“When are you leaving, Dad?”
Ida was standing in the bedroom doorway with an open book in her hand. She was reading The Lord of the Rings and had been discussing it with Morten as if she had personally invented the universe, or at least been the one to discover the books. The film version had, of course, been part of her classmates’ stable diet since they were Anton’s age.
Ida would say things like, “I’m not sure about Tolkien’s view of women,” and Morten would listen to her and answer her without batting an eyelid, never letting on that she had seized on the stalest of topics in one of the most endlessly debated books in the galaxy. James Bond teaching Literature. Nina was profoundly envious.
“I’m off in a minute,” Morten said, casting a quick glance at his watch, “but call me on the train, and we can say goodnight.”
Ida smiled, and planted a quick kiss on her father’s cheek. She was wearing scent of some kind, Nina realized. Something sweet and a little too heavy.
“Keep your fingers crossed for my hockey match,” she said. Then she waved and vanished back into her bedroom without even giving Nina a glance. The sound of muffled music seeped out into the hallway and on into their bedroom, and Nina knew she wouldn’t be seeing any more of Ida tonight.
Morten didn’t seem to have noticed any of this. He was leaning toward her so she could feel the warmth from his body.
“We still have our deal, right?” he asked softly.
Nina nodded. Their deal. Their Big, Important Deal. No underground work for the Network while Morten was away. She hoped no one from the ever-changing flock of illegal immigrants that Peter from the Network took under his wing would break an arm or a leg or come down with symptoms of appendicitis in the next fortnight.
“Of course,” she said.
“And remember.…” Morten whispered, pulling Nina in tight against him and kissing her mischievously on the nose. Feeling patronized, Nina wrapped her arms around his neck and stood with her nose right up against his throat.
“Remember you’re driving the girls to roller hockey on Wednesday. It’s our turn.”
Nina nodded quickly. Roller hockey was one of the few of Ida’s activities Nina was still allowed to attend. Maybe more out of necessity than desire on Ida’s part, but Nina had to take what she could get. Morten gently maneuvered his way out of her arms and went to say goodbye to Anton.
NINA STOOD THERE for a moment in the hallway, listening to his light, energetic steps descending the stairs. Then she turned around and went back to the kitchen. Ida had turned up her music, and a significant amount of bass penetrated the wall, reaching Nina and the chaotic kitchen table that still hadn’t been cleared. Anton had brushed his teeth and was in bed in his room with a comic book and his bedside light on, and Nina suddenly felt utterly miserable. Alone.
Two weeks, she thought, glancing at the calendar. Come on. The world won’t fall apart in two weeks.
He had left his door ajar to admit at least a trickle of cross ventilation; to Ferenc, that was obviously an invitation.
“When’s your big exam?” Ferenc asked.
“Thursday.” Sándor was hit by a surge of nerves at the mere thought. But he had it under control, he told himself. He knew his stuff. He just needed to take another look at—
His thoughts were interrupted when Ferenc suddenly grabbed hold of him. “Good. We of the Sándor Liberation Committee have officially nominated you the best-prepared student in the history of this university. And we’ve also decided that it’s high time we intervene to prevent your body’s ability to metabolize alcohol from atrophying completely. Put some clothes on, pal.”
Sándor found himself standing in the middle of his room, still wearing only his underwear and desperately clutching Blackstone’s International Law.
“Knock it off, Ferenc. I can’t—”
“I’m afraid the Committee’s decision cannot be appealed. Please don’t force us to resort to violence.”
Ferenc wasn’t alone. Out in the hallway stood Henk, a Dutch exchange student who was studying music like Ferenc, and Mihály, who was in Sándor’s class. And also Lujza.
Ferenc threw Sándor’s trousers in his face.
“Here. Hop to it, or you’re going as you are.”
Sándor’s whole body was stiff with passive resistance. It’s just for fun, he told himself, relax. But he couldn’t force the appropriate you-guys-are-crazy grin onto his face, and his lack of response gradually caused the others’ broad smiles to fade.
“Come on, Sándor,” Ferenc said.
He finally “hopped to it,” as Ferenc put it. He could move again. He set Blackstone on his desk and then balanced awkwardly on one foot while he tried to stuff his other foot into his chinos.
“You guys are crazy,” Sándor grumbled, and their smiles returned.
Ferenc patted him on the shoulder. “That’s the spirit,” he said in the fake British accent he was cultivating because it went so well with his Hugh Grant style. Lujza smiled at Sándor, candidly and warmly like in the old days before the baptism.
I can always get up extra early tomorrow, Sándor promised himself. After all, he was better prepped than anyone else he knew.
WHEN THEY GOT downstairs, there was a police car parked across the street from them. Two officers were just getting out.
Sándor was trying to close the defective front door without much luck. The others stopped to wait for him.
“Just leave it,” Ferenc said. “In five minutes someone else will come out, and then it’ll be wide open again.”
Sándor gave up. When he turned around, the two police officers were a few meters away. The older one, a muscular man whose light-blue uniform shirt had big sweat stains under his arms, checked a printout he had in his hand.
“Does a Sándor Horváth live here?” he asked.
Sándor froze. The other four also suddenly went still, their laughter faded, their faces stiffened.
“What seems to be the problem, officer?” Ferenc asked politely.
“That’s him,” the other officer said, pointing at Sándor.
“Turn around,” the first one said sharply. “Hands up against the wall. Now!”
When Sándor didn’t move, remaining rigid and mute, they grabbed his arm, spun him around, pushed him up against the wall, and kicked at his ankles until he was leaning against the sun-baked bricks at an angle. If he moved his hands, he would fall over. They frisked him quickly and matter-of-factly.
“What are you doing?” Lujza yelled at them. “Let him go! What is it you think he did?”
“None of your business, little lady,” the one with the sweat stains replied.
“You can’t just.…” Lujza yelled. “Stop!”
Sándor couldn’t see her. He couldn’t see anything except a couple of square meters of crumbling sidewalk and the drop of sweat that was trickling down his nose.
“Sándor,” Mihály said suddenly. “You ask them. If you ask, they have to answer. The detainee must be informed of the charges and all that.”