"There is no need for you to have that information," the man said flatly.
"What about my business? No one will buy ice cream from us but blind people. I'm sorry to tell you you are not a welcoming figure. You know that?"
"I can do nothing about that," the man said.
"You could smile," Boris said looking hopeful at a mother and child who were headed for the ice cream stand.
"I cannot," the policeman said. The policeman, whose name was Emil Karpo, had attempted a smile before the mirror in the wash room at Petrovka years earlier. It had looked grotesque, reminded him of the character in a book he had been forced to read as a child, a French book called The Man Who Laughs about a man who has his face twisted into a permanent grin.
"Maybe not, but what about my business?" wailed Boris.
"The business of the State takes precedence over the interests of the individual," the man said, his eyes scanning the crowd.
"True," sighed Boris as the mother and child saw Karpo and veered off toward a nearby restaurant, "but what is the business of the State here? If my wife and three children are to starve for the State, I would like to know why?"
Karpo's eyes fixed on two young men, heavily clothed, moving resolutely, hands in pockets, toward a group of Japanese tourists who were taking pictures of everything but Boris Manizer's ice cream stand.
"Three children is too much," Karpo said, not looking at Boris.
"Right, eezveenee't'e pasbah' Ista, please forgive me. I'll kill two of them as soon as I get home. I might as well. I can't feed them any longer," Boris said sarcastically.
"That won't be necessary," Karpo said, his eyes still on the young men. "The State will provide if they will do their share."
Boris had been shifting the ice cream cartons as Karpo spoke. He looked up to be sure that the man was joking but the pale face gave no indication of humor. Before Boris could pursue the issue, a customer appeared, one of the Japanese complete with camera around his neck.
"Yah tooree'st," said the small Japanese man who was bundled in a bulky black coat.
"What a surprise!" Boris said with a smile. "Who would have thought you were a tourist? I would have taken you for a member of the Politboro."
"Mab-ro-zbeb-na," the Japanese man said, deliberately looking back at a group of his friends who admired his courage.
"What?" said Boris.
"He thinks he asked for ice cream," Karpo said.
"Da," the man agreed.
Boris got the ice cream and the Japanese man motioned to his friends to join him. A few seconds later the stand was surrounded by Japanese tourists holding out ruble notes. It wouldn't be enough to make it a profitable day, but it wouldn't hurt. He turned to the policeman for help with the crowd, but the man was gone, his white jacket and cap lying on the floor beside the stand.
As he scooped and handed out cones, Boris looked over the heads of his Japanese customers to see the policeman moving swiftly through the crowd toward the two young man he had been watching. The young men, one of whom had removed his hat to reveal long red hair, were talking to the woman and child who had veered away from Boris's stand only minutes before.
"Choco-late," said one Japanese man.
Boris had no idea what he was saying and handed the man a vanilla cone. The man smiled and paid.
Boris tried to concentrate on business but he couldn't help watching the policeman who was only a few feet from the young men who were standing very close to the mother and child, both of whom looked quite frightened.
And then something quite strange happened. Two men in black coats stepped through the crowd and stood in front of the pale policeman who stopped and reached quickly into his pocket. One of the two men in black coats had something in his hand and the pale policeman removed his hand from his jacket and spoke. The two men in black looked back over their shoulders at the young men and the mother and child and then turned back to the gaunt policeman. The two youths had now taken notice of the gaunt man and the two in black coats. They began to back away from the mother and child.
Boris handed out ice cream after ice cream pulling in coins and paper, handing out change, not quite sure if he was doing it right.
As Boris served his last tourist he watched the red-haired youth and his companion turn and run, coats flapping behind them, in the general direction of the Metallurgy Pavilion. The pale policeman pointed at the fleeing pair but the men in black coats did not turn to look. They remained, hands at their sides, directly in front of him while behind them the mother and child stood trembling, confused. Boris could stand it no longer. He hurried around his stand and moved as quickly as he could through the crowd to the mother and child as he would want someone to do if his Masha and one of his children were standing frightened, alone like that. The boy even looked a bit like his Egon.
"Are you all right?" he asked the woman and child. Though the boy was no more than ten, he was nearly as tall as Boris, taller if Boris took off his peaked hat.
"They threatened us, me, Alex, but…" she said looking around for the youths.
Alex's nearly white hair was a mass of unruly curls. His mouth hung open.
"Come. I'll give you both an ice cream and you'll feel better," Boris said, looking around the crowd for any sign of the policeman, but there was none. Boris led the mother and boy toward his stand, praying to the gods that didn't exist that he would never see the pale man again. And the gods that didn't exist granted the wish of Boris Manizer.
The trip to Dzerzhinsky Square in the KGB Volga took less than twenty minutes. Karpo sat silently next to one of the black-coated men while the other drove. They took the center lane, the lane of the privileged, straight down Mira Prospekt, around the square past the statue of Felix Dzerzhinsky, who, under Lenin himself, headed the Cheka, the forerunner of the KGB. The car pulled up smoothly in front of Lubyanka, a massive block-square mustard yellow building. Karpo did not glance at the white-curtained windows of Lubyanka nor at the shiny brass fittings on the door as he walked up the steps flanked by the two KGB men who had left their car at curb.
Lubyanka had begun life as a turn-of-the-century insurance office. It was converted under Lenin to a great prison and interrogation center and now it was the headquarters of the KGB.
An armed guard in uniform inside the door scanned the three men without moving his head. At a desk about twenty paces farther on, behind which stood a duplicate of the armed man at the door, a woman in a dark suit looked up, recognized the KGB men and nodded for them to pass. People, almost all men, passed them carrying folders, papers, notebooks, briefcases. Flanked by the two, Karpo walked quickly down a corridor, past a desk where a dark-suited man sat with yet another young, uniformed soldier behind him carrying a machine pistol at the ready. The trio turned right down another corridor and one of the black-coated men motioned for Karpo to halt at an unmarked door. The second KGB man remained behind Karpo. It was more a question of routine and procedure than any thought or fear that Karpo might run or go mad and violent. It did not matter who Karpo was. There was a way of bringing someone in and that way had to be followed or the consequences could be quite severe.
They entered the small reception area that looked more like a cell. There were wooden benches against the wooden walls. Four photographs of past Party heroes were on the walls, one on each. A photo of Lenin at his desk looking at the camera was slightly larger than the other three photographs.
One of the KGB men nodded at the bench. Karpo sat, back straight, eyes apparently focused on the wall ahead while the shorter KGB man stood near him and the other walked to the inner door and knocked gently.
"Pa-dazb-DEEk-tye, wait," came a deep voice from within and the KGB man stepped back a bit too quickly as if the door upon which he had knocked were electrified.