“You look as tired as I do,” Margarita says. “How long is it since you’ve heard from him?”
“I haven’t. I only found out just over a week ago, from the doorman in his building. If I think of all that he’s been through all this time. I didn’t even get to say good-bye, not that a good-bye would have been any help.”
“I barely did myself—say good-bye—it happened so quickly. He was here, at home, then he wasn’t. No warning of what it would be. I had no idea of the seriousness.”
“Did he?”
“Yes, although he didn’t let on. But when I think back, the way he played with the kids, I could tell. Lifting them up, turning them upside down. Things he hadn’t done since they were much smaller. A need to touch them. I should have known then. But we find ways, don’t we, to deny what’s in front of us.”
Maria nods. Margarita checks her watch.
“I can’t stay too long. I came to town to get a break, leave it all behind for an hour. But now that I’m here, I feel I should be back there. I don’t want them to wonder about me.”
“The girls?”
“No, the girls know where I am. I mean the watchers. I can’t even tell how many of them there are—maybe just four, taking it in shifts. If I think about them filing their reports… How do you wake up in the morning and go to a job like that?”
“They enjoy it.”
“Of course they do. My Sasha waves at them on the way to school. They wave back, all smiles, shameless. I told her they’re friends of Vasily’s, told her they miss him as much as she does. Told her they’d get upset if she ever talked about her father to them, they’d start to cry. I don’t know if she believes me or if she’s just putting on a show. I find such things hard to distinguish now. She never asks about her father. Maybe because she knows I won’t tell her anything. But it’s also possible she knows more than I do. Not a single question in the past two or three months. As if we’re living in totally normal circumstances.”
“Have you talked to him?”
“If you can call it that. I can hardly recognize it’s him. He’s developed this mechanical way of speaking to me. I know he does this to let me know he’s not keeping things from me on purpose, to remind me that they’re listening, but it feels like having a conversation with the memory of your husband. It’s only at the end, when we talk about my day, when he asks about the girls, says his good-byes, it’s only then his voice warms. It’s only then I get a little of him through the phone line.”
“So you know nothing either?”
“Not anything more than we see on TV. ‘You don’t need to worry,’ he says. ‘We’re making a lot of progress here,’ he says. ‘The men are very committed,’ he says. So, I worry.”
“This is what we do.”
“This is what we do. You haven’t been together for years, but of course you worry. How can you not?”
“Has he mentioned Grigory?”
“No. I’ve asked him, certainly. But whenever I ask, he says he has a meeting to go to. He obviously says this when there’s something he can’t discuss. I ask him why they’re having meetings at night. Can they not plan their days a little better? He doesn’t even laugh.”
Maria rakes her fingers across her forehead.
“Don’t read too much into it—or maybe do, I don’t know. He can’t talk about anything, believe me. He can only tell me about such mundane things. If he could talk about it, at least then I’d feel I’m helping. A voice he can turn to.”
“He hears your voice. I’m sure it’s helping more than you know.”
“At least they have each other, going through what they’re going through.”
“We can’t imagine.”
“You, maybe. You’ve been out there, seen the country. Me, I even forget what the Arbat looks like.” Margarita looks around. “It must be six months since I’ve been down here. My own city.”
A trumpet player blasts out a solo, and they wait for him to finish. Margarita puts her fingers in her ears, attracting looks of scorn. The piano temporarily takes over, and the trumpeter twists the mouthpiece off his instrument, jabs the corner of his shirt in there, whirls it around, dumps spit from the body of the thing, buying time. He waits again for his moment, like a schoolboy with his hand up, eager to show off his abilities. When he finishes there’s a ripple of applause and Maria leans in close again.
“I’ve been to the hospital every day. They pass me from one desk to another. Nothing.”
“The hospital, please. Vasily hasn’t been paid in months. They’re refusing to look into it; apparently it’s not their responsibility. I took Sasha in to them, got her to pull up her shirt, show off her ribs. I thought I could guilt them into handing over something. But no, the woman didn’t even flinch. Now they just direct me to the ministry. So much paperwork. Pink and blue and yellow forms. Still no payment. I tell Vasily this when we speak; he says he’s made calls, he’s had senior people approach the ministry. He says they’re snowed under with administrative matters. There’s a lot to deal with, he says.”
“Meanwhile…”
“Exactly. Meanwhile.”
A few couples get up to dance, and the women watch them turn and sway.
Margarita speaks softly now, not taking her eyes off the floor. “Vera had a headache the other night so I sent her to bed early. Maybe it’s worry—who knows? I don’t want to think about it. You remember Vera?”
“Of course.”
“Anyway, she sleeps through the night and in the morning she doesn’t have time to do her homework. So I give her a note. She’s a good girl, Vera, she doesn’t want to get in trouble, already has her mind set on university, wants to wear a white coat like her father.”
A woman in grey rests her head on her husband’s chest, closes her eyes, rubs her hand along the back of his shoulders as they move.
“She comes home shaking. I’m wondering if it’s a fever, but there’s no temperature. Finally I get it out of her. Two men stop her on the way back, ask for the note. How they even know she has one is beyond me.”
“Maybe she was reading it on the street.”
“This is what I asked her, but no. She’s certain about it, and I don’t doubt her. She’s smart enough not to attract attention. But they stop her and they let her know they’re around, tell her if there are any other notes they’d like to see them.”
“She’s not so old.”
“And I have to ask myself.”
“That’s frightening for a kid.”
“I have to ask myself: why, if Vasily is doing their work, are they watching, listening, denying his family a decent meal? I mean, is this what it means to be a good citizen? I mean, we’re hardly a threat. I just don’t understand why they’re giving us all this attention.”
Margarita shakes her head, looks at her watch again.
Maria says, “I have a little money saved—very little—but I want you to have it.”
“Of course I can’t do this, you have your own struggles.”
“Grigory would want me to.”
“You have no responsibility to us.”
“I do. We are responsible for each other now.”
Margarita holds the sides of her chair, closes her eyes. “You coming out of nowhere. You don’t know what this means.”
After a moment Maria stands and says, “Please, it’s nothing. This is for me. If I can’t help Grigory, I can at least help you.”
Margarita rises too, takes her hand, kisses her cheek. “Be careful.”
“I will. You too. I’ll be in touch.”
“I’ll try to send word, let Grigory know you’re thinking of him.”