The Wolves of Leninsky Prospekt

by Sarah Armstrong

  ‘Oh, God.’ Alison scrabbled in her bag for the tissue again. ‘Don’t put that hand in your mouth.’ She grabbed for his hand, but he wiped it on his trousers.

  ‘Let’s go this way,’ I said.

  We wandered in and out of some shops, but there was little to remind me of shops at home. What was on sale looked poor quality, but still women queued to choose their goods, queued to pay for them, and queued again to have them wrapped in old copies of Pravda or waxy paper.

  ‘Let’s get out of here,’ whispered Alison.

  We stood under an opening to look at the bridges between the balconies on each side of the first floor, and the thinner balconies above, all surrounded by ornate green railings.

  ‘Ah!’ shouted Bobby.

  ‘Shh,’ said Alison. ‘We’re just looking.’

  ‘Ah! Ah!’

  ‘It won’t echo,’ I said, ‘it’s not that kind of space.’

  He took a deep breath. ‘Ahhhh!’

  People who hadn’t turned around yet, now began to look at us. Old women in headscarves started to rebuke us, and a policeman was heading over. We went back out past the fountain and into Red Square. I checked behind. The policeman had stopped at the doors.

  Alison exhaled. ‘OK, I think we need to have a walk. He’s been in one place too long. Which way should we go?’

  ‘Probably not that way.’ I pointed past St Basil’s and mouthed ‘water’.

  Bobby pointed at St Basil’s and said, ‘Daddy works near there.’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Alison, ‘but we can’t see him today.’

  ‘Let’s go to the square by the Metropol,’ I said. I was still attached to the Metropol, it being my first experience of Moscow. We walked back towards Prospekt Marksa station, and turned right at the Moskva Hotel. In Revolution Square, I saw a stall selling pirozhki.

  ‘We could get a pie,’ I said, unsure whether this was a good idea after the ice cream.

  ‘Yes, pie,’ said Bobby.

  ‘Just get two,’ said Alison. ‘I don’t think I can face one.’

  I bought two. It was too early for lunch really, so there was plenty of space to sit, although many benches, as always, were already occupied by older people, glumly wrapped up in their scarves and hats despite the warmth.

  Bobby eyed up his pie.

  ‘You go first,’ he said.

  I took a bite and tentatively chewed it, ready to spit it into my hand. I didn’t have to. ‘It’s really nice,’ I said. ‘I couldn’t tell you what it is, some kind of meat and onion, but it tastes good. You should get one, Alison.’

  Surprised, she went over to the stall and got her own. We sat quietly on the bench, watching the cream buses, some with a red stripe, some with blue, drive past the Metropol on one side. Over the road, past its own square, we could see the Bolshoi. Behind us, Karl Marx emerged from his granite base to urge the workers to unite. I heard something over by the Metropol, someone shouting. Looking over I saw a man being bundled away from the entrance by two men. A car drew up, and they pushed him into the back seat, one with him and one in the passenger seat. The car sped off.

  ‘What’s happening to that man?’ asked Bobby.

  ‘I expect he did something naughty,’ said Alison, ‘and they’re going to tell him off.’

  Another man had caught my eye. About twenty-five, he was shabby and very thin. I could see his cheekbones and the architecture of his wrist protruding from the jacket sleeve. After the car left, he’d pulled his cap down and started to walk over in our direction. He leaned against a tree, shuddering, and I realised that he was staring at us.

  ‘Alison, we need to go,’ I said, and stood up. I nodded my head in his direction, and she glanced up and stood too.

  ‘Let’s go, Bobby,’ she said, and tried to grab his hand.

  ‘I’m not finished,’ he wailed, wriggling from her grasp.

  She crouched down next to him. ‘I said we need to go, so let’s take it with us.’

  The man started walking again, focusing on me, because I was the idiot who refused to stop watching him. I forced myself to look down. Bobby was now lying on the bench, holding his pie in the air with both hands and slowly, so slowly, taking a bite.

  ‘He’s coming over,’ I hissed. ‘What do I do?’

  ‘Just don’t take anything,’ whispered Alison. ‘Hands in your pockets.’

  She sat down again, next to Bobby, resigned to his immobility. I wanted to sit down, but it felt safer to be standing, to meet this man on his own terms. I kept my eyes fixed on Bobby, calmly nibbling his pie.

  The man was behind me now. I could hear his breathing.

  ‘Pozhaluysta,’ he said.

  He sounded young, his voice cracking. I didn’t turn. I couldn’t. I could just pretend that I didn’t know Russian, that I didn’t know the simplest of words.

  ‘Pozhaluysta,’ he said again, and then he made a noise like a sigh. I turned and saw two more men, darkly dressed like the others, approach and lead him away. One plucked from his hand the envelope which he must have been holding out to me.

  ‘Martha, sit down.’ Alison held my hand to pull me down to the bench.

  ‘That poor man,’ I said.

  ‘What man?’ asked Bobby, sitting up. He held out his pie. ‘I don’t want any more.’

  ‘Let’s go home, then,’ said Alison. ‘I remember why I stopped leaving the apartment,’ she muttered to me.

  I felt I’d let her down. ‘Can I take Bobby to some more parks? Gorky Park, maybe?’

  ‘I’ll think about it, Martha. To be honest, every time I come into the city I am reminded how terrifying this place is. Give me a couple days to let it fade. See you later?’

  ‘Will I?’

  ‘The meal with the Americans.’

  ‘Oh, yes.’

  I’d begged Kit to let me skip this, but he’d been in a state since the night with Sergei. He couldn’t remember what had happened and talked rather hopefully about being drugged, as if that would get him off the hook. I hadn’t wanted to add the story of Charlie to his distress, and I wasn’t sure whether Kit would completely believe me. He liked Charlie, thought he was a funny womaniser who meant no harm. All I could do was hope to avoid Charlie in a natural way.

  Except for tonight, it turned out. My presence was required. I had a meeting arranged with Emily Highfield the next day, so I couldn’t even drink my way through it.

  Boy, girl, around the table, and no spouses next to each other, meant that I was stuck between Charlie and Mike. Mike’s wife, Carrie, had thought this was the best idea. I didn’t like Carrie for this reason, as well as the butterfly blue eyeshadow she continually flashed with exaggerated blinks. On the plus side, she had Charlie’s full attention.

  We filled a table at the Ukraina restaurant, to Carrie’s relief.

  ‘They put people on the same table as you,’ she said, eyes wide and slowly blinking. ‘I mean, look at this place. Never more than a quarter full, and they make you share tables.’ She shook her head.

  Mike chuckled, and checked to see whether Alison was finding it funny. Alison gave him a stiff smile.

  ‘I mean, they’re from all over here,’ Carrie continued. ‘All different colours. They keep the darker people at the top though, and the elevators take an hour just from the twentieth floor. It’s such a long time that they don’t come down very much.’ She nodded as if we’d all agreed that this was a good thing.

  Kit cleared his throat. ‘This is a popular hotel for delegates from the central and southern republics, as well as the Chinese and Africans. I always find it fascinating how the Russians like to divide everyone up into groups when they’re so concerned with everyone being equal.’

  Carrie looked at him and then addressed Charlie again. ‘Can you believe that they chew garlic?’ She threw her head back to laugh, and Charlie forced some accompaniment. There was, indeed, a scent of stale garlic mixed in with the papirosy and the beeswax which was applied to wood and linoleum nightly in al
l public places.

  ‘Hey, Mike,’ she said, ‘have you told them about those business cards?’

  ‘Oh, honey, this is why I invited these two good men to dine with us. They helped us out.’

  ‘Well, tell the ladies, then, Mike.’ Her eyes skimmed over me, and then lingered on Alison’s protruding stomach, before looking back at Charlie and patting his hand.

  Mike did his best. ‘We have a number of businessmen here in Moscow,’ he drew the ‘cow’ out unnecessarily, ‘and one guy had come up with this plan to bribe officials.’

  Kit shifted uncomfortably, trying to catch Charlie’s eye. Charlie’s hand had disappeared under the table and Carrie was looking ahead in a strangely fixed way.

  ‘So,’ Mike said, ‘he had these business cards manufactured with two strips of card and a thin layer of gold in between them. Heavy as anything, no one could fail to notice. And he got caught, of course. What Nixon has been achieving is so incredible that people have forgotten to be careful.’

  Charlie said, ‘Didn’t you have a planeload of people who turned up without any visas?’

  ‘Ha, yes. That Nixon sure has changed how people see the USSR. They’re all coming over, thanks to him and Kissinger.’

  Kit shuddered at the mention of Kissinger. I took a large drink of wine, went back to watching Charlie and Carrie and stopped trying to follow the conversation. The men were on vodka by now, and I suspected that the bland, lukewarm vegetable soup, and grey meat stew with hard potatoes would be easier to forget with a good slug of vodka. The ice cream desserts were melting in the bowls.

  Mike was still talking. ‘Of course, they hate the East Germans here, call them old Nazis.’ He lit a Marlboro. ‘And they are, of course.’

  I stifled a yawn.

  ‘I’m going to powder my nose,’ Carrie suddenly announced. ‘Ladies?’

  Alison and I got up to escort her. There had probably been a sign I had missed, meaning the men could quickly talk about important things.

  In the powder room, as Carrie insisted on calling it, she really did powder her nose. Looking at Alison in the mirror, she asked how far along she was.

  ‘I’m due in November.’

  ‘Your husband’s a card, isn’t he?’

  Alison ignored her. Carrie then turned to me. ‘Your husband’s a queer, I’d say.’

  I was thunderstruck, mouth open and no words coming out. Alison quickly put her arm through mine. ‘You’re so provincial, darling. All the best husbands are queer. I wish mine was.’ She squeezed my hand, and we went back to the table. I was so glad I hadn’t told her about Charlie. She knew quite enough.

  As I was getting ready for bed, something struck me as different – the order of my books or the arrangement of my clothes, I wasn’t sure. I picked up The Brothers Karamazov. The story booklet was inside, but the report I’d written about Charlie was missing. I felt sick as I picked up all of my books and shook them, knowing that I would remember where I put it. I hadn’t touched it since that night.

  I pulled myself to my feet, went to the kitchen and poured a glass of wine. This was really bad. Whoever had taken it, and I knew it wasn’t Kit, could do terrible things with it. They could make it look as if I’d given them a statement. They could use it against us. They could use it against Alison.

  I looked out of the kitchen window to the dark blue of the night sky. It was the early hours of Saturday, but Kit had to work Saturday mornings and wouldn’t be back until after midday. I could take everything apart in my room and be definite it had gone and have everything back by the time Kit got home. Then I remembered about Emily, summoning me to her apartment at eleven, sharp. Pyotr was picking me up and I couldn’t phone to cancel. I would have to go.

  "Always Been There"

  by

  E.V. MANN

  I was walking past Kazan Cathedral, on the corner of Red Square, when I noticed that there was no cathedral there.

  I asked the officer, ‘Where has the cathedral gone, citizen?’ I pointed to the corner where it had stood.

  ‘There was never a cathedral there, citizen.’

  I looked at the rubble, still smoking, and nodded. ‘I see.’

  ‘You don’t remember a cathedral there, do you, citizen?’

  ‘No.’ I shook my head. ‘Not at all.’

  I kept walking. At the cool Moskva river, I turned right. Behind the wall of the Kremlin, I could hear the roaring of flames, and smoke billowed up. I put my hands over my ears and walked more quickly past Kremlin Hill.

  I stopped at the Cathedral of Christ the Saviour to catch my breath. I spoke to the ice cream seller there.

  ‘Citizen, have you seen anything strange today?’

  He shook his head. ‘I never see anything, citizen.’

  ‘Heard anything?’

  ‘Never hear anything, citizen.’

  I nodded. ‘Me neither.’

  He looked to the side of me and I looked down along the river. A band of people was walking towards us, pulling three long chains. At the end of the chains was a large, green Slavic dragon, walking upright on its back feet. Each of its three heads writhed, trying to escape the chains which I could hear chafing against their scales.

  The leader of the band, his uniform grey with ash, pointed at the Cathedral of Christ the Saviour. I quickly turned for my last look. The large gold central dome, and four smaller ones, swelled up to heaven. The white body opened itself up with slender windows and peaked wide arches of the frontage. My eyes took in the sweeping steps which welcomed in both the city and the river. I saw it all.

  There was a great inrush and the dragon’s three heads all spat fire at the cathedral, streams of light and heat, until the very stones had melted and the gold ran past us into the river.

  The leader consulted his papers and shouted, ‘The church of Saint Paraskeva in Pyatnitskaya Street!’

  The band moved forward, the dragon roared, and they were gone. I stood in the falling ashes and noticed how the flowing gold had already cooled, like the spilt blood of gods.

  I turned to the ice cream seller. ‘Good afternoon, citizen.’ He nodded, and started to push his cart somewhere which was there, and had always been there.

  16

  I woke up to banging on the door. I looked down at the clothes I’d fallen asleep in. Too late to change now.

  I opened the door to Pyotr. He tapped his watch. I mimed brushing my teeth, and rushed quickly to use the toilet and do that.

  We went down in the lift, and the sudden jolting did my stomach no favours. I wished I’d taken the stairs. I got into the car and closed my eyes. When I opened them, Emily was waiting for me outside the embassy. I had a sudden urge to fake illness and make Pyotr take me home. Instead, I got out of the car.

  Emily looked me up and down. ‘Martha, dear.’

  ‘Emily, I’m not feeling very well but, as I don’t have a phone, I couldn’t let you know. Can we rearrange?’

  Emily shook her head. ‘No. This way.’

  We went through the embassy, past people and doors, until we reached a sitting room with two armchairs facing each other, angled away from the windows. There was music coming from a small record player on a shelf in front of the window. On an octagonal table was a teapot, small triangular sandwiches and a two-tier cake stand with jam tarts.

  Emily gestured for me to sit in one chair. She sat in the other and poured the tea.

  ‘So, Martha, we finally get to have a chat.’

  I smiled and took my teacup from her. I had no idea where this was going.

  ‘Alison has told me that you asked for Sandra’s address.’

  I frowned. ‘Yes?’

  ‘After the picnic, I thought it might be a good time to review our little rules. Because I feel that you were somehow missed in the process. After all, you didn’t take up my invitation. People assumed that, your father being who he is, you would understand how this works.’

  My father being who he is. My father, frequenter of GCHQ. These
people knew who he was. I tried to keep my face steady, but Emily realised she’d strayed from her intention to be authoritative and set an example.

  ‘Let’s take Sandra,’ she said, moving quickly on. ‘A very bright and interesting girl, it is certain, but recently her desire for knowledge has led her to some tricky subjects. And dubious friends. The problem is, dear, as I’m sure you’ll appreciate, that friends make demands on one. Often, they don’t even realise it themselves. And friends from different cultures, well, their intentions are always harder to read somehow. Yet, by the fact of being friends, we give ourselves up to pleasing them, without meaning to. Sandra needs to come back to us.’

  I sipped my tea.

  ‘And we thought about you, dear. You’re bright and interesting, like Sandra, and you seemed to get on very well.’

  She raised her eyebrows, and I nodded.

  ‘So, we’d like you to spend some time with her. She has odd ideas, and we don’t mind that, but we need to keep her focused on the West.’

  ‘I don’t feel very comfortable being instructed to be friends for your sake, Emily.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘I was going to make contact with her. That’s why I asked Alison for her address. I don’t see why you felt I needed another push.’

  ‘Well, we were rather hoping you would give up your recent acquaintance in order to spend more time with Sandra.’

  I frowned. ‘Who do you mean?’

  ‘Eva Mann.’

  I stared at her. She must have known I’d only seen her twice and had likely been poisoned the second time.

  ‘You are an embassy wife, Martha. You should attend the parties, you should accompany Christopher to the ballet and the opera. Speaking of which, you have not been doing your cultural duty there. You keep your husband content and occupied, and everyone is happy.’

  ‘That’s not quite what I had in mind. I think it’s important to explore new places, rather than make everywhere you end up look as much like home as you can.’

  ‘Yes, I’m quite sure you’d be at home cross-legged on a dirt floor. We are here as representatives of Britain, not as individuals. We set an example.’ She folded her hands into her lap. ‘Did you know about the embassy choir? That might be something you would enjoy. Do have a sandwich, dear.’