I hoped I would not have to stay long. I removed my coat and lowered myself into the cushions, reaching up for the glass of yellow Pernod Seryozha handed me. i take it you’re still partial to snuff?’ he said. I wonder if he ever knew I stole his cocaine box on the train. I nodded. ‘The chief necessity of my life,’ I told him.
I watched him as he sat down at a black and gold lacquered table and began to prepare the ‘snuff. ‘I should explain,’ he said abstractedly, ‘that Kolya and I are no longer on speaking terms. I regard his life-style as miserable and his choice of companions - well, Dimka, dear, unconventional for him. He had the nerve to cut me the last time he saw me. He’s become massively respectable. Wants none of his old pals.’ The thick lips, the huge eyes, the flaring nostrils, turned to offer me a look of deep, but mysterious, significance. He brought me the cocaine in a little marble dish and I sniffed it through a long, gold tube. It was better quality than we had been getting. I would at least discover Seryozha’s supplier before I left.
Then suddenly he had taken a leap - a balletic jump - to land beside me in the cushions. What remained of my drink spilled and I tried to find somewhere to stand it, but he wrenched it from my hand with a loud laugh and flung it behind him. ‘Ah, Dimka, dear. It’s been so frustrating! Has it been the same for you? I dream of those days on the train. You were so young and sweet. Sometimes, before I go to sleep, I can still smell you. There’s nothing like that odour. No chemist could ever reproduce it. You still have a little of it now. How old are you?’
‘I’m twenty-one.’ I rolled awkwardly in the cushions.
‘A major at last. Ho, ho!’ He touched his lips to my shoulder and looked up at me with his brown eyes; a swooning cow.
‘And what are you doing in Paris?’
‘Looking for work. For money. The Cheka is after me. Because of my activities in Odessa.’
‘You have no money?’ I admired the way he sprang so easily to his feet. A desk drawer was opened. Several large-denomination notes were taken out. He was down again beside me, pressing the money into my shirt. ‘That will keep you for a while. Buy a suit. You could do with a good suit.’
I did not wish to offend him, so I said, ‘I’ll pay you back, Seryozha. This will help with the doctor’s bill, thank God!’
‘You’re ill? Consumption?’
‘Sadly, no. It’s crab lice. I got them in Montmartre, I think.’
Again he was on his feet, unconsciously scratching at his thigh. ‘You still have them?’
‘I must tell you the truth. I was on my way to find out whether I’m cured or not.’
‘Oh, but I should not keep you!’
I was surprised at the effectiveness of my ruse.
‘I’d love to see you again,’ I said, clambering to my feet and staggering from cushions to floor. I was scarcely able to stand upright, though the cocaine had partially cleared my head. Probably I could thank the cocaine for the alacrity with which I had invented my unpleasant affliction.
‘You shall, Dimka, darling. Tomorrow. Let’s pray to all the saints this awful ordeal is at an end for you.’
I think I saw him give the cushions a sidelong inspection as he showed me to the door. He blew a kiss. ‘Until tomorrow, Dimka, my dear.’
I was not sure whether I would be able to tolerate another encounter with the huge dancer, but he was my only real link with Kolya and a source of money, which in turn meant I could return to our pension with bon-bons for Esmé and some flowers to cheer her up. She almost wept when she saw my presents. ‘Are we rich again, Maxim?’
‘We are on the road to riches, my little dove. I think I know where to find Kolya.’
She was not much impressed by this. To her my Kolya was a myth, a symbol of hope rather than a reality. She tended to become depressed when his name was mentioned. She needed something more concrete, ‘I promise you, Esmé, that we shall soon be free of all this.’ I sat on the bed and squeezed her hands while she chewed her chocolates. ‘Kolya will be able to help me get my Airship Company going.’ It was all I could tell her. Presently, I should have been grateful for somewhere else to live, where Brodmann and his Chekists would not be able to find us. Even Esmé noticed the caution with which I locked up that afternoon. I went out again at 6 pm. I told her to be careful, to answer only my knock.
It was raining by the time I got to Lipp’s. In contrast to the street the restaurant’s ornamental brasswork and plate glass was cheerful. It was an old-fashioned family restaurant on two floors, catering to a wide clientele, many of them Jewish. Somewhat nervously I pushed through the revolving door and presented myself to the head-waiter. The place was already crowded. He asked if I had made a reservation and when I admitted that I had not, he shook his head. I could tell he might have allowed someone else in but he did not much like my looks. Depressed, I walked out into St Germain. I remained in a succession of shop doorways for an hour or two, watching Lipp’s entrance in the hope of seeing Kolya. Eventually I went home. My clothes were becoming too shabby but if I were to wear either of my uniforms I should become a sitting target for the Chekist assassins. I decided I must have a new suit.
Next morning, just before noon, I went to visit Seryozha again. By now I had a clearer idea of how to resist his advances. When he opened the door he was still bleary, but he brightened when he saw me. He wore a multi-coloured silk kimono which he did not bother to tie at the waist. Doubtless he hoped the occasional glimpse of naked thigh or genitals would increase my desire for him. I was already familiar with both. I remembered them vividly from the train, when he had the top bunk and I the lower. I had no means, however, of guarding against him when he kissed my lips (his own stank of stale alcohol) and squeezed my waist before padding over to the bureau to find his cocaine, offering it as another might offer coffee. Naturally, I accepted. Now, gradually, he remembered our last encounter. ‘How was your visit to the doctor, Dimka? Are you completely cleared up now?’
‘Almost. The best treatment is some kind of lotion, but he says it’s expensive. The other treatment’s slower.’
‘You’ve been sleeping around too much, Dimka. I always knew you had the makings of a little whore.’ Reaching back into his desk, he opened a drawer. He took out some more money. ‘Will this pay for the lotion?’
I controlled my rage at the insult, but the rage itself helped me accept the money without conscience. Let the pervert think what he liked! I would never sleep with him. There is such a thing as love between men. I do not deny I have experienced it. But whereas any reasonably good-looking woman is worth making love to, if only for an hour or so, a man has to be outstanding in every way and there has only, really, been one such man in my life, just as there have only been two true loves amongst women. I spent a little time with Seryozha, learning about the Foline and its plans for touring, his quarrels with the management (‘They say I drink too much. I say who would not drink too much with those leaden-footed ballerinas to heave about the stage!’) He asked where I was living. There was nothing to be gained from lying. I told him Rue de la Huchette. ‘But that’s a squalid place! Those awful little restaurants. You have to take your own bread and your own knife and fork into them! Oh, my dear Dimka, that’s dreadful!’
It was not politic to mention Esmé. ‘I was on my way to England,’ I said. ‘Travelling with a friend. The friend decided to go on without me, taking virtually everything I owned, including most of my documents.’
He was suitably horrified and sympathetic. This gained me an extra line of cocaine, since he now remembered not to touch me. ‘Oh, my dear. As soon as your trouble is cleared up, you must move in with me. I’ve tremendous amounts of room, as you can see. You could have your own bedroom. Your own dressing-room. Honestly, you’d be so welcome. You know how much I’ve always liked you, Dimka.’