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  Yelena disapproved. She remained quiet at first but John could see her losing the battle with discretion and then she began loudly berating the Russian for bringing disgrace on the Soviet State. Attracted by the drama, a Militia Policeman appeared and, without hesitating, Dave the Australian told him that the Russian had tried to buy Joe's jeans. The Russian attempted to run but the Militia man pulled out a baton and struck him very professionally on the head. The man fell to the ground and, while he languished there groaning, was handcuffed.

  "That was a bit harsh," said Joe.

  The Militia Man took his prisoner away. John felt dazed by what he'd seen.

  Joe turned to Dave. "What the fuck did you rat on him for, man? He only wanted to buy some jeans."

  "He broke the law here."

  "But it's not your fucking law man! What did you want to go and do a thing like that for?"

  "A Socialist system can only work if everyone obeys the rules."

  "And who makes the rules? Some privileged Party guys?" asked Joe.

  Dave said, "The laws are based on Marxist-Leninist theory. The Party makes the rules because it can take an objective view of what is best. Criminals like that are motivated by their own selfish interests, not the interests of the whole."

  Joe shook his head. John asked Yelena what would happen to the man. She shrugged, "I don't know. Come let's go to Red Square, then I will show you the GUM store."

  Over the next weeks John settled into student life. The food in Russia was almost inedible. The best thing was the black bread. John only once saw a meal that was appetising in the stolovaya, a rich red looking soup, made with butter because of the glowing grease on the top. It was chicken and rice. He ate it slowly. It didn't taste too bad. There were grains of rice in it but no obvious chicken. Not until he got to the bottom of the bowl where he found some meat, lifted it to his mouth with his spoon and quickly spat it out. He looked at it. It was a collection of tubes and gristle. He fished around in his soup and there were other similar bundles of rubbery flesh. No chicken could have more than one of these clusters in them, so his soup bowl must contain the remains of several. He wondered where all the good meat went.

  John used to go to the local food stores and queue for hours to get food he could make into something resembling an appealing meal in the communal kitchen. As he wandered from empty store to empty store and stood for hours in line he realised that the Soviets hadn't really got the idea of shops. In the first instance mostly they were half empty. When a delivery of some item arrived everyone rushed to buy it because no one knew when it would return again. In the middle of December with the weather down to -20 Centigrade his local store had a delivery of sunglasses. When he examined them he saw that they were so dark that they were impossible to see through. But it didn't matter if they were useless under the Soviet system because the factory had met its production targets and would be awarded a star. And then even if there were things in the shop, it was complicated to buy them. First you had to queue to get the item, watch it being wrapped in brown paper and then take it and the little paper slip that came with it to the cashier's desk to stand in another queue to pay for it.

  Some weeks in, John also realised that he must be starting to look like a Russian because he was refused entry to the Foreign Currency store. The guard would not accept he was British until he showed his popusk. He took that as a kind of compliment. He also became aware that the KGB occupied floor seven and eight of the Zone V main building. He even suspected that his room might be bugged, though what useful information they would get from doing so was beyond him.

  The winter came on long and hard and there was no Christmas to lighten the darkness. He missed home and he missed Karen. Letters were delivered to the British Embassy on Maurice Thorez Embankment and every week or so John would go to pick them up and sometimes visit the Embassy if he was feeling particularly homesick. Sometimes when he called Philip Neilson the assistant cultural attaché would turn up to see him. Philip was about ten years older than John but he liked him.

  One particular day in the darkest time of the year when he was cold and undernourished and feeling very far from home he had a letter from Karen who was back with her parents for the Christmas hols. He opened the letter in the Embassy, standing by the front desk. She had written out an excerpt from Burn's Ae Fond Kiss - "had we never lov'd sae kindly, Had we never lov'd sae blindly; Never met - or never parted - we had ne'er been broken hearted." He read the words out loud to feel the comforting familiarity of Scots in his mouth and ears.

  Philip Neilson was coming down the stairs and heard him. "Burns eh? You bloody Scots, you only have one poet."

  John said, "We've plenty ye Sassenach dog."

  Philip laughed, "The Sovs love Burns you know. All that See yon birkie ca'd a laird? Wha struts and stares an' a' that?" He waved his finger like a baton conducting an imaginary tune, " blah blah - It's coming yet for a' that - that man to man, the world o'er, shall brothers be for a' that." Then he stopped and smiled. " They see Burns as presaging Marx with his workers of the world unite - you have nothing to lose but your chains."

  "You're very good," said John. "You should have been an actor."

  "Perhaps I am a kind of actor. I am the Assistant Cultural Attaché after all."

  "Are you?" said John teasingly. There was a rumour that Philip Neilson was an MI6 officer. He ignored the tease and said, "We're organising a Burn's Night Supper. All tatties and neeps and haggis." He mused. "I quite like haggis. Anyway we're flying in a piper from Edinburgh. Unless you pipe?"

  "I pipe not," said John.

  "Pity. It's January 25th."

  "I know."

  "Of course."

  "Fancy a cup of tea? I also have a Mars Bar."

  "I would climb over ten naked women for a Mars Bar."

  They climbed the stairs up to Philip Neilson's office and he asked his secretary to bring in a pot of tea. She arrived smiling, carrying a tray with a Mars Bar on it and some Imperial Leather soap.

  "I had forgotten such things existed."

  "It can be harsh here. We have the best end of the deal at the Embassy. The businessmen are all right too in their hotels. Poor students though"

  John took off his coat, luxuriating in the warmth and the softness of the upholstered chair.

  "You know John, with your language skills, you would be quite employable in Government, once you've got your degree."

  "Really? Where?"

  "Well, there are parts of the Foreign Office looking for Russian linguists and of course our colleagues in other Government Departments in Whitehall and also in the West Country."

  "You mean GCHQ?"

  Philip gestured for him to be quiet, pointing at the ceiling. He whispered, "I think they're asleep most of the time, but certain words make them wake up and listen harder."

  "Well, I had rather thought of teaching."

  "Well it's an honourable profession. If you change your mind let me know."

  As if remembering something Philip went over and turned on the radio. The well modulated tones of the BBC World Service flooded into the room. It was From Our Own Correspondent in Vietnam reporting on reactions to the American President Richard Nixon announcing the cessation of US operations in that country.

  Philip lowered his voice. "Have the KGB had a pop at you yet?"

  John shook his head. "Not that I know of."

  "Believe me you would know. A couple of years ago they broke into a British student's room and made him strip and pose as if having sex with another man. They photographed it. The poor student was beside himself. We had to ship him home. They do horrid petty little things to us too."

  "Such as?"

  "Like breaking into our houses and turning off the freezer just so that the food is ruined."

  "I'll be on my guard. But I have no freezer. Unless you count my bedroom."

  "Seriously, Let me know if anything happens. It's the KGB 2nd Chief Directorate which is responsible for monitoring s
tudents. They're not as sophisticated as the 1st Chief Directorate who operate overseas. The 2nd's just a bunch of thugs really."

  They chatted in general for a while until John had finished his tea and with a smile pocketed the Mars Bar and the soap. "Thanks very much."

  "No trouble old man." The radio was still playing. "Remember to keep your eyes open and let me know if you see anything interesting."

  "Will do. Thanks again for the tea."

  Later, when he got back to his residence block he found that Yelena was sitting talking to Joe in the kitchen. Her eyes lit up when she saw him.

  "Ah John. I have been waiting for you."

  Joe was standing behind her and he raised his eyebrows and smirked.

  She said, "I am planning a trip to the Moscow State Circus on Tuesday. Will you come?"

  John shrugged and made his way over to the Samovar to get a glass of black Russian tea, which he had become very fond of. He dropped three spoons of sugar and stirred it with his back to her. Joe came over to get his. He nudged John and whispered, "I think she wants your body. She could have mine but she's not interested."

  "Please John. We are all going. It will be fun." She smiled imploringly.

  He turned to her, embarrassed and said, "Sure."

  She looked very pleased. "Also because it is nearly Burn's Night and you are Scottish I have brought you a Russian translation of Burns." Glowing with the happiness of anticipation that he would like this gift. She handed him a hard backed translation of Burn's Selected Poems. Inside the front cover she had written in Russian, "To John, love from Yelena" and had inscribed four kisses in her neat handwriting.

  January, 1973: Moscow. That Saturday they caught the Metro from Universitet Station to Tsvetnoy Boulevard Station on their way to the Circus. Snow was on the ground and they were dressed up warm in fur hats and thick gloves. John walked ahead with Joe and Yelena was with Dave and the others straggling along behind. John and Joe walked down the road with the park on their left and then realised they didn't know where they were going so they waited for Yelena.

  "It's just here on the right," she said. She was wearing a heavy coat with fur trimmings around the collar. She had a hat pulled down tight on her head. Wisps of blonde hair escaped, hanging like a golden waterfall over her bright eyes until she brushed them away and started purposefully off towards the Circus.

  When they got there, the entrance looked more like a cinema than a circus - not a big top in sight. There was a line of six doors up a terrace of steps. The air was frigid and their breath escaped in clouds. John was first up and he stamped the snow off his boots as he waited for everyone to make their way up the stairs. Each door had a doorman and the one by John's door looked unpleasantly at him as he hovered outside.

  "Not much of a job," said Joe.

  "At least everyone in the Soviet Union has a living," said Dave. "Can you say that for Canada?"

  Joe sighed. Everyone was used to Dave's unceasing praises for the Soviet System now and took little notice. John tried to hold the door open for Yelena but the doorman knocked his arm away and snapped something disparaging.

  "Takes a professional to do that," laughed Joe. "Don't step on his toes."

  John laughed. "I was only being polite."

  Yelena smiled at him. He thought it was a special smile, just for him. She said, "I appreciate it. Now, I have the tickets here."

  She gave them to the grim ticket collector and they made their way to their seats. There were ushers everywhere insisting on showing people to their places but doing so with Soviet bad grace. John was sitting next to Yelena. He suspected she had manoeuvred the seats that way. He was wary. He didn't want to encourage her in case she developed feelings that would be disappointed.

  The red velvet raked seats were arranged in concentric circles around the circular stage area. The place was slowly filling up. The band took their seats and began tuning.

  Yelena said, "Do you know, John, that this Circus won the Order of Lenin in 1939?"

  He shook his head. She took this as encouragement to go on. "Yes," she said seriously. "Here in the Soviet Union circus performers are a branch of the Army and they train as state employees."

  "Very interesting." She looked so earnest and pretty. Her blonde hair was brushed back over her left ear and she leaned closer to him than was necessary as she spoke.

  Eventually the show began. There were clowns and trapeze artists and dancing bears and women in spangled leotards who rode white horses round and round, getting up on the saddles, doing jumps and flips and smiling broadly all the time to the sound of applause. John heard Yelena laughing unselfconsciously beside him and clapping with delight at the flights of the trapeze artists. Some of the acts told folk stories with parables favourable to the Soviet system. One of them was The Old Man and The Bear where the old man and the bear shared out turnips but the Old Man attempted to cheat the heroic worker bear. Inevitably, the story ended badly for the Old Man.

  Later as the circus finished Yelena said, "John, it is my birthday today." She beamed broadly.

  "I didn't know. I would have got you something."

  "It doesn't matter. I am having a small party with my friends at a restaurant not far from here. There will be dancing."

  "That sounds lovely. I hope you have a nice time."

  She shook her head. "No," she said touching his arm to emphasise what she was saying. "I would like you to come. Please?"

  Joe who had been eavesdropping said, "Party! I'll come!"

  Yelena looked nonplussed then she sighed and said, "Yes, Joe it is possible. But only you and John."

  John looked around as if seeking an exit. Yelena stood there with a frozen smile of anticipation. He exhaled heavily then smiled. She kept looking at him. He nodded "Yes. Sure. Thank you. That would be delightful." Then he lamely grinned and said, "but I don't know what my girlfriend will think of me going to a party with a beautiful woman."

  Yelena gave a snort which made her look like a naughty teenager. She said, "Yes. I am sure your girlfriend is beautiful too." She cocked her head mischievously and said, "But of course she is many miles away."

  "I don't have a girlfriend," interrupted Joe. Yelena shook her head impatiently. "This is not important Joe. Let us say goodbye to all the others."

  "Can we stop on the way and get some lemon vodka?" said Joe.

  "No. Is not necessary. I have all."

  When they got outside it was snowing heavily. They walked as fast as they could to the Metro and went one stop to Chekovskaya Station. The restaurant was by the station. Joe and John entered hesitantly behind Yelena. Yelena's mother was an older version of her and must have been stunning when she was younger. Her father looked like Leonid Brezhnev and shook their hands vigorously and insisted they have a vodka. The family had booked some tables on the far side of the restaurant from the street so at least it was on the warmer side of the room. There was a raised dance floor at one end of the restaurant. Old fashioned amplifiers played Russian pop music. John met Yelena's cousins both males and female, uncles and aunts and her grandmothers. Her grandfathers had died. Soviet men did not live very long.

  Joe sat next to John on his left. Yelena insisted that John sit right by her as her honoured foreign guest. They ate black bread and drank vodka while they waited for their soup. Joe shouted to John over the now turned up music, "Yelena's girl cousins are very tasty."

  "Yes and the boy cousins look like they wouldn't need much excuse to defend their honour. You don't want to be trespassing with their women."

  "So tribal," sighed Joe.

  "It's the same back home. I can only imagine the uproar of a gang of Russians started sniffing around our Bonnyrigg women."

  "Yeah it's the same in Hamilton."

  The meal progressed. Yelena turned to John and said in English. "You are quiet to me tonight. Don't you like me?"

  He shook his head. He was feeling warm and friendly from the vodka.

  "No, no. You're lovely."
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  She smiled. "You are very handsome."

  He shook his head and said in what he hoped was a wistful tone, "But I have a girlfriend."

  Yelena dismissed this argument. "But I am here and she is not. I have said this."

  "Yes, but."

  "I see you are an English gentleman."

  "I'm Scottish."

  She laughed. "I know. It is like us and the Byelorussians. They get offended at being called Russian."

  The music was loud. He struggled to hear. She said, "I am a very great fan of Lennon."

  "Lenin?" he said. "Oh yes. A great man."

  "He says many profound things. Very meaningful."

  "Absolutely. His words have to be some of the most important of the 20th Century.

  She nodded gravely. "I love 'Imagine.'"

  John was puzzled. "Didn't know he wrote that. I thought he was more a concrete, materialist thinker."

  "Oh yes. Imagine is his. How do you not know this?"

  "I'm sorry. I guess I don't know everything about Russia." He laughed.

  She looked puzzled. "But he is from England."

  John shook his head. "No, that's one thing I do know. He's Russian."

  She was looking at him as if he were stupid, but trying not to offend. She said, "No, he was not Russian. But maybe he had Russian grandmother?"

  "I think more than that."

  "Really, he had Russian blood? I did not know this John. You have taught me something."

  They went back to eating. After they finished the blinis John felt something tickling his back. His shirt had ridden up exposing an inch or two of skin. It was Yelena's finger. He froze like a frightened rabbit. She moved her finger as if tracing letters. To tell her to stop would mean acknowledging it was going on. He didn't want to offend her, but he didn't want her to think he was enjoying it and encourage her to do some more. He decided to excuse himself and go to the toilet. Joe decided to come with him. When they were out of earshot Joe said, "I thought you said not to trespass."