The Winter Thief

48

Vera told the Agopians that she wanted to visit a friend in Kurtulush, and they allowed her the use of their coach. By finding Sosi’s family, she hoped to find Sosi, her only link to Gabriel. She had no idea how big the district was, but she had a plan.

She asked the coach to stop outside a house that she had picked at random. Late-afternoon shadows pooled in the cobbled lanes that wound up the hill from the small square. The house was quiet, its lace curtains shutting out the street, a cat snoozing on the windowsill. A young girl peered out and, seeing the strange coach, turned back inside. The door opened, and a man emerged and called out to the coachman.

Vera placed a neatly folded note addressed to Monsieur Agopian on the seat, then slipped out of the carriage on the side away from the house and disappeared into the lane. After walking for some time up and down the slopes of Kurtulush, she spied the belltower of an Armenian church.

Out of breath and sweating in her borrowed coat, she knocked on the door of the adjoining residence. It was opened by a man wearing a priestly robe. A curtain of gray hair and a long beard framed his face. Below his alert eyes were pouches of fatigue. Vera introduced herself in Armenian and told him she was looking for the family of a woman named Sosi.

The priest’s eyes shifted behind her as if to make sure that no one had overheard, and then he pulled her inside. In the dim light of the parlor, he bade her sit on the sofa, while he stood by the door. “I am Father Zadian. Why are you looking for Sosi?”

Vera considered what she could tell him. “We employed her at one time and owe her back wages.”

“I see.” Vera could tell from the tone of his voice that he was suspicious. “May I ask what service Sosi performed for you?” he asked. “And what is your name?”

Vera hesitated but decided to trust the priest. “My name,” she said finally, “is Vera Arti.”

“Are you related to Gabriel Arti?” The priest sat down in a chair opposite her.

“He’s my husband,” she said, her voice betraying her excitement. Someone else who knew Gabriel. “Do you know where he is? I’m looking for him.”

“He’s in the east.”

Vera was stunned. She had thought he was in hiding or perhaps under arrest. It had never occurred to her that he would simply continue his project, leaving her behind in the hands of the secret police. He would have had to make a choice, a difficult choice, of that she had no doubt, but in the end he had chosen the movement. As she absorbed this news, she monitored her heart but found only a cramped emptiness where there had been joy.

“Where in the east?”

“The New Concord commune.” The priest seemed surprised. “You didn’t know?”

“I was…” She forced herself to go on. “I was being held by the secret police, and I just escaped.” As she uttered it, she realized it seemed a fantastic claim.

The priest drew in his breath and muttered a quick prayer. She saw him glance at her expensive coat.

“I went to the only person I knew in the city.” She told him about the kindness of the Agopians.

“Do they know you came here?” the priest asked.

“No.” She thought of the note she had left in the carriage for Monsieur Agopian in which she had thanked him for his help and explained that, not wishing to put his family in any difficulty, she had decided to leave Istanbul. She hadn’t said where she was going. He might worry about her, but he would be relieved.

“I don’t want to speak against them,” Father Zadian said. “They’re good people, and God knows we all have to make our peace with the powers above us, but, well, it would be best if you didn’t let them know too much.”

“I understand. They don’t know my true identity.” It reinforced what she already suspected. She remembered Monsieur Agopian’s fable of the accommodating fig tree.

“Father,” she said urgently, “I need to find Sosi’s family.” She told him about their escape. “I think they caught her. She needs help.” Her mind shied away from how they might punish the girl for attempting to escape.

The priest’s face was grim. “This is monstrous. Let me think about what can be done.” He regarded Vera huddled in her coat on the sofa. “Can you give us a detailed description of the building? I know some people who can try to free her.”

“Who?” she asked, thinking of the socialist cell Sosi belonged to.

“You needn’t concern yourself. The less you know, the better.”

She saw the pity in his eyes, not knowing whether it was for her or Sosi, and recoiled.

A housekeeper appeared at the door and brought a tray of tea and choereg, still fragrant from the oven. At the sight of the glossy braided rolls sprinkled with sesame seeds that her family’s cook in Moscow baked every Sunday, Vera put her face in her hands and wept.