“You had all I owed you and more, years ago.”
“That wasn’t the bargain, Pilgrim.”
“We all make deals and then change the rules.”
“That’s not playing the game.”
“There is only one game. You taught me that. As long as I win that one . . . the rest don’t matter.”
“I will have what’s mine,” Mamoulian said with quiet determination. “It’s a foregone conclusion.”
“Why not just have me killed?”
“You know me, Joseph. I want this to finish cleanly. I’m granting you time to organize your affairs. To close the books, clean the slates, give the land back to those you stole it from.”
“I didn’t take you for a Communist.”
“I’m not here to debate politics. I came to tell you my terms.”
So, Whitehead thought, the execution date is a while away. He quickly put all thoughts of escape out of his head, for fear the European sniff them out. Mamoulian had reached into his jacket pocket. The mutilated hand brought out a large envelope, folded on itself. “You will dispose of your assets in strict accordance with these directions.”
“All to friends of yours, presumably.”
“I have no friends.”
“It’s fine by me.” Whitehead shrugged. “I’m glad to be rid of it.”
“Didn’t I warn you it would become burdensome?”
“I’ll give it all away. Become a saint, if you like. Will you be satisfied then?”
“As long as you die, Pilgrim,” the European said.
“No.”
“You and I together.”
“I’ll die in my time,” Whitehead said, “not in yours.”
“You won’t want to go alone.” Behind the European the ghosts were getting restless. The steam simmered with them.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Whitehead said. He thought he glimpsed faces in the billows. Perhaps defiance wasn’t wise, he decided. “. . . Where’s the harm?” he muttered, half-standing to ward off whatever the steam contained. The sauna lights were dimming. Mamoulian’s eyes shone in the deepening murk, and there was illumination spilling up from his throat too, staining the air. The ghosts were taking substance from it, growing more palpable by the second.
“Stop,” Whitehead begged, but it was a vain hope.
The sauna had vanished. The steam was discharging its passengers. Whitehead could feel their prickling gaze on him. Only now did he feel naked. He bent for the towel, and when he stood upright again, Mamoulian had gone. He clutched the towel to his groin. He could feel how the ghosts in the darkness smirked at his breasts, at his shrunken pudenda, at the sheer absurdity of his old flesh. They had known him in rarer times; when the chest had been broad, the pudenda arrogant, the flesh impressive whether naked or dressed.
“Mamoulian . . .” he murmured, hoping the European might yet undo this misery before it got out of control. But nobody answered his appeal.
He took a faltering step across the slippery tiles toward the door. If the European had gone, then he could simply walk out of the place, find Strauss and a room where he could hide. But the ghosts weren’t finished with him yet. The steam, which had darkened to a bruise, lifted a little, and in its depths something shimmered. He couldn’t make sense of it at first: the uncertain whiteness, the fluttering, as of snowflakes.
Then, from nowhere, a breeze. It belonged to the past: and smelled of it. Of ash and brick dust; of the dirt on bodies unwashed for decades; of burning hair, of anger. But there was another smell that wove between these, and when he breathed it the significance of that shimmering air came clear, and he forsook the towel and covered his eyes, tears and pleas coming and coming.
But the ghosts pressed in nevertheless, carrying the scent of petals with them.
37
Carys stood on the small landing outside Marty’s room, and listened. From inside, there came the sound of steady sleep. She hesitated a moment-unsure of whether or not to go in-then slipped down the stairs again, leaving him unwoken. It was too convenient to slide into bed beside him, to weep into the crook of his neck where his pulse ticked, to unburden herself of all her fretting and beg him to be strong for her. Convenient and dangerous. It wasn’t real safety, there in his bed. She’d find that by herself and in herself, nowhere else.