IT wasn’t easy to find the way back to her room. Without a guide, she walked down the wrong hallway, passing open doors and beds with no one in them. Of course, the whole wing was unoccupied. How could it be otherwise? The spa existed only to house Stein. It would be instructive to reproduce the chain of circumstances, from the supposed stroke in Moscow to the elaborate creation of a prison staffed with medical professionals, and finally to the reason why he had been kept alive at all. Yet that was not her task. Rather, she thought about the view from the window of her room. Could she find that river and bridge, and Poland? She’d have a week.
But she’d have to buy time. Bondi would never let her out of his sight. She knew that now. What if she just gave him what he wanted? It was no great loss. After all, the footage meant nothing on its own. She would need witnesses who would come forward, who could confirm events, not Stein, but others she might find if she crossed Poland and made it into Russia, if she gathered transcripts and authentic documents, the canister of film would be irrelevant. Finding all of this would be lonely work. Still, it would be her work, again.
She would have to be careful, though. Even as she knew this, something in her beat it back. She didn’t want to be careful. She wanted to be honest. By the time she finally ran into a young man in scrubs, she said, “I’m lost,” and the man recognized her and politely led her back to her room. Bondi had already unpacked both suitcases and sat on the bed, looking grim. Outside, the meadow and the woods were blue with twilight.
“You’re angry,” Judit said.
“No,” said Bondi. “Just disappointed.”
“Here,” Judit said. “Just like I promised.” She handed him the canister, and he took it without a word. She added, “You know, he thinks you’re here to kill him.”
“What’s the point?” Bondi said, still not looking at her. There was an edge to his voice. Then, “I ordered us dinner. They serve it here in the room.”
“It’s a beautiful evening. Can’t we take a walk?”
“You need to start eating regular meals,” Bondi said.
“You’re at least five years younger than me, Joseph. Stop pretending to be my father. I don’t like it.”
She did eat the food that was brought by that same young man in scrubs, her first full dinner in what felt like half a lifetime, salad and bread and chicken and green beans, apple strudel with vanilla ice cream, all rolled in on a table and served with a wine that made Judit just drunk enough to wish life were less complicated. Bondi thawed a little. She told him about Steinsaltz smashing that glass, and he said, “That sounds like him. The man’s a brute.”
“Are you a brute?” Judit asked carefully.
“No, I’m not,” said Bondi.
“You are in bed,” Judit said. Then she wished she hadn’t said it because it implied that other things would happen, and set up an expectation she suspected neither could fulfill.
That was the case. After the orderly removed the table, they shared that narrow bed, and what she’d said was half a wish and half a curse. How clear is the border between the world in bed and out of bed? What if that border opens unawares and everything her body tells her becomes just as true as what her spirit knows? She was afraid of Bondi now. No, even if she hadn’t accurately named who this man was to her, she’d always been afraid. Since the death of Hans, bringing her whole self forward to cross the border of that fear was what love had become for her. That was life after death, what she could face, but there were some things she couldn’t face and couldn’t name or they would become true. Bondi and Judit both lay naked under the thin hospital blanket. His back gave off familiar acid heat, and Judit knew that if she reached out to him, he’d respond, and if he reached out to her, she’d respond, but neither moved.
At some point, Judit must have fallen asleep. When she woke up, it was well past daybreak. Bondi stood over her, already dressed.
“I’ve scheduled something for this morning.”
She blinked sleep out of her eyes. “Joseph, I think I should just go home.”
“I’ve scheduled something,” Bondi said again. “Since we’re here.” His face looked strange, tight around the mouth and eyes. She felt groggy and irritable, and then she looked past him.
She was in a different room. That much was clear. And what she’d thought was sunlight was a long fluorescent lamp above her head. A black monitor hung on a gurney, and beyond that, a gray curtain separated Judit from the door. “Was there something in the food?” Judit asked, and then she couldn’t speak at all, because the curtain parted.
The technician’s neat gray hair was arranged in a perfect dome. Her uniform was covered by a gray tunic, and she looked at Judit without recognition. She said, “So it’s a high-risk pregnancy? Sixteen weeks along?”
“That’s what we need to find out,” Bondi said. “Whether we need to terminate.”
“Well, it’s high time we took a look,” said the technician, and from a tube, she squeezed a length of gel on Judit’s stomach, and reached for her device.
Judit found her voice. “I can’t take a look, Joseph. Don’t let her. You have the film already. What do you want from me?”
Bondi exchanged a glance with the technician, and by then, Judit knew she’d been strapped to the table. She craned her neck and closed her eyes but she could feel the dull pressure, and heard the static, and as the device moved off in its own direction, she pulled at the restraints and arched her back and cried with all her strength:
“I won’t do anything to hurt her! I don’t want to know!”
JUDENSTAAT
THE cemetery was on the outskirts of Dresden. Because both Leonora and Judit had planned the outing well in advance, they had coordinated schedules, allowing for a late-morning trip and lunch in a café across from the gate. Leonora had gotten the day off from work, and was pleased and surprised that Judit didn’t need to be reminded.
But her daughter was far more thoughtful these days. She kept—what was the term?—banker’s hours. The amazing thing was that in spite of her new prominent position as director of the National Museum, Judit seemed to have more time for little things. She’d help with grocery shopping. She’d watch television with her in the evenings. On Sundays, she’d even do laundry, though Leonora always had to make sure she separated the more delicate fabrics.
“You’d think, all those beautiful things you have, you’d take better care of them,” she said, although most of that clothing gathered dust now. She also said, “I wish you’d cut your hair again. It looked so nice, that short style.”
“It didn’t grow out well,” Judit said, and that was true. It sprang out in all directions, and the highlights looked cheap and ragged. She took to tying it back with a rubber band. When Leonora got the nerve to bring up the question of the man who’d been in her life, Judit had shrugged and said, “He didn’t grow out well either.”
Leonora felt close enough to Judit to ask, “What does that mean?”
And she felt close enough to reply, “Mom, he was married.”
“Then good riddance to him,” Leonora said, feeling daring and proud, especially considering the little gift he’d left her daughter with, and when the October yartzeit approached, she said, “Are you sure you’re up to making the trip?”
“I’m looking forward to it,” Judit said. She seemed to mean it. She even dressed up, for her mother’s sake, in one of the skirts she had let out so it would fit under a loose T-shirt and nice blazer. “Will this do, Mom?” she asked.
“You look lovely, Judi,” Leonora said. “But are you sure they won’t miss you at work?”