The Charm School

that Marchenko meant it, but if Marchenko were ordered to burn every church in Byelorussia he’d do it, with no more moral protest than the clucking of his tongue. Hollis said, “Why don’t you shut up?”
    Marchenko turned his head and looked at Hollis with a hurt expression. “There’s no need to be rude.”
    “On the fucking contrary, fat boy. You’re more despicable than the swine in Moscow because you’re a traitor to your own country and a Muscovite lackey.”
    Marchenko seemed to be trying to control himself. He took a deep breath, then forced a smile. “You see? I tell you a little about myself, and you exploit it. A typical treacherous Westerner. And you think you can abuse me because you know you are to be taken alive. Well, let me tell you something—you’re going to stand trial for the murder of two Border Guards and perhaps a third if the one you left in the toilet dies. We don’t let that sort of thing go unpunished as you well know. You will probably be convicted and sentenced to death. They will tell you to write an appeal to the president of the Supreme Soviet, as that is a right under the Soviet constitution. As you are writing your appeal, someone will shoot you in the back of the head. That’s how it’s done. Very humane if you don’t know what’s coming. But I wanted you to know, Colonel Hollis, so that if they tell you you’re going to draft an appeal of your death sentence, now you know you are probably going to your death. I thought I’d extend that kindness to you. Even if you are a murderer.”
    “Shut up, Marchenko.”
    Marchenko looked angry for the first time. He turned to Lisa. “You seem all right, which is why I don’t want to shoot you. But your friend here… well, I don’t meet many Westerners. Perhaps I shouldn’t judge by one spy. Yes?”
    Lisa said, “Will you give me my icon back? I promise not to bash it over your head.”
    Marchenko laughed. “I must have your oath to God.”
    “I swear to God I won’t bash it over your head.”
    “Good.” Marchenko leaned back and handed it to her. “You see? This religious relic started all of this unpleasantness. But I respect the believers. I have a female cousin my own age who believes in God. She became a Baptist for some reason. Another Western corruption, this Baptist religion. At least she could have become Orthodox if she wanted to be a martyr. Does this religion bring you comfort even now?”
    “Yes.”
    “Good. Perhaps someday when I’m old, right before the end, I will talk to a priest about getting into heaven. God will understand. No?”
    Lisa replied, “I think even God can get pissed off by some people.”
    “‘Pissed off?’”
    Hollis said, “Marchenko, please, I implore you, shut the fuck up.”
    “Yes? I think perhaps I talk too much. Not good in my job. Perhaps I
should
work for Intourist. I could talk all day to Westerners.” He turned to Vadim and asked in Russian, “Do I talk too much?”
    “No, sir.”
    “See? Well, maybe I’ll be quiet for a while.” Marchenko settled back in his seat.
    Hollis looked at Lisa. “Relax.”
    She forced a smile and took his cuffed hands in hers. “Don’t feel bad.”
    “Okay.”
    They didn’t speak much for the next two hours, and true to his word, Marchenko didn’t say much either. Vadim was in worsening pain, and Hollis could see his wrist was twice its normal size. Vadim muttered an obscenity from time to time. The copilot belatedly remembered a first aid kit, and Vadim found codeine tablets in it. He took several of them.
    Hollis was certain that the pilot and copilot remembered perfectly well they had the first aid kit all along. Hollis had observed that casual cruelty in Russians before, a real indifference to the suffering of strangers. Once you drank with them or ate with them or had your little
dusha dush,
they’d give you the shirt off their backs, no matter how brief the relationship. But if you weren’t kith, kin, lover, or soul mate, you shouldn’t expect anyone to volunteer painkillers for a smashed wrist, and Hollis had even heard of that sort of indifference in hospitals. And to add insult to cruelty, the copilot offered the painkillers not to make Vadim feel better, but to let Vadim know they were available for the last two hours. Also, Hollis thought, the flight crew being Red Air Force, and the charter passengers being KGB, the cruelty was not altogether casual. Even more bizarre, Hollis thought, was the fact that