“Emma—”
“Never mind. We haven’t time. I’m supposed to be shopping or something. This is important-thousands of people, not just two. Promise me you’ll explain about Steven.”
“They’ll want to know more, if this is really what you say it is.”
“Yes, he’s prepared for that. But they have to know the why of it. That’s the bargain.”
“They don’t like to bargain.”
“No one’s ever given them something like this before. You’ll see. They won’t believe their luck. God knows they don’t deserve it.”
“Then why hand it to them?”
“Well, it’s a funny old world, isn’t it? They’re all we’ve got. Anyway, it’s not me. I’m just the postman. But promise me, about Steven. No tricks.”
Connolly waited for his answer, the sensible evasion, the obvious impossibility of taking any kind of responsibility for what would happen.
“Yes, I promise,” he said. It was as easy and expedient as a vow, and it was then that Connolly knew she’d wanted him to lie to her, a personal proof.
“That’s that, then,” she said. “I’d better go. Do put that away now, will you? Not the sort of thing one leaves lying about. I can’t tell you the relief, getting rid of it.”
“Emma,” he said, “is it true, all this?”
“Why?” she said, disarming him. “Don’t you think I’d have the guts?”
“I don’t know what you’d do anymore. You’re different.”
“No, still marvelous,” she said, her voice bitter. “But I tell you what. If you have second thoughts, just chuck it in the bin and no one’s the wiser. But I’d have someone give it a look, I really would. Who knows? There might be a promotion in it for you. Just keep my name out of the thank-you speech. Come to think of it, you don’t know my name now, do you? Maybe that’s best.”
“You never used to be like this,” he said, not really answering her. “How do I contact you?”
“You don’t. I’m finished with it now. Steven’s address is inside. A box number. They read the post, by the way, so tell whoever it is to be careful-well, that sounds silly, doesn’t it? Of course they would. Just tell them to give him a time and a place and he’ll know. Somewhere in Santa Fe-he’s not allowed to travel. If he doesn’t hear, well, then he’ll assume the comrades aren’t interested and we’ll have to think of something else.”
“Emma,” he said, his voice low. “In Berlin, when I–I was under orders.”
“I don’t want to hear it.”
“No, don’t go. You have to know what happened when I left. I couldn’t tell you. I couldn’t tell anybody. They said lives might depend on it.”
“Lives did,” she said sharply.
Connolly heard her get up. Flustered, he turned and looked up to see her standing there, her padded shoulders pulled back, rigid with anger. He wanted to signal her, but her eyes were fixed on Matthew, oblivious to the room around them.
“I don’t mean ours,” Lawson was saying. “We were just kids. The others-they had a list, the whole network. I had to disappear. I couldn’t tell anybody. They ordered me not to, do you understand? It was important. There were people involved. It wasn’t my decision.”
“Wasn’t it?”
“No. Do you think I’d run away? Just like that? They had something for me to do. I couldn’t say no. It’s the discipline-every link. I had to do what they told me. Then, after—”
“Why are you telling me this?” she said, her voice cold. Connolly had dropped the wire and was staring at her.
“I don’t want you to think-I couldn’t help it, do you see?”
“Do you want me to forgive you? What a bastard you are.”
“I just wanted you to know what happened,” he said, hesitant now under her glare.
“That’s not all that happened in Berlin, Matthew,” she said, her voice so low and intense that the noise of the room seemed to step away from it, afraid. “You left a child. I cut it out.”
Connolly stared, helpless, as her eyes filled with tears.
She leaned in. “I saw it in a pan. Like a blood clot. But they cut out all my children. Didn’t mean to, but they did. You think I’m hard? I’m barren, Matthew. That’s what happened in Berlin. Here,” she said, picking up the envelope and throwing it at his chest. “Go save the world. Save it for your children.”
For a minute, no one moved. Then Emma picked up her bag and walked quickly out of the restaurant, her shoes clacking hard on the wood floor. Connolly watched her go, expecting Lawson to follow her, but there wasn’t a sound in the booth. He waited another minute, catching his own breath, then got up to go.
When he looked over the partition, he saw Lawson sitting, his face as red as if it had been slapped, staring at the brown envelope. Then suddenly he got up, bumping into Connolly.
For a split second Connolly met his eyes, wide and frantic. “Sorry,” he said automatically, but Lawson was already running out of the room.
Connolly followed through the noisy bar and pushed the door out into the hot air. Lawson was halfway down the block, walking quickly. He stopped and shouted something-her name? — but it was lost in the roar of the overhead train. At the corner, he had to stop for a light, and Connolly could see Emma across Third, already far along the side street, her white dress darting in and out of the crowd. They crossed together, Connolly hanging back a little, waiting for him to sprint, but there were too many people now and he couldn’t break through. Instead he sidestepped them, jumping into the street, then back again, trying to keep her in sight. When she turned right on Lexington, he quickened his pace, pushing against the crowd.
Emma hadn’t noticed any of it. When she reached the hotel she went straight in, not looking around. Lawson followed her to the door, dodging a car against the light, and then, finally there, stopped unexpectedly. Connolly turned at the window of a deli, watching to his left. Lawson stood for a second, rooted in indecision, then took a step toward the entrance and stopped again. A soldier and a girl came out of the hotel, carrying suitcases. Lawson took a handkerchief to wipe his face, then, his whole body slumping in some final resignation, turned and started walking slowly away. When he passed Connolly in the deli window he was looking at the sidewalk, glum and confused, as if he had just missed a train. Then Connolly lost him in the crowd.
Emma was sitting on the bed, breathing deliberately to calm herself. She glanced up when he came in, then looked away again, obviously not wanting to talk. He touched her shoulder, then went into the bathroom and started putting things in his Dopp Kit.
“Did you hear?” she said finally from the bedroom. “I’m afraid I muffed it.”
“No,” he said, coming out, “it was fine. Perfect.” His voice went low. “Emma, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“No, you didn’t.” She shrugged, shaking the hair off her neck. “Now what?”
“Now we wait.”
“Like a message in a bottle.” She stood up and went over to the window. “Anyway, it’s done now. Good luck to him.”
“You all right?”
She nodded. “Funny how voices don’t change. Everything else, but not voices. It gave me quite a turn at first. ‘We respect that.’ My God.” She lit a cigarette, still looking out the window. “Promise me something, will you? When this is over, all this Karl business, no more, all right? You see what it’s done to him. Always some war to fight, whether there is one or not. He’s stuck in the trenches for good now.”
“It’s a promise. You can count on this one.”
She turned, smiling a little. “He couldn’t help himself, could he? What are you doing?” she said, noticing the Dopp Kit. “Going somewhere?”
“I thought we might change hotels. Our last night. Change of scene.”
She smiled. “You don’t have to do that. I’m all right, really.”
“Actually, I think we’d better,” he said. “He followed you.”
“Followed me?”
“Not like that. I think he probably wanted to make up.”
“But he didn’t come in,” she said quietly.
“No,” he said, closing the kit. “But he knows you’re here. Which means they’ll know I’m here too, if anyone’s interested. And they might be, once they get a look at his mail. We can’t afford to take that chance.”