Fixer, The - Bernard Malamud [49]
She glanced nervously at Grubeshov, who nodded slightly.
“Go on, Marfa Vladimirovna, tell now what happened towards the end of March, a few short weeks before the Jewish Passover this year. And speak more slowly so that we can comprehend everything you say. Don’t slur your words.”
“Are you paying attention?” he asked Yakov.
“The closest, your honor, though I honestly don’t understand what this has to do with me. It’s all so strange.”
“Only be patient,” Grubeshov said. “It will be as familiar and close as the nose on your face.”
Several of the officials, including the army general, laughed.
“On the morning in the week you mention,” said Marfa, darting a glance at the Jew, “it was a Tuesday I’ll never forget in my life, Zhenia woke up and got dressed in his black stockings that I had bought him for his name day and left for school as usual at six in the morning. I had to work until long after dark that day, then attend to the marketing so I naturally didn’t get home until late. Zhenia wasn’t in the house and after I had rested a while—I’ve had painful varicose veins since giving birth to my child—I went to Sofya Shiskovsky, my neighbor in the next house down a ways, whose Vasya was in Zhenia’s form in school, and asked him where my boy was. Vasya said he didn’t know because though he had seen Zhenia after school, Zhenia hadn’t come home with him as was usual. ‘Where did he go?’ I said. ‘I don’t know,’ he answered. Ach, I thought, he is at his grandmother’s, I won’t worry. But on the same night I caught the flu. I had the shakes and shivers for three days and stayed in bed in a weak condition for three more, only getting up, if you’ll excuse me, to go to the toilet, or boil up a little rice and water to stop diarrhea. Zhenia was missing for about a week—six or seven days to be exact, and when I made up my mind to get dressed and report it to the police he was found dead in a cave with forty-seven stabs on his body. The neighbors came into my house with slow steps and sad faces—they looked like dead folk and frightened me before they spoke—then when they told me what horror had happened to me, I cried out, ‘My life is over because I’ve lost my reason to live!’ “
Marfa put her hand to her eyes and tottered. Two of the officials stepped towards her but she held onto a chair and remained upright. The men withdrew.
“Excuse me,” Bibikov said gently, “but how is it you waited six or seven whole days before thinking to report that your son was missing? If it were my son I would have reported it at once—at the very latest on the night he had not yet appeared in the house. It’s true that you were sick but even sick people have been known to pull themselves out of bed and act in emergencies.”
“It all depends on how sick they are, if you please, your honor. Whether it’s your son or mine, when you’re running a high fever and are nauseous besides, your thoughts aren’t always at their best. I worried about Zhenia and had terrible nightmares besides. I was afraid he was in some kind of horrible trouble, but I thought I dreamed that because I was feverish. And while I was so sick with the flu, so was my neighbor Sofya, and also Vasya. No one came to knock on my door, as usually happens two or three times during the day. And Yuri Shiskovsky, Sofya’s husband, is as likely to knock on a person’s door when you need him as Father