The Confession

72

It was after three when I left the Canal District and drove back to the southern shore, then crossed the Georgian Bridge, back over the Canal District and into town. I didn’t want to go home. The reason eluded me at first. It was Vera. I didn’t want to let her go just yet. I wanted to control, with precision, the moment of her release.

Georgi had just returned from lunch with some friends, with whom he had talked poetry and politics and the search for the new socialist man. I hardly heard a thing he said until I took off my jacket and he stopped abruptly: “Is that blood on the back of your shirt?”

“It’s nothing. Just a fight. Can I use your shower?”

“Going to tell me the details?”

“I don’t think so.”

Once the water was hot, I relaxed into it. Instead of Malik Woznica, I thought of Vera. She lay in my bed, probably terrified of what had become of me. Perhaps she thought I was never coming back. I wondered what that thought did to her and how she would react when I returned and made love to her.

Georgi opened the door as I was toweling off. “By the way, I finally got hold of Louis.”

“Tell me.”

“You’re not going to arrest him, are you?”

“I’ve no plans to.”

“Well, he’s coming into town tomorrow morning, the ten-twenty from Vienna.”

“Did he say why?”

“I didn’t ask. You be nice to him, all right?”

“I’m nice to everyone, Georgi.”

“I don’t imagine you were nice to the guy whose blood is on your shirt.” He smiled. “I tell you, it’s going to be good to have him around again. This city’s become a goddamn bore.”

I went to dress.

Georgi found a shirt that barely fit me. “You hear Karel’s back in town?”

“Yeah, I talked to him.”

“Did he show you those awful photos? That’s what I mean about this city. A goddamned bore.”

At least Georgi could still make me smile.