Bel Canto (P.S.) by Ann Patchett

Author:Ann Patchett [Patchett, Ann]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780060838720
Publisher: Harper Perennial
Published: 2006-07-15T05:00:00+00:00

"I would agree," Gen said.

"To find myself here with her and to be unable to say anything it is, well, unfortunate. No, honestly, it is frustrating. What if we were released tomorrow? That is what I pray for and yet, wouldn't I say to myself for the rest of my life, you never spoke to her? She was right there in the room with you and you didn't bother to make arrangements to say something? What would it mean to live with such regret? I suppose it didn't bother me much before she resumed her singing. I was preoccupied with my own thoughts, the circumstances at hand, but now with the music coming so regularly everything has changed. Don't you find that to be true?"

And Gen had to agree. He hadn't thought about it in exactly those terms before but it was true. There was some difference.

"And what are the chances, given that I am a hostage in a country I do not know with a woman I so sincerely admire that there would also be a man such as yourself who has a good heart and speaks both my language and hers? Tell me what the chances are? They are in the millions! This is, of course, why I have come to you. I am interested in engaging your services of translation."

"It's nothing as formal as that," Gen said. "I'm happy to speak to Miss Coss. We can go now. I'll tell her whatever you want to say."

At that the great Russian paled and took three nervous puffs off his cigarette. So massive were this man's lungs that the little cigarette was all but finished off by his sudden burst of attention. "There is no rush for this, my friend."

"Unless we're released tomorrow."

He nodded and smiled. "You let me escape from nothing." He pointed his smoked-out cigarette at Gen. "You are thinking. You are telling me it is time to declare myself."

Gen thought he might have misunderstood the verb to declare. It could have other meanings. He could speak Russian, but his understanding lacked nuance. "I'm not telling you anything other than that Miss Coss is right there if you want to speak to her."

"Let's call it tomorrow, shall we? I'll speak in the morning"--he clapped a hand down on Gen's shoulder--"in case we are so fortunate. Is the morning fine with you?"

"I'll be here."

"Just after she sings," he said. Then he added, "But without rushing her any."

Gen told him that sounded reasonable.

"Good, good. That will give me time to prepare my thoughts. I will be awake all night. You are very good. Your Russian is very good."

"Thank you," Gen said. He had hoped that maybe they could talk for a while about Pushkin. There were things he wanted to know about Eugene Onegin and The Queen of Spades, but Fyodorov was gone, lumbering back to his corner like a fighter ready for the second round. The other two Russians were waiting for him, smoking.

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