The Confession

37

“Your dinner’s in the icebox,” said Magda. “In the future, let me know if you’re going to be late.”

“Sure.”

“And there was a call. Someone named Vozka?”

“Woznica.”

“That’s it. I asked him to leave a message, but he just wanted me to tell you he’d call back. He was insistent that you know.”

“Where’s Agnes?”

“In her room.”

I paused outside her door, again trying to shove Kaminski’s threats down into the darkness. To my surprise, she was on her bed studying French, wearing her glasses, Pavel lying beside her. She pointed at the book so I would see.

“Very nice.”

She sat up and crossed her legs beneath herself. “I think maybe you’re right, Daddy. The French school may be a good idea.” While she was trying to sound enthusiastic, it wasn’t working very well.

I sat beside her and put my arm over her shoulder. “So it didn’t work out with him?”

“With who?”

“This boyfriend you won’t tell me about.”

Her eyes grew large, and her face colored. “There is no boyfriend.”

I stroked her hair, then gave her ear a tug. “Okay, then. Let’s talk about the French school.”

The next set of tests was scheduled for mid-December. She had a month to work on her language, which didn’t seem like much time to me, but she was optimistic. “Then I can start in January.”

“If you pass.”

“I’ll pass, all right.”

Her optimism was infectious.

The dinner was cold, but good. Pork schnitzel and fried potatoes. Magda’s cooking seemed to have improved recently, and I wondered if this was how she worked her guilt into something manageable. She lit a cigarette and sat across from me. “Did you take some money out of the account a couple weeks ago?”

“I did.”

“Why?”

I looked at my fork. “Georgi needed to borrow it.”

“You could have told me, you know.”

“Sorry. We’ll get it back by the beginning of the month.”

She exhaled a cloud. “I believe that.”

I tried to smile at her, but could only dream of a world where money was my only concern.