The Charm School

so, but there were neither the numbers nor the strength. “Maybe… someday.”
    They crossed the square, and Lisa steered him toward another church, a smaller single-domed building of white stucco. She said, “That’s where we’re going to mass. The Church of the Assumption.”
    “It needs some care.”
    “I know. I was told that the churches of Moscow and this place in particular—because it’s so close to Lenin Stadium—got some quick cosmetics for the 1980 Olympics. But you can see how rundown everything is.”
    Hollis nodded. He surveyed the ancient trees and buildings of the fortress-convent. It was well within the city limits now, not two kilometers from Red Square, but from inside the walls there was no sign of any century but the sixteenth. He could easily imagine a grey, misty October day in the early 1500s, soldiers on the battlements watching the woods and fields, ready to ring the alarm bells of the huge tower, to signal the Kremlin of any approaching danger. And on the paths the nuns would stroll, and the priests would be sequestered in prayer. The world may have been simpler then, but no less terrifying.
    Lisa stopped about ten yards from the church. Hollis saw six men outside the doors stopping some of the younger people and the families, asking for identification. The men jotted information from the ID cards into notebooks. Hollis spotted another man, posing as a tourist, taking pictures of the people going inside. One of the six men at the door got involved in an argument with a young woman who apparently refused to show her identification. Hollis said, “I assume those men are not church ushers.”
    “No, they’re swine.”
    Hollis watched a moment. The young woman finally managed to get away from the KGB without showing her identification, but she didn’t try to enter the church and hurried away.
    The old babushkas moved ponderously past the KGB men, ignoring them and being ignored by them. These black-dressed women, Hollis had learned, were invisible. They were also free, like the animals and proles in George Orwell’s nightmare world. Free because no one cared enough about them to enslave them.
    Lisa said, “They don’t usually stop anyone who looks Western.”
    “Well, I’ll look Western. I’ll smile.”
    “But your shoes squeak.” She took his arm as they approached the doors of the church. The KGB man who had been arguing with the young woman intercepted them and said to Hollis, “
Kartochka!
”
    Hollis replied in English, “I don’t understand a fucking word you’re saying, Mac.”
    The young man looked him over, waved his arm in dismissal, and began to turn to someone else when he noticed Lisa. He smiled and touched his hat, then said in Russian, “Good morning.”
    She replied in Russian, “Good morning to you. Will you join us in celebrating Christ’s message to the world?”
    “I think not.” He added, “But be sure to tell Christ that Yelena Krukova’s son sends his regards.”
    “I will. Perhaps you’ll tell Him yourself someday.”
    “Perhaps I will.”
    Lisa led Hollis up the steps of the church. He said, “I take it you come here often.”
    “I take turns among the six surviving Orthodox churches in Moscow. That fellow back there must have permanent weekend duty. I’ve seen him nearly every Sunday I’ve come here for two years. We have that little ritual. I think he likes me.”
    “That’s probably why he volunteers for Sunday duty.”
    They entered the vestibule of the Church of the Assumption. To the right of the door sat a long refectory table laden with bread, cakes, and eggs. Adorning the whole spread were cut flowers, and stuck into the food were pencil-thin brown candles all alight. Hollis moved through the crowd to examine the display. “What’s this?”
    Lisa came up beside him and said, “The people bring their food here to be blessed.”
    As Hollis watched, more food was laid on the table, more flowers strewn over it, and more candles lit. Off to the side he noticed an old woman standing at a countertop selling the brown candles for three kopeks apiece. Lisa went to her, put a ruble on the table, and asked for two candles, refusing the change. Lisa took Hollis’ arm and led him into the nave.
    The church was lit only by the weak sunlight coming through the stained-glass windows, but the raised altar was aglow in the fire of a hundred white tapers.
    The nave had no pews and was packed wall-to-wall, shoulder-to-shoulder with