The Charm School

Island, New York

PART I

    Whenever you are unhappy, go to Russia. Anyone who has come to understand that country will find himself content to live anywhere else.
    —Marquis de Custine
Russia in 1839

 
1
    “You are already staying in Smolensk two days, Mr. Fisher?” she asked.
    Gregory Fisher was no longer confused or amused by the peculiar syntax and verb tenses of English as it was spoken in this part of the world. “Yes,” he replied, “I’ve been in Smolensk two days.”
    “Why don’t I see you when you arrive?”
    “You were out. So I saw the police—the militia.”
    “Yes?” She leafed through his papers on her desk, a worried look on her face, then brightened. “Ah, yes. Good. You are staying here at Tsentralnaya Hotel.”
    Fisher regarded the Intourist representative. She was about twenty-five years old, a few years older than he. Not too bad looking. But maybe he’d been on the road too long. “Yes, I stayed at the Tsentralnaya last night.”
    She looked at his visa. “Tourism?”
    “Right.
Tourizm.
”
    She asked, “Occupation?”
    Fisher had become impatient with these internal control measures. He felt as if he were making a major border crossing at each town in which he was obliged to stop. He said, “Ex-college student, currently unemployed.”
    She nodded. “Yes? There is much unemployment in America. And homeless people.”
    The Russians, Fisher had learned, were obsessed with America’s problems of unemployment, homeless people, crime, drugs, and race. “I’m voluntarily unemployed.”
    “The Soviet constitution itself guarantees each citizen a job, a place to live, and a forty-hour work week. Your constitution does not guarantee this.”
    Fisher thought of several responses but said only, “I’ll ask my congressman about that.”
    “Yes?”
    “Yes.” Fisher stood in the middle of the office with pale yellow walls.
    The woman folded her hands and leaned forward. “You are enjoying your visit in Smolensk?”
    “Super. Wish I could stay.”
    She spread his travel itinerary over her desk, then energetically slapped a big red rubber stamp across the paperwork. “You visit our cultural park?”
    “Shot a roll of film there.”
    “Yes? Do you visit the Local History Museum on Lenin Street?”
    Fisher didn’t want to push his credibility. “No. Missed that. Catch it on the way back.”
    “Good.” She eyed him curiously for a few moments. Fisher thought she enjoyed the company. In fact, the whole Smolensk Intourist office had a somewhat forlorn look about it, like a Chamber of Commerce storefront in a small Midwestern town.
    “We see not many Americans here.”
    “Hard to believe.”
    “Not many from the West. Buses from our Socialist brother countries.”
    “I’ll spread the word around.”
    “Yes?” She tapped her fingers on the desk, then said thoughtfully, “You may travel anywhere.”
    “Excuse me?”
    “An American is telling me this. Everyone is getting passport. Thirty bucks. Two, three, four weeks.”
    “Could take longer. Can’t go to Vietnam, North Korea, Cuba, few other places.”
    She nodded absently. After a few moments she inquired, “You are interested in socialism?”
    Fisher replied, “I am interested in Russia.”
    “I am interested in your country.”
    “Come on over.”
    “Yes. Someday.” She looked down at a printed form and read, “You have the required first aid kit and tool kit in your automobile?”
    “Sure do. Same ones I had in Minsk.”
    “Good.” She continued, “You must stay on the designated highways. There are no authorized overnight stops between here and Moscow. Night driving in the countryside is forbidden for foreign tourists. You must be within the city of Moscow by nightfall.”
    “I know.”
    “When you reach Moscow, you must report directly to the Intourist representative at the Hotel Rossiya where you are staying. Before you do this, you may stop only for petrol and to ask directions of the militia.”
    “And to use the
tualet.
”
    “Well, yes of course.” She glanced at his itinerary. “You are authorized one small detour to Borodino.”
    “Yes, I know.”
    “But I would advise against that.”
    “Why?”
    “It is late in the day, Mr. Fisher. You will be hurrying to Moscow before dark. I would advise you already to stay in Smolensk tonight.”
    “I am already checking out of my hotel. Yes?”
    She didn’t seem to notice his parody of her English and said, “I can arrange for another room