The prodigal spy

He went into the men’s room, grateful for the light. A man, cigarette dangling, stood at the urinal, so he went into the stall. What if there was someone in the stall tomorrow? What did he do, keep going back until it was empty? He pulled the chain, looking up at the flush box mounted on the wall. He’d imagined a toilet with a back, a convenient shelf. Where did you leave the ticket, on the paper dispenser? Why had his father changed his mind? The man at the urinal said something in Czech over the plywood wall, hearty, maybe a joke about the effects of beer on the bladder, but it could have been anything. What if someone spoke to him? Nick just nodded to him blandly when he came out, not even stopping to wash his hands, afraid of being caught out by language. He pushed open the door to a round of applause.

“Aren’t they wonderful?” Molly said brightly. “There’s one more set. Want to sit?”

“No. Do you really want to stay?”

“You don’t like mimes. Here, finish this.” She handed him a brandy. “Ten minutes, okay?”

He took a long pull on the drink to burn away his mood. When he looked up over the glass, a shadow had come out of the wall.

“We meet again,” Marty Bielak said. “You seem to be everywhere tonight.”

“That makes two of us.”

“Well, a nightcap.” He held up his glass. Where else had he been? The Alcron. The Cafe Slavia. The legman making his rounds. Items for tomorrow’s column. Just like the old days. The Stork. The Blue Angel. Another iron curtain joke. Cafe society was still alive here, lounge lizards and all.

“They’re terrific, aren’t they?” Bielak said, nodding toward the mime troupe. “I never get tired of them.”

“You’ve seen them a lot?”

“Well, there aren’t so many clubs here.” He took a drink, standing closer. “I see you met one of our local celebrities.” Prodding. “At the concert. He didn’t introduce himself?” Insistent now, close.

Nick wasn’t sure what to answer. How would it be reported? But Bielak was waiting, his lips wet with drink.

“Yes,” Nick said finally. “I thought he was in Moscow.”

Bielak nodded, his air confiding. “He married a Czech. A bourgeoise.” The term threw Nick, some bizarre leftover from the old party meetings, those hours of dialectic and self-discipline. But Bielak didn’t hear it as an anachronism, and when he saw Nick’s look, he said, “Of course, not now.”

“I didn’t know,” Nick said vaguely.

“What did he say? I’d be curious.” He had leaned even closer, his whole body a kind of insinuation.

“Not much. How I liked the concert,” Nick said. But this wasn’t going to be enough. “I think he was a little disappointed that I didn’t recognize him.”

“Too much?” But Bielak seemed pleased. “Yes. He used to be famous, you see.” He shook his head. “Nobody remembers, do they?” Delighted somehow, a press agent watching a falling star.

“We have to go,” Nick said, signaling to Molly.

“So soon? They’re not finished.”

“No, but I am. We have to be up early.”

Why had he said that? Bielak, however, was smiling, amused.

“Young people,” he said. “In my day, we could dance all night.” So he had watched. Was still watching. “One more drink?” Was it possible he just didn’t want to go home? The empty apartment.

“Thanks, some other time. Molly?”

Bielak nodded and raised his fingers from the glass in a kind of wave. “I’ll see you around,” he said, his voice pleasant, not sinister at all.

Back in the street, Nick was rattled. A chance meeting? What if he was around tomorrow? In the lobby. At the station itself. As they walked along the street he found himself looking to the side, expecting shadows to move. It’s simple, his father had said. But it wasn’t. A quarrel with Molly? Who would believe it? Not Bielak, making his rounds. Nobody just got on a train, not here. Why risk it, all of a sudden? He started picking the story apart, uneasy.

Later it was worse. When Molly fell asleep curled next to him, he stared at the street light on the ceiling, looking for microphones that might not be there. You always brought me luck. Something was wrong. And what would Vienna be like? More cat and mouse. He wanted to turn his mind off, sleep, but instead he lay still with dread, awake with night fears, the ones that didn’t even have names.