“Let’s have another drink,” Ivan said, making peace.
But Sasha had turned to Irene.
“It’s true, I will miss you,” he said, his voice maudlin now. “At first you think, ah, Moscow, you don’t think- We had some good times, yes?” He leaned forward to her neck again.
“Sasha. Not here.”
“Why not here?” he said, looking around the room. “You think anybody will mind? In a place like this? With a Russian? Those days are over.”
“I didn’t mean that.”
“No? What then?”
“We’re not alone here.” Opening her hand to take in the table.
“Ivan? You think he can see anything? After the vodka? Ivan, can you see?”
Ivan wiped the air in front of his eyes, a blind gesture.
“Alex? You think he minds? You think he’s jealous? You were children, you said.”
“Yes, and now you’re the child. It’s getting late. We should go,” she said, then turned her head, a commotion at the door.
Helene Weigel, making her entrance, hair covered in a kerchief tied in the back, her face gaunt, tired from rehearsal, but pleased at the attention, actually touching people as she passed, regal.
“Alex, how nice. Bert told me you were here,” she said, offering her cheek to be kissed.
Introductions were made, but neither Sasha nor Ivan seemed to know who she was, so the conversation became intimate again, Weigel and Alex standing, Irene trying to placate Sasha at the table.
“How is it going?”
“Exhausting. I get up tired. But it’s going to be good, I think. Well, you know the play.”
“Bert says you’re wonderful.”
She waved her hand. “He doesn’t say it to me. Well, Bert. You know what’s interesting? Everyone’s coming. Today, the French cultural officer-can he have four tickets? And where do I get them? The Americans, the British, they’re all coming. Even with this.” She raised her eyes toward the ceiling. “The planes, all this trouble, and everyone still comes to see Brecht. So Marjorie,” she said, shifting gears. “You’ve heard from her? The divorce, it’s official?”
“I haven’t had the final papers yet. Any day, I guess.”
“Well, I’m sorry. But maybe you’re not? And sometimes it’s for the best. You’ll see. Peter will come visit, and I’ll make my chocolate cake.”
“He’d like that.”
Helene nodded. “It’s better than Salka’s. But don’t say that to her.” As if they had just come for the weekend and were expected back to Sunday dinner on Mabery Road. “Anyway,” she said, glancing around, “the life here. I don’t think it’s for her.”
“No.”
“Well, for anybody right now. But soon. And they’re all coming for Brecht. They won’t sit with each other in the Kommandatura, but they come to the Deutsches Theater. So maybe they should meet then, eh? They’re all there anyway, just bring the agenda.”
“After the curtain calls.”
Weigel smiled. “Of course after. Look, there’s Bert. Now he’s going to give me his notes-everything I did wrong.”
“Do you listen?”
“Well, you know, he’s a genius. So I listen.” She looked up. “Sometimes.”
“Everybody knows you,” Sasha said when Alex sat down again. He raised his glass. “Our famous author.”
“Well, at the Möwe,” Alex said, the mood pleasant again.
“We should go,” Irene said.
But Sasha was sitting back, comfortable, at peace. Ivan, half stupefied, was quiet.
“The new man-he’s a protégé of yours?” Something more for Campbell.
“No, no. Older. We met only at the Ministry.”
“But you recommended him?”
“I agreed he was the best,” Sasha said smoothly. When? “A good head on his shoulders. You need that here.”
“Like you,” Ivan said.
“You know, everyone lies. Were you a Nazi? Oh, no. And then you read the file.” He paused. “Denazification. How is such a thing possible anyway? Who else was here?”
“Not everybody was like that,” Irene said.
“Not you,” he said, touching her hair, “I know. But the rest-So you need something here.” He tapped the side of his head. “To pick out the lies.”
“A lie detector,” Alex said. “But no wires.”
“That’s right,” Sasha said, amused. “A lie detector. Up here.” He tapped his head again. “And then something here.” He held out a clenched fist. “A little steel.”
“And he has that?” Alex said.
“Stalingrad,” Ivan said. “Political officer. They were all bastards. Tough. No trouble in the mines with him.”
“There is no trouble in the mines,” Sasha said.
“No, of course not. I just meant-”
“You think that’s all it takes? Tough? Anyone can be tough. You have to know how to run things. Eighty, ninety villages in the district. Workers? Thousands. You think it’s easy, to keep all that going? Make the quotas? Things happen. You can’t always predict- It’s not just a question of being tough. Let’s see how he does, Saratov. I want to see that.”
“But you’ll be gone,” Irene said.
“Yes,” Sasha said, his face clouding, as if that hadn’t occurred to him.
“In Moscow!” Ivan said. “Think how wonderful. Maybe two secretaries-why not? One for the typing and one for-”
“Don’t talk foolishness,” Sasha said, cutting him off, then turned to Alex. “Who is the friend? The one under review?”
“Not a friend,” Alex said, wary. “Just someone I met. I don’t even know his name. He wanted to know if they had called in my membership book. I think because he had been in America, so maybe-”
“Yes, they’re suspicious of that. Maybe it’s that.” His expression still thoughtful. “But it’s often the way. A few, a handful, then so many all at once.”
“So many what?”
But Sasha was distracted by another commotion at the door. Not Weigel’s entrance this time, two Russian soldiers scanning the room, people turning their heads, avoiding eye contact.
“Rostov. Now what?”
Sasha got up and went over to the door, a hasty conference, then made his way back to the table.
“Excuse me. I must go,” he said curtly, his voice completely sober.
“Again?” Irene said. “Another drive?”
“No.” Not saying anything more, on duty.
“Shall I wait for you?”
He looked at her, thinking. “No, don’t wait. It’s an interrogation. Sometimes it goes fast, sometimes not, so I don’t know. Anyway, it’s enough tonight. Look at Ivan. Put him in the car, yes? I’ll go with Rostov. Don’t let him sleep on the table.”
“Who’s asleep?”
Markovsky bent over, a public kiss, but Irene moved her head, an involuntary shying away.
“So, I’m already gone?” Markovsky said.
“People are-” she said vaguely, taking in the room.
He took her chin in his hand and tilted her face up, kissing her.
“I paid for that much, no?” he said.
“That much, yes,” she said, turning away.
He took her face in his hand again, turning it back. “The rest tomorrow.”
Her eyes flashed, looking for a comeback, but he had already begun to move away, and she took a drink instead, looking down at the table.
“I’m sure it’s a promotion,” Ivan said, half to himself. “I didn’t mean-”
“Come, let’s get you home,” Irene said. “Can you stand?”
“Can I stand? Of course I can stand.” He pushed himself up, holding the table, weaving a little. “I’ll take you home.”
“I’m around the corner. You take the car. Come on. Alex, help him.”
“You don’t want me to take you home?” he said, leering. “No, not some Ivan.” He turned to Alex. “She wants to wait for Saratov, the next one. Only the boss, not-”
“Go to hell,” Irene said, dropping his arm and turning.
“Come on,” Alex said, holding him up. “The car’s outside.”
“German cunt,” Ivan said after her, loud enough for the next table to hear.
She turned, staring at him, a silence.
Ivan shook himself free of Alex’s hand. “I don’t need any help,” he said, taking a step, then rocking a little, finally sitting down again.