No Wallowing Zone #2
My father had been a translator. He’s a polyglot whose fluency in East Slavic languages and Finnish got him recruited by the CIA to work as an analyst. He’s not the James Bond spy that Viktor imagined, but rather someone who synthesizes information to prepare briefings and recommend actions.
Of course, getting the information can be a risky operation.
But he’s always shielded me from the dangers of his job.
It’s only a part-time contract, but enough to get through the French government bureaucracy so we can live there. Thought I might take the John le Carré route and try my hand at writing some spy fiction.
Dad! That’s amazing. But are you allowed to do that?
I wouldn’t give away any real intelligence. But by combining my general knowledge with my imagination, I think I could come up with a good yarn.
My father has never been someone I associate with imagination, but who knows? Maybe this is his dream.
I bet Mom is excited to live in Paris again.
Yes. I believe she has a millinery class in mind.
I sigh happily. I have a vision of the two of them in a sunlit apartment, my mother hand sewing as my father taps away on a typewriter (no modern laptops for him) while jazz plays in the background.
It’s so wonderful to imagine them living an artistic life where they can wander around farmers markets, drink coffee in sidewalk cafés, and make new friends.
And it’s a freer life for me as well, since I’ll no longer have to hide my father’s profession or Moscow address.
I go up to the counter and order a chocolate chip cookie. I need fortification for the next part of our chat.
Look, Dad, there’s something I want to tell you. But you can’t get mad or do anything about it, I say.
I refuse your terms, he states, like we’re in some diplomatic negotiation.
Fine. Then I’m going to ask you to do something, and all I’m telling you is that it’s very important to me.
He sits back and crosses his arms.
I have a, uh, friend. I stumble over the word because Viktor is no longer my boyfriend or even a friend. But otherwise, this plea makes zero sense. Viktor Zelenko.
Dad frowns. Is he Russian?
He’s Ukrainian Canadian. His parents have Canadian citizenship, and so does he.
My father gives me a nod to continue.
Anyway, his brother, Marko, went to Ukraine and got involved with the war effort. Not as a soldier, but possibly working with a local resistance group. He was also looking after their grandmother who lives in Horodok.
I pause, but of course there’s zero reaction.
In the summer, Marko disappeared. He might have gone underground, or been taken prisoner by Russian forces. And despite a lot of searching, they haven’t heard anything about him since then.
My father is already shaking his head before I’ve even asked for anything. Evelyn, how well do you really know this Viktor fellow? Is it possible that he targeted you for this very purpose?
My eyes widen in incredulity. Dad! It’s not like I walk around in a T-shirt that says Ask me about the CIA.
He scowls and looks around to make sure that nobody heard me, but we’re alone in this corner. I already checked before I spoke.
He pulls out his black Moleskine notebook. Don’t you find it suspicious that you’re friends with someone with a personal connection to Russia? Probably one of the few on campus. I’m going to look into him. Is it V-i-c-t-o-r?
Fine. I’ll prove what a great guy Viktor is. He rescued me at a party after some guy drugged my drink. I was about to get assaulted when Viktor burst in.
My father is statue-still now. Drugged? Assaulted?
Yes. And it wasn’t my fault. It was an unopened can of pop, but the guy had poured sleeping pill powder into the bottom of my cup.
Dad groans. That old trick. Evelyn, haven’t I—
Stop. I was upset so I may not have been 100% vigilant, but I wasn’t careless. And I was prepared to defend myself. I swallow down the discomfort that comes whenever I think about what I almost did to Dougie.
Of course. I’m sorry, dear. And what was the full name of this fellow who drugged you?
No, Dad. He’s already been punished. He admitted his actions and was suspended from Monarch College indefinitely. And there are also criminal charges pending.
Still, I’d like to know. Just so I can follow up. His pen is poised.
I knew you would do this. That’s why I asked you to promise not to interfere. I’m on my own now. And yes, I’m making tons of mistakes, but I’m trying to mature and become a better person.
He sighs. I realize that, but you’re still my little girl.
I reach over and squeeze his arm. Thank you, Dad. Then I press on. Instead, please use your informational superpowers to help the good guy.
Is this Viktor your boyfriend?
I scrunch my nose. He was. We broke up, but I’d still like to do this for him. He’s so worried.
Dad shakes his head. Does he know that there’s a high probability that that his brother is dead? So many people disappear without a trace. When was he last seen?
August. But they don’t have an exact date.
My father grimaces. It’s almost impossible to get this information. And I certainly don’t have a good reason to request it.
I know all this, of course. My father is a rule-follower who would never cause problems at work. But I’ve never asked for anything like this before, so he understands the importance.
You know, your meeting was almost the perfect way for him to ingratiate himself with you. He sets up the whole drugging scenario and then rushes in like a hero to rescue you. Brilliant, really.
I scowl, inflamed by the way he's casting Viktor as the real villain. C'mon, Dad, that’s a ridiculous scenario.
Then he actually laughs. But the real kicker is that human nature doesn’t work that way.
It’s actually the person who does the rescuing who becomes more attached.
Isn’t there some old saying about saving a person’s life and being responsible for them forever?
In my experience, that turns out to be true.
Perhaps it’s a hero complex or a reinforcement of self-worth.
I would hazard that your friend probably misses you much more than you miss him.
Given how much I miss Viktor, that seems impossible. But I feel better for asking. Maybe this will somehow balance the wrong I did to him when we first met.