Maruška has tears in her eyes.
I lean towards her, into her breath, and she smacks me in the face.
I thought you’d be glad we were back together again. I wrench the words out, slowly, to keep from biting my tongue as we jolt along the road.
You better fucking believe I am! You’re my assignment. But I had to leave my kids back there. Thanks to you.
We didn’t talk after that.
11
The sun climbs through the mist above the trees. The APC rolls onward, the forest around us thick as night. We climb a slope, and when we come to a bend in the road I do it, before I can change my mind. I slide down the side of the carrier into a snowdrift, and once the APC has rumbled out of sight, I take a breath, stand up, and scramble into the woods. Along the way I tear off the bandages Maruška put on, no need for them any more. Everywhere I’ve been I’ve run away, as soon as I had the chance. I think of Maruška’s children, her relationship with Alex, nothing I can do about that. I take another couple of steps and Kagan’s standing right there. He walks up and gives me a slap.
I’m not his apprentice, though, or some wimpy little student. I look around the woods. I could bury you right here, Kagan, after I get through with you. He laughs in my face.
What about those students of yours, you shithead? I say. He just snickers, doesn’t even get mad.
The best of every generation are sacrificed, Francysk Skaryna said that, and he was a true humanist, not like us, Kagan says, grinning at me. He turns and walks away and I follow him — what else can I do?
Alex helps me up and says, Don’t try anything stupid or we’ll tie you up. Besides, where would you go? You’ll freeze to death!
We drive off. A tap on the shoulder. Maruška opens the satchel with the red cross on it, offers me a pill, a sweet. I take it. She pops one too.
A big man stands by a spruce tree, its branches sagging with snow. Fur hat, rifle across his chest, dark glasses. He waves. We turn down an inconspicuous path into a forest so dense it takes a moment before I can even breathe.
A wooden cottage, a fence, a table with a roof over it, surrounded by wooden benches, a fire pit of glowing logs, some bearded guys in fatigues. One of them, in a red ski cap, clicks his heels and salutes. The commander leaps down from the APC. The men gently carry the professor, wrapped in blankets, his long thin legs dangling in slippers. Alex is giving them orders. Some other guys with beards are carrying plates and bottles to the table under the roof. I’m hungry and all of a sudden I realize that maybe I should hide the Spider someplace else, since who knows what’s going to happen to me? Out here in the wilderness. After I’ve given it to Alex.
The commander shakes my hand and says, I’m Arthur. Welcome to our partisan brigade, brother!
The burning wood is warm and tangy. We sit down at the table under the roof: Kagan, Arthur, Alex, and me. Maruška stands behind the commander like a new recruit waiting to report. Alex hands her a plate. She nibbles daintily while we wolf down our food. Then Arthur pours vodka all round. Kagan unbuttons his coat, plants a cigar in his mouth. We sit like that a while.
Forgive me the drama, brothers, Arthur says, hanging his head.
I think it’s just for show, he’s actually enjoying himself.
Nobody says a word.
I had to satisfy the mob, you understand, don’t you, brothers? He drops his head again.
We’re all still waiting.
I have my orders, I’m a soldier! Arthur cries. You know my only access to the president is as a soldier serving my homeland, he says.
Right, that’s why you’re the one who always leads the clean-up actions, Kagan says icily.
Oh, come now, brother! Don’t you believe me? Arthur lays one hand on his heart and grabs Kagan’s hand with the other.
No, says Kagan, and Alex laughs. Alex sits, legs stretched out, also puffing away.
I get results, Arthur says sternly. I saw the president and the president agrees.
Kagan and Alex act like it’s nothing, but they prick up their ears.
The president has an interest in utilizing burial sites and developing tourism. As do the opposition leaders. So it’s been decided. This entire zone — he waves his hand around the trees — will be off limits to both sides. Khatyn will be home to the Devil’s Workshop, a museum for Europe, for the world. And this partisan unit — he points to some of the bearded guys staggering around — will be neutral, and answer to no one but the Ministry of Tourism. Not bad, right? What do you say?
Arthur leans back and stretches his massive body, cracks his knuckles, folds his arms on his chest.
Excellent, Alex says finally. Smiling.
Let’s have a toast, then, Arthur says, rising to his feet. To the Devil’s Workshop!
We stand and drink. Alex gives Maruška a glass as well.
Arthur loosens his belt, lights a smoke.
We’ll remain neutral, whoever wins, the opposition or the president. One day this little civil war of ours will end. And the country will open up. With or without the president. We need to have something to offer the world. Something no one else has got.
Arthur steps behind me and throws his arm around my shoulder like we’re long-lost friends.
My Czech brother, he says, crushing my arm. Syabro! You’ve done a fine job! You captured the attention of the world. You turned — what is it called? He snaps his fingers at Maruška.
Terezín! she blurts out. In the middle of eating a plum. Nearly chokes. She puts down her plate.
You turned Terezín into a real cause célèbre. You had contributions from politicians, governments, arms dealers, pacifists, nationalists, Madonna, and all within a short time, eh?
Five months, Maruška peeps.
And how much was it? Arthur asks.
Maruška says a number that takes my breath away. I feel for the Spider. Still there. In my sock. I had nothing to do with the money. The board members and the eggheads from the Monument probably gobbled it up.
Brother — Arthur leans towards me, breathing in my face — you know how many tourists a year come to Belarus?
Three thousand five hundred and something, Maruška answers for me. I have no idea.
It’s high time that changed, Arthur says. Guess who had the most casualties during the war? We did! Guess who had the most people murdered under communism? We did. And guess who still has people disappearing, eh? We do! That’s the division of labour in the globalized world of today, dammit! Thailand: sex. Italy: paintings and seaside. Holland: clogs and cheese. Right? And Belarus? Horror trip, right? Don’t look so serious, for fuck’s sake! Arthur bellowed. You could tell he was used to giving orders.
Visit the Devil’s Workshop, the European monument to genocide! Arthur declared in a booming voice, pouring everyone another round of vodka.