Child 44

– Anatoly Brodsky is a traitor. If you help him in any way even by saying nothing you will be treated as an accomplice. The pressure is on you to prove your loyalty to the State. There is no pressure on us to prove your guilt. That, right now, is taken for granted.

The elderly man, the grandfather, no doubt a savvy survivor, was quick to offer every piece of information he had. Copying Leo’s choice of words, he claimed the traitor had gone to work that morning a little earlier carrying the same case as usual, wearing the same coat and hat. Not wishing to seem uncooperative the grandfather offered opinions and suggestions as to where this traitor could be, all of which Leo sensed were nothing more than desperate guesswork. The grandfather concluded by saying how much everyone in their family disliked and mistrusted Brodsky as a neighbour and how the only person who liked him was Zina Morosovna, the lady living downstairs.

Zina Morosovna was aged somewhere in her fifties and trembling like a child, a fact she was trying unsuccessfully to hide by smoking. Leo found her standing beside a cheap reproduction of a famous Stalin portrait – smooth skin, wise eyes – hung prominently over her fireplace. Perhaps she thought it might protect her. Leo didn’t bother to introduce himself, or show his identity card, cutting straight to the chase in an effort to disorient her.

– Why is it you’re such good friends with Anatoly Brodsky when everyone else in this building disliked and mistrusted him?

Zina was caught off guard; her sense of discretion blunted by her indignation at this lie:

– Everyone in this building liked Anatoly. He was a good man.

– Brodsky is a spy. Yet you call him good? Treachery is a virtue?

Realizing her mistake too late, Zina began to qualify her comment.

– All I meant was that he was very considerate with the noise. He was polite.

These qualifications were stuttering and irrelevant. Leo ignored them. He took out a pad and wrote down her ill-chosen words in large visible letters.

HE WAS A GOOD MAN

He wrote clearly so that she could see exactly what he was writing: he was writing off the next fifteen years of her life. Those words were more than enough to convict her as a collaborator. She’d receive a lengthy sentence as a political prisoner. At her age she had little chance of surviving the Gulags. He didn’t need to say any of these threats aloud. They were common currency.

Zina retreated to the corner of the room, stubbed out her cigarette and immediately regretted it, fumbling for another.

– I don’t know where Anatoly has gone but I do know that he has no family. His wife was killed in the war. His son died of tuberculosis. He rarely had any visitors. As far as I could tell he had few friends…

She paused. Anatoly had been her friend. They’d spent many nights together, eating and drinking. There was a time when she’d even hoped that he might fall in love with her but he’d showed no interest. He’d never got over the loss of his wife. Caught up in her recollections she glanced at Leo. He wasn’t impressed.

– I want to know where he is. I don’t care about his dead wife or his dead son. His life story doesn’t interest me unless it’s relevant to where he is right now.

Her life was in the balance – there was only one way to survive. But could she betray a man she loved? To her surprise the decision took less deliberation then she would’ve expected.