Child 44 Part 11

-Not for me it isn't.

-There was one rule. I pay you, you obey. Either give me back my gold, or do as I say.

Nothing about this was good except for the gold. He stretched out his hand, waiting for the gold to be returned. He didn't seem angry or disappointed or impatient. Ilinaya found this indifference comforting. She began walking towards the cabin.

-Inside you get ten minutes, agreed?

No replyshe'd take that as a yes.

The cabin was locked but he had a set of keys and after fumbling for the right one struggled with the lock.

-It's frozen.

She didn't respond, turning her head to the side and sighing to indicate her disapproval. Secrecy was one thing and she'd already presumed he was married. But since he didn't live in this town she couldn't understand what his problem was. Perhaps he was staying with family or friends; perhaps he was a high-ranking Party member. She didn't care. She just wanted the next ten minutes over.

He crouched down, cupped his hands around the padlock and breathed on it. The key slipped in, the lock clicked open. She remained outside. If there wasn't going to be any light the deal was off and she'd keep the gold to boot. She'd already given this guy more than enough time. If he wanted to waste it on an expedition to nowhere that was up to him.

He stepped into the cabin, disappearing into the darkness. She heard the sound of a match being struck. Light flickered from the heart of a hurricane lamp. The man cranked up the lamp and hung it from a crocked hook sticking out from the roof. She peered inside. The cabin was filled with spare track, screws, bolts, tools and timber. There was a smell of tar. He began clearing one of the work stations. She laughed.

-I'll get splinters in my b.u.m.

To her surprise he blushed. Improvising, he spread his coat across the work surface. She stepped inside.

-A perfect gentleman...

Normally she'd take off her coat, maybe sit on the bed and roll down a stocking, make a performance of it. But with no bed and no heating all she planned on allowing him to do was to lift up her dress. She'd keep the rest of her clothes on.

-Hope you don't mind if my jacket stays on?

She shut the door, not expecting it would make much difference to the temperature, which was almost as cold inside as it was out. She turned around.

The man was much closer than she remembered. She caught sight of something metallic coming towards hershe didn't have time to work out what it was. The object connected with the side of her face. Pain shot through her body from the point of impact travelling down her spine to her legs. Her muscles went slack; her legs slumped as though her tendons had been snipped. She fell back against the cabin door. Her eyesight blurred, her face felt hot, there was blood in her mouth. She was going to pa.s.s out, lose consciousness but she fought against it, forcing herself to stay awake, focusing on his voice.

-You do exactly as I say.

Would submission satisfy this man? Shards of broken tooth dug into her gum and convinced her otherwise. She didn't feel like believing in his mercy. If she was going to die in a town she hated, a town she'd been transferred to by compulsory State writ, one thousand seven hundred kilometres from her family, then she'd die scratching this b.a.s.t.a.r.d's eyes out.

He grabbed her arms, no doubt expecting any resistance to have evaporated. She spat a mouth full of blood and phlegm in his eyes. He must have been surprised because he let go. She felt the door behind her and pushed against itthe door swung open and she fell into the snow outside, onto her back, staring up at the sky. He grabbed at her feet. She kicked frantically, trying to get out of reach. He grabbed hold of one foot, pulling her back into the cabin. She concentrated, taking aim: her heel caught his jaw. The contact was good, his head flicked round. She heard him cry out. He lost his grip. She rolled onto her stomach, got up and ran.

Staggering blindly, it took her a couple of seconds to realize she'd run straight out from the cabin, away from town, away from the station and down the railway tracks. Her instincts had been to get away from him. Her instincts had let her down. She was running away from safety. She checked behind. He was chasing her. Either she continued in this direction or she turned back towards him. There was no way she could get around him. She tried to scream but her mouth was full of blood. She choked, spluttered, breaking her rhythm and losing some of the distance between them. He was catching up.

Suddenly the ground began to vibrate. She looked up. A freight train was approaching, hurtling towards them, plumes of smoke rus.h.i.+ng out of the high iron front. She raised her arms, waving. But even if the driver saw her there was no stopping in time with barely five hundred metres between them. There were only seconds before a collision. But she didn't step off the tracks, continuing towards the train, running fasterintent on throwing herself under it. The train gave no sign of slowing. There was no screech of metal brakes, no whistle. She was so close the vibrations almost shook her to her feet.

The train was about to smash into her. She flung herself to the side, off the tracks into the thick snow. The engine and wagons roared past, rocking the snow off the tips of the nearby trees. Breathless, she peered behind her, hoping her pursuer had been cut down, crushed under the train or trapped on the other side of the tracks. But he'd held his nerve. He'd jumped to her side and was lying on the snow. He stood up, staggering towards her.

She spat the blood from her mouth and cried out: calling for help, desperate. This was a freight train, there was no one to hear or see her. She got up and ran, reaching the edge of the woods, not slowing down, smas.h.i.+ng through the branches that jutted out. Her plan was to loop around and double back onto the tracks towards town. She couldn't hide here: he was too close, there was too much moonlight. Even though she knew it would be better to remain focused on running she gave in to temptation. She had to look. She had to know where he was. She turned around.

He was gone. She couldn't see him. The train was still thundering past. She must have lost him when she entered the forest. She changed direction, running back towards the town, towards safety.

The man stepped out from behind a tree, catching hold of her waist. They crashed down into the snow. He was on top of her, ripping at her jacket and shouting. She couldn't hear him over the sound of the train. All she could see were his teeth and tongue. Then she remembered: she'd prepared for this moment. She reached into her coat pocket, feeling for a chisel, stolen from work. She'd used it before but only as a threat, only to show she could fight if fighting was required. She clutched the wooden handle. She'd get one chance at this. As he put his hand up her dress she brought the metal tip into the side of his head. He sat upright, clutching his ear. She sliced at him again, cutting the hand that clutched his ear. She should have struck again and again, she should have killed him, but her desire to get away was too strong. She scrambled backwards on all fours like an insect, still holding the b.l.o.o.d.y chisel.

The man dropped onto his hands and knees, crawling after her. Part of his earlobe hung loose, dangling from a flap of skin. His expression twisted with anger. He lunged for her ankles. She managed to keep out of reach, barely, outpacing him until she backed into a tree trunk. With her brought to a sudden stop, he caught up, took hold of her ankle. She slashed at his hand, jabbing and cutting. He grabbed her wrist, pulling her towards him. Face to face, she leaned forward, trying to bite his nose. With his free hand he clasped her neck, squeezing, keeping out of her reach. She gasped, trying to break free, but his grip was too strong. She was suffocating. She threw her weight sideways. The two of them tumbledrolling in the snow, over and over each other.

Inexplicably he let go, releasing her neck. She coughed, catching her breath. The man was still on top, pinning her down, but no longer looking in her direction. His attention was on something else, something to the side of them. She turned her head.

Sunken into the snow beside her was the naked body of a young girl. Her skin was pale, almost translucent. Her hair was blonde, almost white. Her mouth was wide open and had been stuffed with dirt. It formed a mound, rising above her thin blue lips. The girl's arms and legs and face appeared to be uninjured, covered in a light layer of snow which had been disturbed when they'd rolled into it. Her torso had been savaged. The organs were exposed, ripped, torn. Much of the skin was missing, cut away or peeled back, as though her body had been attacked by a pack of wolves.

Ilinaya looked up at her pursuer. He seemed to have forgotten about her. He was staring at the girl's body. He began to retch, doubled over and was sick. Without thinking she put a consoling hand on his back. Remembering herself, remembering who this man was and what he'd done to her, she pulled her hand away, got up and ran. This time her instincts didn't let her down. She broke through the edge of the forest, running towards the station. She had no idea if the man was chasing her or not. This time she didn't scream, didn't slow down and didn't look back.

Moscow 14 March Leo opened his eyes. A flashlight blinded him. He didn't need to check his watch to know the time. Arresting hourfour in the morning. He got out of bed, heart pounding. In the dark he staggered, disorientated, b.u.mping into one man, pushed to the side. He stumbled, regained his balance. The lights came on. Adjusting to the brightness he saw three officers: young men, not much older than eighteen. They were armed. Leo didn't recognize them but he knew the kind of officers they were: low ranking, unthinkingly obedient: they'd follow whatever orders they'd been given. They'd be violent without hesitation: any slight resistance would be answered with extreme force. They gave off a smell of cigarette smoke and alcohol. Leo supposed these men hadn't been to bed yet: drinking all night, staying up for this a.s.signment. Alcohol would make them unpredictable, volatile. To survive these next few minutes Leo would have to be cautious, submissive. He hoped Raisa understood that as well.

Raisa was standing in her nightclothes, s.h.i.+vering but not from cold. She wasn't sure whether it was shock or fear or anger. She couldn't stop shaking. But she wouldn't look away. She wasn't embarra.s.sed; let them be embarra.s.sed at their violation, let them see her crumpled nightdress, her untidy hair. No, they were indifferent: it was all the same to them, part of their job. She saw no sensitivity in these boys' eyes. They were dull: flicking from side to side like a lizardreptilian eyes. Where did the MGB find these boys with souls of lead? They made them that way, she was sure of it. She glanced at Leo. He was standing with his hands in front, his head dropped in order to avoid eye contact. Humility, meekness: maybe that was the smart way to behave. But she didn't feel smart right now. There were three thugs in their bedroom. She wanted him defiant, angry. Surely that was the natural reaction? Any ordinary man would feel outrage. Leo was political even now.

One of the men left the room, to return almost immediately holding two small cases.

-This is all you can take. You can carry nothing on your person except your clothes and your papers. In one hour we leave whether you're ready or not.

Leo stared at the cases, canvas stretched tight over a timber frame. They offered a modest s.p.a.ce, enough for a day trip. He turned to his wife.

-Wear as much as you can.

He glanced behind him. One of the officers was watching, smoking.

-Can you wait outside?

-Don't waste time making requests. The answer to everything is no.

Raisa got changed, sensing this guard's reptile eyes roaming over her body. She wore as many clothes as she could reasonably manage: layers on top of layers. Leo did the same. It might have been comical, in other circ.u.mstances, their limbs swollen by cotton and wool. Dressed, she grappled with the question of what, of all their belongings, they should bring and what they were forced to leave behind. She examined the case. It was no more than ninety centimetres wide, maybe sixty centimetres high and twenty centimetres deep. Their lives had to reduce to fit this s.p.a.ce.

Leo knew there was a chance they'd been told to pack merely as a way of being moved without any of the emotional fuss, the struggle which came with the realization that they were being sent to their deaths. It was always easier to move people around if they clung to the notion, no matter how small, that they were going to survive. However, what could he do? Give up? Fight? He made several quick calculations. Precious s.p.a.ce had to be wasted with the inclusion of The Book of Propagandists The Book of Propagandists and and The Short Course of the Bolshevik Party The Short Course of the Bolshevik Party, neither of which could be abandoned without it being construed as a subversive political gesture. In their current predicament such recklessness was nothing less than suicidal. He grabbed the books, putting them in the case, the first objects either of them had packed. Their young guard was watching everything, seeing what went in, what choices they made. Leo touched Raisa's arm.

-Take our shoes. Pick the best, one pair each.

Good shoes were rare, tradable, a valuable commodity.

Leo gathered up clothes, items of value, their collection of photos: photos of their wedding, his parents, Stepan and Anna, but none of Raisa's family. Her parents been killed in the Great Patriotic War, her village wiped out. She'd lost everything except the clothes she'd been wearing. With his case full Leo's eyes came to rest on the framed newspaper clipping hanging on the wall: the photo of himself, the war hero, the tank destroyer, the liberator of occupied soil. His past made no difference to these guards: with the signing of an arrest warrant every act of heroism and personal sacrifice had been made irrelevant. Leo took the clipping out of the frame. After years of carefully preserving it, revering it on the wall as though it were a holy icon, he folded it down the middle and tossed it in the case.

Their time was up. Leo shut his case. Raisa shut hers. He wondered if they'd ever see this apartment again. It was unlikely.

Escorted downstairs, all five of them crammed into the elevator, pressed together. There was a car waiting. Two of the officers sat in the front. One sat in the back, his breath stinking, sandwiched in between Leo and Raisa.

-I'd like to see my parents. I'd like to say goodbye.

-No f.u.c.king requests.

Five in the morning and the departure hall was already busy. There were soldiers, civilian pa.s.sengers, station workers all orbiting the Trans-Siberian express train. The engine, still clad in armour plating from the war, was embossed on the side with the words HAIL TO COMMUNISM HAIL TO COMMUNISM. While pa.s.sengers boarded the train, Leo and Raisa waited at the end of the platform, holding their cases and flanked by their armed escort. As though they were infected with a contagious virus, no one approached them, an isolated bubble in a crowded station. They'd been given no explanation, nor did Leo bother asking for one. He had no idea where they were going or who they were waiting for. There was still a chance they'd be sent to different Gulags, never to see each other again. However, this was unmistakably a pa.s.senger train, not the zak zak cars, the red cattle trucks used to transport prisoners. Was it possible they were going to escape with their lives? There was no doubt that they'd been lucky so far. They were still alive, still together, more than Leo had dared to hope for. cars, the red cattle trucks used to transport prisoners. Was it possible they were going to escape with their lives? There was no doubt that they'd been lucky so far. They were still alive, still together, more than Leo had dared to hope for.

After Leo's testimony he'd been sent home, placed under house arrest until a decision could be made. He'd expected it to take no more than a day. On the way to his apartment, on the fourteenth-floor landing, aware that he still had the incriminating hollow coin in his pocket, Leo had tossed it over the side. Maybe Vasili had planted it, maybe not, it no longer mattered. When Raisa had arrived back from school she'd found two armed officers outside their door; she'd been searched and ordered to remain inside. Leo had explained their predicament: the allegations against her, his own investigation and his denial of the charges. He hadn't needed to explain that their chances of survival were slim. As he'd talked she'd listened without comment or question, expressionless. When he'd finished her response had taken him by surprise.

-It was naive to think this wouldn't happen to us too.

They'd sat in their apartment, expecting the MGB to come at any minute. Neither of them had bothered to cook; neither of them had been hungry even though the sensible thing to do would've been to eat as much as possible in preparation for what might lay ahead. They hadn't got undressed for bed, they hadn't moved from the kitchen table. They'd sat in silencewaiting. Considering they might never see each other again Leo had felt an urge to talk to his wife: to say things that needed to be said. But he'd been unable to formulate what they might be. As the hours pa.s.sed he'd realized this was the most time they'd spent together, face to face, uninterrupted, for as long as he could remember. Neither of them had known what to do with it.

The knock on the door hadn't come that night. Four in the morning had pa.s.sed, there'd been no arrest. As it had approached midday the following day, Leo made breakfast, wondering why they were taking so long. When the first knock on the door finally came, he and Raisa had stood up, breathing fast, expecting this to be the end, the arrival of officers collecting them, splitting them apart and taking them to their separate interrogations. Instead it was some trivial matter: a changing of the guards, an officer using their bathroom, questions about buying food. Perhaps they couldn't find any evidence, perhaps they'd be cleared and the case against them would collapse. Leo had only flirted with these thoughts briefly: accusations never collapsed through lack of proof. All the same, a day became two days, two days became four days.

A week into their confinement, a guard had entered the apartment, ashen-faced. Seeing him, Leo had been certain their time had finally come, only to listen as the guard announced, in a voice trembling with emotion, that their Leader, Stalin, was dead. Only at this moment did Leo allow himself to contemplate whether or not they might just have a chance of surviving.

Able to gather the vaguest details of their Leader's demisethe newspapers had been hysterical, the guards hystericalall Leo could piece together was that Stalin had died peacefully in his bed. His last words had purportedly been about their great country and their great country's future. Leo didn't believe it for a second, too schooled in paranoia and plot not to see the cracks in the story. He knew from his work that Stalin had recently arrested the country's foremost doctors, doctors who had spent their entire working lives keeping him well, as part of a purge of prominent Jewish figures. It struck him as no coincidence that Stalin had died of apparently natural causes at a time when there were no expert medical professionals to identify the source of his sudden illness. Morality aside, the great Leader's purge had been a tactical error. It had left him exposed. Leo had no idea whether Stalin had been murdered or not. With the doctors locked up that certainly gave any would-be a.s.sa.s.sins a free hand to do as they pleased, which was to sit back and watch him die, safe in the knowledge that the very men and women who could stop them were behind bars. Having said that, it was just as possible that Stalin had fallen ill and no one dared contradict his orders and release the doctors. If Stalin had recovered they might have been executed for disobedience.

This skulduggery was of little importance to Leo. What was important was that the man was dead. Everyone's sense of order and certainty had dissolved. Who would take over? How would they run the country? What decisions would they make? Which officers would be in favour and which would be out of favour? What was acceptable under Stalin might be unacceptable under new rule. The absence of a leader would mean temporary paralysis. No one wanted to make a decision unless they knew their decision would be approved. For decades no one had taken action according to what they believed was right or wrong but by what they thought would please their leader. People had lived or died depending on his annotations on a list: a line against a name saved a person, no mark meant they were left to die. That was the judicial systemline or no line. Closing his eyes, Leo had been able to imagine the muted panic within the corridors of the Lubyanka. Their moral compa.s.s had been neglected for so long it spun out of control: north was south and east was west. As for questions of what was right and wrongthey had no idea. They'd forgotten how to decide. In times like these the safest course of action was to do as little as possible.

In these circ.u.mstances the case of Leo Demidov and his wife, Raisa Demidova, which had no doubt proved divisive, inflammatory and problematic, was best shunted to the margins. That's why there'd been the delay. No one had wanted to touch it: everyone was too busy repositioning with the new power groups in the Kremlin. To complicate matters further, Lavrenti Beria, Stalin's closest aideand if anyone had poisoned Stalin, Leo suspected it was himhad already a.s.sumed the mantle of Leader and dismissed the notion that there was a plot, ordering the doctors to be released. Suspects released because they were innocentwho'd heard of such a thing? Certainly Leo couldn't remember any precedent. In these circ.u.mstances, prosecuting a decorated war hero, a man who'd made the front page of Pravda Pravda, without any evidence might be deemed risky. So, on the sixth of March, instead of a knock on the door bringing news of their fate, Leo and Raisa had been granted permission to attend the State funeral of their great Leader.

Still technically under house arrest, Leo and Raisa and their two guards had dutifully joined the crowds, all of them making their way towards Red Square. Many had been crying, some uncontrollablymen and women and childrenand Leo had wondered if there was a person in sight, out of all the hundreds of thousands gathered in their collective grief, who hadn't lost some family or friend to the man they were apparently mourning. The atmosphere, fraught, charged with an overwhelming sense of sadness, perhaps had something to do with an idolization of this dead man. Leo had heard many people, even in the most brutal of interrogations, cry out that if only Stalin knew about the excesses excesses of the MGB he would intervene. Whatever the real reason behind the sadness, the funeral had offered a legitimate outlet for years of pent-up misery, an opportunity to cry, to hug your neighbour, to express a sadness that had never previously been allowed to show itself because it implied some criticism of the State. of the MGB he would intervene. Whatever the real reason behind the sadness, the funeral had offered a legitimate outlet for years of pent-up misery, an opportunity to cry, to hug your neighbour, to express a sadness that had never previously been allowed to show itself because it implied some criticism of the State.

The main streets around the State Duma had been packed so tight with people it was hard to breathe, moving forward with as little control as a rock caught in a rockslide. Leo had never let go of Raisa's hand and although shoulders pressed into him from all sides he'd made sure they weren't pulled apart. They'd quickly been separated from their guards. As they'd neared the Square the crowd contracted further. Feeling the squeeze, the mounting hysteria, Leo had decided enough. By chance, they'd been pushed to the edge of the crowd and he'd stepped into a doorway, helping Raisa out of the crowd. They'd sheltered there, watching as the streams of people continued past. It had been the right decision. Up ahead, people had been crushed to death.

In the chaos they could've attempted escape. They'd considered it, debated it, whispering to each other in that doorway. The guards accompanying them had been lost. Raisa had wanted to run. But running would've given the MGB all the reason they needed to execute them. And from a practical point of view they had no money, no friends and no place to hide. If they'd decided to run Leo's parents would've been executed. They'd been lucky so far. Leo had staked their lives on braving it out.

The last of the pa.s.sengers had finished boarding. The station master, seeing the uniforms cl.u.s.tered on the platform by the engine, was holding the departure for them. The train driver leant out of his cabin, trying to figure out what the problem was. Curious pa.s.sengers were stealing glances out of windows at this young couple in some sort of trouble.

Leo could see a uniformed officer walking towards them. It was Vasili. Leo had been expecting him. He'd hardly miss the opportunity to gloat. Leo felt a flicker of anger but it was imperative he kept his emotions under control. There was, perhaps, a trap still to be set.

Raisa had never seen Vasili before but she'd heard Leo's description of him.

A hero's face, a henchman's heart.

Even at a glance she could tell there was something not quite right about him. He was handsome, certainly, but he was smiling as though a smile had been invented to express nothing other than ill will. When he finally reached them she noticed his pleasure at Leo's humiliation and his disappointment that it wasn't greater.

Vasili widened his smile.

-I insisted that they wait, so I could say goodbye. And explain what has been decided for you. I wanted to do it personally, you understand?

He was enjoying himself. As much as this man appalled Leo it was stupid to risk angering him when they'd survived so much. In a voice barely audible he muttered: -I appreciate that.

-You've been rea.s.signed. It was impossible to keep you in the MGB with so many unanswered questions over your head. You're going to join the militia. Not as a syshchik syshchik, not as a detective, but as the lowest entry position, an uchastkovyy uchastkovyy. You'll be the man who cleans the holding cells, the man who takes notesthe man who does as he's told. You need to get used to taking orders if you're to survive.

Leo understood Vasili's disappointment. This punishmentemployed exile in the local police forcewas light. Considering the severity of the allegations they could've faced twenty-five-year terms mining gold in Kolyma, where temperatures were fifty below freezing and prisoners' hands were deformed by frostbite and where the life expectancy was three months. They'd escaped not only with their lives but with their freedom. Leo didn't imagine that Major Kuzmin had done it out of sentimentality. The truth was that he would've embarra.s.sed himself by prosecuting his protege. In a time of political instability it was far better, far shrewder to simply send him away under the guise of a relocation. Kuzmin didn't want his judgement scrutinized; after all if Leo was a spy why had Kuzmin favoured him with promotions? No, those questions were awkward. It was easier and safer just to brush him under the corner of some rug. Understanding that any sign of relief would aggravate Vasili, Leo did his best to look crestfallen.

-I'll do my duty wherever I'm needed.

Vasili stepped forward, pressing the tickets and paperwork into Leo's hands. Leo took the doc.u.ments and moved towards the train.

Raisa stepped up onto the carriage. As she did, Vasili called out.

-It must have been difficult to hear that your husband had followed you. And not just once, I'm sure he'd told you about that. He followed you twice. On the other occasion it wasn't State business. He didn't think you were a spy. He thought you were a s.l.u.t. You must forgive him that. Everyone has their doubts. And you are pretty. Personally, I don't think you're worth giving up everything for. I suspect when your husband comes to realize what a s.h.i.+thole we've sent him to he'll grow to hate you. Me, I would've kept the apartment and had you shot as a traitor. All I can suppose is that you must be some great f.u.c.k.

Raisa wondered at this man's obsession with her husband. But she remained silent: a retort might cost them their lives. She took her suitcase and opened the carriage door.

Leo followed her, carefully not to turn around. There was a chance, if he saw Vasili's smirk, that he might not be able to control himself.

Raisa stared out of the window. The train departed the station. There were no seats available and they were forced to stand, cramped together. Neither of them spoke for some time, watching the city roll past. Finally, Leo said: -I'm sorry.

-I'm sure he was lying. He would've said anything to get under your skin.

-He was telling the truth. I had you followed. And it had nothing to do with my work. I thought...

-That I was sleeping with someone else?

-There was a time when you wouldn't talk to me. You wouldn't touch me. You wouldn't sleep with me. We were strangers. And I couldn't understand why.

-You can't marry an MGB officer and not expect to be followed. But tell me, Leo, how could I be unfaithful? I'd be risking my life. We wouldn't have argued about it. You'd just have me arrested.

-Is that what you think would happen?

-You remember my friend Zoya, you met her once, I think?

-Perhaps, I don't know.

-Yes, that's rightyou never remember anyone's name, do you? I wonder why? Is that how you're able to sleep at night, by blanking events from your mind?

Raisa spoke quickly, calmly and with an intensity Leo hadn't heard before. She continued: -You did meet Zoya. Perhaps she didn't register, but then she wasn't very important in Party terms. She was given a twenty-year sentence. They arrested her as she stepped out of a church, accusing her of anti-Stalinist prayers. Prayers, Leothey convicted her on the basis of prayers they hadn't even heard. They arrested her on the basis of the thoughts in her head.

-Why didn't you tell me? I might've helped.

Raisa shook her head. Leo asked: -You think I denounced her?

-Would you even know? You can't even remember who she is.

Leo was taken aback: he and his wife had never spoken like this before, never spoken about anything other than the household ch.o.r.es, polite conversationthey'd never raised their voices, never had an argument.

-Even if you didn't denounce her, Leo, how could you have helped? When the men who arrested her were men like youdedicated, devoted servants of the State? That night you didn't come home. And I realized you were probably arresting someone else's best friend, someone else's parents, someone else's children. Tell me, exactly how many people have you arrested? Do you have any idea? Say a numberfifty, two hundred, a thousand?