She twisted her mouth ruefully. "But then, I don't suppose you wanted to see me this evening to have laid in your lap the problems of the Soviet Complex. Let's talk about us, Mike."
He moistened suddenly dry lips. "Yes," he said. "Let's talk about us."
Chapter XIX
"Not quite yet," she said. "First we order dinner. I don't want a famished man on my hands." Her blue eyes went wicked. "You'll want your strength, later on. Every bit of it."
His belly did a flip-flop. He was under her spell again, already. He said, "You're the boss. You do the ordering. I'm not up on Russian food to any extent."
She took up the menu and looked at it. She said, "Zakouski?"
"I beg your pardon?"
Catherina laughed at him. "Zakouski are the Russian equivalent of hors d'oeuvres. Cavair, both black and red, is an example. They're salty and spicy and have the reputation of being aphrodisical. Hmmm."
She looked mischievous.
Mike said, "Well have Zakouski"
She looked back at the menu. "And, since this is a Georgian restaurant, we should have shashlik. That comes out lumps of spiced mutton skewered on a dagger.
And we can wind it all up with saluguni, a Georgian cheese which is best served hot."
"You're the boss," he repeated.
The Aragvi Restaurant, evidently in attempt to keep its decor of yesteryear, was only partially automated. One could dial drinks and wine and have them delivered through the table top, but the waiters were live. Catherina summoned one and gave the order and then laid the menu back on the table.
Mike wanted a drink somewhat desperately, and poured himself a meager half glass of the wine.
She said, "And did you take the Holy Orders you told me about in Torremolinos?"
"Well, yes."
There were the two faint lines about her clear eyes. She said, "But you still drink?"
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"In moderation," he told her. The Old Time Religion Church teaches moderation, not necessarily abstinence. It was Saint Paul who said, '… use a little wine for thy stomach's sake.'"
Catherine was mildly surprised. "He did? Well, then I'll join you."
He poured for her, filling her glass, and then his own. If he was going to be seeing this girl of his fondest dreams, he was going to have to make some amendments to some of the things he had told her. He wanted a woman, not a nun.
He said, "For instance, we teach moderation in eating. An obese person is ruining his God-given body.
But we do not teach starvation, or even fasting. One must eat well to remain healthy."
"Why, that certainly makes sense," she said, taking a sip from her glass.
The Zakouski came and for a few minutes they busied themselves with it.
Mike said, trying to get back into a lighter vein. "I can feel it working already."
She looked at him. "What working?"
"You said Zakouski had an aphrodisiac effect."
"Oh, you fool," she laughed. Then she said, "I see you are dressed in the Old-Fashioned Look style. It's beginning to sweep the Soviet Complex. Is that collar one of the latest in men's wear in America?"
Mike Edwards touched his reversed collar selfconsciously. He hated the damn thing. He said, "Not exactly. You see, I'm a bishop of the Old Time Religion Church. All of our ministers dress like this."
"A bishop!" she exclaimed. "How wonderful. How hard you must have had to work to gain such a rank so quickly."
"Well, yes," he said, playing it modest. "You'd be surprised the number of people I had to work."
In actuality, damn it, he still had certain qualms about deceiving her. But, then, was he deceiving her? He had already won his battle with his conscience in so far as introducing this new religion to the Russkies, and Catherina herself had only a short time again told him how badly the Soviet Complex needed the teachings.
He was a touch surprised, by the time they had finished their meal, to find that they had finished the bottle of wine as well. There was a faint flush on her face, which only improved her perfect complexion.
Evidently, Catherina hadn't been doing much drinking in the recent past and was unused to it She said, "Should we go to my apartment? If I'm not mistaken, I have put away, somewhere or other, a half bottle of cognac. I haven't touched it for ages, but I don't believe brandy spoils in the bottle, does it?"
Her face went mischievous again. "It seems to me that on another occasion I invited you to my hotel suite for a final drink."
He summoned the waiter for his bill with considerably more elan than befitted a bishop.
Out on the street, they strolled down to the corner to a public phone screen where she summoned an aircushion cab, and stood there waiting for it.
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But before it arrived a voice roared. "Mike! Mike Edwards, what are you doing in Moscow?"
Mike winced, but turned to face he who bellowed. It was, of all people, Vovo Chernozov, who promptly embraced the American in a bear hug that all but broke ribs. All over again, Mike wondered how he'd ever gotten through that evening in Torremolinos with this monster.
But, "Vovo!" Mike and Catherina said simultaneously.
The overgrown Cossack pushed Mike back, the better to look at him, but still held onto his shoulders.
He took in the reversed collar in surprise. "Then you are :.. ?"
Catherina said, "Mike has become the Bishop Michael Edwards of the Old Time Religion Church, Vovo. You'll remember him telling us about it in Spain."
"A bishop!" Vovo exclaimed. He took up Mike's hand and kissed it, Russian fashion. "May I have your blessings, Your Reverence? I too am of the faith. I took my vows last week in Kharkov."
Holy smokes, Mike thought inwardly. What next? Vovo a member of the Old Time Religion Church. He had never given anyone his blessings before, and hadn't the vaguest idea how to go about it. But, what the hell, he was a bishop wasn't he?
"May God preserve you, my son," he said with priestly unction.
"Thank you. Your Reverence," Vovo gushed. "It was only last week. Reverend Matheson, who is a graduate of your seminary in America, came to the city to spread the gospel. I attended the first sermon and was immediately converted, with many others. He continues to spread the Holy word. Moderation in all things. He is a Saint!"
Mike Edwards began to blurt, Matheson a saint! But controlled himself. Instead, he said, "Vovo, my son, there are no saints in the Old Time Religion Church. Or, perhaps, I should say, each of us are saints in our own way if we rigidly adhere to the gospel."
The aircushion taxi that Catherina had summoned smoothed up the to the curb beside them and the
'door opened automatically.
She said to Vovo, hesitantly, "I didn't even know you were in town."
He beamed at her. "I would have looked you up, and Ana Chekova as well. She too has been received into the bosom of the Church. But I am here on Old Time Religion affairs, getting permission to renovate our church."
Catherina said, still hesitantly, "Mike… that is, the bishop, and I were about to go to my apartment to talk over old times… and religious matters, of course. Why don't you come along, Vovo? Undoubtedly, it would be very inspiring."
He looked devastated. "I cannot. I have to catch my plane back to Kharkov."
Mike said cautiously, "Renovate your church?"
Vovo was very happy about it. "Yes. Tomorrow I am to wrestle-Turkoman style, of course-at a great Page 77
sports exhibition. If I win the prize, it will go to the renovation of an old church from Czarist times, now in semi-ruin. All the members of the congregation have wagered their life savings on me. What they win will also go into the fund. Then the Old Time Religion will have a church-well, it was formerly a cathedral-of its own in Kharkov. Already we are pressed for space to accommodate those who come to hear the message of moderation."
Mike felt like turning his eyes up, but he had to play his part. He said severely, "My son, Vovo, gambling is not the practice of the simple, meek, life."