The Gordian Knot - Bernhard Schlink [18]
“And you’re ready to have me thrown in jail in order to get your brother out?”
“But everything’s going so well. You’re happy, and so am I. What do we care about these helicopters? Soon my people will have what they want, my brother will get his pardon, and they’ll leave us alone, and then … You asked me if I will live with you. I want to so much, I can’t live without you anymore, I want to be with you always, it’s only that … Don’t you see why I couldn’t just say yes back then? Please, please …”
Again the voice and look of a little girl, frightened because she’d done something bad, hopeful because she’d made up for it all, and sulking, because he hadn’t rewarded her for it yet.
“Why would they leave you alone once they have the documents they want?”
“They promised. They said they’d release my father, and they kept their promise.”
“You’d never have worked for them if they hadn’t let him go. They’ll commute your brother’s death sentence to life in prison, at which point you’ll go on working for them so they will reduce his sentence to fifteen years, and they can keep on haggling further reductions. You won’t have a choice.”
She didn’t say anything, but continued to look at him, sulking. “It goes without saying that they have to offer you something so you will keep up the work,” he continued. “Let’s say three years off his sentence for every year that you work for them. That means they have you where they want you for at least another five years. You’re good at what you do, you’re fluent in French, know the country and the people. Believe me, they’ll keep you where they want you. How long were you already in France when they recruited or forced you into this?”
“It sounds like you’re cross-examining me! I don’t like talking with you like this.”
He had moved to the edge of the bed, his back straight, his hands cradling his stomach. He was staring intently. “It’s not only you they have—they’ve got me too. And when they’re done with the attack helicopter, they’ll set their sights on the stealth reconnaissance plane, or the new control system or bomb, or God knows what! Once I’ve worked for them for a long time, they’ve got me where they want me, even without you. Is this what you wanted? Is this how you want us to live?”
“Our life isn’t all that bad. We’ve got each other, a nice house, enough money. And nobody need know that you’re aware of what’s going on. Why can’t things just go on the way they are? Weren’t you happy all this time?”
He said nothing. He looked out the window into the night and felt heavy with fatigue. What she was saying was true, but then again, it also wasn’t. What did he care about helicopters, fighter jets, reconnaissance planes, bombers, and all the maneuverings surrounding the arms race, armament, and disarmament? Since he didn’t have the time or money to write a novel, he didn’t care what he was translating or for whom: IBM, Mermoz—why not for the Poles and Russians too? It wouldn’t involve any more work; he laughed bitterly. But his freedom was done for. He felt this with painful clarity. He was no longer sitting on the podium maneuvering all the trains, but was a train himself that others could set in motion, bring to a halt, start up again, accelerate, and stop.
“Georg?”
He shrugged his shoulders despondently. Had his early freedom been just an illusion? He remembered her sudden departures on Sundays.
“Why did you always have to deliver the negatives of the plans on Sunday?” he asked her.
“What?”
He didn’t repeat the question. Something didn’t fit. Just didn’t fit. Something kept buzzing in his mind, not a clear thought, but perhaps just the disbelief that all this should have happened to him, and that the way he was living would go on, but look very different from this point.
She sighed and laid her head in his lap. Her left hand caressed his back, and her right hand