We got lucky. They got us out.

For a long time we were heralded in our new land as heroes. My father spoke passionately at Friday night services about the plight of the Soviet Jew. Kids wore buttons in support. Money was donated. But about a year into our stay, my father and the head rabbi had a falling out, and suddenly there were whispers that my father had gotten out of the Soviet Union because he was actually KGB, that he wasn't even Jewish, that it was all a ruse. The charges were pathetic and contradictory and false and now, well, more than twenty-five years old.

I shook my head. "So they're trying to prove that my father was KGB?"

"Yes."

Frigid' Jenrette. I got it, I guessed. I was something of a public figure now. The charges, even if ultimately proven false, would be damaging. I should know. Twenty-five years ago, my family had lost pretty much everything due to those accusations. We left Skokie, moved east to Newark. Our family was never the same.

I looked up. "On the phone you said you'd thought I'd call."

"If you hadn't, I would have called you today." lo warn me?

"Yes."

"So," I said, "they must have something."

The big man did not reply. I watched his face. And it was as if my entire world, everything I grew up believing, slowly shifted.

"Was he KGB, Sosh?" I asked.

"It was a long time ago," Sosh said.

"Does that mean yes?"

Sosh smiled slowly. "You don't understand how it was."

"And again I say: Does that mean yes? "No, Pavel. But your father… maybe he was supposed to be."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Do you know how I came to this country?"

"You worked for a travel company."

"It was the Soviet Union, Pavel. There were no companies. In Tourist was run by the government. Everything was run by the government. Do you understand?" 1 guess.

"So when the Soviet government had a chance to send someone to live in New York City, do you think they sent the man who was most competent in booking vacations? Or do you think they sent someone who might help them in other ways?"

I thought about the size of his hands. I thought about his strength. "So you were KGB?"

"I was a colonel in the military. We didn't call it KGB. But yes, I guess you would call me"-he made quote marks with his fingers-" a spy' I would meet with American officials. I would try to bribe them. People always think we learn important things-things that can change the balance of power. That's such nonsense. We learned nothing relevant. Not ever. And the American spies? They never learned anything about us either. We passed nonsense from side to side. It was a silly game."

"And my father?"

"The Soviet government let him out. Your Jewish friends think that they applied enough pressure. But please. Did a bunch of Jews in a synagogue really think they could pressure a government that answered to no one? Its almost funny when you think about it." you’re saying…?

"I'm just telling you how it was. Did your father promise he would help the regime? Of course. But it was just to get out. It's complicated, Pavel. You cant imagine what it was like for him. Your father was a good doctor and a better man. The government made up charges that he committed medical malpractice. They took away his license. Then your grandmother and grandfather… my God, Natasha's wonderful parents… you're too young to remember-"

"I remember," I said.

Do you:

I wondered if I really did. I have that image of my grandfather, my Popi, and the shock of white hair and maybe his boisterous laugh, and my grandmother, my Noni, gently scolding him. But I was three when they were taken away. Did I really remember them, or has that old photo I still keep out come to life? Was it a real memory or something I'd created from my mother’s stories?

"Your grandparents were intellectuals-university professors. Your grandfather headed the history department. Your grandmother was a brilliant mathematician. You know this, yes?"

I nodded. "My mother said she learned more from the debates at the dinner table than at school."

Sosh smiled. "Probably true. The most brilliant academics sought out your grandparents. But, of course, that drew the attention of the government. They were labeled radicals. They were considered dangerous. Do you remember when they were arrested?"

"I remember," I said, "the aftermath."

He closed his eyes for a long second. "What it did to your mother?"

"Yes."

"Natasha was never the same. You understand that?"

"I do."

"So here he was, your father. He had lost so much-his career, his reputation, his license and now your mothers parents. And suddenly, down like he was, the government gave your father a way out. A chance for a fresh start."

"A life in the USA."

"Yes."

"And all he had to do was spy?"

Sosh waved a dismissive hand in my direction. "Don't you get it? It was a big game. What could a man like your father learn? Even if he tried-which he didn't. What could he tell them?"

"And my mother?"

"Natasha was just a woman to them. The government cared nothing for the woman. She was a problem for a while. Like I said, her parents, your grandparents, were radicals in their eyes. You say you remembered when they were taken?"

"I think I do."

"Your grandparents formed a group, trying to get the human rights abuses out to the public. They were making headway until a traitor turned them in. The agents came at night."

He stopped.

"What?" I said.

"This isn't easy to talk about. What happened to them."

I shrugged. "You can't hurt them now."

He did not reply.

"What happened, Sosh?"

"They were sent to a gulag- a work camp. The conditions were terrible. Your grandparents were not young. You know how it ended?"

"They died," I said.

Sosh turned away from me then. He moved over to the window. He had a great view of the Hudson. There were two mega-cruise ships in port. You could turn to the left and even see the Statue of Liberty. Manhattan is so small, eight miles from end to end, and like with Sosh, you just always feels its power.

"Sosh?" When he spoke again, his voice was soft. "Do you know how they died?" "Like you said before. The conditions were terrible. My grandfather had a heart condition."

He still hadn't turned toward me. "The government wouldn't treat him. Wouldn't even give him his medicine. He was dead within three months."

I waited.

"So what aren't you telling me, Sosh?"

"Do you know what happened to your grandmother?"

"I know what my mother told me."

"Tell me," he said.

"Noni got sick too. With her husband gone, her heart sorta gave out. You hear about it all the time in long-term couples. One dies, then the other gives up."

He said nothing.

"Sosh?"

"In a sense," he said, "I guess that was true."

In a sense:

Sosh kept his eyes on whatever was out the window. "Your grand mother committed suicide."

My body stiffened. I started shaking my head.

"She hung herself with a sheet."

I just sat there. I thought of that picture of my Noni. I thought of that knowing smile. I thought of the stories my mother told me about her, about her sharp mind and sharper tongue. Suicide.

"Did my mother know?" I asked.

"Yes."

"She never told me."

"Maybe I shouldn't have either."

"Why did you?"

"I need you to see how it was. Your mother was a beautiful woman.

So lovely and delicate. Your father adored her. But when her parents were taken and then, well, put to death really, she was never the same. You sensed it, yes? A melancholy there? Even before your sister."

I said nothing, but I had indeed sensed it.

"I guess I wanted you to know how it was," he said. "For your mother. So maybe you'd understand more." "Sosh?" He waited. He still had not turned from the window. "Do you know where my mother is?" The big man didn't answer for a long time. "Sosh?" "I used to know," he said. "When she first ran away." I swallowed. "Where did she go?" "Natasha went home." "I don't understand." "She ran back to Russia." "Why?" "You can't blame her, Pavel." "I don't. I want to know why." "You can run away from your homelike they did. You try to change.