The Lacuna (19 page)

He spoke to the crowd in Spanish, slowly but well. “I am here because your country believes with me in democratic government and the worker-control of industry. Our efforts cannot succeed in an empty space.” (Probably he meant “a vacuum.”) “True change will come from an international organization of workers for world revolution.” The crowd has been quiet all day, but at those words they roared.

Nearly every day he takes small pauses from his writing to practice Spanish with the native typist. Van doesn’t like the distraction, pointing out that translators are always at the ready. And Lev says, “Trust an old revolutionary to trust no one completely.” He was teasing, it seemed. But today as he spoke directly to the crowd, his purpose was clear.

15 April

A long day of hearings. Mr. Dewey says it’s nearly concluded, but the crowd still grows, both the number of foreigners inside and the Mexicans outside. Lev has such a passion for this hearing, he wouldn’t mind if it went on until the sun burned cold. Van seems content beside his chief, undaunted by the army of observers: Mexican and foreign reporters in fedoras and rolled-up shirtsleeves, magazine writers, even some novelists, watching Van’s every move as he fishes into the paper caverns of the files with his long fingers, retrieving whatever obscure page Lev might need, indicated only by a word, a date, or a person’s name. They are like father and son. Lev and Van.

Very few questions in Spanish today. Sr. Pontón of the Sociedad de Naciones has the most. Today he had two. The first: “Sir, is it your position that a worker’s state could genuinely honor suffrage and all democratic rights, as in a social democracy?”

Lev’s reply: “Why should it not be so? Even now, in all the capitalist countries, Communists take part in the parliamentary struggle. When we achieve a worker’s state, there is no difference in principle in the way we will use suffrage, freedom of the press, assembly, and so forth.”

Second question: “Sir, you say the Soviet Union under Stalin is a degenerated workers’ state, controlled by an undemocratic bureaucracy. You predict this corruption will be overthrown by a political revolution, establishing a democracy of the working class. Or that it will continue to degenerate under world pressure into a purely capitalist state. In either case, can you rationalize the costs to society?”

Lev answered: “Young man, you make a point. Humanity has never succeeded in rationalizing its history. Much harm comes from leaders who insist that for every advance, someone else must slide backward. The dictatorship of the Soviet Secretariat came about because of the backwardness and isolation of the country, for so long imposed on us by the tsar. We were accustomed to the rationalizing of a despot. People accept what they have already known. When mankind is exhausted, he creates new enemies, new religions. Our best task is to move forward without seeking to do so.”

April 17

The commission has ended its work after thirteen sessions. If it went another day, the dining room of this house would crack like an egg. Lev closed with his usual vigor: “The experience of my life has not destroyed my faith in the clear, bright future of mankind. At age eighteen I entered the workers’ quarters of Nikolayev with nothing but a boy’s belief in reason, truth, and human solidarity. My faith since then has become more mature, but no less ardent.”

Every hand stopped; the reporters looked as if they might need handkerchiefs. Mr. Dewey said, “Sirs, anything I could say after that would be a waste of breath.”

Mr. Dewey and colleagues will consider the evidence and find the defendant guilty or not guilty. They will take many weeks before releasing their written verdict. But Lev is jubilant. Before the world, he has answered the charges.

28 April

The house is calming to the previous routines. If “calm” describes a man who works like three, signaling the typist to finish a letter and bring a book while he dictates political theories into the microphone of the wax-cylinder recording machine. It’s very warm, even working in shirtsleeves. Van is always last to remove his tweed jacket. An unexpected brush of his hand, when he reaches for a book, feels like boiling water. Van and Lev are both men of northern temperaments, yet Van seems agitated by Mexico’s vivid sun and landscapes, while Lev seems enlivened. He even loves the cactus.

1 May

Sra. Frida has continued her daily visits here since the hearings ended, making sure Lev is content. Let it be noted here: bringing Fulang Chang “to cheer the place up” may not be helpful. Natalya despises the monkey and yesterday, while Sra. Frida was in the kitchen, gave him a whack on the skull with a Conservative Party newspaper.

Lev is energized by the news of the workers’ uprising in Barcelona, citing it as a sign that the Third International agreement between Stalin and the world’s other communist parties has collapsed. Lev has been asked to write a fourth set of Internationalist agreements, hence his frenetic rush of words congealed into wax cylinders from his Ediphone. The alternative to Stalin’s Comintern now sits in jars on the desk, waiting to be transformed into typewritten words, and then the actions of men.

To celebrate, the household staff is complying with Sra. Frida’s requests to prepare for her “Fourth International party.” Sr. Rivera is more worried about security than table decoration.

2 May: The Dance

Lev was already in his study when Sra. Frida arrived this morning to take over the dining room, before Natalya had eaten her breakfast.
So she ate in the kitchen. Begging pardon, but please let it be noted: this is Natalya’s only home. Lately she has mentioned feeling like an unwanted guest.

Begging a second pardon, señora, but it was impossible not to laugh at the sight of you standing there at the table, decorating it for the party, with red carnations in both hands and one in your mouth. You looked like Carmen.

What are you laughing at? You think it’s so simple to create history?
Long skirt sweeping the floor like a broom, moving around the table, carefully laying out the long-stemmed carnations on the white tablecloth. The pattern looked like a huge eye, the long stems as eyelashes radiating outward like rays of the sun.

It’s true, dining tables are part of history. The Painter’s walls and Lev’s wax cylinders are not the whole story. The Sra. frowned, already picking up the flowers again before the design was finished. Commanding:
Fetch the scissors!
without even looking up. Snipping the heads of the carnations from their stems, working so quickly that trails of blood might have begun flowing from her fingertips, like one of her paintings.

Then she put a hand on her hip and held up the scissors, menacing the air. “We’re going to have dancing tonight. A lot of handsome artists. Belén and Carmen Alba told me you dance the
sandunga
and
jarabe
, perfectly. I will not even ask how they know this. But how did you learn?”

“From my mother.”

“Your mother, a nationalist? I had a different impression.”

“She would deny it now. She had a flirtation with it when we first came to the city. But now she’s moved on to the age of swing, and well-paid engineers.”

“And do you renounce us also? Or would you dance with an Indian girl?” She held out her hand and moved like liquid, rolling herself up into the arm that received her, making a flirtatious snip with her scissor like a flamenca dancer with her castanet.

Señora Frida is a confusion of terms: sometimes like a stern little man, then suddenly a woman or a child, but in every form demanding that you remain in love with her. Commanding even her giant of a husband, until he runs off to be rescued by softer, pillowy women. This is the truth and not an opinion: her cat smile, those hands, the paintbrushes. Any one of them can be like a slap across the chest.

After an hour’s work she was satisfied with the arrangement of red flowers on white linen. “Here will be Lev’s place,” she said quietly, “and here. Natalya’s.” Uttering that second name as if her place at the table were a concession.

Jealous
, of Natalya? Frida, is it possible?

It’s a lot of work to use flowers as paints. By the time the party ends, they’ll be a mess of wilted petals. Stains on your white tablecloth that could have been prevented. But you whirled around at that suggestion, looking fierce: lips pursed, the hand on your red rebozo, those silver earrings caressing your shoulders like hands.

“Unnecessary stains and dead flowers! Sóli, excuse me but what else do I have for making my marks on life, if not
lo absurdo y lo fugar
.”

You wanted to know how to say that in English. “The absurd” is easy. The other is more difficult.
Fugar
means things that run away with time. What would we do without the absurd and the running away?

That was the moment when the door flew open
bang!
and of course it was Diego. Carrying books and jacket, dropping things as he went, his boots hitting the tiles like cracks from a rifle as he crossed the room, kissed you, took the flowers away, and began to rearrange everything. All your work, you, everyone in the room—it all vanishes in the presence of Diego. Always right, because he is always riveting. For La Frida there is El Diego and nothing else.

A long time ago at school there was a boy like that, Bull’s Eye, always right even when he was wrong. Once you said it would be necessary to confide in you, Frida, sooner or later, one pierced soul
to another. That maybe you could help. Since you are the only one reading this report each week, here is the confession you requested: the scandal of irregular conduct. For the Insólito there was Bull’s Eye and nothing else.
Insólito
means ridiculous. It means all those things you said, absurd and running away. Where would you be without
lo absurdo y lo fugar
. Maybe you’re also lonely in this house, and you were asking: My friend, what would I do without you?

16 May

The press reports that Mr. Browder of the American Communist Party has come here to warn Mexican Communists against any communication with Trotsky. He says “unity at all costs” means supporting Stalin. Lombardo Toledano and many other Mexican party leaders have dined at the Riveras’ table, eaten the food of this kitchen. But Diego’s membership in their party is now revoked. They all ignore his invitations to come here and meet with Lev.

The heat is unbearable. Van goes out to a bar at night, the Golden Earring, just to get some air, he says. Lorenzo goes along, hoping to meet girls.
Do you want to come too?
Van asked. But probably the bar would be just another airless place.

1 June

The commander in chief of the Red Army, executed for treason. Tukhachevsky had expressed support of Trotsky’s position, and for this reason only he is dead. Lev dreads there will be a purge, thousands of officers affected. Nothing else here to report.

4 June

A telegram this morning from Lyova, as always in code. The purges in the Soviet Union are terrible. The chief of the Soviet Secret Service has resigned his post in protest of the killings, and announced his loyalty to Trotsky and the Fourth International.

Lev fears for the safety of Chief Reiss, but is cheered by news he has broken from Stalin. A congenial day in the office, despite sweltering heat. Lev had the big red worktable from his office carried outside to the courtyard. The commissar was quite a sight, working in his big straw hat and old-fashioned balbriggans. Even Van has finally stripped from gob shirts to Vee Lines, and over the course of the day his great Dutch shoulders began to glow. Tonight they are nearly the same maroon color as the desk.

This afternoon he knocked over the ink bottle and laughed about it, for a change. His sympathies are improving. He gratefully accepted help with changing the typewriter ribbon, and later with a repair of the electrical cord of the Ediphone. He complimented a small correction in a translation, saying we make a fine team. Who knows where else the pair of us might work, outside of these walls, if such a day should come.

5 June

Señora Frida’s wish this evening was to dine intimately with the Visitors. Natalya is not well and remained in bed. Van went out for the evening.

8 June

Let it be noted: Every time Sra. Frida brings out a tray of tea, the commissar lights up like the sun. He used to bear interruptions with polite tolerance. Now he glances up often to see if it’s time yet for another. Listening for the jingle of bracelets. Van agrees, Lev’s behavior is strange. Today Lev and the señora went in the automobile to Sra. Cristina’s house on an undisclosed mission, and stayed several hours, not for the first time. The lack of security is extremely worrisome. Frida, this is not an opinion.

10 June

Today while Lev was out for the afternoon, he instructed the office should be well cleaned and the table moved back indoors. Rains are expected.

Evidently the commissar didn’t expect such a thorough tidying-up. Van found a box of letters that worry him greatly. The nature of these letters may be known to Sra. Frida.
The new workers need not only your husband’s murals, but also what you offer: beauty, truth, passion. True art and revolution are joined at the lips and the heart
. Some letters, even more explicit, had been placed inside books he’s borrowed from Sra. Frida. He means to return these later, evidently. The letters remain in place.

Tonight Van paces like a prisoner around his cot in this tiny cupboard of a room. He sucks on licorice pastilles when he is anxious, after first laying out the evening’s ration end-to-end as Mother used to do with her cigarettes.

“Can we say anything about this, to anyone?”

“How could we?”

Van is desperate for his chief’s safety. And feels loyalty to Natalya as well; he has lived with them so many years. He wants this behavior explained. But not the explanation.

“For the sake of heaven,” he keeps saying, alternately pacing and slumping onto his cot. His broad shoulders and white V-shirt glow in the darkness of this bedroom with its closed-up windows. “I thought she looked up to him as a father. For the sake of heaven, she calls him El Viejo.”