The Wolves of Leninsky Prospekt

by Sarah Armstrong

  I picked one up and held it in front of me, as if uncertain what to do with it. Could she tell all her embassy women exactly how to be wives? I cleared my throat.

  ‘I’m not being paid to be here, Emily. I think how I spend my time is my business.’ I put the sandwich back on the plate. ‘Kit can comment on what I do, if he wants. He’s paying for my home.’

  She leaned forward. ‘I keep hearing about you, Martha, and that’s not how it should be. You’re not supposed to be evident in any way, other than to ease your husband’s path through these strange lands we end up in. Meeting with people like Eva Mann is getting you noticed by the wrong people. I’m sure that isn’t what you want.’

  ‘It seems I can’t stop you watching me, and whatever I do, I’m watched. But if I want to spend time with another British person, or Russian person, I will.’ I stood up.

  ‘She’s not really British, you know. Just a leftover from the Second World War.’

  I walked to the door, then stopped to look back at her. ‘Thanks for the tea.’

  I went downstairs and stopped on the steps at the front. Kit was waiting for me.

  ‘Everything all right, darling?’

  I hooked my arm through his, and swept one arm dramatically in front of my face. ‘Take me away from all this.’

  ‘I sent Pyotr off.’ He smiled. ‘You look terrible.’

  ‘Does anywhere do a fry-up, by any chance?’

  ‘No. Not that I’ve found.’

  I remembered the pie. ‘Take me to The Metropol, darling. There’s a brilliant stall that sells pies. That is just what I need.’

  We sat on the grass and discussed my failings as a wife.

  ‘It is true, though,’ Kit said. ‘There has been a lot of interest in you.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘I noticed that first night you were being watched.’

  I swallowed too fast, and coughed. ‘By which team?’

  ‘Their team, the Soviet one.’

  ‘And you didn’t say?’

  ‘Do you remember what a paranoid wreck you were?’

  I forced myself not to look around for someone here and now. ‘So, way before Eva?’

  ‘Eva is what got our team interested. Only because they were watching her anyway.’

  I tried to imagine going to see Eva and not saying all of this straight away. ‘Don’t tell me any more, Kit. I’m going to stuff it all down so I forget it.’

  He nodded, scrumpled up the wax paper the pie had been wrapped in and flopped flat onto his back, hands above his head. ‘What a week.’

  ‘Anything you can tell me about?’

  ‘If I look like the world is going to end, you can bet there is one of two things behind it. I’ve either got another provocation to deal with, or Kissinger has been busy stirring the pot.’

  I felt relieved. ‘I haven’t got you in trouble, then?’

  ‘To be honest, there’s so much other stuff going on that this won’t be a priority for anyone but Mrs Highfield.’ He turned towards me. ‘By the way, she arranged Eugene Onegin tickets for us for tonight.’

  ‘Is that an opera?’

  Kit laughed. ‘Yep. A long one. She wants to keep you busy.’

  I lay down next him, my bag under my head. ‘Do you know what I fancy? A film.’

  ‘They show them at the American Embassy, but that’s on a Saturday morning. They are terrified of sitting next to a Russian, so they have their own cinema.’

  ‘I don’t mean there. A Russian film.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Oh, yes. You can’t say it doesn’t count as cultural.’

  Kit closed his eyes. I found I couldn’t, even being so tired. Not now I knew I really was being followed.

  Kit propped himself up on one elbow. ‘You’re worrying now, aren’t you?’

  I was, but about something else. ‘How easy is it to get a key cut here? If you lost one.’

  ‘Oh, you haven’t, have you? You just can’t get them cut. You’d need a whole new locking mechanism.’

  ‘No, I just wondered.’ I nodded. Ever since Charlie, I’d wondered. I saw a man lurching towards us and I tensed, but he was drunk, not making an approach. He managed to turn himself around and leave in the opposite direction. I tried to relax my shoulders.

  ‘Do you know what I think? The Moskva, over there,’ Kit gestured behind him, ‘has a cocktail bar on the eleventh floor. I say we go there, have a few drinks, see a film, get the last tube home. Just as if we were in London.’ He waved his hand over my face. ‘There are no Russians here. You can’t hear Russian or speak Russian or see Russian.’

  I smiled. ‘OK. Let’s find a hair of that bloody dog that bit me.’

  Kit stood and hauled me to my feet. I tried not to look, but the movement of the man across the grass caught me and I couldn’t help it.

  Being in the Moskva Hotel helped. The number of English speakers meant I didn’t try to pick out words that I knew all the time, and just let it wash over me. Kit made sure I paced myself with regular glasses of soda water, and by the time we reached Kalinina Prospekt, I was numbly happy. I half wanted to bump into Eva, to see what she was like with Kit. I decided to go and see her again. I missed her in a weird way.

  Kit pointed to four tower blocks. ‘This is where they use lit windows to make a huge illuminated CCCP at night, the Russian letters for USSR. Have you seen pictures of that?’

  ‘It rings a bell. I didn’t know that’s what they stood for.’

  We continued walking. I was doubting that the small back streets he’d led me down were anywhere near the industrial sized Kalinina Prospekt, but then Kit turned left and there was the cinema, grey and rectangular.

  ‘The Khudozhestvenny cinema,’ he said. ‘Built in 1909, would you believe?’

  I wouldn’t. It was squat and plain and dull. I shrugged. Then he pointed at the sweeping curves of another building nearby. We walked around it.

  ‘Is it in the shape of a star?’ I said.

  ‘Yes. It’s one of my favourite buildings.’

  I stood back. ‘Mempo.’ I still had to try to read in English first, knowing full well that I couldn’t. ‘It’s a Metro station?’

  ‘One of the best. It’s even more amazing inside. But first,’ he looked at the posters on the cinema, ‘we have Planet of Storms.’

  ‘Oh good, sci-fi.’ I had been a little worried it would be a deep conversational piece that I wouldn’t understand at all. ‘I can do alien planets.’

  Kit looked surprised. ‘I love sci-fi too. 2001 was one of the most amazing things I’ve ever seen. How did we not know this about each other?’

  I raised one eyebrow, and looked back at the poster. Five male cosmonauts looked thoughtful underneath a strange dark shape. ‘Is that a pterodactyl?’

  ‘Maybe. That’s a robot.’ He pointed to a dark shape which I could now see was a rounded head with glowing eyes. ‘I’ve heard of this. It’s quite old,’ said Kit, ‘at least ten years. Maybe it’s an anniversary showing.’

  ‘Why is it all men? They have female cosmonauts, don’t they?’

  ‘Well, they do, but who wants to see them?’

  I hit Kit on the arm as he dodged away. Then I thought how that would look to our follower, or followers. And then I thought how it might be nice for them to have a night off in the cinema for a change. Maybe that’s why we were supposed to go to the ballet and opera, to give everyone a nice break.

  ‘You’re thinking about it again, aren’t you?’

  ‘Can we sit at the back, so there’s no one behind us?’

  ‘Afraid not, darling. I am going to do something naughty and blag our way in.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You need to buy tickets in advance for everything, and we didn’t. So, I need to pretend we’re visiting from a Czechoslovakian delegation, and that will mean the best seats.’

  ‘Is this what they mean by “blat”? Corruption and influence?’

  Kit rolled his eyes, and
went to buy the tickets. I kept close to him. He was speaking for a really long time to the girl in the booth. I heard ‘Festival nauchnoy fantastiki’ a few times. She was writing something for him on a piece of paper. He turned and smiled at me.

  ‘We’re in luck. There’s a whole series of sci-fi films on. We have to see Solaris. It had great reviews, but I never got to watch it.’

  It wasn’t what I’d been looking for, but I did feel a sense of purpose when he said that. Or was it just a way to keep me occupied and away from difficult people? Who cared, if it meant missing another opera?

  ‘OK, you’re thinking again. Let’s go in.’

  As we passed into the hall, with the uncomfortable chairs I would grow quite fond of, I turned to see the girl writing another list for a man. He kept his back to us, and I tried not to notice his dark blue jacket and the black hat in his hand.

  17

  At the door, I held out my seven roses, one rouble each, which I’d bought at the Metro station.

  ‘Marta, how thoughtful,’ she said, and smiled.

  ‘Oh, someone mentioned that it was customary here.’ I smiled back.

  ‘Come in.’ She kissed me, once on each cheek, and I could smell her face powder. ‘Do go through, Marta, while I make the tea.’

  My stomach turned. I felt her hand on my elbow, and I looked at her.

  ‘I do hope you weren’t unwell after your last visit. I was very ill indeed. The doctor said it was a virus, and I’ve been worried that you could have caught it too. I have sterilised everything in the kitchen, and I’m sure we’ll be quite safe.’

  She shuffled away with her flowers and I went into the same room as before. The dog, ears up, lifted her head to watch me. I walked up to The Rafters, again surprised by the woman’s stance.

  Eva had mentioned the illness, which I hadn’t expected. I had been intending to pretend to sip the tea. Maybe she had really been sick. It could have been a virus. I winced, imagining what Kit would think of me if I said any of this to him. I regretted not leaving him a note telling him where to find my body, should I not return. Emily Highfield would know where I was.

  Eva returned and placed the tray down. ‘I thought we’d have it Russian style again today. You must be getting more used to our ways.’

  Two glasses with silver filigree surrounds and handles, a saucer of sugar cubes to plop into the black tea. There would be little chance to pretend to drink this. Was this an admission of guilt, or a test of faith? Or both?

  ‘I don’t think I will today, thank you,’ I said.

  ‘Please sit. I will drink from both glasses, if you like.’

  We were back in the same places, but Eva seemed happy to see me this time. I didn’t want to mess this up again. I wanted to know about her.

  ‘How have you been?’ I said.

  ‘Very well, thank you. There is a lot of work at the Novosti agency for translators. It might be something you consider one day.’

  ‘They employ foreigners?’

  ‘Oh yes, but we always welcome new Soviet citizens as well. I’ve found, the longer you spend here, the easier it is to see the problems back in Britain. Have you found that, Marta?’

  I was so conscious of the background silence, the recorder whirring away out of sight. ‘I think there are problems in any system.’

  ‘Right now, in England, it’s inflation that’s a terrible problem. Isn’t it? How much has butter gone up?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Forty-eight per cent. Fish, forty-three per cent. Cheese, thirty-eight per cent. Do you know how long you have been able to buy half a litre of milk here for sixteen kopeks? Ten years, Marta. The Metro has been five kopeks to go anywhere you like for twenty years. It runs every four minutes. Have you been making good use of it?’

  ‘I’ve been a few places, yes.’

  Eva shuffled forward on her chair, and poured the tea. ‘And have you managed to see any films?’ She put two cubes on each saucer next to the teaspoon, and gestured for me to choose one.

  ‘Yes, we saw a few from the science fiction festival.’ I put two cubes in the glass and stirred them slowly.

  ‘We?’

  ‘My husband and I. We saw Planet of Storms and Cosmic Voyage. And The Sky Calls.’

  ‘And what did you think?’

  ‘I really liked Planet of Storms, but it was distracting having it translated into my ear, so I’m trying to watch them myself. I thought Aelita would be a good one, because it’s a silent film, but it seemed to be two films jammed together, one on Russia and one on Mars. And then the man woke up, so the Mars bit wasn’t even true. So that felt like a cheat.’

  ‘That was Aelita: Queen of Mars?’

  I nodded.

  ‘I didn’t think that was shown nowadays. Do you remember where you saw it?’

  ‘No.’ I didn’t want to report anything. ‘Great special effects, for the twenties, though.’

  Eva nodded. ‘They’re all pretty old. Did you know that Solaris is on at the Mir cinema? It won at Cannes. It’s the cinema on Tsvetnoy Boulevard with the wide, curved screen. Something new for you both. You might have to wait for tickets, but I hear it’s very good. You haven’t been married long, have you?’ She drank from her glass.

  ‘No.’

  Eva smiled at me, waiting for me to say something else. I smiled and sipped the sweet black tea. I assessed myself. I felt all right, so far.

  ‘Is it too cold? I can get some fresh tea, if you’d like.’

  ‘No, it’s good. Thank you.’ I sipped again. ‘Can you tell me about your translation work? Do you translate work for children, fables or fairy tales?’

  ‘No.’ The word was spoken with such force that her dog lifted her head and looked from her to me. ‘Adults. Novels for adults.’

  She was so determined to get me to believe that the E. V. Mann of my booklet had nothing to do with this Eva Mann. I couldn’t understand why. Hadn’t I said how much I liked them?

  ‘And what hours do you work?’

  ‘I’m lucky to be able to take some of my work home. I tend to go into the office on Monday and Friday, for collection and delivery. Most of the time I’m here, but I like to keep Tuesday afternoon free. A little hangover from the old days, having an afternoon for reception. Does your mother do that?’

  ‘No, she doesn’t have set visiting hours.’ I didn’t know anyone who did. She’d said the ‘old days’, but it seemed more nineteenth century than her living memory. ‘I expect your dog likes having you at home.’

  ‘Dorogaya moya, Vorona.’ She looked at me, an eyebrow raised.

  ‘My darling, Crow,’ I translated.

  ‘Very good,’ she laughed. ‘Your lessons are working. If you wanted to spend some time with Russians for conversation practice, I can help.’

  ‘Oh, no. Thanks.’

  Eva smirked. ‘You’re still scared of us. You think we’re all scary and different. But I take Vorona to the Chelyabinsk dog club, like any little old lady in Chelsea.’

  ‘Eva, why do you always refer to yourself as being old? You don’t look very old to me.’

  She sighed but looked pleased. ‘Ah, I’ve lived three lives. It’s too many.’

  She looked unbearably sad then, and I realised she still thought England was a place where dogs joyously run from the butcher’s, in their mouths a string of sausages waving in the wind. I wanted to take her out for a cream tea, with clotted cream and raspberry jam, and let her pretend it was still like that in England. Because it wasn’t. It was power cuts and strikes, the House of Commons lit by candles and paraffin lamps, rubbish in the streets, a million unemployed, men fighting police for the right to decent pay and people living in condemned houses with the promise of nice new flats that never came.

  Her expression was curious when I drew my eyes back to hers. She stood up and gestured to the door.

  ‘Thank you so much for coming, Marta. Please do come again.’

  I was back on the stairs, but not dizzy or sick
, just surprised. I hadn’t even finished my tea, but I liked her again. I wondered how many versions of Eva there were.

  18

  I kept thinking about my meeting with Emily, and I had become more annoyed that Alison had told her I’d asked for Sandra’s address. In the end, I decided to stop moping about it and go and ask her. And I was missing my days out with Bobby.

  When I knocked on the door I was surprised to see Alison was ready to go out.

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry, we’re off in a minute.’

  ‘Where to?’

  ‘We’re meeting a couple of mums and going to the Puppet Theatre. Andrea organised it all. Do you want to come? You can’t come in, but we’re going to the Hermitage Garden after.’

  ‘No, I’m all right.’

  Alison turned to Bobby. ‘Can you go and put your shoes on the right feet?’

  He disappeared into the front room.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ she asked.

  I didn’t know I was so transparent. ‘I got summoned to see Emily because you told her I’d asked for Sandra’s address.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And why did you tell her?’

  Alison frowned. ‘Why wouldn’t I? I didn’t go and tell her especially. We were talking at the food store and I mentioned it after she brought up Sandra. I thought it was a good thing for Sandra to have someone else to talk to. Everyone else has children and, now it’s the school holidays, it means women without children can feel left out.’

  ‘So we can’t go anywhere?’

  ‘Of course we can. It’s just I can’t today. Why don’t you go and see Sandra?’

  ‘I might.’

  ‘Well, she lives on Sad-Sam. That’s near the puppet theatre. Get a lift with us.’

  I couldn’t think of a better idea.

  Sandra opened the door and put her finger on her lips. She grabbed her bag, hanging beside the door, and led me outside, past the overpass and onto a long strip of grass and trees between two rows of buildings. Yet again, I was reminded of Paris.