Bellagrand: A Novel (58 page)

“Mr. Domarind, the law does not apply to me. Frankly, I don’t know why you’re bringing it up. I am not requesting entry into the United States. In case you’re not aware of it, I am already
in
the United States. Boston, to be specific. Sitting in front of you.”

He continued. “The 1903 Act was amended in 1917 after all the trouble during the Great War, trouble with which I am aware you’re personally acquainted. Then—and this is the part that concerns you—the law was amended for the third and final time, and came to be called the Immigration Act of 1918. The new law has greatly increased the powers of the Department of Justice and the Department of Immigration to deport any and all undesirables by simple administrative fiat without any due process niceties such as deportation hearings.”

“Mr. Domarind, this has nothing to do with me.”

“It has everything to do with you, I’m afraid. Under the provisions of the act, all aliens who are either themselves members or are affiliated with any members, organizations, groups, or persons who disseminate, circulate, propagate, print, display, or advocate, among other things, the overthrow of the government of the United States by force, or any other kind of sabotage, can and will be deported.”

“I am not an alien,” Gina whispered.

“We’ll get to that. Aside from your damaging affiliation with your husband, who is a vociferous and unrepentant member of the Communist Party of the United States, you yourself retain a paid membership in the Free Society, do you not? You have a lifetime subscription to
Mother Earth
. These are expenses, Mrs. Barrington, that won’t be easily explained to the Department of Justice once they’ve noted that you cannot pay your telephone or your legal bills.”

“My husband is full of words,” she said. “He is not full of action. And I will cancel my membership in the Free Society, if it pleases you.” She had forgotten about that. Harry must have been renewing her dues.

“Too late for that,” said the brisk lawyer. “You know your husband’s record better than I do; I don’t have to review it for you. The number of times he has been arrested for obstructing recruitment stations, for violent assault, for incitement to violence, for disturbing the peace, for endangering a minor—your son—and for advocating the overthrow of our government by
any
means necessary and establishing a communist dictatorship here in the United States such as they have in the Soviet Union beggars belief.”

“If you don’t have to review it, then why do you, Mr. Domarind?” said Gina. “And if you’re not up to the job . . .”

“There isn’t a lawyer in this country who is up to the job, madam. And if there were, you’d have no money to pay for him anyway. You think a public defender will do better for your husband?” Domarind sighed. “Look, the purpose of my visit is not to discuss Harry. It’s about you. You are going to have to wash your hands of him, if you are to save yourself.”

Gina braced for the coming blow.

“Because they are going to deport you.”

She tried to take a deep breath. She couldn’t even manage a shallow one. “That’s not possible. I’m an American citizen.”

“I’m getting to that,” said Domarind, taking out a handkerchief and wiping his brow, even though it was cool in the room. “You are an American citizen because you married Harold Barrington. Isn’t that correct? Well, your husband was stripped of his citizenship in 1928. So guess what happens to you?”

“No, he wasn’t. That’s a lie.”

“Not only is it
not
a lie, but he himself agreed to it as part of his last plea bargain. You weren’t in court for that particular hearing? I don’t blame you. Been to one, been to them all, I say. Nonetheless, as one of the conditions of his release, your husband’s citizenship was revoked. He told the court he had no desire to be a citizen of any country that oppressed its people like the United States.”

“He was hot under the collar,” Gina muttered.

“Perhaps. But did that preclude his understanding of the judge’s order? Because he was clearly told that as a noncitizen, any transgression could get him deported. He and you have been living at the mercy of the Justice Department. So what does he do? Instead of lying low, behaving himself, he has gone on an underground rampage of disseminating, by any and all means available to him, Soviet cables to the CPUSA.”

“That can’t be, Mr. Domarind.”

“But it is, Mrs. Barrington. He was told what would happen, and he flipped them off.”

“It’s a mistake. It’s . . .”

“I will allow that he didn’t think it through. But he knew what it would mean. He just didn’t know what it would mean for you. Or for your son.” Domarind paused. “Or did he?”

At the mention of Alexander, it went dark for a moment in the apartment, as if night had fallen in the middle of the morning. Gina may have fainted, sitting up straight and narrow. When she came to, she was slumped in the chair, Domarind was still sitting on the couch, the fired-up trees were outside her window, and Harry was standing in the open doorway, a paper bag in his hands.

The three of them eyed each other. Gina tried to collect herself. Harry shut the door. “Why are you here?” he said. “Why are you upsetting my wife? I told you last week, I’ll pay you soon.”

Domarind stood up. “I don’t believe you. But that’s not why I’m here.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Because I’ve been telling you for three years to consider how your actions will inevitably affect your family. You refused to listen. And you haven’t been truthful with your wife. She doesn’t even know what’s been happening.”

“Get out.”

“I heard it straight from the DA four days ago: you are going to be deported. I told you what would happen if you broke the law one more time. You ignored me. As always.”

“I said get out.”

“The United States is about to latch its doors.” Domarind turned his attention to Gina. “Either Italy or the Soviet Union, Mrs. Barrington. But I’ll tell you right now, Italy is not as welcoming as it used to be. Mussolini has cracked down on all anarchists living in his country, and when I say cracked down, I don’t mean cracked down like our friendly justice system cracks down, giving your husband twelve chances, thirteen, and then three more. Oh no. Mussolini is putting the anarchists against the wall and shooting them in the town square. Just read the papers. Trust me, even if you could, you don’t want to go to Italy.”

“I’m not an anarchist,” said Gina.

“Domarind, get out,” said Harry. “There will be a deportation hearing.”

“I wish just once, Harry, you would pay mind to someone other than yourself. I told you, the DA told you, the judge told you, there are
no
deportation hearings for you. A court-ordered signature is all that’s required. And if you will forgive me, as of today, I am going to respectfully bow out as your legal counsel.”

“You are the legal
enemy
, that’s why. You’ve never helped me.”

“That’s right,” said Domarind. “It’s all my fault. Well, blah blah. The only thing J. Edgar hears is that you continue to actively support the Soviet Union against the United States. In your book it’s freedom. In his it’s treason. And on this one, he has the last word, not you. So pack your bags.” Domarind turned to Gina. “Gina,” he said imploringly, “you’ve got one chance to save your son. Leave him with his aunt—”

“Domarind! Get the fuck out!”

“You heard my husband—out!” Gina yelled. “Get out, get out, get out!”

She pushed him with her hands, shoved him across the apartment, out onto the landing, and slammed the door so hard behind him that the wooden jamb splintered and broke.

Panting, she turned to Harry.

Three

SHE SAID NOTHING.
The pit of black dread made her mute. And he was never one for words, not unless someone was being oppressed. He took two sandwiches and a canister of soup out of the paper bag he’d been holding. “I got this from Trinity Church,” he said, as if they had just finished playing cards. “They were giving it away.”

“Nice to know you can count on the Church in time of trouble.”

“This isn’t a time of trouble, my darling,” said Harry. “This is a time of opportunity.”

She watched him from across the room. “Why didn’t you tell me you renounced your citizenship?” she said quietly. She put her hands on her chest. Something was wrong with her. She couldn’t get out a full breath without pain.

“I didn’t want you to worry,” he said. “Look at how you get. That’s why I don’t tell you half of what’s going on. You get so anxious, and most of the time everything works out.”

“Is this going to work out?”

He wasn’t stressed. He was joyous, animated. “Gia,” he said, coming around the dining table to get close to her. “Don’t misconstrue what life is offering us. It’s not closing a door. It’s opening our future.”

“Harry, did you know we faced deportation if there was one more charge against you? Have you known this since last year?” Known and rolled on anyway, pulpits, pamphlets, promises?

“I knew they were threatening it,” he said, nonchalantly. “Now listen to me . . .” Catching her by the hand, he wrapped his arm around her waist, as if they were dancing. “Come with me.” Kissing the inside of her wrist, he pulled her toward the open bedroom door.

She yanked away. “Have you gone
insane
? There is no peace inside me.”

“You’re wrong, there’s always peace inside,” he whispered, trying to catch her mouth in a kiss, but settling for her wrists and palms. “I know this for a fact. Even when there is a squall outside. Like now.”

Unseduced, she pulled away. When he reached for her again, she feinted this way, that. He took one step forward, she took two steps back.

“Did you know you were putting our family into this kind of danger, and did it anyway?”

He lowered his arms to his sides. They stood without speaking.

“Well, they finally heard you, Philip Nolan,” Gina said. “My dear man without a country. You’ve been wishing to never hear of the United States again. Now they’re about to see to it.”

Harry chewed his lip, rolled his head from side to side. “If we want, I have a man who can fix it. Fix it better than Domarind.”

“Who will pay this man?”

“Maybe Esther. You don’t think she’ll pay to keep Alexander here?”

Gina raised her chin. “Still falling back on your father’s money,” she said with scorn. “Nothing is ever real, even this, because you think there will always be a way out.”

“That’s just the thing, though!” He lurched forward. “I don’t want a way out. I want a way
in
.” His hands flew toward the window. “To the Soviet Union.”

“You’re delusional.” Blood had drained from her white hands.

“It’s my strongest desire. You know that. I’ve never wanted anything more in my life.”

“Anything?”

He caught her again, both hands on her waist, drawing her near, ignoring her horror-struck face. “You are my love, and my life. Have you been walking the streets for months, as I have? Have you recited the arguments for and against, as I have?”

“For and against staying with you? Leaving you? Running screaming? Oh, yes, Harry. I have.”

“Stop it,” he said, letting go of her, cooling down. “Stop being cruel to me when I’m trying hard to be loving.”

“You should have told me about your secret desires,” she said. “Shared some of these musings with me. With me, Margaret Janke, Kenneth Femmer, your father, the parole board, the district attorney.”

“Russia, Gina! Beyond the shadow of my name and my station. Where no one knows me, or us. Not like Boston, where you can’t walk down the block to buy a newspaper without some idiot judging you. In Russia, we can be like everybody else.”

“Who is we?”

“You, me. Alexander.”

“You want
Alexander
to go to the Soviet Union?” Gina mock-laughed.

“Why are you laughing? We can’t leave him here.”

“We can’t?”

That’s when he backed away from her. That’s when he lost his good humor.
Finally
.

“Are you joking again? Because—”

“Do I look to you like I’m joking?”

“Gina! You want to leave our son in America while we move to the Soviet Union?”

“I don’t want to move to the Soviet Union!”

“But there’s a chance we will have to.” He paused. “A good chance.”

“You just told me you know a man who can fix it.”

“I lied! We can’t fix it, okay? They are going to deport us.”

“What have you done?” She was shaking. “Not Alexander. They’re not going to deport
him
.”

“Can you hear yourself right now?”

“Are you hearing
your
self? It’s the Soviet Union!”

“It’s our son!”

“I know!” she cried. “You should have thought of
him
on your streets of daydreams!”

“I did think of him! It didn’t occur to me for a moment we would leave him.”

“We can’t take him to Russia, Harry!”

Harry’s mouth dropped open. His eyes drained of color. He stared at her uncomprehendingly. “You want to
abandon
Alexander?”

“I didn’t say that!”

“Then what
did
you say? Because that’s what I heard.”

“I don’t want him to go to the Soviet Union,” she breathed out.

“It’s because of him that I want us to go more than anything. Him, most of all. Do you want him to grow up soft like me? Do you want impossible expectations to suffocate him, too?”

“You want him to go to the Soviet Union so no one will
expect
anything of him?” She laughed. Cackled.

“In Russia,” Harry said, “Alexander won’t have anything to fall back on except himself. He will be forever free of my father’s name, and of my father’s money.”

“You want that for him? To have nothing?”

“Not nothing!” Harry yelled. “To have
himself.
That’s more important than power, or status, or wealth, or God. It’s more important than anything.”

“If you want him to have nothing,” Gina said, “you’ve done a splendid job of making that happen here. Why would he need to go all the way to Russia?”