The Charm School

younger sister who married a jet jockey and is currently living in the Philippines. No children. One older brother who works on Wall Street, wears a yellow tie, and makes too much money. He’s married, two children. He’s the only real American in the family.” Hollis smiled. “He developed travel burnout as a kid after the fifteenth transfer. His philosophy is that a man should never leave his time zone.”
    “Time zone?”
    “Yes. You know. He lives in the Eastern time zone. He won’t leave it and in fact confines himself to twenty degrees of latitude within the zone. He’ll cross zip codes freely but tries to stay within his telephone area code. He’s in two one two.”
    Lisa stifled a laugh. “Are you serious?”
    “Yes.”
    “What an interesting family. Are you all close?”
    “There is a bond. How about you? Tell me about Lisa.”
    She gave no indication of having heard him and said, “I seem to remember a wife.”
    “Wife? Oh, yes, Katherine. She went to London to shop.”
    “I think she’s been gone about half a year.”
    “Has it been that long?”
    “Are you legally separated?”
    “Illegally.”
    Lisa seemed about to pursue this but poured more wine instead.
    The proprietress came to the table, and she and Lisa discussed the day’s fare. Lisa ordered for both herself and Hollis. Lisa said to Hollis, “It’s a fixed price. Only three rubles. The menu changes by the hour. Better that than the big restaurants where they keep telling you they’re out of everything you order.” She tore a piece of pita bread and put half of it on his plate. She remarked, “Bulgarian? I thought your Russian was odd. I don’t mean American-accented or anything, but not Russian-accented either.”
    “I speak a little Polish too.”
    “You’ve been around the Bloc.” She laughed at her own pun.
    Hollis smiled. “It’s an article of faith with the Russians that only a Russian can speak
Russian
Russian. Yet Seth Alevy is nearly perfect. If he were trying to pass, a Muscovite would think he was probably a Leningrader and vice versa.”
    “Perhaps on the telephone. But there’s more to being a Russian than the language. It’s like that with any nationality, but the Russians
are
different in unique ways. Did you ever notice that Russian men walk from the shoulders down? American men use their legs.”
    “I’ve noticed.”
    She continued, “And their facial expressions are different, their mannerisms. To be a Russian is the sum total of the national and cultural experience. Neither you nor I nor Seth could pass for a Russian any more than we could pass for an Oriental.”
    “I detect some Russian mysticism there, Ms. Putyatova.”
    Lisa smiled.
    Hollis said, “Yet I wonder if it could be done? I mean, given the right training, cultural immersion, and so forth, could an American pass for a Russian in a group of Russians? Could a Russian pass for an American at a backyard barbecue?”
    Lisa thought a moment before replying. “Perhaps for a while, if no one was looking for a counterfeit. But not under close examination. Something would betray the person.”
    “Would it? What if a Russian who already knew English went to a special school? A school with an American instructor? A sort of… finishing school? A total immersion in Americana for, let’s say, a year or more. Would you get a perfect copy of the American instructor?”
    Lisa considered a moment, then replied, “The instructor and the student would have to be very dedicated… . There would have to be a very good reason for an American to go along with that—” She added, “We’re talking about spies, aren’t we?”
    “You are. I’m not. You’re very bright.” Hollis changed the subject. “Your Russian is grammatically perfect. Your colloquialisms are good. But I noticed your accent, rhythm, and speech patterns are not Muscovite, nor do you sound as if you learned Russian at Monterey or Wiesbaden.”
    “No, I didn’t go to our language schools. My grandmother taught me Russian.”
    “Evelina Vasileva Putyatova?”
    “So, you were paying attention. Odd for a man.”
    “I’m a spy. I listen.”
    “And look and file things away. Anyway, my grandmother was a wonderful woman.” Lisa stubbed out her cigarette and continued, “I was born and raised in Sea Cliff, a neat sort of village of Victorian houses on Long Island’s north shore. Sea Cliff has a large Russian community that goes back to czarist times. Then the Revolution