Mama fussed over me; the doctor bandaged me. I fell into a comfortable sleep for a few hours, warmly tucked into my old room. I delighted in this comfort, and welcomed my mother's attention. I did not welcome Frank's visit, though. My father insisted on staying while Frank asked his questions. My only answer was silence. I was good at this; I had practiced.
"She's tired, Bud," said Papa. "let her get some more rest before you debrief."
"She's not tired, Fred. She's been coached. She's been told not to say anything. Where's your brain been since you retired?"
"This is my kid, Bud. Leave her alone."
"I can't and you know it. You trained me." Turning to me, Frank said, "Alex, have you been threatened in any way?"
I did not answer.
"Okay. Let's try this. Alex. Look at me, Alex. We can pretty well piece together what happened. It’s obvious you were there. There's just one thing we can't figure out. Please help us. There were two men, shot right between the eyes. They were unarmed, arms tied, in fact. Alex, in security guard uniforms. Know anything about that?"
I turned away.
"No. Look at me, and listen. This was no accident. Our friend Mack the Knife had to have authorized it, ordered it maybe. Any idea why, Alex?"
I was beginning to think. I did not like where my thoughts led.
"There's always a reason for what he does, Alex. Remember, I told you that a few days ago. Why'd he have them shot? Did they see something they shouldn't have? What could they have seen that would get them shot, eh?"
I remembered their surprised faces when Vasily climbed that girder. No, not then, before then, before he climbed.
"They were not what they seemed," I whispered.
"Very good, Alex. you're right. They were babysitters, controlling Ill Wind, supervising the operation. They might have been useful alive. It's not like Charlemagne to waste a source of information. So what did they see that got them each a bullet between the eyes?"
I didn't tell him, but I knew. They saw me holding Vasily's gun. Misha knew who they were when he saw their surprise. But that still did not kill them. The order came after my decision to lead a "normal" life, to tread the middle ground.
A word can kill. An omission can destroy as surely as a commission. I did not kill those men, but I was bound up in their deaths, and no matter how ignorant, my involvement was not entirely innocent. Until the week before, I had been firmly rooted in the belief of my own righteousness. I had successfully avoided all the obvious sins. But now I was confronted with the fact that my silliest decisions could have consequences beyond me, beyond my intentions, and beyond my control. I was not qualified to figure in so many questions of death. So who is? Misha? Vasily? The hot-headed Louis?
No. But at least they knew that. While I blithely made decisions based on my own convenience, without regard to consequence, they saw consequence in every move.
My tears began when I thought about Vasily. What an awful place he lived in. I would not compromise with what he did, but I loved him, and I stopped judging him. I had a dismal record in judgment, anyhow.
From then, I have always distrusted people who are convinced they are right. We are a confused and befuddled species, universally so, but too many of us depend on ourselves for answers to questions we have no business asking. We can pray for guidance and beg forgiveness, but we cannot depend on the righteousness of man. Earthly judgments should be made only by men who understand their own fallibility.
I stopped asking myself questions and sobbed.
"Alex," said Frank softly. "You should have gone with them. If I can figure it out, others will, my dear. I'm not the smartest man around. There are bound to be others."
"What the hell are you talking about, Bud?" asked Papa.
"You know what I'm talking about, Fred. You just don't want to admit it to yourself. Your daughter has access to one of Charlemagne. It's the only explanation. She has access and she wants to stay home." He stood up to leave. "You can't stay home, Alex. When they come back for you, you'll have to go."
"No," said Papa. "She doesn't have to do anything she doesn't want to do."
Not true, I thought. On the whole, my wants and my have-to's don't match up. But one want was overpowering: Vasily. I would live where that circumstance put me, and pray for guidance, and beg forgiveness.
When Frank left, Papa brought a chair to my bedside, sat down, and took my hand. "Is it the one who was here? Is it Sobieski?"
"Yes, Papa."
I noticed tears in his eyes.
"Your mother's heart will break. She loves you dearly."
"I know. But I love him, Papa."
"Just like she loved his father."
"What!"
Papa looked at me intently, paused a moment, then decided I should know.
"I told him one lie, Alex," he said. "His mother was not the only one who had access. His lover, not his wife, chose the boy's life over his. I think she is going to regret it."
It took a moment for this to sink in.
"You let him think it was his mother?" I asked.
"I love my wife, Alex."
"But you..."
"Before you finish, listen to me. I will tell you what I told him when you were in the kitchen. His father was an ace, Alex, and he was the best. Nobody, not even an intimate, can sneak up on somebody that skilled."
"Are you saying he wanted to die — for his son?"
"I'm saying he was a light sleeper. That's all. And before you go explaining things to your lover, my girl, think about consequences. I've told you this so you will understand it when your mother falls apart and I am left to put her back together."
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX