Good People by Nir Baram Read Free Book Online Page B

arrest, but in fact to ward off the danger to themselves. Once again they would probably adopt ‘urgent action points’ that no one would dare implement.
    She couldn’t restrain herself and poked her head out to peek at her father, Andrei, in the mirror between the bookshelves. He was in his rocking chair, gazing at the fine glass frame that hung on the wall opposite him: a map of ‘The Great Factories of the Soviet Union’, a gift from the head of the Physical-Technical Institute to the physicist, Comrade Andrei Weissberg. From time to time he looked at her mother, Valeria, who was leaning over the kerosene stove and pouring tea for the guests while asking after their health and that of their families. Sasha despised this ceremony: every time her father looked at his wife, his gaze would cloud with helplessness. In her presence he behaved like a man stunned by the vagaries of the world, who needed Valeria to speak for him.
    For example, last summer the head informed Andrei that he would have the honour of representing the institute in Moscow at a meeting of the People’s Commissariat for Heavy Industry, where the plans for 1939 would be discussed. It was widely known that anyone who went to Moscow would be arrested as soon as they came back, because they had met too many people, and had been asked too many questions, whose answers aroused someone’s suspicion. And, in general, a visit to Moscow attracted unnecessary attention to a person’s existence, which was why the head preferred to send a worker whom he hoped would say the right thing when asked about him.
    Her father didn’t dare reject the unwelcome honour, but as soon as he got home from work he went to bed and refused to get up. Thenext morning Valeria visited the head and explained that her Andreyusha was prone to nightmares in unfamiliar environments, and would spout nonsense in his sleep that a stranger might misinterpret. The next day the head announced that Weissberg wouldn’t be going to Moscow.
    Now her mother sat down on the chair next to Andrei and placed his hand on her slim hips. She sat straight, taller than her husband; her chin seemed to hover over her long neck, and her presence bespoke chilly pride. It was clear that she wanted everyone to know that she had no truck with petty personal calculations, and would rise above her husband’s weakness.
    Sasha scorned her. Only someone abandoned to her own illusions could think that any of the guests might be taken in by this performance. True, unlike Sasha, none of them had seen Valeria sitting on her bed night after night, pretending to be lost in a book, waiting for her husband to come home—but even if someone decided to believe in the impression she was trying so hard to make, the inevitable moment would come when the spell wore off, and only the hard evidence remained. All the strategies of a betrayed woman cannot negate the fact that she is betrayed.
    A soft knock on the door.
    Brodsky hid his face in his plate, Emma Feodorovna stubbed her cigarette out in the ashtray and stirred the butts in it, Varlamov’s head sank back into the sofa. How easily they scared, Sasha raged. A gentle knock like that didn’t sound dangerous.
    Her mother hurried to the door. ‘Osip Borisovich,’ her voice rang out from the hall. ‘How good to see you.’
    ‘My wife is sick,’ Levayev’s proud voice bellowed. ‘I just popped over for a moment.’
    Meanwhile, in the living room, the guests started up again. ‘Strange, Nadya’s arrest, very strange. If she was involved in something improper…’ Varlamov repeated exactly what he had said at the earlier meeting. Had age impaired his memory, Sasha wondered, or does he not want to say anything else?
    ‘If they arrested Nadka, they must have had a good reason,’ mumbled Brodsky. Crumbled egg yolk clung to his red beard. He sliced his second egg into thin strips and arranged them on his plate. Nadya once told Sasha that it was enough to see how Brodsky