The Winter Thief

46

Vera woke in a room with an icon of the Blessed Virgin on the wall before the bed and lace curtains at the sunny window. It took her several moments before she understood where she was.

The Agopian girl was sitting beside the bed, embroidering. She ran from the room, calling, “Mama, Papa, she’s awake.”

Madame Agopian bustled in carrying a dress and an armful of other garments. “Lena, welcome back to us. I’m sure a sleep did you good. When you’re ready, we can serve a late lunch.” She piled the clothing at the end of the bed. “I’ve had a few things altered to fit you. My seamstress can come and make any last-minute adjustments.” She looked down at the pile, frowning. “I didn’t want to wake you, you see, so I chose some things I thought would be practical. I hope you like them, but if not, please tell me and we’ll find something else. You will do that for me?”

Her face was so creased with worry that Vera almost laughed. She was certain she would never again worry about the cut of her clothing. “Thank you, madame. I’m sure it’s lovely. You’ve been so generous and kind.” She sat up and flinched. Her whole body ached. Her feet were blistered and scraped and throbbed beneath the bandages. She fingered the brushlike swatch where Vahid had cut off her hair.

When she had dressed, she joined the family in the dining room. Ravenous, she devoured the lamb and vegetable stew set before her and drank several glasses of water.

“Eat more, child,” Madame Agopian urged Vera, telling the maid to refill her plate. Her daughter watched their guest from beneath lowered lids.

Monsieur Agopian sent his plate away untouched. “Are you planning to return to Geneva?” he asked Vera. “I can arrange a berth for you on the next ship. I’ll cover the cost, so you needn’t worry. You must be anxious to get home.” At Madame Agopian’s startled glance, he added, “There’s no rush, none at all, but if I can be of help…”

It seemed to Vera that he was in a hurry for her to leave. Perhaps she should take him up on his offer. She could be in Geneva within the week. But she couldn’t leave without learning what had befallen Gabriel, and she wondered what to do about Sosi. If Sosi had been recaptured and Vera remained silent, the girl would be lost. Should she try to find her family? Gabriel had mentioned that his cell was based in Kurtulush, but she had no idea where that was. She wondered what Gabriel would do and found that she couldn’t imagine.

They moved to the sitting room. Sleep had cleared her mind, and she began to think about her predicament and what to do. Vahid knew her by the name Lena Balian. She realized that the only person who knew her by that name, and who could have told Vahid, was the grandfatherly gentleman sitting here before her, smoking his pipe. Yet without the Agopians’ help, she didn’t know what to do about Gabriel and Sosi. She was saddened by the thought that she couldn’t trust any of them. Still, if Vahid learned she was here, not only she but the Agopian family would be in danger.

When Madame Agopian and her daughter left the room, Vera asked, “Do you find it easy to be a publisher here in Istanbul, monsieur? I had the impression from our first conversation that you were under some pressure by the state.”

“Do you know the fable of the fig tree?” Monsieur Agopian asked her.

Vera shook her head no.

“One day the gardener asked the fig tree, ‘Why do you spread your branches so low to the ground?’ The fig tree replied, ‘I have many enemies. I bend low so that they won’t break my branches, and I serve them sweetness so that they forget evil.’”

Vera thought about this for a few moments, then asked, “Doesn’t that mean you condone evil?’”

“Not at all, my dear girl. It means that the weak must try to sweeten the bitterness of the strong by being humble and by serving them. We don’t really have another alternative.”

“You could grow the fruit higher and starve them.”

He chuckled at her naïveté. “They’d just pull the branches down or come with an ax. What have we gained by that? No, we must think of survival. There are good times and bad. We make our peace with the bad and save our strength to take advantage of the good.”

“But people aren’t trees,” Vera protested. “People can do things differently. They could themselves take up the ax.”

Monsieur Agopian stared at her for a moment, then said gently, “Young people always believe that survival is their God-given right, if they even think about it at all. But as we get older, we realize how weak and vulnerable we are-and the people we love.” He glanced at the door through which his wife and daughter had disappeared.

Vera nodded, her suspicion of the publisher suddenly softened by understanding. He had so much more to lose than she did. But she couldn’t ask him to help her find Gabriel and Sosi, and she knew that she had to leave. She wished she could report Sosi’s imprisonment to someone in authority she could trust. There seemed no one left in the world who matched that description.