Faithless Page 13

  May 1973, Moscow: John's time in Russia was drawing to a close. The winter had gone. The trees were green; the weather warm. John and Joe would walk in Gorky Park and down by the River Moskva. Joe chatted to all the girls who regarded him as an oddity in his afghan coat with his long hair and tie-dye t-shirt. "Posmotrite na Amerikanskiy!" they would laugh and he would talk back to them in Russian, "Hello darling? Care to come for a walk?" and then they would dissolve into hysterics and run away in case the KGB thought they had any interest in him and were thus subversives. John caught a light in their eyes as if they imagined a life far away in Californian orange groves drinking margaritas and having a maid. But the good Soviet girls always hurried away because such a life wasn't meant for them. A couple of times Joe tried telling them he wasn't American but either they didn't know what Canada was or it was still too thrillingly subversive a place to be entertained.

  "Pity," said Joe, "They'd feel totally at home with the snow and the ice. They might even join the ice hockey team."

  Towards the end of May, John was at Sheremetyevo International Airport awaiting the flight from Glasgow that would bring his mother, stepfather and Karen to visit him for the first time. He was glad the weather was fine. He'd already arranged a taxi to take them to the Intourist Hotel and it was waiting outside, hooked by the bait of Western currency. Bribes were illegal but John had grown wise to Moscow ways and was prepared to take risks, not always looking over his shoulder as he used to when he first arrived.

  The plane had arrived but there was a long delay while they transited immigration and customs. He thought of his own first entry into Russia and hoped Karen and his mother had an easier time. And then he saw them - Karen first - her long black hair framing her pale face making her look like a pre-Raphaelite angel. She suddenly saw him and beamed. He mouthed, "I love you," and she smiled even more deeply as she stopped her hurried walk. He wondered what she was doing. She indicated her left eye with the index finger of her left hand, put her right hand over her heart and then pointed to him.

  His mother was there too fighting her way through the stream of people exiting the air side of the airport, looking befuddled but determined. He caught her eye and her face broke into a wide smile. William Gilroy was there beside them, looking stressed. John nodded and he nodded back.

  They came through the barrier and he first hugged his mother and then Karen. He shook William's hand.

  "Hello, son," said William.

  "How was the journey?"

  He knew that none of them had ever flown before. "Were you scared?" he smiled.

  "Your father was a bit. I was a lot." said his mother. "But it was ok."

  William frowned. It was not his nature to admit weakness even in jest. Karen punched John's arm, "Not as much as I bet you were when you came, you wee jessie. Where's our hotel?"

  "It's the evil Intourist Hotel - surly staff, bugged rooms, doors that don't shut. Paradise compared to where I live though."

  "Does it have vodka?" asked Karen. "I've already had some on the flight."

  "Karen!" exclaimed his mother in shame. "You're sounding like an alcoholic."

  "Elizabeth!" shouted Karen jokingly, "you had some too!"

  "I could do with a drink after the flight," said William. "Don't suppose they have any 80 shilling?"

  John smiled. "No, but they have good dark beers. Zhiguvelskoye is good."

  "I cannae even say it to order it."

  "I can do that. Don't worry. You'll like it, I'm sure."

  "I'm willing to give it a try," said William.

  That night they all ate together in the Intourist Hotel. They had soup and meat and potatoes. The meat was stringy. There were no greens.

  "I like the bread best," said Karen, "with the beer it's almost edible. This meat is what?"

  John shook his head. "Hard to say. Maybe a kind of pig?"

  "Or a horse," said his mother. "I bet it's a horse."

  "Could be a horse," said John. "Who knows?"

  "I'm no eating a horse," said William and pushed his plate away.

  "No wonder you've lost weight Johnnie. I'm surprised you've no starved to death."

  "You get used to it. Did you bring me any Tudor crisps?"

  Karen smiled. "I did."

  Later, his mother and step-father left Karen and John together while they went to bed and the young ones went up to the modern bar at the top of the hotel. It was nearly empty. The bar staff and the doorman were sullen and unsmiling. They ordered lemon vodka and sat and looked out of the window at the lights of Moscow shining below.

  "Did you miss me?" said Karen.

  "Every day," said John.

  "I missed you too."

  "Good."

  She leaned forward and kissed him. John, used by now to Russian ways, stiffened .

  "What's up?" said Karen.

  "The Russians don't like public displays of affection. Just take a glance at the faces of the staff."

  Sure enough their faces were sourer than before.

  "It's only because we're in a tourist hotel that they are tolerating this at all. If we did this on the street, total strangers would stop to tell us desist in no uncertain terms."

  "They sound rude."

  "They're different. You get used to them. Russians have big souls and big hearts. They feel misunderstood and looked down on by the West which makes them angry."

  "It's not just a feeling: they are looked down on - and probably misunderstood."

  "I think so."

  "So," said Karen, "how are we going to shag?"

  John laughed. "I had given it some thought but it's a bit of a problem."

  "I have my own room."

  "Yes, bugged. Don't be surprised if they burst in."

  "Seriously?"

  "With cameras."

  "They are a sick people."

  "Much as I love the Russians, it's a sick regime. They've taken a great idea and twisted it."

  "Maybe better than the other side though," she mused, "I mean - a free world led by Richard Nixon?" She finished her vodka.

  John said, "There's a lot that's wrong here. But I remain a Socialist."

  "Let's go to your place. I have an ache for you."

  John laughed. "Lust trumps politics. As usual."

  They arranged for a taxi and stood at the front door of the Intourist Hotel observed by around six doormen. John left a message for his mother that he would come back to the hotel to fetch her and William at around about 10 o'clock the next morning.

  When they arrived back at his student flat, Karen gestured at the brutal Soviet architecture. "It's very ugly," she said, "and it's just like all the others."

  "For miles around," said John, but he felt a defensive about his temporary home. "It's not too bad. We're up on the fifth. The elevator does work and it doesn't smell of piss like British tower blocks."

  "No graffiti either," said John as they got in the lift.

  "No, they don't dare. They'd get shot," said Karen.

  "That is unfortunately true. Or at least beaten up by policemen."

  "Though that happens to Hibs fans back home too," added Karen.

  When they arrived in their kitchen. Joe was sitting there at the table talking to Yelena. They had a bottle of vodka open. Yelena flushed red. John stopped in his tracks and Karen noticed. Joe said, "Hi, John. And this vision of beauty must be Karen." Karen smiled.

  "Joe the Canadian? John writes about you," she said,

  "Good things?"

  "Generally," she laughed.

  "Karen?" said Yelena.

  John coughed. "This is Yelena, our student mentor."

  Karen shot a questioning look at John. John shrugged.

  "You know me?" asked Karen.

  "John has spoken of you."

  "Ah. He hasn't mentioned you to me."

  Yelena blushed deeper.

  "I suppose you spend a lot of time together over the cold Russian nights?" said Karen.

  "We have excursions and e
vents," said Yelena.

  "Excursions and events? Sounds fun."

  "You are very pretty," said Yelena.

  Karen looked at her, taking her in. "So are you."

  "Thank you. John is a wonderful man. You are very lucky."

  "You're telling me."

  "Sorry?"

  "It's just a phrase," said John. "It means 'you're right'. Come on Karen, let's retire."

  "Ah, I did not know this," said Yelena.

  "Retire?" said Joe, "For the night?"

  John nodded. "Yeah, why not?" He was embarrassed.

  Karen pushed John's beckoning hand away. "No," she said, "I think I'd like to stay and talk to this lovely woman. Yelena was it?"

  Yelena nodded. "Yes Karen."

  Karen sat down. John sighed and continued to stand. "Come on," he said.

  "We're no in a rush, are we John? The night is yet young," said Karen.

  Joe caught John's eye and gave him a look of commiseration.

  "Can I have some vodka?" asked Karen.

  "Sure," said Joe pouring the clear liquid into the chipped glass. Karen knocked it back with a gulp. She put the glass down and gestured for Joe to fill it. Then she leaned forward towards Yelena, resting both elbows on the table.

  "So Yelena, where are you from?" asked Karen.

  Yelena nodded. "From Moscow. Actually from Lyubertsy. And you?"

  "From Edinburgh. Actually from Bonnyrigg."

  Yelena nodded. The men looked at each other. Karen's smile twisted. "Tell me Yelena, have you been trying to shag my boyfriend? Or maybe you did already?"

  Yelena looked horrified.

  John said, "For Christ's sake Karen. Of course not."

  Karen looked at Joe. "I'll believe you Joe. You seem like a nice guy. But I've seen the way she looks at my John. Tell me, did she let him take off her party dress?"

  Joe shook his head. "No. Really no."

  "Good," said Karen. "Because otherwise we wouldn't be able to be friends Yelena, you get me?"

  Yelena looked at her with narrowed eyes. She stood up. "You insult me. I will leave in the interests of peace."

  "Yeah you go in the interests of world peace."

  Yelena pointedly looked away from Karen. "Good night Joe. I will see you soon." Then she looked at John. "I am sorry your Karen is such a terrible woman. She does not deserve you."

  Then she left, closing the door behind her.

  "Well, that was awkward," said Joe.

  Karen mimicked a Russian accent. "'She does not deserve you'. And that hoity-toity Communist bitch does?"

  John looked at Karen. "How much vodka have you had?"

  "Not nearly enough, but I want something else now," smiled Karen. She stood up. "Anyway, go me! I scared off the opposition. Let's go to bed."

  That night they made love - frantic from being apart from each other's bodies for so long. Then they slept briefly before waking to make love again. The grey Moscow dawn had broken outside on the Lenin Hills when John was wakened finally by an urgent knocking on his door. He stepped out of bed, pulled on his underpants and went to the door, opening it a crack. It was Joe. He looked serious.

  "What's up? It's very early."

  "Sorry, John there's been a phone call. I don't know how but they knew you were contactable through Yelena."

  "What? What are you talking about? It's six a.m?"

  Karen looked up sleepily from the bed behind him to see what was going on.

  "Your dad. He's had a heart attack."

  "What? William? Where?"

  "In the night at the Intourist Hotel. I don't know how but I think your mother must have said you were a student and somehow they've tracked you down through Yelena. She came and told me."

  "Yelena's been here?"

  "Yes, but she's left now."

  "Why did she tell you – rather than waking me herself?"

  "I think she didn't want to knock on your door. You know after last night."

  John shook his head. "OK, where is he?"

  Joe looked pained. "That's the problem. An ambulance was called but your mother didn't know where they took him. They wouldn't let her go in the ambulance and she didn't understand what they were saying."

  "Jesus Christ. Fucking Soviets. They have to fuck everything up. What time's the first train on the Metro?"

  "Usually between 5:30 and 6:00."

  "Ok let me get dressed."

  "Sorry man."

  "Don't worry Joe. Thanks."

  John hurriedly pulled on his t-shirt and jeans and a pullover and anorak. Karen asked what was happening. He told her.

  "Ok, I'll get dressed quickly."

  "No, you don't have to come."

  "I'm not staying here. I'll come with you."

  He leaned over and kissed her. "Thanks."

  They hurried out into the grey morning. Just outside the front door of their block, John and Karen saw a black Moscovich car with its engine running as if waiting. John hardly looked at it and made his way, head down towards the station. Then Karen said, "The man in the car is waving to you. And your little friend Yelena is in the passenger seat."

  "What?" John turned round suspiciously and stared at the car. Bebur Gelashvili got out. "John," he shouted. "Let me give you a lift. It will be faster than the Metro."

  John shook his head. "No thanks, but thanks." He walked on a few paces then he paused. "How do you know?" he called back.

  Bebur said, "Yelena told me. They phoned her from the hotel. She rang me. I believe you don't know many people with cars in Moscow. I thought I could help."

  "You're right I don't know many people with cars here. Listen it's not your problem."

  "Please let me help?"

  Karen whispered. "It makes sense. Come on let's get in the car."

  Reluctantly John made his way to the car. As if he was accepting a favour he may later regret. He opened the back door and he and Karen got in, sliding across the old fashioned leather seats.

  "I'm really sorry, John," said Yelena.

  "Thanks," he said. Karen looked at her but didn't say anything. Bebur put the car in gear and headed off at speed.

  "Your mother didn't know which hospital they've taken him to, but if I ask the hotel staff they may well know," said Yelena.

  "Did she say how bad he was?"

  Yelena shook her head. "No, but I don't think he was conscious."

  Karen muttered, "Russians aren't subtle I see. What about breaking things gently?"

  John squeezed Karen's thigh and whispered. "She means well."

  Karen nodded. "Sure. Sorry." She hugged him.

  They broke the speed limit tearing through the almost deserted Moscow streets. A Militia Car saw them. It put its lights on and sped after them. John looked round and through the back window he could see the Militia signalling for them to pull over. Bebur slammed on the brakes and stopped by the side of the street. He wound the window down and waited impatiently while the two Militia men took their time to get out of their car and wandered over gesturing for papers.

  Bebur flashed an identity badge in his wallet. The Militia man stood back and saluted. Bebur said, "Thank you comrade. Now we are in a hurry so we will go."

  The Militia man said, "Of course comrade, we will provide you with an escort. Where are you heading?"

  "The Intourist Hotel."

  "Very good." The militia men ran back to their car and put on their sirens and lights. They drove in front of Bebur's car and provided an unnecessary escort. The traffic split to both sides to allow them through and they sped through the streets to pull up in front of the main doors of the Intourist Hotel. Bebur dumped the car and jumped out. Doormen ran down and began clucking like angry chickens. Bebur's militia escort quietened them and they went back to their stations like shamed schoolboys. Bebur opened the door for John and Karen. Yelena came along behind. The militia men left them with another salute.

  "Mrs Gilroy, ring her please for us," said Bebur.

  The receptionist looked af
fronted. "And you are?" Again Bebur showed wallet and the receptionist's mien changed abruptly from angry dragon to fawning kitten. "Sorry, comrade. Yes, comrade, immediately."

  "Who is this guy?" said Karen. "He's some kind of big cheese."

  "Foreign Ministry," said John. "At least."

  He put his arm around Karen's shoulders. Yelena stood behind them standing silently. John stole a glance over his shoulder at her. She looked wistfully back at him. He smiled.

  "I'm going to ask your mother to come round. Normally I would go to her but time is short," said Bebur. He had been rapidly interrogating the receptionist. He said, "Your father has been taken to the First City Hospital on Leninsky Prospekt by Gorky Park. When your mother arrives I will drive you there."

  His mother came down looking flustered. Her eyes were red.

  "Oh John," she cried, wrapping her arms round him. "I didn't know where they'd taken him. He woke me in the night saying he had a pain in his chest so I rang the reception. The ambulance was here very quickly. He lost consciousness as they were taking him out but they were very kind, even though I couldn't understand them."

  "I'm so sorry, ma. I should have been here. I could have talked to them."

  "It's not your fault son."

  "Please, Mrs Gilroy," said Bebur. "Allow me to take you to the hospital."

  His mother took in Bebur in his dark suit and polished shoes with his air of command. She seemed impressed. She said, "Thank you. Are you a friend of John's?"

  "I am I hope. Please, my car is outside."

  They all walked quickly out to the car, the doormen holding the door open for them with an air of respect that was wholly due to Bebur. "I will hurry," said Bebur. He sat in the front with Yelena. John, Karen and his mother were in the back seat.

  "Is that his girlfriend?" asked his mother about Yelena.

  "No, it's John's," said Karen. "Or she'd like to be."

  "What? She's not is she John? What about Karen?"

  "Karen's being silly, of course she isn't. She's my student mentor and a friend of Bebur's."

  They arrived at the First City Hospital and again Bebur simply parked outside the front door. A flash of his identity card silenced doormen and receptionists. He rapidly found out where William was. One of the senior doctors appeared and began to act as guide and interlocutor, fawning around Bebur.