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“You know as well as I do that only party members live on the first three floors, Vladimir. But I feel sure that once you’ve joined the KGB, you’ll come down in the world.”
“See you in the morning,” said Vladimir, ignoring his friend’s jibe as he continued to climb another seven flights.
* * *
When Alexander opened the door to his family’s tiny flat, he recalled an article he’d recently read in a state magazine reporting that America was so overrun with criminals that everyone had two, sometimes three, locks on their front door. Perhaps the only reason they didn’t in the Soviet Union, he thought, was because no one had anything worth stealing.
He went straight to his bedroom, aware that his mother wouldn’t be back until she’d finished work. He took several sheets of lined paper, a pencil, and a well-thumbed book out of his school satchel, and placed them on the tiny table in the corner of his room. He opened War and Peace at page 179 and continued to translate Tolstoy’s words into English. When the Rostov family sat down for supper, Leo appeared distracted, and not just because …
Alexander was double-checking each paragraph for spelling mistakes, and to see if he could think of a more appropriate English word, when he heard the front door open. His tummy began to rumble, and he wondered if his mother had been able to smuggle any little tidbits out of the officers’ club at the docks, where she was the cook. He closed his book and went to join her in the kitchen.
Elena gave him a warm smile as he sat down on a wooden bench by the table.
“Anything special tonight, Mama?” Alexander asked hopefully.
She smiled again, and began to empty her pockets, producing a large potato, two parsnips, half a loaf of stale bread, and this evening’s prize, half a sausage that had probably been left on an officer’s plate after lunch. A veritable feast, thought Alexander, compared to what his friend Vladimir would be eating tonight.
“Any news?” asked Elena as she began to peel the potato.
“You ask me the same question every night, Mama, and I keep telling you that I don’t expect to hear anything for at least another month, possibly longer.”
“It’s just that it would make your father so proud if you won the Lenin Scholarship.” She put down the potato and placed the peel to one side. Nothing would be wasted. “You know, if it hadn’t been for the war, your father would have gone to university.”
Alexander knew only too well, but he was always happy to be reminded how Papa had been stationed on the Eastern Front as a young corporal during the siege of Leningrad, and although a crack Panzer division had attacked his section continuously for ninety-three days, he’d never left his post until the Germans had been repelled and retreated back to their own country.
“For which he was awarded the Defence of Leningrad medal,” said Alexander on cue.
His mother must have told him the story a hundred times, but Alexander never tired of it, although his father never raised the subject. And now, almost twenty-five years later, after returning to the docks he’d risen to Comrade Chief Superintendent, with three thousand workers under his command. Although he wasn’t a party member, even the KGB acknowledged that he was the right man for the job.
The front door opened and closed with a bang, announcing that his father had returned. Alexander smiled when he strode into the kitchen. T
all and heavily built, Konstantin Karpenko was a handsome man who could still make a young woman turn and take a second look. His weather-beaten face was dominated by a luxuriantly bushy moustache that Alexander remembered stroking as a child, something he hadn’t dared to do for several years. Konstantin slumped down into the chair opposite his son.
“Supper won’t be ready for another half hour,” said Elena as she diced the potato.
“We must speak only English whenever we are alone,” said Konstantin.
“Why?” asked Elena in her native tongue. “I’ve never met an Englishman in my life, and I don’t suppose I ever will.”
“Because if Alexander is to win that scholarship and go to Moscow, he will have to be fluent in the language of our enemies.”
“But didn’t the British and Americans fight on the same side as us during the last war, Papa?”
“On the same side, yes,” said his father, “but only because they considered us the lesser of two evils.”
Alexander gave this some thought as his father stood up. “Shall we have a game of chess, while we’re waiting?” Konstantin asked.
Alexander nodded. His favorite part of the day.
“You set up the board while I go and wash my hands.”
Once Alexander’s father had left the room, Elena whispered, “Why not let him win for a change?”
“Never,” said Alexander. “In any case, he’d know if I wasn’t trying and leather me.” He pulled open the drawer below the kitchen table and took out an old wooden board and a box containing a set of chess pieces, one of which was missing, so each night a plastic salt cellar had to substitute for a bishop.
Alexander moved his king’s pawn two squares forward, before his father returned. Konstantin responded immediately, moving his queen’s pawn one square forward.
“I assume you still haven’t heard anything?”
