The Betrayers by David Bezmozgis Read Free Book Online

movie’s tone—dry, laconic, gently mocking of the Soviet revolutionary myths—had struck him as simpatico. And the music as well, with the famous ballad by Okudzhava, back when Kotler still considered himself a student and follower of music. Now, before Leora turned the television off, he saw the burka-clad women scurrying down the lane of the dusty Oriental town. The women in their burkas, the somnolent bearded elders, the crusading Western liberators, the primitive Muslim insurgents, the flaming oil wells; who could have predicted the immutability of this unhappy subject?
    Kotler joined Leora on the bed atop the blue coverlet. The atmosphere between them at that moment was unerringly chaste. Leora held herself slightly aloof, as if in anticipation of a blow. This trip they had embarked on, already fraught with many complications, seemed to accrue new ones by the minute. Mostly, Kotler thought, because he was inept at selfishness. After a life of self-denial, he had finally pursued a selfish want, but he kept undermining himself. How long had he dreamed of sleeping with Leora in a large white room overlooking the sea? If not from the first moment he saw her, then soon after he brought her onto his staff and, increasingly, into his home. A smart and efficient girl who quickly proved her worth. She was frequently at their table for Friday-night dinners. She became like an older sister to Dafna and went shopping with her for clothes that Miriam, in her piousness, abjured. All the while, a current passed between him and Leora, like the invisible data that streamed between all the new machines. It went like this for years. Then one night a year ago, the two of them working late in his office, she had glanced up from her note-taking and caught him looking at her in an explicit way, and, for the first time, he did not draw the cloak of self-restraint.
How I have denied myself,
he said to her.
Should I continue to deny myself?
She had considered him steadily and said,
I can’t answer that for you.
To which he’d replied,
Yes, you can.
And they had done in his office what so many other political men had done in theirs. For shame, Kotler thought, and yet they continued to follow in this disreputable tradition.
    —What did Dafna say? Leora asked. Other than that she hates me?
    —In so many words, she called her father a fool. A popularposition at the moment, and difficult to dispute. Though I disputed it.
    —That’s all?
    —She’s a grown girl. A young woman. No longer a child, as she is quick to remind me. A father doesn’t fully realize this until it stares him in the face. It isn’t all bad. Sooner or later, the realization arrives: the child discovers the immaturity of the parent, and the parent the maturity of his child.
    —It’s all wonderfully philosophical, Baruch.
    —Yes, well, at times like these, we turn to our vices. The bottle for some, philosophy for others. Most of us are not blessed with your unwavering levelheadedness.
    —My unwavering levelheadedness. Do you know what it’s like to be a levelheaded girl? It’s like having a disfigurement. I’m still embarrassed by the stupid things I did to try to overcome it.
    —To me it isn’t a disfigurement. Quite the contrary, I like it very much.
    —That puts you in the minority. A small minority.
    —Not for the first time, Kotler said and took Leora’s hand.
    —So that’s it, then? Leora asked. Nothing has changed? We go on as before?
    —Nothing has changed between us, Kotler said.
    —And
not
between us? If there is something you want to say, Baruch, you should say it.
    Kotler tried to draw Leora closer to him, but she held her ground, such as it was, refusing to be mollified.
    —What does the name Vladimir Tankilevich mean to you? Kotler asked.
    From her expression, he saw that it meant nothing. It was nosurprise. The name had long ago ceased to mean anything to all but a handful of people. A dwindling handful. A few of the central players from