Slow River

The handle was one of those old-fashioned knobs. Brass. Slippery under my sweating hands. It turned easily.

Dark red carpet. A desk, a big slab of some dark wood. A man climbing to his feet as the door shut behind me—the plant superintendent. To the right, a woman in a brown suit. A quick glance from her pale eyes to me and then from me to the man sitting on the left side of the desk. A strange, eerie silence. Then the superintendent, Rawlin, saying something at the same time that the door swung shut with a click and my father jumped to his feet, face eager, hands open: “Lore! Oh, thank god, Lore!”

His words were like solvent on cheap varnish, stripping away my comforting glaze of unreality.

“God. Lore. When I heard, I came as fast as I could. We’ve just land-”

The world was painfully bright and real. I held up my hand, making him stop. “Who told you? Was it Meisener?” Oster dropped his hands. “Who?”

“Meisener. Or that’s what he calls himself. He works here.”

“Wait a minute,” the superintendent said, coming out from behind the desk. “One of our workers knew you were here?”

“Oh, he’s not yours.”

Rawlin frowned at that, then ignored it. “But if he knew you were here, why didn’t he claim the reward?”

“It wasn’t Meisener?” I asked Oster. But of course it wasn’t. And then all my adrenaline had boiled away and I felt old and sad and tired. They were all staring at me. I sighed. “Let’s start again.” I nodded to Rawlins. “Superintendent,” I said, then held out my hand to the woman. “I’m Lore van de Oest.”

She responded automatically, as people do. “Claire Singh. Director of City Sewage.”

I smiled the polite smile I had not had to use for a long time. “My father and I haven’t seen each other in a while. We would like some privacy.” It took her a moment to understand; then she flushed. Perhaps it was the smile, perhaps she remembered that Oster could buy her and her city from his daily operating budget. “Rawlin,” she snapped. “We’ll leave father and daughter to themselves for a few minutes.”

I watched them leave, refusing to meet my father’s eyes until the door was closing behind them. I tried to imagine what Magyar would make of their exit. I felt better knowing she was there.

Then there was no way to put it off any longer. I turned to my father.

He held out his arms again, but more cautiously this time, and that caution, almost timorousness, undid me. He was my father.

“Oh, Papa…”

I threw myself into his arms. But I wasn’t six anymore, and he couldn’t keep out the world. And he seemed smaller than he had been. We moved apart a little to look at each other, hands still wrapped around biceps and triceps.

“Lore…” Long and drawn out, as though it was new in his mouth. “Lore, I thought you were dead.”

“I was, in a way.”

He reached up, seemed about to ruffle my hair, then touched the ends gently. “Brown suits you.”

We held each other at arm’s length in silence, measuring. Still daughter and father, but changed. “Come for a walk with me. By the canal.”

“In the city?”

His surprise and distaste amused me. “I’ve lived here three years. I’m one of the people I used to be scared of. We’ll walk by the canal and no one will bother us. Assuming the media doesn’t have this already.”

“It’s tight as a drum. That won’t last past tomorrow morning, of course.”

“Unless your informer takes it to the net for extra money.”

“No. That was one of the conditions of receiving the reward.”

It made sense. “Will you come for that walk? You can have a bodyguard follow us, if you like.”

I opened the door. Magyar was there, trying to look bored, succeeding only in looking fierce and alien in her green ski

I hadn’t meant it to be a question, but of course it was. My father was here in the flesh. Everything was real. This was her chance to back away from Lore van de Oest. All she said was, “Don’t be late,” and gave my father a piercing look.

It was wet and cold and windy. The towpath was surprisingly light: the water reflected the city’s glow. We walked in silence for a while.

“Did you fly straight from Ratnapida?”

“Yes. Private plane from Auckland to Bangkok, then on to Rotterdam. Then here.”

“I imagine you feel cold.” It was summer in Ratnapida. Mid-eighties on a cool day.

“The carp are bigger,” he said. “Even in just three years.”

More silence.

“Lore, will you come home?”

I didn’t know what to say.

“She’s gone,” he said softly. “Your mother.”

“What happened?”

“It was terrible.”

I took his arm as we walked, and he told me: Tok arriving in the middle of the night, shouting, “-making all these accusations. He was wild. Shouting, almost screaming.” He wouldn’t wait until morning. He had waited too long already, he said. Stella was dead, Greta was a twisted shadow of what she should be, because ever since they were very small Katerine had been going into their rooms and… using them

“Did you believe him?”

“I didn’t want to.”

“But you did, didn’t you?” Accusatory. “Because you already knew.”

The arm in mine tensed. I thought he would pull away, but then he sagged. “I didn’t know. I mean, I was never sure. But I think I’ve suspected… That night when you screamed and wouldn’t be left alone without a lock… But she was my wife! Your mother. Mothers don’t… they don’t do that sort of thing.”

“Stella is dead. I nearly died. Tok ran away.” I had a sudden vision of myself as a mechanical bird, parroting: Stella is dead, I nearly died, Tok ran away. Stella is dead, I nearly died, Tok…

“It’s so easy, Lore, to ignore things. To pretend that what’s there is your imagination.”

“Do you know, do you have any idea, what your… your pretense cost me? Do you?”

“Tok said…” His voice was low and brown with grief.

Maybe I should have felt sorry for him, and I did, in a way, but I was too angry. “Stella died. I didn’t even get to go to her funeral. I don’t even know where you had the funeral. Katerine was there, and not me. Katerine and Greta. And why? Because you didn’t pay my ransom! Because-”

“What do you mean, we didn’t pay your ransom? Of course we did. Greta handled it. She told me so personally.”

“Greta,” I said. “Greta. Good old gray Greta. Greta will get the job done. Give it to Greta.” I hardly recognized my own voice, it was so twisted up. Oster looked sick. “Don’t you like who I’ve become, Papa? I’ve been through some hard times, staying alive. But I’m not a bad person. I don’t hide from the truth.” You’re doing it again, hiding from things, Magyar had said. Well, not anymore. “Let me tell you some things about Greta, Papa. Are you listening? Because I will follow you and speak until you do hear. Gray Greta, efficient Greta, is ru

“But-”

I was implacable. “One of them, who goes by the name of Nathan Meisener, was almost responsible for the deaths of thousands and thousands of people. I could have been one of them. And she’s risking the deaths of thousands every day. She had me kidnapped. Yes, my own sister. She probably kidnapped Lucas Chen.”

Oster looked bewildered.

“You’re not asking why, Papa, but I’ll tell you. She took me because I was an easy target. And she saw me as being the favorite, of you and Katerine. Maybe you would both pay the ransom. And she needed the money, because she needs to control things, have secrets, secret power. Only she didn’t know what to do when Tok started making the accusations.

Everything got confused. Maybe she thought Tok knew about her. Maybe she panicked and tried to get rid of me: I stopped being a person and became a liability. People aren’t real to her. Why? Because my mother made her crazy.” I was trembling with rage, only now it was not only at Oster but at Katerine. Katerine, who had ruined the lives of untold people. Who had nearly ruined mine. Katerine.