The Free World by David Bezmozgis Page A

speaking in the Soviet conspiratorial tone, he suggested they could possibly negotiate once they met in person. Alec considered this sufficient to propel him and Polina through the labyrinth of Rome. Wide, reassuring boulevards gave way to serpentine streets that seemed to double back on themselves or to terminate at the steps of gloomy churches. Sometimes teeming streets led to teeming squares, other times to courtyards occupied only by laundry and flower boxes. Often Alec suspected that a tiny street they had accidentally stumbled upon was a shortcut known only to locals, though, his being lost, the discovery was naturally of no use. Different blocks bore the marks of different centuries. Neighborhoods changed, but he could not interpret the changes. He could not have said with any conviction what kind of people lived where, or when a place should be visited or avoided.
    Eventually they came to the river and crossed a bridge to the opposite bank. More stumbling and they began to see the names of streets Lyova-Luigi had mentioned. Trastevere, what the neighborhood was called, bore a distinct resemblance to Old Riga: dignified and ramshackle; three-story buildings; medieval streets, narrow and constricted, conducive to the spread of plague.
    On Via Salumi they found the designated house: green shuttersand a tangerine, peeling stucco exterior. Beside the frame of a wooden door, built to withstand marauders, was a line of buzzers. Alec depressed the little black nipple on the uppermost buzzer and then, through the door, heard the bolt and hinges of another door opening above and within, and then rapid footfalls beating the rhythm of staircase, landing, staircase, landing, staircase, landing. The door was pulled open; Lyova-Luigi stood before them and extended a long freckled hand.
    —Lyova, he said. Welcome.
    He was at least a head taller than Alec. His red hair and sideburns were chaos. His features were a series of conflicting planes: sharp, skeletal cheekbones; his nose a high, thin ridge; an Adam’s apple that was like a second nose in his neck. He wore steel, largeframed eyeglasses that magnified his blue eyes and their pink rims. When he spoke or smiled he exposed long teeth and the flesh of his upper gums. He was the kind of ugly man women found attractive. Alec had often seen very beautiful women clinging to men like Lyova. Speaking as if under the influence of some narcotic, women described these men as “interesting.” What the women meant was that they had faces that made you want to keep looking—which, for all practical purposes, was the same as handsome.
    Alec and Polina followed him up the marble steps. On the third floor they went through the door which Lyova had left ajar. From the entrance, and to their right, they could see one large room that had been divided in half by a brocade curtain of green leaves on a black background. The far half of the room had windows, a single bed, an armoire, and a small television; the near half had a simple walnut table, four chairs, and a bookshelf with books and a telephone. To their left was a small kitchen, a door to the bathroom, and a third door, which was closed. Lyova walked ahead and opened it to reveal a larger bed with a headboard, a window, and a closet.
    —I sleep here, Lyova said, and indicated the single bed behind the curtain. The other room would be yours. The table, the kitchen, and the washroom are shared. As you can see, it is clean. Everything works.
    With a chivalrous gesture, Lyova invited Polina to inspect the place.
    —Open anything you like, Lyova said.
    When Alec didn’t give any sign to the contrary, Polina stepped into the kitchen and glanced at the cupboards and the stove.
    —Where are you from? Lyova asked.
    —Riga, Alec said.
    —And where are you going?
    —We’re still deciding, Alec said, and offered a summary of their recent reversal.
    —It’s difficult to travel with a large Jewish family, Lyova said. Too many opinions. Like the