along, nodded when he said that people were wriggling. But I preferred to know who was wriggling, and why. At home I could live with ambiguity. Not here, not in this tidy country where every hedge was clipped and not a single sunbeam bounced in the wrong direction. There wasn’t room for ambiguity here.
“Now that your heart rate is normal, tell me. What do you think of Dilara?” he asked. “More wine?”
“Beautiful girl,” I said. “No more for me.” Jenö?s expression changed. His eyebrows looked about to leap onto the table and do something with castanets. “Something wrong?” I asked. “Was that the wrong answer? You don’t think she’s beautiful?”
“These salted bread sticks are delicious, Inspector. Why don’t you take some back to your room? They’re from a wonderful bakery. Do you like baked goods?”
Chapter Four
“On your return, you will be hailed with a great ceremony at the airport. It will be thronged with press and cheering crowds, all to greet a man who had thought of abandoning the motherland but returned in its time of challenge and travail. Speakers will note that you are the grandson of a great hero; the blood lineage of the revolutionaries is always a good theme. There will be much waving of banners as you step from the aircraft stairs and plant your feet on the soil of your homeland. When they ask what made you return, you will say that Grandfather’s words echoed in your heart, that you saw him in front of you constantly, that you searched your conscience and finally realized you could not betray the people. You will weep at the mistake you almost made, weep at returning to the bosom of the country, the land where your parents shed their blood.”
My brother had left a message at my hotel for me to meet him again, this time in the park near the mission during the noontime break. As soon as I walked in through the gate and saw him sitting in the sun near the big pine tree, I knew I had made a mistake. Now that I heard what he had to say, I knew it was worse than a mistake.
“No. That I will not do.” I clenched my jaw so hard it hurt. “I will not play that sort of fool. I will not misuse Grandfather or our parents for such a ridiculous show. I will not betray them. You know I won’t do that. Why would you even suggest it? Are they so desperate at home to counter the defection in Beijing? Are they so rattled that they will grasp at anything, even this?”
My brother looked alien to me, and I thought I might despise him forever if I didn’t make one last effort. “Don’t you feel him near sometimes? I don’t mean like a ghost, but in your blood? When you see an old man on the street who looks a little like he did at the end, walks like he did, very proud and straight, don’t you think he is still around, a part of you?”
“Don’t be a fool.”
One more desperate attempt, one more and then I would quit. “Do you remember how Mother would sing at night, how her voice sounded in the darkness when she went down to the river to be alone? Can’t you hear it on the wind, still?”
“How could you remember anything like that? You were barely more than a baby. You’re romanticizing. There’s no time for sentimentality.”
“No, I remember. It is clear to me, her voice. I hear it sometimes.”
“Do you want to know what I hear? I hear grandfather telling us that they were dead, that we had no family left but him and that we had to leave in the morning because the battle was moving our way.”
“I remember her songs.”
“You don’t. You don’t remember a thing. You didn’t even cry when he told us. I don’t think you knew what was happening.”
“I remember Grandfather looking for someplace warm for us to sleep. I won’t let you use him. It’s betrayal.”
“Use him? He’s dead! We all have jobs to do, now and maybe after we die as well. Besides, he wasn’t perfect, you know. Or maybe you don’t.”
“Perfect? What would you know about perfection? That’s just like you, isn’t it? Tearing down whatever makes you look small by comparison. Have you ever said anything decent about him? Have you ever mentioned what he did? No, you pretend as if he didn’t sacrifice everything for us.”
“This isn’t