The Charm School

that Vladimir Mayakovsky’s suicide was a result of his disillusionment with Soviet life?”
    “In the center of the square you see the handsome bronze statue of Felix Dzerzhinsky, eminent party leader, Soviet statesman, and close comrade of Lenin.”
    Hollis thought she should add, “Mass murderer and founder of the dreaded State Security apparatus.” How could anyone pass a test without these facts?
    The guide motioned over her shoulder across the square. “That handsome building with the tall, arched windows is Detsky Mir—Children’s World—Moscow’s largest toy store. Russians love to spoil their children,” she added, more from rote, Hollis thought, than from any personal experience.
    A murmur came from the crowd, and a woman called out, “Oh, can we go there?”
    “On your free time.”
    Someone laughed.
    “But come,” the guide said curtly. “We will go to the bus now, yes?”
    “What is that large building there?” a man asked.
    “That,” the guide said smoothly without even looking up, “is the office of the electric power agency.”
    And it was, Hollis thought, if one’s idea of electric power was fifty volts to the scrotum. He watched the procession wend its way back to the red and white Intourist bus. Passing Muscovites scrutinized the foreigners’ clothes, and Hollis wished American tourists would learn to dress better. A few people in the group turned and took pictures of the electric power agency, knowing from some more reliable source that it was the headquarters of the KGB, the infamous Lubyanka prison.
    The streetlights snapped on, though there was some daylight left. Hollis took the Lenin pin from his pocket and stuck it in his lapel, then sat on a bench that faced up Marx Prospect. From his briefcase he took a green apple, a hunk of goat’s cheese, and a small paring knife. He laid a cloth napkin on his lap and went to work on the apple and cheese with his knife. On a bench to his right an older man was eating black bread. The park benches were Moscow’s fast-food chain. Hollis threw an apple paring toward a group of sparrows, who scattered, then came back and pecked at it.
    Hollis saw him coming down Marx Prospect, past the remnants of the sixteenth-century walls, his tailored overcoat belted at the waist, marking him as a military man in mufti. His stride, too, was military, and he wore a smart cap of fur. He carried his familiar pigskin attaché case, too thin for apples or cheese.
    General Valetin Surikov, of the Red Air Force, walked directly in front of Hollis, scattering the sparrows. Surikov saw the lapel pin signifying it was safe and sat at the opposite end of the bench from Hollis. The general lit a cigarette, put on a pair of gold-rimmed glasses, and took a copy of
Pravda
from his attaché case. Without looking up he said in English, “The cheese should be wrapped in cellophane not newspaper. We have cellophane. A peasant would use newspaper.”
    Hollis crumpled the piece of newspaper and put it in his briefcase.
    “Why did you pick this place?” Surikov asked.
    “Why not?”
    “This is no game, my friend. We don’t do this so you can have something amusing to talk about with your friends.”
    “No, we don’t, General.”
    “If they catch you, they kick you out with your diplomatic immunity. If they catch me, they take me there”—he cocked his head toward the Lubyanka—“and shoot me.”
    Sam Hollis did not particularly like General Valentin Surikov, but he wasn’t sure why. Hollis said, “Do you know what they did to Colonel Penkovsky when they caught him?”
    “I don’t know who Colonel Penkovsky is.”
    “Was.” Hollis was newly amazed each time he discovered how little these people knew about the society in which they lived. Even generals. “Penkovsky did what you are doing. Quite famous in the West. The fellows over there tortured him for six months, then threw him alive into a furnace. Firing squads are for lesser offenses.” Hollis cut out a section of apple, then made several crosscuts looking for worms. Finding none whole or halved, he put the small pieces of apple into his mouth and chewed.
    General Surikov chain-lit another cigarette. “You’re absolutely certain you weren’t followed here?”
    Hollis shrugged. “I do my best. How about you?”
    “I certainly can’t take overt evasive actions like you can. I have to walk normally.”
    “What’s your business in this quarter, Comrade General?”
    “I have reservations at