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.He hadn’t opened a window and the room was hot.He showered and dressed and left in fifteen minutes, discovering as he stepped out into the cold air that it had snowed in the night and was snowing still, fat soft flakes settling on the bonnets and roofs of cars.The road itself was smeared with an ugly grey paste of slush and grit and oil, and the journey took twice as long as it should.But here he was, approaching Berlin from the west, warm and safe.He didn’t know the city.It wasn’t a place he had ever needed to visit: Frankfurt, yes, for its banks, but otherwise Germany had never been important in his scheme.He followed the signs to the centre, hoping from there to see signs for Kreuzberg.Through Charlottenburg, through the Tiergarten, past the Reichstag; he eventually found himself on Unter den Linden, driving along the wide boulevard whose name he had heard so often.It was less pretty than he had expected: it looked as if the massive buildings on either side, the hotels and offices and government buildings, had bullied all the leaves off the bare limes and left the trees cowering in the middle of the road.It was strange to be driving in a city he didn’t know.It took him nearly an hour to find the hotel.The Hotel Daniel, in a residential street near the canal.It was small, and dark in a comforting way, and he was shown to his room by a bulky, smiling woman in her seventies who spoke little English but understood him well enough.He gave his name as Mr Green.When he started to explain about his passport she simply waved him away.The room was papered with red and cream stripes, and fitted out with furniture that didn’t match and was a little too good for a hotel of this kind.A double bed with a small mahogany table by its head; a wardrobe, mahogany again and rather grand, with an oval mirror set into its single door; a chest of drawers; a desk and chair.From his window Lock could see through trees the canal and the U-bahn track above it, and beyond that a solid red-brick church and layers of boxlike apartment buildings stretching back into Mitte.A train ran past from left to right, its orange carriages the only colour in a world of white and grey.Lock unpacked his new things, taking his shirts from their plastic packets and hanging them, creased, in the wardrobe.He checked the charge on his phones.Should he call Nina now? Something held him back.He thought for a moment that it was the prospect of seeing his dead friend’s wife and being rejected, or not knowing what to say.But that wasn’t it.If Nina had nothing, knew nothing, then the last prospect of some sort of dignified escape from all this, however fantastical, was gone.Here in this comfortable room, snow blanking out the world around, that was a moment he could happily delay.He would write her a note.Or better, a letter of condolence.He was in Berlin, and would very much like to see her.That was natural, after all: they had met, and Dmitry had been his friend.He took his time with it, writing it out in his notebook first before copying it carefully onto a sheet of the Daniel’s headed paper.When he finished he called down to reception and managed to explain in English, Dutch and broken German that he wanted a taxi.He needed food, and air.Outside the snow was now a grey mud on the pavements.Lock could feel his shoes cold on his feet and knew that icy water was about to leak through the soles and seams.Soft flakes had given way to something between hail and sleet and the easterly wind froze his face.He walked on the main road, leaning into the cold as it came at him, taking in little but the noise of the cars and the people hurrying past him on their way home.He had little idea where he was; he had a map but there was no point in trying to open it.At Wittenbergplatz he turned left into quieter streets in search of a bar.Thank God for bars.When he found one it was less a bar than a cafe, rather grand and Viennese, but it would do.It was warm, and warmly lit, and he found a booth that seemed the most comfortable thing he had ever seen.He ordered beer, because this was Germany, and drank the first one in four or five deep swallows.Another came.He looked at the menu and ordered food: gravad lax and Wiener schnitzel.From his coat he took one of his phones.He looked at it for a while and then put it on the table.It continued to attract him.He wanted to call Marina, to tell her he was all right and that he had a plan, but he wasn’t sure he should.Webster had said he could make calls, hadn’t he? Halfway through his third beer he surrendered.‘Marina?’‘Richard?’‘Hi.I thought I should call.’‘Richard, where are you?’‘I shouldn’t say.I just.I wanted to tell you I’m OK.’‘Vika wants to see you.I think she can tell I’m worried.’Lock rubbed his eyes with his free hand, pinching the bridge of his nose.‘I’ll see her soon,’ he said.‘Tell her I’ll see her soon.’There was a pause.‘I stood there’, said Marina, ‘whispering your name over the wall.’‘I’m sorry.I was fine.I should have said.’They were silent again.‘I did what you suggested,’ Lock said.‘What?’‘I got some help.I’m trying to find a way out.It’s better already.Being free.I can think more clearly.’‘That’s good, Richard, but.You’re not going to run off ? I don’t think I could stand it.’‘No.No, I’m not.’‘I thought you had.’‘I’m going to face it.I think I have to.’Marina was quiet for a moment.‘That’s good.That is.We’ll help you.I’ll help you.’‘I know.’Another silence, broken by Marina.‘Konstantin called.’Lock said nothing.‘This morning.He wanted to know where you were.’‘What did you tell him?’‘That I didn’t know anything.’‘Was that it?’‘He wanted to know if I had lost trust in him as well.’‘And?’‘I told him I didn’t leave Moscow just to get away from you.’Again, Lock was silent.‘He said.he told me that he was trying to save you.’Lock closed his eyes.‘There’s no point in telling me that.’‘I thought you should know.’‘Do you believe him?’‘I think he no longer knows what he is saying.’Lock nodded slowly to himself.Could Malin really expect him to believe that? There was no point in wondering.He felt tired.‘Listen, darling, I should go.It’s going to be a busy few days.I’ll.I’ll call again.’‘OK.’‘Will you kiss Vika for me?’‘Of course.Be careful.Please.’‘I will.’‘If it doesn’t work, I’ve found you a lawyer.’By twelve the next day Lock was anxious.Nina hadn’t called and he had begun to regret the letter; it was time to stop delaying.His first call to her went unanswered, but he left no message.So did his second, two hours later; this time he told the machine who he was, that he was in Berlin and would welcome the chance to see her.He could go to her or she could come to him at the Hotel Daniel.At three she called; it was a short conversation.She told him that she didn’t want to see anyone associated with Dmitry’s old world, that he shouldn’t take this personally, and that she would be grateful if he left her alone.He tried to tell her that he no longer worked for Malin but it was clear that she had made up her mind.As he put the phone down he wondered what Webster would have done to keep her talking – and what would he do now to force a meeting?Lock had been in his hotel room all day, reading Middle-march and the guide book and drinking Scotch.He had had breakfast, but no lunch, and his head felt light and tense at the same time.He didn’t know what to make of Nina’s refusal: was it the end of everything, or merely an obstacle? Part of him, he realized, had never thought that Nina would make any difference; part of him longed to think that she would.Snow had settled thickly overnight and was still falling outside his window.He decided to walk into town [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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.He hadn’t opened a window and the room was hot.He showered and dressed and left in fifteen minutes, discovering as he stepped out into the cold air that it had snowed in the night and was snowing still, fat soft flakes settling on the bonnets and roofs of cars.The road itself was smeared with an ugly grey paste of slush and grit and oil, and the journey took twice as long as it should.But here he was, approaching Berlin from the west, warm and safe.He didn’t know the city.It wasn’t a place he had ever needed to visit: Frankfurt, yes, for its banks, but otherwise Germany had never been important in his scheme.He followed the signs to the centre, hoping from there to see signs for Kreuzberg.Through Charlottenburg, through the Tiergarten, past the Reichstag; he eventually found himself on Unter den Linden, driving along the wide boulevard whose name he had heard so often.It was less pretty than he had expected: it looked as if the massive buildings on either side, the hotels and offices and government buildings, had bullied all the leaves off the bare limes and left the trees cowering in the middle of the road.It was strange to be driving in a city he didn’t know.It took him nearly an hour to find the hotel.The Hotel Daniel, in a residential street near the canal.It was small, and dark in a comforting way, and he was shown to his room by a bulky, smiling woman in her seventies who spoke little English but understood him well enough.He gave his name as Mr Green.When he started to explain about his passport she simply waved him away.The room was papered with red and cream stripes, and fitted out with furniture that didn’t match and was a little too good for a hotel of this kind.A double bed with a small mahogany table by its head; a wardrobe, mahogany again and rather grand, with an oval mirror set into its single door; a chest of drawers; a desk and chair.From his window Lock could see through trees the canal and the U-bahn track above it, and beyond that a solid red-brick church and layers of boxlike apartment buildings stretching back into Mitte.A train ran past from left to right, its orange carriages the only colour in a world of white and grey.Lock unpacked his new things, taking his shirts from their plastic packets and hanging them, creased, in the wardrobe.He checked the charge on his phones.Should he call Nina now? Something held him back.He thought for a moment that it was the prospect of seeing his dead friend’s wife and being rejected, or not knowing what to say.But that wasn’t it.If Nina had nothing, knew nothing, then the last prospect of some sort of dignified escape from all this, however fantastical, was gone.Here in this comfortable room, snow blanking out the world around, that was a moment he could happily delay.He would write her a note.Or better, a letter of condolence.He was in Berlin, and would very much like to see her.That was natural, after all: they had met, and Dmitry had been his friend.He took his time with it, writing it out in his notebook first before copying it carefully onto a sheet of the Daniel’s headed paper.When he finished he called down to reception and managed to explain in English, Dutch and broken German that he wanted a taxi.He needed food, and air.Outside the snow was now a grey mud on the pavements.Lock could feel his shoes cold on his feet and knew that icy water was about to leak through the soles and seams.Soft flakes had given way to something between hail and sleet and the easterly wind froze his face.He walked on the main road, leaning into the cold as it came at him, taking in little but the noise of the cars and the people hurrying past him on their way home.He had little idea where he was; he had a map but there was no point in trying to open it.At Wittenbergplatz he turned left into quieter streets in search of a bar.Thank God for bars.When he found one it was less a bar than a cafe, rather grand and Viennese, but it would do.It was warm, and warmly lit, and he found a booth that seemed the most comfortable thing he had ever seen.He ordered beer, because this was Germany, and drank the first one in four or five deep swallows.Another came.He looked at the menu and ordered food: gravad lax and Wiener schnitzel.From his coat he took one of his phones.He looked at it for a while and then put it on the table.It continued to attract him.He wanted to call Marina, to tell her he was all right and that he had a plan, but he wasn’t sure he should.Webster had said he could make calls, hadn’t he? Halfway through his third beer he surrendered.‘Marina?’‘Richard?’‘Hi.I thought I should call.’‘Richard, where are you?’‘I shouldn’t say.I just.I wanted to tell you I’m OK.’‘Vika wants to see you.I think she can tell I’m worried.’Lock rubbed his eyes with his free hand, pinching the bridge of his nose.‘I’ll see her soon,’ he said.‘Tell her I’ll see her soon.’There was a pause.‘I stood there’, said Marina, ‘whispering your name over the wall.’‘I’m sorry.I was fine.I should have said.’They were silent again.‘I did what you suggested,’ Lock said.‘What?’‘I got some help.I’m trying to find a way out.It’s better already.Being free.I can think more clearly.’‘That’s good, Richard, but.You’re not going to run off ? I don’t think I could stand it.’‘No.No, I’m not.’‘I thought you had.’‘I’m going to face it.I think I have to.’Marina was quiet for a moment.‘That’s good.That is.We’ll help you.I’ll help you.’‘I know.’Another silence, broken by Marina.‘Konstantin called.’Lock said nothing.‘This morning.He wanted to know where you were.’‘What did you tell him?’‘That I didn’t know anything.’‘Was that it?’‘He wanted to know if I had lost trust in him as well.’‘And?’‘I told him I didn’t leave Moscow just to get away from you.’Again, Lock was silent.‘He said.he told me that he was trying to save you.’Lock closed his eyes.‘There’s no point in telling me that.’‘I thought you should know.’‘Do you believe him?’‘I think he no longer knows what he is saying.’Lock nodded slowly to himself.Could Malin really expect him to believe that? There was no point in wondering.He felt tired.‘Listen, darling, I should go.It’s going to be a busy few days.I’ll.I’ll call again.’‘OK.’‘Will you kiss Vika for me?’‘Of course.Be careful.Please.’‘I will.’‘If it doesn’t work, I’ve found you a lawyer.’By twelve the next day Lock was anxious.Nina hadn’t called and he had begun to regret the letter; it was time to stop delaying.His first call to her went unanswered, but he left no message.So did his second, two hours later; this time he told the machine who he was, that he was in Berlin and would welcome the chance to see her.He could go to her or she could come to him at the Hotel Daniel.At three she called; it was a short conversation.She told him that she didn’t want to see anyone associated with Dmitry’s old world, that he shouldn’t take this personally, and that she would be grateful if he left her alone.He tried to tell her that he no longer worked for Malin but it was clear that she had made up her mind.As he put the phone down he wondered what Webster would have done to keep her talking – and what would he do now to force a meeting?Lock had been in his hotel room all day, reading Middle-march and the guide book and drinking Scotch.He had had breakfast, but no lunch, and his head felt light and tense at the same time.He didn’t know what to make of Nina’s refusal: was it the end of everything, or merely an obstacle? Part of him, he realized, had never thought that Nina would make any difference; part of him longed to think that she would.Snow had settled thickly overnight and was still falling outside his window.He decided to walk into town [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]