Dancer, Daughter, Traitor, Spy by Elizabeth Kiem

Author:Elizabeth Kiem [Kiem, Elizabeth]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9781616952648
Publisher: Soho Press
Published: 2013-08-13T04:00:00+00:00

AFTER SCHOOL I RACE home and check the new answering machine that I insisted we install in case von Schlief should call in the middle of the day. But there’s only the robot voice saying, “no new messages.”

So I start on Pop’s cake—his birthday cake. I’m measuring out flour and running through the conversation in von Schlief’s office for the hundredth time: My performance indicated advanced training and natural strength of physical ability and plasticity. My tape, (yes, she had been taping the whole thing by remote camera) would be reviewed by her colleagues. She also had me fill out paperwork, very little of which I could complete, other than name, address, place of birth, and the information I’d memorized from Pop’s fake passport. For mother, I simply wrote deceased. I told myself that I was a master deceiver and not a disloyal daughter. I told myself I wasn’t a traitor. Ben was there: both interpreter and accompanist, and when von Schlief started talking about company fees and stipends, he interrupted. “Any information about financial aid and scholarship would be appreciated,” he said. Von Schlief said she would be in touch before the end of the week.

Ben and I took the train home. Though he never used the phrase “blown away,” his restrained Russian compliment said as much: velikolepna. Wondrous.

The phone rings and I jump. But it’s just Pop. It’s been a big week for him as well. He has a job. He has a car and a license, and he is earning dollars ferrying more fugitives the eleven miles from the airport to Brighton Beach. I’m proud of him. I’m actually pleased. Yes, it’s a disappointment; it’s also temporary. Sort of like Bay High and home ec and fire drills. I am certain that Pop will find a good job in a lab, maybe even a government lab. He just has to bide more time until we’re sure that his secret is safe … that all of his secrets can be made safe.

“Marusya, can you hold dinner, dochka? I’m at JFK and I want to wait for the seven o’clock flight, get a good fare home.”

“Sure, Pop. But not too late, okay? It’s your birthday dinner.”

I hang up and catch a fragment on the radio. News headlines. “Summit on arms control held in Geneva Switzerland … including international treaties to ban chemical and germ weapons … following recent revelations about secret test programs undertaken by Soviet researchers …” I scramble to the radio, wanting to hit rewind. But Americans don’t linger on explanations. Already the man is talking about wildfires in Colorado and a recall of Tylenol.

I whip together the cake batter and put it in the oven. The chicken, I’ve decided, I will fry on the stovetop, along with potatoes and mushrooms. I’m peeling, paring, pondering.

In another hour the cake is out, cooling on the counter. The chicken is frying and I’m setting the table for two. My father’s keys are in the lock and then I hear his voice: “Maruska, surprise! Look at my birthday present.

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