in the navy.”
“I was married. Anna.”
“She was pretty?”
Vasily held up his hand. “What is pretty?”
“Meelah,” Yakov volunteered.
Vasily grinned, and nodded. “Dah.”
“Did you have children? A little girl or boy?”
“A boy. Mikhail Vasilyovich.”
“Where is your wife today? Where is Anna?”
Vasily slowly shook his head. He turned and gazed out the window.
“And Mikhail. Do you know where he is living?”
Vasily did not budge, nor did he speak.
The old soldiers filed slowly along the cream-colored corridor toward the dining room. Viktor peeled away from the procession and stopped at the window by the reception office. He rapped on the glass, then saw the bu
tton and pushed it. He pressed several times, impatiently. A door inside the office opened and Tonya hurried to the window and slid it aside.
“What do you want?” she demanded.
“I am looking for a patient. Vasily Karsalov.”
Tonya could not conceal her surprise. She eyed him carefully. “Who wants to know?”
“A friend from Petersburg. I am visiting the city and said I would pay him a visit.”
“Suddenly, Karsalov has many friends,” Tonya said. “Two men came yesterday to find him.”
“They are here?” he asked, excitedly.
“You know them?”
He nodded. “I knew some other friends might be in Tashkent.” Viktor evaluated her reaction. “It is a coincidence we are here at the same time.”
Tonya agreed that was so. “You must go to the building next to this one for permission to visit Karsalov. It is the rule.”
She wrote on a piece of paper and handed it to him through the window. Viktor ignored the paper and wrapped a strong hand around her wrist. “I don’t have time to be interviewed for a government pass.” He pulled her toward him. “I think you will tell me where to find Karsalov.”
She could feel his breath. “I can’t.”
He turned her hand over and placed several twenty dollar bills in it. Then he said slowly, an unconcealed threat running through each of his words, “It is a gift for a favor you must do for me.” His grip tightened. “You understand?”
Fear spread across her face. Her eyes were unblinking and her mouth quivered when she was finally able to answer. “Yes. He is in 411.”
He closed her fingers over the money, then kissed the back of her hand.
Oxby said, “I want you to look at a picture and tell me if you recognize it.” From his shirt pocket he took two photographs and handed one to Vasily.
Vasily glanced at it briefly. “An egg?”
“What kind of an egg?”
“Easter egg?”
“When you were a little boy, did you have an egg like that in your family?”