Arthur Lester (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
lestercraft) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
silentspringlogs2024-01-29 09:49 am
lestercraft) wrote in silentspringlogs2024-01-29 09:49 am
Part Two: The Dinner
Who: Arthur & Helly Lester and anyone who actually goes for the invite
When: Evening of Jan 29th
Where: The Lester Household
Open/Closed: Open! Come one and all from Haven Street.
Applicable Warnings: Discussion of January events, mass conspiracy (it's us, we're the conspirators)
It's even odds, he thinks, whether people thought he was off his rocker in making a post like that, or if people would believe he's actually trying to contact people the only reasonable way he knew how. It was certainly much faster than trying to contact people individually, especially in this weather, and hopefully between himself and Helly that they've met enough people to get a decent turn-out.
The more they can learn about this place, the more they can trust each other, the better. Right now, trust is all they have.
The lower floor of the house is well lit, even if all the windows are curtained and shut, and there's a record playing in the lounge, audible from outside - something jazzy and dated by the standards of the time, but a bit of Hoagy Carmichael and Billie Holiday is settling his nerves, if nothing else - and the kitchen is... sparse, clearly underused but for the stack of mugs by the sink, but with some effortthe blind leading the blind he and Helly have at least put together a salad for people. Theoretically they'll be bringing their own food too, make it at least ostensibly a potluck.
When: Evening of Jan 29th
Where: The Lester Household
Open/Closed: Open! Come one and all from Haven Street.
Applicable Warnings: Discussion of January events, mass conspiracy (it's us, we're the conspirators)
It's even odds, he thinks, whether people thought he was off his rocker in making a post like that, or if people would believe he's actually trying to contact people the only reasonable way he knew how. It was certainly much faster than trying to contact people individually, especially in this weather, and hopefully between himself and Helly that they've met enough people to get a decent turn-out.
The more they can learn about this place, the more they can trust each other, the better. Right now, trust is all they have.
The lower floor of the house is well lit, even if all the windows are curtained and shut, and there's a record playing in the lounge, audible from outside - something jazzy and dated by the standards of the time, but a bit of Hoagy Carmichael and Billie Holiday is settling his nerves, if nothing else - and the kitchen is... sparse, clearly underused but for the stack of mugs by the sink, but with some effort
no subject
Hey--! Don't just grab me like that, you--
[There's an instantaneous, visceral reaction as she squirms to pull away from Vasiliy. She falls still, however, as they pass by a nearby house and she spots silhouettes in the window. She had been unnerved by people talking about their supposed kidnapping experiences--and though she tries to convince herself that those people were simply asking for trouble, a seed of worry has been planted at the back of her mind.
The rest of the walk continues in tense silence. She allows her arm to be held, though she clearly doesn't like it. They quickly return to their house. When Margaret enters the living room, she walks across the room to draw the curtains, then turns back towards Vasiliy with an irritated expression.]
Now are you going to tell me what had you so spooked?
no subject
They were discussing killing one of these people. The doctor. I thought it was just dinner party. I was wrong. In a state like this you cannot be at places like that—secret meetings.
In my country, doing this got people killed. This place is the same.
[ He should know—he handed them their own death warrants for four years and convinced them to sign.
Normally, of course, Vasiliy wouldn't air such failings of the state in the presence of a reactionary; he knows they will be generalized to communism on the whole, as Americans love to do when they talk about a country none of them ever lived in. But her opinion of his place of origin is already so low and such a black-and-white, gritty version of reality that she might actually listen, and it is critical that she listens. This detail isn't a threat to her worldview, it corroborates it. ]
You are wife of Russian man living in police state that suspects you of communism. If anyone goes to electric chair, it is his killers and then us for conspiracy. In this place you cannot be seen with subversive people. Do you understand?
no subject
How was I supposed to know that they were going to discuss a murder plot while we were there? [She snaps, frustrated--though, to her credit, her words seem to have less bite in them than usual.] I just wanted to talk about my experiences, see what other people had experienced, as well. Is that a crime?
[Even as the words leave her mouth, she knows what Vasiliy's answer will be. Margaret pushes her fingers up against her temples, squeezing her eyes shut.]
Never mind. But I'm not going to just sit here, cowering in fear, waiting for everything to blow over. Something's not right--obviously. Nothing's been right ever since we got here, and I intend to find out why.
no subject
[ Vasiliy casts her a sharp look. ]
We do not have this luxury. Causing trouble is for American citizens with no connection to Russia. If they get caught, the doctor injects them and they go home and sleep. If we get caught, it is trial for espionage and electric chair. If either of us is arrested the other will be too.
[ And, because her loud announcement to the entire party made it clear that the last time they had this conversation nothing stuck, it bears repeating: ]
You cannot bring attention to yourself. No standing up organizing. You are normal, happy American wife of Soviet refugee and the same as all these neighbor women.
no subject
I'm well aware of the consequences, thank you.
[She growls through gritted teeth.]
And what about you, huh? You're telling me that you're perfectly content to spend the next five, ten, thirty years going along with this stupid happy married couple shtick to survive?
[It's not like she needs his blessing to organize in secret, to prod other people for information and share things through hushed whispers. With or without his help, she's set on this.]
cw rape mention, discussion of torture
[ The words come out before he's even had time to think on what to say, how to impress it upon her—and he snatches her upper arm in a vice grip, fingertips sinking into her flesh, turning her to stare into his eyes like that will somehow help telepathically convey the severity of the situation.
He wishes, urgently, that he could simply beam the memories into her head: what it was like being arrested in the middle of the night, left in a frigid holding cell, interrogated. The raw terror. What it felt like, in the last few seconds as he closed his eyes and waited for his executioner to pull the trigger. ]
None of you know what are real consequences. If we "go along with this" we will live. You still trust your government and you should not. Wake up. You are in police state. You will be tortured and raped. Real torture. They can kill you here and nobody will know. You should be afraid and if you understand you would be.
[ Torture is, in and of itself, an evocative word. He thinks of the screaming through thin cement walls while he was trying to lower an already terrified prisoner's guard, working at his psyche as the alternative prematurely filtered into the room, introducing the unspoken threat too early. The contusions and wounds prisoners sat down with, taking the cigarettes he offered with disfigured hands, fingers stiff and purple with the effects of having been crushed under the jackboot of a man he was on a diminutives-basis with a week prior.
And on, and on.
He doesn't know how far the Americans will go, what their preferred methods of torture are, whether they're as creative as the overworked and bored NKVD men eternally seeking a way to break through monotony of conveyor-belt interrogations. But he knows the Rosenbergs fried before they had any real evidence, and he knows the consequences will only be harsher when it's a real Russian. The Rosenbergs were upstanding American citizens. ]
cw: rape mention, continued american exceptionalism....
A memory jumps to the forefront of her mind. A Congressman's aide stalking around the 4077th, dogging her at every turn. On business from the House Un-American Activities Committee, telling her that Wally had been labelled as 'subversive'--and that, she, too, was under investigation as a result. She remembers sitting by herself in her tent in tears, picturing the years of service she'd performed in vain. The man was determined to make her life hell--collateral damage be damned, was he not doing his duty to his country by protecting against the communist threat?
Perhaps that's what it was, then--a misguided sense of duty from those in charge. That's the only way she can rationalize it, to make it align with her worldview. To allow her to believe that she spent ten years serving her country for some good.
Margaret doesn't respond--not right away, at least. Regardless of her rationalization, the memory and Vasiliy's words seem to be enough to have shaken Margaret. She shrinks back, her head low as her arm falls limp.]
I-- [She stammers, her voice wavering slightly.] I understand. [She falls silent, then:] Please...let go of me.
no subject
You understand.
We have to be careful. They— [ He jerks his head in the direction of the house party, in the direction of the families with acceptable surnames. ] can do things that we cannot. They will watch us closer than anyone else.
[ A pause as it abruptly occurs to him— ]
You probably have never been interrogated.
[ The very topic is one that's uncomfortable for him, something he seeks to avoid. He shouldn't seem like he knows too much, but even if she finds out and puts the pieces together—who is she going to tell? She finally seems to understand that his arrest and execution will mean her arrest and execution. That said, the less that she knows, the less information she can give them under torture. It's a fine line to walk. ]
no subject
N-No, I haven't.
[Margaret falls quiet. It occurs to her that Vasiliy presented it as a statement, not a question. She frowns, chewing on her bottom lip, studying Vasiliy for a moment. What has this man gone through? What horrors must he have endured to have this sort of reaction to the situation?]
Have you? [She asks, quietly.]
3000 years late rip. tw torture/execution discussion from here on out!
Vasiliy grinds his teeth for a moment, masseter flexing under the clean-shaven skin of his jaw. ]
Yes. I have. I wasn’t tortured, but I was interrogated.
[ They hadn’t needed to—after about a day of disbelief had passed, he’d resigned himself to his situation. A realist, like some of the ones he’d dealt with. They’d always been the easy cases, in some ways but not others—men and women who labored under no delusions as to what he could bring them. He was convincing them to knowingly sign their death warrants, to just give up without the tool of false promises; they knew there was no hope, but it was still a struggle to get them to sign, to override the inherent reluctance to initiate one’s inevitable death. How does one make a human being accept death? It had felt impossible, when he first started, but had only gotten easier with time, when he’d realized that the best thing he could offer was the promise that it would all finally be over: a mercy, to those tortured day-in and day-out, or those who knew what torture awaited them. He’d fallen into the latter category. ]
no subject
She doesn't quite know how to feel about that. It doesn't occur to her that Vasiliy might be lying about this. Either way, that means he knows what to deal with in this situation--he's been through it before. She speaks in a hushed, anxious tone as she continues.]
What were you interrogated over?
[A pause. She furrows her brow and bites her lip, as if immediately made aware of what a thoughtless question that is. Still, she doesn't withdraw it.]
no subject
Vasiliy’s face immediately contorts into something much sharper, eyes darkening; the display of uncertainty on her part does nothing to temper the harshness with which the answer is delivered, reflexive, said emphatically with a brief flash of teeth: ]
That is not your business.
[ What did she think, that he would readily disclose such a thing to her? ]
Worry about what you will do when you are interrogated.