Once again, France could legitimately claim to be the center of the world, albeit the EU structures of this capital had been built through the good offices of other nations. The French had done one thing for themselves: They had slightly modernized the airport to take care of the increased traffic into the area, intending to make it easier for the traveler to find his way into the city proper. The innkeepers who were ever ready to sell travelers Strasbourg’s accommodations, particularly its well-regarded cuisine, appreciated their government’s efforts.
Jana arrived at the Strasbourg airport slightly over an hour after leaving Vienna, then wandered around trying to find out how to get to her hotel. She was finally pointed toward a minivan that took her to the small hotel that had been booked for the conference delegates near the central train station.
At the hotel, there was barely time for a brief bath. She had to quickly change into a simple suit and matching shoes she saved for events like these, then use a large over-the-bureau mirror to apply her makeup. She sighed, realizing once more that she had now crossed into that region that people called middle age. Nothing she could do about it, she sighed again; then she caught a taxi near the hotel. She showed the taxi driver her card, on the back of which she had written down the meeting’s location.
As the taxi pulled up to the Palais de l’Europe, Jana dashed out and into the building. The lobby guard checked her credentials, then called up to the contact person whose name Jana had been given. After a brief conversation, the guard looked up from her phone, smiling at Jana in a sympathetic way. She first informed Jana in French, then in English, to make sure that Jana understood, that she was very sorry but the meeting had been postponed until the next day at nine hundred hours.
Worse than the bureaucracy in Slovakia, Jana thought. She remembered the brief relaxation of the hot bath she had had to rush through. A simple call, a note left at the desk of her hotel to tell her not to come today, would have been nice. She looked around the lobby, trying to decide what to do with herself for the rest of the day. She had reread her reports on the plane, reviewed facts, and generally prepared for questions that might be asked in the meeting. She would not have to go over them again. That put her in the lazy category of tourist.
Jana’s eye caught that of a younger man. Decent-looking, but, she thought ruefully, out of her age bracket. Yet he kept on staring. Her recent inspection of her features in the hotel-room mirror had again disabused her of any notion that she was still beautiful, so why was he looking at her with so much interest? She stared back at him, and he quickly turned away, piqueing her interest. Bashful? Maybe. The man turned to look at her again. This time, he did not back off when he realized she was studying him.
He reminded her very strongly of someone she knew, but she could not yet quite place him. When the answer came, it jolted her. He looked like Dano, a little taller, his hair a little lighter, but his nose, eyes, the set of his chin, even the way he held himself reminded her of Dano. She started toward the man, than realized she was being crazy.
Jana willed herself to change direction, rushing through the doors and into the street. Off to one side was the Parc de l’Orangerie. She headed for the grass and trees, too many memories crowding her head, the need for open space and a brisk walk her immediate remedy for the momentary confusion she had just gone through.
She walked for a few minutes, not really seeing anything, finally angling through the park to the quay along the river, maintaining a steady pace for a good ten minutes, the water on one side, the trees on the other muting the traffic noises and the rest of the cacophony of the city. Then she slowed down, realizing that she had worked up a fine sweat, and was just about to change direction and head back toward the Centre Ville when she heard footsteps behind her. Once consciously heard, Jana realized that she had been aware of them keeping pace with her for some time. Now they were closing in on her.
Police officers naturally develop and refine a sense of caution over the years: Defense must be automatic, without thought, or the policeman loses the fight. Jana’s first impulse was to swing around and confront the pursuer head-on, to ward off any imminent attack. But she had passed through the park and was in the open, it was daylight, and there were other people passing by, so this was not the time or place an attacker would choose for an assault. She was not likely to be in danger.
However, a small amount of caution is a good thing. She was passing a bench. Jana walked behind it, turning to face her pursuer, keeping the bench between them. It would give her an extra moment to prepare a defense in case she was wrong.
Again, Jana was jolted. Her pursuer was Dano’s look-alike, the man from the lobby. He hesitated a moment, then came toward the bench.
Closer, he looked even more like Dano, down to dark shadows under his eyes which created a soulful look, that appearance of sensitivity that made women want to embrace him.
“I’ve been following you,” the man got out, seeming to be embarrassed. “I think I know who you are.”
“Who am I?
“Jana Matinova.” He watched her reaction, her response confirming that he was right. He finally smiled, a shy smile, which softened his face even more. “You don’t know who I am.”
Jana shook her head.
“I’m Jeremy Conrad. Your daughter’s husband.”
Chapter 17
I
t had been a different time; things seemed to be getting better for Jana. She was back in Bratislava. She had a charged-up ten-year-old who insisted on being called Katka, not Katerina. And she and Dano were trying to reestablish their relationship, which still suffered from Jana’s long exile in the hinterlands of Slovakia.
Katka had grown to be “Daddy’s Girl.” She had a sixth sense about when Dano was about to come home, running around the apartment to get everyone ready, making sure the house was neat, giving orders to her mother and her grandmother about items which, in her mind, needed to be prepared, from how to set the table to having a flower cut so she could give it to Papa, all the while running over to the window to see if Dano was walking up to the front door.
The years had not been good to Dano. He had been unable to get a job in state-sponsored theater since he had put Jana’s gun to the agent provocateur’s head. He had continued to act, but only in the nonfunded, unsponsored theater. These small, storefront troupes were always in trouble with the state authorities, and Dano’s participation in them, in turn, ensured his place on the state’s enemies list. There
had
been a minor benefit to all this: Dano had built a small following of people who would come to his plays and, at least for his ego’s sake, he had kept his name out there in the Slovak theater world.
There was one additional misfortune for Dano. Because his theater appearances earned no money, except for meager voluntary contributions from the audience, Dano had to go onto the “will-work list.”
To help all those made “nonpersons” by the state, the “will-work list” had come into existence. It was informal, passed on by word of mouth through people who needed workers and wanted to pay them less than scale, or needed people to work in unsafe conditions, or simply wanted a worker who could never complain, could never talk back, and could be terminated on a whim. The “will work” laborers were available for any job for a pittance and would never go to the authorities. Working on the “list” had left its scars on Dano. He’d had to clean out too many septic tanks without the proper tools, put up with too much abuse. It was not a good role for one of the premier actors in the country.
Yet Dano could not get or keep any legitimate job, no matter how menial, because the authorities checked on new hires and when his name came up, word was immediately communicated that he presented a potential problem for his employer. No employer could take the risk of irritating the state. Dano would be unceremoniously fired, sometimes with a surreptitious small payout to him from the more decent employers, who also didn’t want any fuss. Most of the time, when Dano was fired, he forfeited his wages. It was used as an opportunity to cheat him.
It was easier for Jana. She had been allowed to come back to Bratislava as a police officer two years earlier. Trokan had tried to help her when she was in “exile,” throwing special assignments her way.
The Criminal Police had become notorious for their use of criminal charges filed for political reasons. Combining that with their corruption and their ineptitude, there was a need for an honest detective, even one who was in disfavor. So Trokan had first pulled Jana out of Preshov and sent her to Poprad, from Poprad to Zilina, then to Banská Bystrica, from there to Nitra, then to Trnova. And now she was finally back in Bratislava. The journey had been one of forgiveness and repatriation.
It had not been easy for her, but better than what Dano was going through. At least she was working in her chosen field. And she was climbing the ladder once more. Jana had worked case after case, establishing her credentials as a police officer who knew how to successfully investigate the most complex cases. Her nominal superiors thought she was hard to control, unconventional, perhaps better to stay away from because of her “contacts” in Bratislava. But they did have to respect her. The water poison cases, the Mafya killings in the Hungary and Ukraine border areas, the political killing of a mayor, they all fell to her and were solved. Promotions eventually began to come to her again, and she was now a sublieutenant.
Back in Bratislava she had to confront conflicting emotions. Her relationship with Dano had deteriorated. Perhaps too much time had passed, too many non-shared experiences; perhaps it had to do with the youth that they had left behind and the turns each had taken in different directions.
When Jana returned, Dano had begun to drink heavily. She had seen it on occasion, been warned about it by her mother and others. But the presence of Katka and Jana seemed to make a difference. Miracle of miracles, he stopped. Unfortunately, they were still not yet out of the woods. One trouble with incipient alcoholics is that they all too often use heavy drinking as a drug to shelter them from the perception of an unhappy reality. And when they stop drinking, that perception returns with a vengeance.
Suppressed anxiety, hidden anger, and the pain of depression strike; without the escape of the bottle, formidable emotional changes take place. For Dano, sourness set in. A sarcastic, angry cast colored his attitude. He would lash out, then regret his actions, then, a moment later, lash out again. He did this with everyone except Katka.
That evening, Dano came up the walk carrying a package. And even before she wrestled the door open, Katka knew that it had to be a present for her. She jumped on her father at the door. Dano swept her up with his free arm, the two of them dancing a quick jig around the room. Katka hugged her father around the neck as hard as she could squeeze, kissing him on the cheek, and finally, when he was out of breath, let go to slide down to the floor. Of course, the first questions she asked were: “What’s in the package, Papa?” and “Is it for me?”
“For you?” Dano pretended to be surprised by the question. “I’m not sure. I guess I’ve forgotten.”
Of course it was for her, and Katka pulled it out of the loosely tied paper wrapping. A dramatic purple skirt, long and flowing when it was unfurled, more an adult’s skirt than a ten-year-old’s, but Katka loved it anyway, squealing with joy, running to kiss Dano again, running to show it to Jana and her grandmother, finally slipping it over her head, holding up the hem so she wouldn’t trip over it, parading around the room as if she were a royal princess.
And Jana loved him again, because she could see the sparkle in his eyes, reveling in the fact that he had made their daughter happy. This was the Dano she had known before, the Dano who was Hamlet and all the other great stage heroes that he had portrayed, standing there in their living room that evening. She went to him, as her daughter had done, and gave him a long kiss.
Dinner that night, even though not graced by any particular holiday dish, was as festive as any they’d had recently. There were lots of giggles from Katka, jokes from Dano about his latest rehearsals, and local gossip from her mother about who was having an affair with what married man in the neighborhood. Jana generally had nothing to offer at the dinner table because the nature of her work was not conducive to the appetite, but tonight Dano insisted that she tell them what was going on in the “dreaded halls” of the local police.
Jana finally gave in, laughing while she told them a story about Trokan and his wife. His wife had come to his office, and everyone could hear an argument building up between them, with Trokan’s wife getting louder and louder. Finally, Trokan had broken away, steaming out of his office, telling his secretary he was not going to return that day, leaving his wife behind. Thirty minutes went by, with the wife still inside, everyone starting to make bets on how long she would remain. When she emerged from the office, she turned back as if Trokan was still inside behind his desk, yelling at the phantom Trokan, “And if you come home late this evening, don’t count on spending the night in your bed.” With that, she’d stormed out, a self-satisfied look on her face as if she had gotten the last word in the argument.
Katka wanted to know if the woman could have been speaking to a ghost, like Hamlet had talked to the specter of his father in the play. Dano, who had gone over his favorite role many times with Katka, indicated it was possible, but more likely the woman was a little crazy. Jana’s mother chimed in with “more than a little,” cackling about poor Trokan coming in the next day not knowing the embarrassment he was facing. And Jana suddenly felt depressed.
Husbands and wives often share terrible events, events they can never get out of their minds as much as they try.