Tatiana and Alexander: A Novel(35)

He lifted his gaze to Stepanov, who nodded.

"How was she?"

"Don't ask, Alexander." Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

"Was she--"

"Don't ask."

"Tell me."

"Do you remember when you brought my son back to me?" Stepanov asked, trying to keep his voice from breaking. "Because of you I had comfort. I was able to see him before he died, I was able to bury him."

"All right, no more," said Alexander.

"Who was going to give that comfort to your wife?"

Alexander put his face into his hands.

Stepanov left.

Alexander sat motionlessly on the floor. He didn't need morphine, he didn't need drugs, he didn't need phenobarbital. He needed a bullet in his f*cking chest.

The door opened. Alexander had not been given any bread or water, or any clothes. He had no idea how long he had been left undressed in the cold cell.

A man came in who apparently did not want to stand. Behind him a guard brought in a chair and the tall, bald, unpleasant-faced man sat down and in a pleasant-sounding nasal voice said, "Do you know what I'm holding in my hands, Major?"

Alexander shook his head. There was a kerosene lamp between them.

"I'm holding all your clothes, Major. All your clothes and a wool blanket. And look, I've got a nice piece of pork for you, on the bone. It's still warm. Some potatoes too, with sour cream and butter. A shot of vodka. And a nice long smoke. You can leave this damn cold place, have some food, get dressed. How would you like that?"

"I would like that," Alexander said impassively. His voice wasn't going to tremble for a stranger.

The man smiled. "I thought you would. I came all the way from Leningrad to talk to you. Do you think we could talk for a bit?"

"I don't see why not," Alexander replied. "I don't have much else to do."

The man laughed. "No, that's right. Not much at all." His non-laughing eyes studied Alexander intently.

"What do you want to talk about?"

"You, mostly, Major Belov. A couple of other things." Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

"That's fine."

"Would you like your clothes?"

"I'm sure," Alexander said, "that to a smart man like yourself, the answer is obvious."

"I have another cell for you to go to. It's warmer, bigger and has a window. Much warmer. It must be twenty-five degrees Celsius in there right now, not like this one, it's probably no more than five Celsius in here." The man smiled again. "Or would you like me to translate that into Fahrenheit for you, Major?"

Fahrenheit? Alexander narrowed his eyes. "That won't be necessary."

"Did I mention tobacco?"

"You mentioned it."

"All these things, Major--comfort things. Would you like any of them?"

"Didn't I answer that question?"

"You answered that question. I have one more for you."

"Yes?"

"Are you Alexander Barrington, the son of Harold Barrington, a man who came here in December of 1930, with a beautiful wife and a good-looking eleven-year-old son?"

Alexander didn't blink as he stood in front of the sitting interrogator. "What is your name?" he asked. "Usually you people introduce yourselves."

"Us people?" The man smiled. "I tell you what. You answer me and I will answer you."

"What's your question?"

"Are you Alexander Barrington?"

"No. What is your name?"

The man shook his head.

"What?" said Alexander. "You asked me to answer your question. I did. Now you answer mine."

"Leonid Slonko," said the interrogator. "Does that make any difference to you?"

Alexander studied him very carefully. He had heard the name Slonko before. "Did you say you came from Leningrad to talk to me?"

"Yes."

"You work in Leningrad?" Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

"Yes."

"A long time, Comrade Slonko? They tell me you're very good at your job. A long time in your line of work?"

"Twenty-three years."

Alexander whistled appreciatively. "Where in Leningrad?"

"Where what?"

"Where do you work? Kresty? Or the House of Detention on Millionnaya?"

"What do you know about the House of Detention, Major?"

"I know it was built during Alexander II's reign in 1864. Is that where you work?"

"Occasionally I interview prisoners there, yes."

Nodding, Alexander went on. "Nice city, Leningrad. I'm still not used to it, though."

"No? Well, why would you be?"

"That's right, why would I? I prefer Krasnodar. It's warmer." Alexander smiled. "And your title, comrade?"

"I'm chief of operations," Slonko replied.

"Not a military man, then? I didn't think so."

Slonko bolted up, holding Alexander's clothes in his hands. "It just occurred to me, Major," he said, "that we are finished here."