Read Online The Betrayers by David Bezmozgis - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: David Bezmozgis
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rang again and then felt, through the door, the reverberations of someone’s steps striding toward him. A turn of the bolt and Nina Semonovna was there. A handsome Jewish woman in her fifties, of the Portuguese type, olive-skinned, full-featured, and without a shred of credulity, habituated to a deceitful, grasping world where everyone is suspect. Tankilevich was no exception.
Dispensing with
Hello
she said, Come in.
He followed her through the empty reception area where the guard usually sat. Then through the narrow corridor, dim because she had not bothered to turn on the lights. Along the walls were posted the displays. There was always something. Tankilevichremembered one that featured Jewish Nobel laureates—Einstein, Bohr, Pasternak, and so on—complete with their likenesses and short biographies. Now it was local Jewish war heroes: soldiers, sailors, and partisans. Affixed to the walls were dozens of photographs; some depicted the fighters in their youth, some in their later years. They passed the doors to the lecture room, the doors to the library, the doors to the game room. At the end of the corridor, Nina Semonovna indicated a padded vinyl chair situated in front of the door to the administrative offices.
—Wait here, please, she said morosely, I have another client.
Tankilevich did as he was told. He sat in the dim corridor and, almost in spite of himself, caught strains of the dispute that resounded behind the closed door: Nina Semonovna’s firm, even tone and another, shriller female voice. Nina Semonovna’s words were difficult to distinguish but, Tankilevich could make out some of the other woman’s phrases at the highest pitch:
On whose authority? … How dare you? … Who said so? … I am entitled!
After this appetizer, Tankilevich thought, what stomach for the main course?
There followed a considerable period of silence broken by one final proclamation and the harsh scraping of chair legs. Then the door flew open and a woman barged furiously out. She was about the same age as Nina Semonovna, stout and heavy-bosomed. She passed him with hardly a glance, only a flash of gold earrings and a swirl of her long skirt. She stamped her heels on the linoleum and Tankilevich felt shudders through the base of his chair. There was also the echo, like cannonade. Meanwhile, Nina Semonovna filled the doorway and observed laconically the woman’s departure.
—If you would be so kind as to close the door behind you, she called after her.
She waited calmly for the sound of the slamming door and then turned her attention to Tankilevich.
—Now, Nina Semonovna said, what can I do for you?
Tankilevich followed her into the office and took the seat she indicated. He watched her round her desk.
—If once, only once, someone would ask for a meeting to express their gratitude, Nina Semonovna said as she sat down across from Tankilevich. Yes? If someone was so overcome with gratitude for what we do here that he simply had to come in and say so. That would be something.
Tankilevich could think of no satisfactory response. Nor did he believe that one was expected of him.
Nina Semonovna gazed at him with bemusement.
—Of course, if one wishes to hear
Thank you,
one should seek another line of work.
Once more, Tankilevich could think of no response short of nodding his head.
—You don’t happen to know that woman? Nina Semonovna asked.
—I don’t, Tankilevich replied honestly. He was certain he’d never seen her before.
—She owns two shops, she and her husband. Also a small apartment building. Everyone knows this. But she comes here outraged that I have denied her claim for support. What is my explanation? My explanation, naturally, is that I am not going to be taken for a fool. She insists she is destitute. She owns nothing. Preposterous to accuse her of owning shops and a building. Her daughter owns these. All the documents are in the daughter’sname. In case I doubt it, she waves the documents. So
Dispensing with
Hello
she said, Come in.
He followed her through the empty reception area where the guard usually sat. Then through the narrow corridor, dim because she had not bothered to turn on the lights. Along the walls were posted the displays. There was always something. Tankilevichremembered one that featured Jewish Nobel laureates—Einstein, Bohr, Pasternak, and so on—complete with their likenesses and short biographies. Now it was local Jewish war heroes: soldiers, sailors, and partisans. Affixed to the walls were dozens of photographs; some depicted the fighters in their youth, some in their later years. They passed the doors to the lecture room, the doors to the library, the doors to the game room. At the end of the corridor, Nina Semonovna indicated a padded vinyl chair situated in front of the door to the administrative offices.
—Wait here, please, she said morosely, I have another client.
Tankilevich did as he was told. He sat in the dim corridor and, almost in spite of himself, caught strains of the dispute that resounded behind the closed door: Nina Semonovna’s firm, even tone and another, shriller female voice. Nina Semonovna’s words were difficult to distinguish but, Tankilevich could make out some of the other woman’s phrases at the highest pitch:
On whose authority? … How dare you? … Who said so? … I am entitled!
After this appetizer, Tankilevich thought, what stomach for the main course?
There followed a considerable period of silence broken by one final proclamation and the harsh scraping of chair legs. Then the door flew open and a woman barged furiously out. She was about the same age as Nina Semonovna, stout and heavy-bosomed. She passed him with hardly a glance, only a flash of gold earrings and a swirl of her long skirt. She stamped her heels on the linoleum and Tankilevich felt shudders through the base of his chair. There was also the echo, like cannonade. Meanwhile, Nina Semonovna filled the doorway and observed laconically the woman’s departure.
—If you would be so kind as to close the door behind you, she called after her.
She waited calmly for the sound of the slamming door and then turned her attention to Tankilevich.
—Now, Nina Semonovna said, what can I do for you?
Tankilevich followed her into the office and took the seat she indicated. He watched her round her desk.
—If once, only once, someone would ask for a meeting to express their gratitude, Nina Semonovna said as she sat down across from Tankilevich. Yes? If someone was so overcome with gratitude for what we do here that he simply had to come in and say so. That would be something.
Tankilevich could think of no satisfactory response. Nor did he believe that one was expected of him.
Nina Semonovna gazed at him with bemusement.
—Of course, if one wishes to hear
Thank you,
one should seek another line of work.
Once more, Tankilevich could think of no response short of nodding his head.
—You don’t happen to know that woman? Nina Semonovna asked.
—I don’t, Tankilevich replied honestly. He was certain he’d never seen her before.
—She owns two shops, she and her husband. Also a small apartment building. Everyone knows this. But she comes here outraged that I have denied her claim for support. What is my explanation? My explanation, naturally, is that I am not going to be taken for a fool. She insists she is destitute. She owns nothing. Preposterous to accuse her of owning shops and a building. Her daughter owns these. All the documents are in the daughter’sname. In case I doubt it, she waves the documents. So
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