chair. Leaning back, he ran his fingers through his hair. "I've seen a lot of shit-I've done two stints in prison. I can imagine the systematic brutalization you've been through."
"Me and my mother, God rest her soul."
The headlights of passing cars shone briefly through the windows, then dwindled away. A dog barked in an alleyway, its melancholy voice echoing. A couple passing by outside argued vehemently. Inside the shabby apartment the patchy light cast by the lamps, their shades either torn or askew, caused Devra to look terribly vulnerable, like a wisp of a child. Arkadin rose, stretched mightily, strolled over to the window, looked out onto the street. His eyes picked out every bit of shadow, every flare of light no matter how brief or tiny. Sooner or later Pyotr's people were going to come after him; it was an inevitability that he and Icoupov had discussed before he left the villa. Icoupov had offered to send a couple of hard men to lie low in Sevastopol in the event they were needed, but Arkadin refused, saying he preferred to work alone.
Having assured himself that the street was for the moment clear, he turned away from the window, back to the room. "My mother died badly," he said. "She was murdered, brutally beaten, left in a closet for the rats to gnaw on. At least that's what the coroner told me."
"Where was your father?"
Arkadin shrugged. "Who knows? By that time, the sonovabitch could've been in Shanghai, or he could've been dead. My mother told me he was a merchant marine, but I seriously doubt it. She was ashamed of having been knocked up by a perfect stranger."
Devra, who had sat down on the ripped-apart arm of the sofa during this recitation, said, "It sucks not knowing where you came from, doesn't it? Like always being adrift at sea. You'll never recognize home even if you come upon it."
"Home," Arkadin said heavily. "I never think of it."
Devra caught something in his tone. "But you'd like to, wouldn't you?"
His expression went sour. He checked the street again with his usual thoroughness. "What would be the point?"
"Because knowing where we come from allows us know who we are." She beat softly at her chest with a fist. "Our past is part of us."
Arkadin felt as if she'd pricked him with a needle. Venom squirted through his veins. "My past is an island I've sailed away from long ago."
"Nevertheless, it's still with you, even if you're not aware of it," she said with the force of having mulled the question over and over in her own mind. "We can't outrun our past, no matter how hard we try."
Unlike him, she seemed eager to talk about her past. He found this curious. Did she think this subject was common ground? If so, he needed to stay with it, to keep the connection with her going.
"What about your father?"
"I was born here, grew up here." She stared down at her hands. "My father was a naval engineer. He was thrown out of the shipyards when the Russians took it over. Then one night they came for him, said he was spying on them, delivering technical information on their ships to the Americans. I never saw him again. But the Russian security officer in charge took a liking to my mother. When he'd used her up, he started on me."
Arkadin could just imagine. "How did it end?"
"An American killed him." She looked up at him. "Fucking ironic, because this American was a spy sent to photograph the Russian fleet. When the American had completed his assignment he should've gone back home. Instead he stayed. He took care of me, nursed me back to health."
"Naturally you fell in love with him."
She laughed. "If I was a character in a novel, sure. But he was so kind to me; I was like a daughter to him. I cried when he left."
Arkadin found that he was embarrassed by her confession. To distract himself, he looked around the ruined apartment one more time.
Devra watched him warily. "Hey. I'm dying for something to eat."
Arkadin laughed. "Aren't we all?"
His hawk-like gaze took in the street once more. This time the hairs on the back of his neck stirred as he stepped to the side of the window. A car he'd heard approaching had pulled up in front of the building. Devra, alerted by the sudden tension in his body, moved to the window behind him. What caught his attention was that though