Faithless (14 page)

"Yeah, didn't they call him Bloody Felix on account of all the Counter Revolutionaries he murdered?" as
ked Joe.

Yelena looked embarrassed and  angry. "There were some errors during  the administration of Comrade Stalin, but severe measures were necessary to protect the Revolution. 20 million Russians died winning the Great Patriotic War against the Nazis."

Joe continued in his breezy way, "And a whole bunch of Canadians too, believe me. Hey, isn't that the KGB headquarters?"

Yelena was now very cross. "It is not permissable to talk about the organs of State Security." The  flush to her cheeks made her more a
ttractive.  Dave the Australian had remained quiet throughout but now he said, "Can we walk on? I'm getting cold."

Yelena herded them in the direction of Red Square. Joe would have stared a bit longer in the direction of KGB HQ but John saw how no one ling
ered. All the Russians knew to keep going. He felt the atmosphere of menace that haunted the street. "Come on," he said, "Let's go."

They walked in a straggled line, Joe strolling ahead in his hippy coat, looking around happily as if he were on a trip to M
iddle Earth, serious Dave a little behind him and John beside Yelena.

"I hope you're not cross," he said to her.

"No," she shook her head in a way John noticed that women have of  demonstrating they're  angry even though they're saying they aren't. "I should not say this, John," she said confidingly, "but Joe is foolish."

John smiled. "He means well."

She raised her eyebrows in a Slavic gesture of disagreement.

Suddenly, John became aware of a commotion ahead. Joe was talking to a Russian, laughing and tel
ling him in Russian that he couldn't sell his blue jeans because he didn't have another pair. The Russian was prepared to bargain and didn't want to leave without the jeans even if it meant leaving Joe in his underwear. Finally, he offered to trade his own trousers.

Yelena disapproved. She remained quiet at first but John could see her losing the battle with discretion and then she began loudly berating the Russian for bringing disgrace on the Soviet State. Attracted by the drama, a Militia Policeman appear
ed and, without hesitating, Dave the Australian told him that the Russian had tried to buy Joe's jeans. The Russian attempted to run but the Militia man pulled out a baton and struck him very professionally on the head. The man fell to the ground and, while he languished there groaning, was handcuffed.

"That was a bit harsh," said Joe.

The Militia Man took his prisoner away. John felt  dazed by what he'd seen.

Joe turned to Dave. "What the fuck did you rat on him for, man? He only wanted to buy some jeans."

"He broke the law here."

"But it's not your fucking law man! What did you want to go and do a thing like that for?"

"A Socialist system can only work if everyone obeys the rules."

"And who makes the rules? Some privileged Party guys?" asked Joe.

Dave said, "The laws are based on Marxist-Leninist theory. The Party makes the rules because it can take an objective view of what is best. Criminals like that are motivated by their own selfish interests, not the interests of the whole."

Joe shook his head. John a
sked Yelena what would happen to the man. She shrugged, "I don't know. Come let's go to Red Square, then I will show you the GUM store."

Over the next weeks John settled into student life. The food in Russia was almost inedible. The best thing was the black bread. John only once saw a meal that was appetising in the stolovaya, a rich red looking soup,  made with butter because of the glowing grease on the top. It was chicken and rice. He ate it slowly. It didn't taste too bad. There were grains of rice in it but no obvious chicken. Not until he got to the bottom of the bowl where he found some meat, lifted it to his mouth with his spoon and quickly spat it out. He looked at it. It was a collection of tubes and gristle. He fished around in his soup and there were other similar bundles of rubbery flesh. No chicken could have more than one of these clusters in them, so his soup bowl must contain the remains of several. He wondered where all the good meat went. 

John used to go to the local food stores and qu
eue for hours to get food he could make into something resembling an appealing meal in the communal kitchen. As he wandered from empty store to empty store and stood for hours in line he realised that the Soviets hadn't really got the idea of shops. In the first instance mostly they were half empty. When a delivery of some item arrived everyone rushed to buy it because no one knew when it would return again. In the middle of December with the weather down to -20 Centigrade  his local store had a delivery of sunglasses. When he examined them he saw that they were so dark that they were impossible to see through. But it didn't matter if they were useless under the Soviet system because the factory had met its production targets and would be awarded a star. And then even if there were things in the shop, it was complicated to buy them. First you had to queue to get the item, watch it being wrapped in brown paper and then take it and the little paper slip that came with it to the cashier's desk to stand in another queue to pay for it.

Some weeks in, John also realised that he must be starting to look like a Russian because he was refused entry to the Foreign Currency store. The guard would not accept he was British until he showed his popusk. He took that as a kin
d of compliment. He also became aware that the KGB occupied floor seven and eight of the Zone V main building. He even suspected that his room might be bugged, though what useful information they would get from doing so was beyond him.

The winter came on long and hard and there was no Christmas to lighten the darkness. He missed home and he missed Karen. Letters were delivered to the British Embassy on Maurice Thorez Embankment and every week or so John would go to pick them up and some
times visit the Embassy if he was feeling particularly homesick. Sometimes when he called Philip Neilson the assistant cultural attaché would turn up to see him. Philip was about ten years older than John but he liked him.

One particular day in the darkest
time of the year when he was cold and undernourished and feeling very far from home he had a letter from Karen who was back with her parents for the Christmas hols. He opened the letter in the Embassy, standing by the front desk. She had written out an excerpt from Burn's
Ae Fond Kiss -
  "
had we never lov'd sae kindly, Had we never lov'd sae blindly; Never met - or never parted - we had ne'er been broken hearted."
He read the words out loud to feel the comforting familiarity of Scots in his mouth and ears.

Philip Neilson was coming down the stairs and heard him. "Burns eh? You bloody Scots, you only have one poet."

John said, "We've plenty ye Sassenach dog."

Philip laughed, "The Sovs love Burns you know. All that
See yon birkie ca'd a laird? Wha struts and stares an' a' that?"
He waved his finger like a baton conducting an imaginary tune, "
blah blah -
It's coming yet for a' that - that man to man, the world o'er, shall brothers be for a' that."
Then he stopped and smiled. " They see Burns as presaging Marx with his
workers of the world unite - you have nothing to lose but your chains."

"You're very good," said John. "You should have been an actor."

"Perhaps I am a kind of actor. I am the Assistant Cultural Attaché after all."

"Are you?" said John teasingl
y. There was a rumour that Philip Neilson was an MI6 officer. He ignored the tease and said, "We're organising a Burn's Night Supper. All tatties and neeps and haggis." He mused. "I quite like haggis. Anyway we're flying in a piper from Edinburgh. Unless you pipe?"

"I pipe not," said John.

"Pity. It's January 25th."

"I know."

"Of course."

"Fancy a cup of tea? I also have a Mars Bar."

"I would climb over ten naked women for a Mars Bar."

They climbed the stairs up to Philip Neilson's office and he asked his s
ecretary to bring in a pot of tea. She arrived smiling, carrying a tray with a Mars Bar on it and some Imperial Leather soap.

"I had forgotten such things existed."

"It can be harsh here. We have the best end of the deal at the Embassy. The businessmen are all right too in their hotels. Poor students though"

John took off his coat, luxuriating in the warmth and the softness of the upholstered chair.

"You know John, with your language skills, you would be quite employable in Government, once you've got your degree."

"Really? Where?"

"Well, there are parts of the Foreign Office looking for Russian linguists and of course our colleagues in other Government Departments in Whitehall and also in the West Country."

"You mean GCHQ?"

Philip gestured for him to be quiet, pointing at the ceiling. He whispered, "I think they're asleep most of the time, but certain words make them wake up and listen harder."

"Well, I had rather thought of teaching."

"Well it's an honourable profession. If you change your mind let me know."

As if remembering something Philip went over and turned on the radio. The well modulated tones of the BBC World Service flooded into the room. It was
From Our Own Correspondent
in Vietnam reporting on reactions to the American President Richard Nixon announcing the cessation of US operations in that country.

Philip lowered his voice. "Have the KGB had a pop at you yet?"

John shook his head. "Not that I know of."

"Believe me you would know. A couple of years ago they broke into a British student's room and made him strip and pose as if having sex with another man. They photographed it. The poor student was beside himself. We had to ship him home. They do horrid pe
tty little things to us too."

"Such as?"

"Like breaking into our houses and turning off the freezer just so that the food is ruined."

"I'll be on my guard. But I have no freezer. Unless you count my bedroom."

"Seriously, Let me know if anything happens. It's the KGB 2nd Chief Directorate which is responsible for monitoring students. They're not as sophisticated as the 1st Chief Directorate who operate overseas. The 2nd's just a bunch of thugs really."

They chatted in general for a while until John had fini
shed his tea and with a smile pocketed the Mars Bar and the soap. "Thanks very much."

"No trouble old man."  The radio was still playing. "Remember to keep your eyes open and let me know if you see anything interesting."

"Will do. Thanks again for the tea."

Later, when he got back to his residence block he found that Yelena was sitting talking to Joe in the kitchen. Her eyes lit up when she saw him.

"Ah John. I have been waiting for you."

Joe was standing behind her and he raised his eyebrows and smirked.

She said, "I am planning a trip to the Moscow State Circus on Tuesday. Will you come?"

John shrugged and made his way over to the Samovar to get a glass of black Russian tea, which he had become very fond of. He dropped three spoons of sugar and stirred i
t with his back to her. Joe came over to get his. He nudged John and whispered, "I think she wants your body. She could have mine but she's not interested."

"Please John. We are all going. It will be fun." She smiled imploringly.

He turned to her, embarrassed and said, "Sure."

She looked very pleased. "Also because it is nearly Burn's Night and you are Scottish I have brought you a Russian translation of Burns." Glowing with the happiness of anticipation that he would like this gift. She handed him a hard b
acked translation of Burn's Selected Poems. Inside the front cover she had written in Russian, "To John, love from Yelena" and had inscribed four kisses in her neat handwriting.

January, 1973: Moscow.
That Saturday they caught the Metro from Universitet Station to Tsvetnoy Boulevard Station on their way to the Circus. Snow was on the ground and they were dressed up warm in fur hats and thick gloves. John walked ahead with Joe and Yelena was with Dave and the others straggling along behind. John and Joe walked down the road with the park on their left and then realised they didn't know where they were going so they waited for Yelena. 

"It's just here on the right," she said. She was wearing a heavy coat
with fur trimmings around the collar. She had a hat pulled down tight on her head. Wisps of blonde hair escaped, hanging like a golden waterfall over her bright eyes until she brushed them away and started purposefully off towards the Circus.

When they g
ot there, the entrance looked more like a cinema than a circus - not a big top in sight. There was a line of six doors up a terrace of steps. The air was frigid and their breath escaped in clouds. John was first up and he stamped the snow off his boots as he waited for everyone to make their way up the stairs. Each door had a doorman and the one by John's door looked unpleasantly at him as he hovered outside.