The Foreign Service Journal, January 2007

J A N U A R Y 2 0 0 7 / F O R E I G N S E R V I C E J O U R N A L 49 me. Where do we go from here? “ “Your family has to be notified that you’re alive,” I said. “Whether or not you go back to them is your business, but if you want to go home I’ll help you make the arrangements.” “Look,” he said, “I’m married here. I’ve got a kid, and another on the way. My wife — my wife here — has no idea about my other family. Do you think I want her to find out I’m a bigamist and our children are illegiti- mate? “What about your American fami- ly?” I said. “Don’t you owe them some sort of explanation?” “I couldn’t possibly ever explain this to them. They’re better off thinking I’m dead.” “Donald, they care. They’ve even gotten a congressman involved.” Brady smiled. “I’ll bet I know which congressman. He was my wife’s high school sweetheart. He dropped out of school when his dad died and worked in my father’s factory. She fig- ured he was a loser and dropped him for me. But she guessed wrong. He went to college and law school at night. Then he went into politics, and the rest is history. “The congressman got divorced some years ago, and he’s had his eye on my wife ever since. When I’m declared dead he’ll marry her, and I’ll bet they’ll use the insurance money to finance his run for the Senate. I’m happy; she’s happy. The congress- man’s happy. If you go back and make a report you’ll just destroy a lot of peo- ple’s happiness.” “It’s nothing personal,” I said. “It’s the regulations. I’ll have to report this, unless ...” I paused, thinking through the implications of Brady’s tale, “...unless, of course, you refuse to sign a waiver of the Privacy Act.” I fished the Privacy Act form out of my briefcase and handed it to him. “The Privacy Act,” he said. “Jesus, I’d forgotten. God bless America.” He took the waiver form and tore it into long, narrow strips. Then he tore the strips into little squares, so tiny they looked as if they came from a shredder. He put the fragments in an ashtray. He lit them. We watched them burn down to cinders. “I take it your decision is final,” I said. “Yes, it is,” Brady said. “One word about me to anyone and you’ll be breaking a federal law.” He stood up and held out his hand, “Nice meeting you, consul.” “Nice meeting you, Mr. Brady,” I said. “It’s always nice to chat with Irish people. Don’t forget to register with the Irish embassy. The nearest one’s in Vienna.” I stepped out into the square and felt the warm sun on my face. All traces of the snow had melted, and in a nearby shell crater a daffodil bloomed.