by Susan Daitch
NS: Was Nieumacher aware of this?
RK: He became very much aware of it.
NS: So how did Nieumacher learn about Petakhov’s intentions to blow up Suolucidir?
RK: Nieumacher liked to go to teahouses in the evening, scrounging around for foreign newspapers. He was hungry for information about the cities he’d left behind. One night he saw Petakhov and Darya Vasilisa, which by itself would not have been unusual, except they were supposed to have left the city for a few days. They didn’t see him coming out of the teahouse. Why? It was not physically possible for them to have done so because the two of them were down an alley wrapped around one another, you might say. It was high-risk behavior, but they would do this from time to time. Nieumacher later explained to me they probably got pleasure from putting their hands all over one another in a town where the penalties, if caught, would be severe. Even knowing that people did this in other cities of Nieumacher’s experience, their behavior in Zahedan did surprise him, so he said.
NS: What was the relationship between the two Russians?
RK: Neither Nieumacher nor myself ever knew. They weren’t married.
NS: So you were saying, Nieumacher evidently watched them and began to tail them.
RK: Yes. This is what he told me. They stopped kissing and made their way to the southern quarter of town. Still unseen, he followed them as they unlocked an iron gate, barely sustained by its hinges, and ducked into the abandoned house that lay behind it. Nieumacher waited a few minutes, pushed the gate open, made his way through an overgrown yard, found a ground floor window of the small house, and it was here he positioned himself. The room was dark, then Petakhov appeared holding a flashlight. He let go of Darya Vasilisa’s hand. Once inside, they got no pleasure from each other and reverted to their ordinary businesslike selves. Nieumacher remained so still, peeking through gaps in a shuttered window; a whip snake slithered across his foot, pausing to wind around his ankle, and began to go up his leg, yet he made no noise nor did he move, so he told me. Lucky for him, the snake changed its mind, uncoiled, and moved on. The two Russians looked over some papers, then turned their attention to boxes stacked against a wall. Petakhov’s flashlight played across a partition-like barricade of crates labeled “Mineral Water” in Russian. Nieumacher told me he could even make out a Moscow address. Who in Zahedan imports mineral water from Moscow? Nieumacher was naturally curious about these boxes, and fortunately for his curiosity, Petakhov and Ulanovskaya didn’t linger in the house. As if magically conjured to come and go quickly, they finished their accounting and departed for the desires of the street. As soon as they were out of sight, he broke into the house and promptly discovered what was really in those boxes: dynamite.
NS: How did Nieumacher determine in what way the explosives were to be used?
RS: Petakhov was, by turns, overly careful, constantly looking over his shoulder, and at the same time he could be very careless. Not locking the gate behind him, for example. He believed Russian was his secret tongue that few understood, occasionally forgetting this was not the case. Perhaps eager to resume their exhibitionist tendencies, they had left a roughly drawn map of Suolucidir labeled in his native language on the floor, with the spots where explosives were to be lodged clearly marked.
NS: But he kept this information to himself, no?
RK: Unfortunately, he did not. That evening I was present in Petakhov’s rooms when he broke in. Bruno confronted Petakhov. He was convinced that Suolucidir was his, and the Russians had no right to blow it up or to drill for oil. Nieumacher was the taller of the two, but as thin as an alef, not a fighter. He pushed Petakhov hard. Petakhov grabbed a bottle, smashed it, then seized Nieumacher by the front of his shirt and pressed the broken glass neck up to his jaw. Though taller, as I said, Nieumacher’s feet seemed to dangle, inches from the ground. The fight was not a pretty sight. Petakhov went for his face and his stomach. Nieumacher didn’t have a chance.
NS: How did the fight end?
RK: Well, you’ve seen Petakhov. He’s built like a steel jerrican of gasoline, solid, not designed to be knocked over, and just as potentially flammable. Petakhov shook his opponent who, unarmed, couldn’t offer much resistance. I will tell you this only one time, Petkahov said, if you stand in my way, you and Sidonie will be sealed in Suolucidir till the sun collides with Mongolia.
NS: Are you saying Petakhov was responsible for Nieumacher’s disappearance?
RK: All I’m saying is threats were made.
NS: What did you do when you learned about the dynamite?
RK: I tried to disappear, but Darya found me at my cousin’s madrassah. It didn’t matter this was the last place she should be; she barged in shouting in Russian. Pushing boys aside, as if they were rabbits, she grabbed me by the shirt, leaned down, and whispered to me that if I informed, there would be consequences. She could be more frightening than Petakhov. For a woman to burst in like that, you can imagine, no one does that ever. She could have been beaten, thrown out, but everyone froze. She left as quickly as she broke in.
NS: So when Nieumacher disappeared, what was Petakhov’s reaction?
RK: He went berserk. It was important to Petakhov that nothing, no object, no photograph leave the so-called Suolucidir site, and he was very anxious about Bruno’s whereabouts, because with him went not just a few artifacts, but also the knowledge that the site did, in fact, exist.
NS: You were in a unique position to know the desires and coordinates of both men.
RK: For a time, you could say so. Petakhov didn’t threaten idly. He meant business. Nieumacher was not a coward, but a realist, you might say. He took a few valuable things and made plans to leave the country. In truth, he never wanted to engage in the Friendship Dig, the desert was to him the end of the earth, and he just wanted to return to Berlin or wherever he was from.
NS: And is it fair to say that Nieumacher became the man who knew too much? The man who knew too much about Suolucidir? Too much about his wife? What was your relationship with Sidonie Nieumacher?
NS: Kosari, please answer. It’s really in your interest to respond to our inquiries. No? Okay, let me tell you, Mr. Kosari, we already know the answer to that question. Did the discovery of your relationship with Madame Nieumacher by her husband have anything to do with Nieumacher’s departure?
RK: It’s possible.
NS: So once again, I’d like you to tell me in your own words, what was your relationship with Sidonie Nieumacher?
RK: I don’t know how to answer that question. We didn’t speak the same language. I couldn’t tell you what she wanted.
NS: But you enjoyed her company.
RK: I enjoyed myself. You could say that.
NS: How did he learn about you and his wife?
RK: I was never sure. The other Russian, Darya Vasilisa, and Sidonie didn’t like one another, you could tell. At first they barely spoke to one another, as if each viewed the other as an untouchable, you know, a leper of some kind. If they’d met in their country of origin, they probably would have openly disliked each other. It was easy for Sidonie to avoid Darya Vasilisa. She was always drawing in her notebooks, behaving as if she were possessed, you might say, as if the spirit of the mason who designed the labyrinth or a ceramist laying tiles inhabited her. Darya spoke to her only in clipped, bullet-like sentences, as if she were the object of both pity and contempt. Sidonie referred to her as a dumb babushka. However, Darya, brutish though she was, was not stupid. It was when Sidonie was most possessed by Suolucidiri demons, talking to herself and removed from the site only with difficulty, that Darya found an opening to insinuate herself. In this state Sidonie may have told the other woman things she wouldn’t have if she had been herself. So, gradually Darya learned one or two things, and ultimately everything was repeated to Maksim. He was the one who coated the kite strings with ground glass.
NS: Are you implying Darya told Nieumacher about you and Sidonie?
RK: Yes. I think it’s possible she spoke to Bru
no late at night. In the morning, while we were preparing to leave for the site, he was distant. I assumed he was provoked because Petakhov was coming with us. He couldn’t stop the Russians, and wasn’t happy they trailed after us, knowing what their plans for the lost city ultimately were. Madame Nieumacher had gone ahead. She was not yet aware of any of these revelations. Just as we entered the chasm leading up to Suolucidir, Ulanovskaya caught up to me, leaned over and said in her distinctively audible whisper, he knows about you. Watch your back.
NS: Your boss wanted Nieumacher dead. Was Petakhov provoking a personal situation between you and Bruno so it would escalate? Though since he’d already been in a fight with Nieumacher, he’s easily a suspect in the disappearance.
RK: You’re making a lot of assumptions that have no basis in proof. My impression of the Franco-Soviets was they did not engage in petty jealousies and just wanted to get on with their work, which for Nieumacher meant, at that point, saving the city or evidence of it.
NS: Are you sure? No answer. Okay, you know that after Bruno disappeared Petakhov was keeping Sidonie in her room at the hotel. Her husband had disappeared, and he could do whatever he wanted with her.
NS: Kosari?
RK: Sidonie was only held for a short time, maybe one week, I’m not exactly sure.
NS: Why did they release her?
RK: Petakhov thought she would lead them to Bruno, and in this he was correct. In fact, he had not disappeared, but he was in hiding. After the fight with Petakhov Bruno decided the best way to save the site was for him to get to Tehran and announce what he had found there, taking some things from the site as proof. Sidonie was to pretend he was missing, to provide a distraction, to delay blowing up the site, if possible.
NS: What made you want to collaborate with them? It seems to me you had many reasons not to: money, Sidonie herself.
RK: You misunderstand.
NS: Explain to me.
RK: Who does drilling for oil benefit? The resources don’t linger and pool here, do they? The pipeline seems to end up in Moscow, London, Berlin. If all we get is a tin can’s worth of drippings from a faulty joint weld, why help them out?
NS: The Shah has great admiration for Berlin at the moment.
RK: The Nieumachers thought differently, but we didn’t discuss Europe much, to tell you the truth.
NS: Despite what you say, you have in your possession Nieumacher’s identity papers, passport, exit visas, and documents relating to the Franco-Soviet organization. Were you planning a visit to Paris? To London?
RK: I gave Bruno my identity papers and some clothes. He was to travel to Tehran as Ramin Kosari. We thought it would be safer.
NS: But Bruno Nieumacher never made it out of Zahedan, did he?
NS: Kosari? Tell me about the last time you saw Nieumacher alive?
RK: Petakhov’s handlers were not patient men. They didn’t care about what they were blasting, or what the world would think about what they destroyed. The wolf was at their door, too, they needed the oil, and about this one might say, possibly, who can blame them? But their fight isn’t my fight. The site was by now timed and wired to blow up. All those crates of so-called mineral water had been trucked to the site. We knew this. Sidonie had been released in the hope that she would lead the Russians to Nieumacher. She somehow managed to evade them, however, and as soon as night fell the three of us met at the site. There was a waning moon, we had some light, and maybe four hours to move whatever we could to a part of the city that was deeper underground, just out of reach of the explosion due to go off at midnight. Bruno had a watch, and he called out the time every thirty minutes. Let me describe.
NS: Please.
RK: 7:30 baskets of pottery moved
8:00 armloads of weapons taken to a far chamber
8:30 Bruno fell down a ravine and sprained his ankle. We spend one hour finding and rescuing him, trying to bandage or brace his ankle so he can walk, but he limps and uses some kind of spear as a cane. We split up, though we are all still within earshot to hear Bruno call out the time. The city is labyrinthine and full of echo chambers, so because you can hear someone doesn’t necessarily mean they’re close by. They could be behind a wall, but your passage and his might not meet for half a mile or more. To separate is risky, but we are racing against time.
10:00 panels of mosaics
10:30 cooking implements
11:00 clay figures
11:30 We have to find our way out in thirty minutes. I locate Sidonie, but we can’t find Bruno. We call his name, and we hear his voice, but we can’t find him. Twenty minutes. Fifteen. He’s shouting that he’s in a cul de sac but all ways out lead to other dead ends. His torch has gone out. He’s feeling his way along walls, but this is taking time we don’t have. Sidonie is weeping. She doesn’t want to leave Bruno, but the explosives will go off in a matter of minutes. He yells through the wall, his voice rasping, but audible, we should make a run for it. There is no more time, but Sidonie will not leave. I grab her hand, and we flee. Just before the entrance, the explosion blows us off our feet. Rocks tumble down all around us. We don’t lose consciousness but are able to crawl out. It’s the middle of the night.
NS: We found you, but we have not found Sidonie.
RK: She was hysterical, beyond distraught.
NS: So the scroll is buried in the city.
RK: No, it is not.
NS: That was the most valuable find, the object Bruno would have wanted to take to Tehran.
RK: That was the intention, but she had confused the two cases. Bruno should have had the original but he had the copy. When Sidonie looked in her rucksack, and saw she had given Petakhov the original, that made things so much worse. Not only was Bruno dead, but it was the copy he died to save. All that for nothing.
NS: We’ll recover it.
RK: Not if Petakhov and Darya escape.
NS: They won’t be a problem. We arrested them shortly after we found you.
RK: How long will you hold them?
NS: They’re no longer with us. Kosari?
RK: Yes?
NS: They did away with themselves in their cells. You look surprised? These things happen. Kosari?
RK: Yes?
NS: But Sidonie Nieumacher, we haven’t been able to locate.
RK: I must have lost consciousness from the shock of the explosion. When I woke she was gone.
NS: A madwoman walking through the desert doesn’t have good survival odds. She will turn up somewhere.
RK: When she does she’ll deny all of this.
NS: That will not be our problem.
THE POLICE RECOVERED THE SCROLL from Petakhov’s room. The theft of an antiquity was only one of his crimes, the evidence of which lay the groundwork for the spies’ assisted suicides, I’m guessing. The real scroll, the one I was never able to access, languished in Tehran. But the oil drilling languished also. I’d seen no trace of it: no toppled derricks, no rusted pipes, no hardhats scattered in clusters. Only sheep. Perhaps those veins turned out not to be viable. If they had been, Jahanshah, and possibly his father, would have reaped the benefits of such a well or series of wells. Or maybe they knew and kept the location to themselves. I like to imagine rivers of oil so far below the waterways of the lost city that they remain just out of reach, no matter how deeply the desert is drilled. For Suolucidir, oil didn’t float on water.
Kosari’s interrogators never found Sidonie Nieumacher, but I found Eliana Katzir, and she did deny everything. There were countries sealed behind the Iron Curtain, so my search was limited to the borders that were open. I was lucky.
When the letter arrived, Alyssa the psychic laid her hands on the manila envelope, shut her eyes, and said the object had a murky aura, but then Alyssa had admitted she made things up out of the random bits and pieces on the conveyor belt of reality flotsam that passed her way. Once in a while she turned out to be right. Maybe more than once in a while, or so her fan mail told her. She offered a joint to share as a way of easing
into whatever the envelope would reveal, but I waved her out the door. Maybe later.
March 1986
Dear Mr. Bokser,
I sincerely believe you have the wrong person. My name is Eliana Katzir, and I was married very briefly, but my husband was neither a scholar nor a con man. The similarities in our married names can only be coincidental. If you’re looking for Nieumachers, then look for Nieumachers. Frankly, they sound like first class suckers. I’ve never heard of Suolucidir. Have you looked on a map?
As a retired art teacher who lives alone in a senior center I don’t ordinarily get inquiries about my state of health or my thoughts prior to the last few days. Journal writing is something I’ve never undertaken. Until recently, I’m speaking about my life before I was moved to this facility, I didn’t even own a refrigerator. However, if you send me this woman’s journal or a copy of it, I’d be curious to take a look at the pages written by this Sidonie N. We appear to have been born in the same city in the same year. Like the Nieumachers, I left at university age but unlike them, traveled east to study painting in Moscow.
I didn’t leave altogether willingly. I was supposed to have an arranged marriage. My beloved aunt had organized several meetings already for which I was meant to be very grateful, and in a way I was. Each candidate was like a voice crying out from an old newspaper or book, you know how paper feels before it crumbles into nothing, half a story is left, you can only guess how it might have ended. None of the candidates were my cousins or cross-eyed or proposed that I should cut off my hair and wear a headscarf or a wig, but I just couldn’t see myself married to anyone and surrendering to a cycle of holidays and children, year after year, if you know what I mean. Maybe this is difficult for a person such as yourself to imagine, living, as you do, in twentieth-century New York, a city where I’ve heard food comes out of machines you feed coins into. Now I’m not so sure. Perhaps I made a mistake, though had I stayed I’d be worm food several times over. Nonetheless, I have to say it wasn’t an entirely easy choice. The possibility of staying and marrying had pulled at me. Could I do it, maybe, would it be so bad? Finally, no, I decided to leave.
