When the Doves Disappeared by Sofi Oksanen Page B

homeland with a black brush. And because Moscow was nervous, it was time to spring into action and make a retaliatory strike—to present Estonians abroad in a light that would make them unreliable in Western eyes. Parts couldn’t have thought of a better method himself. Once the fascistic nature of Estonian nationalism was revealed, the Soviet Union would have all the traitors handed back to it on a silver platter, since no one in the West would protect Hitlerists. Criminals had to be brought to justice. No one would listen to Estonian emigrants’ complaints and pleas anymore, no one would dare to publicly support them. That would be interpreted as support for fascism, and the Estonian government in exile would be seen as being in league with the dregs of humanity. He wouldn’t even need any evidence; sowing doubt would suffice. Nothing more than a hint, a whisper.
    “Of course, your own experience will give the book its piquancy,” Porkov added when he told him about the new project. They had never discussed Parts’s past before, but Parts took the hint. He had no need to try to hide the reasons he’d been sent to the Siberian camps. Those reasons were now to his credit. Every step he’d taken on Staffan Island was to his benefit, a mark of his expertise.
    “We wouldn’t have succeeded in destroying the nationalists as well as we did without your help,” Porkov continued. “A thing like that isn’t forgotten, Comrade Parts.”
    Parts swallowed. Although Porkov had made it understood that he could speak freely about the matter, Parts preferred not to discuss his peculiar secret, because it could also compromise him. But Porkov saw fit to continue, and Parts twisted his mouth into a smile.
    “Between you and me, I’m assured that no one has given the Directorate of State Security more complete information on the activities of Estonia’s anti-Soviets—all of their collaborators, English spies, forest bandits—and their addresses. Remarkable work, Comrade Parts. Without you we never would have learned about the fascist Linnas’s escape route to the West, not to mention the identities of all the Estonian expatriate traitors who aided him, which you helped to uncover.”
    Parts felt naked. Porkov only mentioned these things to show that he knew everything about him. Parts had not imagined otherwise, but speaking out loud about such things was a show of strength. It was amethod familiar to him. He forced his hand to remain still, fighting the urge to raise it to his breast pocket to make sure his passport was still there. He kept his feet motionless, looked straight at Porkov, and smiled.
    “When I fought on the German front, I was able to acquaint myself with the activities of the Estonian nationalists, and I’m very familiar with the subject. I would venture to say that I’m an expert on the nationalists.”
    EESTI RAAMAT WOULD BE his publisher. Porkov would make sure that the project would go forward without complications. Parts could expect a signed contract, a celebration. He could order champagne and napoleon cake, carnations for his wife. There would be translations, lots of them. Medals. There would be numerous reprintings. At antifascist celebrations, he would be given a place of honor.
    He could give up his cover position at the Norma factory guard booth. The advance and the brown envelopes from the Office would be enough to live on very well.
    He could get gas heat.
    He honestly couldn’t believe his luck.
    The only problem was that the peace he needed for his work was nonexistent at home. He’d hinted that he would require an office for his research, but there had been no progress in the matter, and he couldn’t reveal the nature of his work to his wife. There was no point in hoping that its importance would calm her nervous attacks. He went back to his desk and unbuttoned his collar. He had to get started. Porkov was already waiting for a taste, the first few chapters, and so much was at