The Confession

85

“Ferenc?”

It was Emil calling. “What’s going on?”

“Malik Woznica.”

“What about him.”

“He’s gone missing.”

I opened my mouth and, after a long exhale, said, “Maybe that’s best for everyone.”

“They’ve given me the case. He was supposed to visit a relative in Perechyn on Saturday, but didn’t, and he didn’t show up at the office yesterday. I’ve checked the apartment; it’s empty.”

“Any sign of a struggle?”

“None. His car is gone, but it doesn’t look like clothes are missing.”

“Maybe he was in a hurry.”

“We did find a store of drugs. Opiates. Pills and liquids.”

“All for his Svetla.”

He paused. “Ferenc, you didn’t…”

“Didn’t what.”

“I don’t know. Did you threaten him?”

“He threatened me. But I never said a word to him.”

“Okay. I just want to know why he’d leave.”

“He left because he murdered his wife.”

“What?”

“He followed her to Moscow and killed her. Kliment told me last week-Sev and Moska know about it, too. But that’s all I know.”

“Okay, Ferenc. Thanks. I’ll let you know if I come up with anything.”

When I hung up, I leaned against the wall and tried to measure out my breaths. It was difficult. The kitchen seemed to be underwater, and the icebox shivered, but that was because I was shivering. I made it out to the living room, where they were all sitting, looking up at me.

“You all right?” asked Leonek.

“Keep an eye on them. I need to lie down.”

I got into bed with my shoes still on and pulled the blankets over me. But I couldn’t get warm. I kept seeing Malik Woznica in that well, his bloated, dead eyes staring up at me. I had felt nothing then. I had been confused, yes. I had been worried. But I had felt no guilt. And there had been no guilt when I returned to Vera tied up in her own filth and watched her rush with all that self-hatred out my door. I hadn’t known what I had done wrong.

I twisted the blankets tighter around my legs and tried to still myself. But I couldn’t make the past go away any more than I could bring Malik back to life. I had killed him and brutalized a woman who loved me. And throughout it all, my feelings had remained just out of reach. I was an automaton.

Nestor had an excuse. He had struggled through a decade of terror and had come out the other side a machine of vengeance. I had been through so little in comparison, but I had acted the same. Both of us had watched our humanity slip away with a cool eye, and only after it returned could we understand what we had done.

I lay for an hour, stuck in the cycle of these thoughts. They repeated, and I turned each fact, each crime, around in my head, trying to find the justification. There was none, not even in the elegance of well-chosen words. I had always known what I was doing, and I knew that I would do it all over again.

Only after that hour, when I heard a tap at the door and saw Leonek’s unsure face peek through-he looked so young, and so good-did I understand what I needed to do to begin to right what had been made wrong. It was the only mature decision left to me.