He stared out the window. Row after row of prefabricated apartment houses rolled past—pale yellow cinderblocks, each a shabby functional echo of its neighbor. Half an hour later, he worked his way to the front of the car, exited at the next stop, and headed for one of the cinderblocks—his home for the last ten years.
As he climbed the stairs in the drab hallway, he was assaulted by a pervasive dinginess. The thought of never again having to walk up these stairs and down this hallway gave him an odd sense of detachment. He passed through the communal kitchen and unlocked the door to his room. It was simply furnished for simple needs. A narrow bed. A few shelves and wall hooks for clothes. A small scarred table and a couple of chairs. Apart from some medical books piled at one end of the table that provided the only spot of color, there was nothing to suggest the character or personality of its occupant. It was a suitable room for a transient-in-spirit, he thought, closing the door. He switched on an overhead light. A plastic suitcase lay open on the bed next to his raincoat. Some bottles and an eye dropper were on the table. A towel with brown stains hung over the back of a chair.
A clock on one of the shelves reminded him that Galya was due any time now.
Removing his dark glasses, he examined his left eye in a mirror. The redness was almost gone. He had passed inspection this morning. But he might not be so lucky if he didn’t remember to keep after it once every hour, when possible, until people stopped asking questions.
After packing only what he’d need, he opened a small bottle, and stuck the eyedropper in. With the odor of lemon pulling at his nostrils, he put a few drops of lemon juice in his left eye and held his breath against the sting.
He felt his scalp gingerly—still raw from the chemicals and repeated rinsing. But a mirror check drew a tight smile. His hair was just a touch darker than his natural color brown. Galya was the only one who might notice—unlikely in the dim light of a lamp. He turned off the overhead.
On his way home he had stopped off at the hospital and retrieved his cigarette lighter. Dropping it into his jacket pocket, he sat down to wait.
At the familiar tap-tap on the door, he called out, “It’s unlocked.”
Galya came in. “I won’t stay long,” she said, eyeing his small open suitcase. “You must have so much to do. Not much to pack, is there?” she observed with a tinge of bitterness. “I know there’s more to life than stylish clothes and beautiful jewelry,” she said bleakly, “but even so…”
He tuned out, not wanting to be a complicit enabler when it came to Galya’s obsessive need for pretty things. Not when she should be lashing out at the apparatchiks who blocked, not just a fun trip to Canada, but freedom to do whatever she wanted with her life.
“—hurts the most when I go to the cinema,” she was saying. “At first I’m captivated by the glamorous heroine—her clothes, her jewelry, even her high-heeled shoes! The next thing I notice is how casual she is about her wardrobe. And then I glance at the only semi-decent item I own—a black dress that’s four years old and stylish as a muddy overshoe…”
“Never mind,” he said gently, touching her cheek. Knowing how vulnerable she was because she had never fully grasped that the luxuries she wanted were symbolic of a much wider principle… her right to be free. “Don’t give up, Galya,” he told her. “One day you’ll have some of the things you want.”
Kiril sounds so solemn…
She leaned forward to kiss him. “Call me soon as you get back?”
“You know I will,” he said, hating the lie on his tongue.
“Know what I think?” she teased. “I think you’ve contracted a bad case of first-trip-out-of-the-country-itis. I’m told it has a very sobering effect on its victims.”
“An apt diagnosis, Nurse Barkova. Shall we drink to it?”
“Can’t. I’m late for an appointment.”
She gave him a quick hug and was out the door.
Galya hurried inside the Metro station and headed for a row of wooden telephone booths along one wall, stopping outside a vacant one to dip into her full change-purse for a two-kopeck coin. Ignoring the envious glance of the woman behind her, Galya snapped the purse shut. This was one shortage, at least, that no longer affected her. Not for the last two years, anyway.
She shut herself in the narrow booth and waited for her call to be put through, conscious of two competing rhythms—the tapping of her fingertips against the telephone base and the ticking of her wristwatch.
She touched the tiny face of the watch, the elegant gold band. Beautiful. She shouldn’t have worn it. If Kiril had noticed… But he hadn’t. By the time he got back from his trip, she’d have a good story to explain it.
“Yes?” The voice on the other end of the line was typically impatient.
“It’s Galina Barkova.”
“Ah, yes. What have you to report?”
“Nothing really.”
“Comrade Barkova.” The voice was patronizing now. “I don’t expect you to uncover some dire plot to overthrow the Kremlin. Your assignment is to observe much subtler things. An unguarded remark here. An antisocial view there. An overall state of mind. Incidentally, how is Kiril’s state of mind these days? Are his spirits unnaturally low since the death of Stepan Brodsky? Has his behavior altered significantly in any way?”
“Not really.”
“What about his upcoming sojourn to East Berlin in a few days? Is he looking forward to it?”
“I think so, yes. He didn’t really say. He just…”
“He just what?” Alexei snapped, going into alert.
She felt trapped by the tight embrace of the phone booth. By the ticking of the watch as it counted off the seconds.
“When I got up to leave, Kiril seemed so—I don’t know, solemn.”
As if he never expected to see me again.
“Oh, that.” Aleksei chuckled. “You are an attractive young woman, Galina Barkova—my most charming agent by far. To be parted from you for even half a week could upset any red-blooded man. Shall we see that Kiril is not upset for long?”
“I don’t understand.”
“How would you like to go to East Berlin with our Dr. Andreyev?”
“But I have no papers, no money, no exit permit,” Galya stammered. “I don’t even have proper clothes.”
“Details, my dear. I’ll see to them.”
“What shall I tell Kiril?”
“I’ll take care of it. Maybe I’ll set something up so Kiril can assist Dr. Brenner in some medical capacity. That way he’d need a nurse he’s used to working with—namely, you.”
She bit her lip. “What will I really have to do, Colonel?” she said cautiously.
“No more than what you’ve been doing for the past two years. Keep an eye on him. Others will be watching as well, but there are things a woman can sense more easily than a man. And I promise you, Galina, do a conscientious job, and you’ll be amply rewarded. I’ve been thinking about a private flat. It could prove useful to me if you had a place of your own.”
She closed her eyes, thinking of her roommates… someone’s eyes always looking, someone’s ears always listening. She said shakily, “You’re sure nothing bad will happen to Kiril?”
“It’s touching, your concern for his welfare. But don’t lose sight of the fact that his welfare is precisely what you’ll be protecting. Remember what I told you at the start of our little joint venture? Some men have to be protected from other men. But men like my brother must be protected from themselves.”