Searching for Wallenberg by Alan Lelchuk Read Free Book Online Page B

from yoga—and he grew conscious of the taken-for-granted pleasures of this little town, the ease of daily acts, the rounds of sporting pleasures. Something like what Raoul had said about his life in Ann Arbor, in letters to his grandfather, including tennis. Immediately Manny’s sunny feeling diminished as he thought of that faraway young man wasting away in the Soviet prison, his harrowing two years there, and uncertain ending … Gripped by a darker feeling, Manny felt that faraway hand for the next few hours, before he came up again.
    He sat in his office and read through the thesis draft once more, for Angela was coming to see him later. There was not much new in this reading, as he had expected. Raoul was still a great savior of Jews, etc., except for the brief few pages on that fanciful Budapest lady and her mad fantasy; and something else, buried in a long footnote: the sightings by those other prisoners. These were cited in a Swedish-Russian Working Group paper. Well, he’d have to check into that—maybe have Angela “research” it on Google, where “research” of fifteen minutes equalled fifteen hours of the old ways of pursuing a subject—and probably missed crucial tucked-away items. Also mentioned was an unpublished manuscript suggesting again that RW may have been that double spy working for the Germans and Americans, this one written by a Soviet émigré living in New York. He recalled that the U.S. News article was cowritten by a Hungarian émigré, and realized that conspiracy theory was an East European specialty, like one of their rich strudels or thick custards. Manny jotted down the information, and would check up on that as well.
    Meanwhile, there was that weird woman of Budapest—a version of the Madwoman of Chaillot? He had to answer her, and maybe check her out too? Was it worth it, or was she just another crackpot?
    On an urge, he opened his e-mail and wrote to her:
    Dear Zsuzsanna W.,
    Thank you for contacting me last week. Yes, I would like to be in touch with you. Perhaps on the telephone, or if I should get to Budapest, in person? I am growing interested in the lost or disappeared life of Raoul Wallenberg, well, the whole case, and understand from my graduate student that you may have some useful information.
    Yours sincerely,
    Prof. Emmanuel Gellerman
    Be careful, he warned himself; you know your penchant for foolish goose chases, for winding up looking like a clown. It’s always been your Achilles’ heel. But still … it was an adventure, wasn’t it? And think back to your youth, when you cut out for Africa on a Norwegian freighter and everyone in the Brooklyn neighborhood thought you were out of your mind, looney. But it turned out be a great adventure, one that changed and broadened you, causing you to move into the adventure trade whenever the opportunity arose. Furthermore, Manny knew from grad school days that every lead needed to be followed, no matter how silly it seemed or where it led. Yes, let’s see what the lady says. Besides, going to Budapest, which he knew from having taught there, was essential anyway. Too bad Prof. Mosse was not around. He always spoke highly of that “Little Paris.”
    Later in the afternoon, Angela showed up. He sat down with her and went through the draft, making sure his scribbled markings were clear. And after telling her to try to check out that unpublished manuscript from the Russian down in New York, he remarked that her Budapest lady had now answered him and invited him to meet with her. Angela beamed and said, “Believe me Professor G., it will be worth it!” She threw her blonde hair back from her eyes. “And I’m so glad you liked my pages. That pumps me. I really will work to lengthen and polish it for the next draft.” As she packed her Lands’ End attaché, Manny was glad he had put her onto the project—American youth serving Swedish memory.
    Manny went for his constitutional, walking across campus and down along the river