politics, don’t we?
Everyone laughed except Leo and the director. Austin added:
&mdah; What was her name? Did you tell me before?
Leo couldn’t remember if he’d mentioned the name Lena or not.
— Her name?
Evidently he didn’t know her name. The director was too scared or too slow-witted to step in and help him.
— Her name . . .
Leo deliberately dropped the file – let it slip from his hand, the papers falling out. He bent down, picking them, glancing through them.
— Her name is Raisa.
*
The director led the way to Classroom 23 on the second floor, Austin by his side, the officials behind him, stopping occasionally to examine a poster on the wall, or peer into another lesson. During these breaks, Leo was forced to wait, unable to stand still. He had no idea how the woman who’d lied to him about her name was going to react. Eventually reaching the classroom, Leo peered through the small window. The woman at the front was the woman he’d met on the metro, the woman he’d spoken to on the tramcar, the woman who’d told him her name was Lena. It occurred to him, belatedly, that she might be married. She might have children of her own. As long as she was smart, they were both safe.
Leo pushed forward and opened the door. The delegation followed, the entrance filling up with officials, the school’s director with Jesse Austin at the front. The students stood up, amazed, their eyes flicking from Leo’s uniform to their director’s anxious face to Austin’s wide smile.
Raisa turned to Leo, holding a stub of chalk, her fingers dusty white. She was the only person in the room, aside from Austin, who seemed calm. Her composure was remarkable and Leo was reminded why he found her so attractive. Using her real name, as if he’d known no other, Leo said:
— Raisa, I’m sorry for arriving unexpectedly but our guest, Jesse Austin, wanted to visit a secondary school and I naturally thought of you.
Austin stepped forward, offering his hand.
— Don’t be mad at him. It’s my fault. I wanted it to be a surprise.
Raisa nodded, assessing the situation with agility.
— It certainly is a surprise.
She noted Leo’s uniform, before remarking to Austin:
— Mr Austin, I enjoy your music very much.
Austin smiled, asking coyly:
— You’ve heard it?
— You’re one of the few Western . . .
Raisa’s eyes darted towards the crowd of party officials. She checked herself:
— Western singers any Russian would want to listen to.
Austin was elated.
— That’s kind of you.
Raisa glanced at Leo.
— I’m flattered my lessons were considered worthy for such important visitors.
— Would it be OK if I watched you teach?
— Take my seat.
— No, I’ll stand. We’ll be no trouble, I promise! You just go ahead. Do your normal thing.
It was a comical notion that this lesson would be normal. Leo felt faintly hysterical and light-headed. The sense of gratitude was so intense it was a struggle not to take hold of Raisa’s hands and kiss them. She taught the lesson, managing to ignore the fact that none of the children were listening, all of them fascinated by the guests.
After twenty minutes a delighted Austin thanked Raisa.
— You have a real gift. The way you speak, the things you say about Communism, thank you for letting me listen in.
— It was my pleasure.
Jesse Austin was smitten with her too. It was hard not to be.
— Are you busy tonight, Raisa? Because I’d like it very much if you’d come to my concert. I’m sure Leo has told you about it?
She glanced at Leo.
— He has.
She lied with consummate skill.
— Then you’ll come? Please?
She smiled, expressing a razor-sharp sense of self-preservation.
Moscow
Serp I Molot Factory
Magnitogorsk
Same Day
Planners for tonight’s event had toyed with the idea of staging the concert within the factory itself, capturing footage of Jesse Austin singing, surrounded by machinery and workers, creating the impression of a concert
Everyone laughed except Leo and the director. Austin added:
&mdah; What was her name? Did you tell me before?
Leo couldn’t remember if he’d mentioned the name Lena or not.
— Her name?
Evidently he didn’t know her name. The director was too scared or too slow-witted to step in and help him.
— Her name . . .
Leo deliberately dropped the file – let it slip from his hand, the papers falling out. He bent down, picking them, glancing through them.
— Her name is Raisa.
*
The director led the way to Classroom 23 on the second floor, Austin by his side, the officials behind him, stopping occasionally to examine a poster on the wall, or peer into another lesson. During these breaks, Leo was forced to wait, unable to stand still. He had no idea how the woman who’d lied to him about her name was going to react. Eventually reaching the classroom, Leo peered through the small window. The woman at the front was the woman he’d met on the metro, the woman he’d spoken to on the tramcar, the woman who’d told him her name was Lena. It occurred to him, belatedly, that she might be married. She might have children of her own. As long as she was smart, they were both safe.
Leo pushed forward and opened the door. The delegation followed, the entrance filling up with officials, the school’s director with Jesse Austin at the front. The students stood up, amazed, their eyes flicking from Leo’s uniform to their director’s anxious face to Austin’s wide smile.
Raisa turned to Leo, holding a stub of chalk, her fingers dusty white. She was the only person in the room, aside from Austin, who seemed calm. Her composure was remarkable and Leo was reminded why he found her so attractive. Using her real name, as if he’d known no other, Leo said:
— Raisa, I’m sorry for arriving unexpectedly but our guest, Jesse Austin, wanted to visit a secondary school and I naturally thought of you.
Austin stepped forward, offering his hand.
— Don’t be mad at him. It’s my fault. I wanted it to be a surprise.
Raisa nodded, assessing the situation with agility.
— It certainly is a surprise.
She noted Leo’s uniform, before remarking to Austin:
— Mr Austin, I enjoy your music very much.
Austin smiled, asking coyly:
— You’ve heard it?
— You’re one of the few Western . . .
Raisa’s eyes darted towards the crowd of party officials. She checked herself:
— Western singers any Russian would want to listen to.
Austin was elated.
— That’s kind of you.
Raisa glanced at Leo.
— I’m flattered my lessons were considered worthy for such important visitors.
— Would it be OK if I watched you teach?
— Take my seat.
— No, I’ll stand. We’ll be no trouble, I promise! You just go ahead. Do your normal thing.
It was a comical notion that this lesson would be normal. Leo felt faintly hysterical and light-headed. The sense of gratitude was so intense it was a struggle not to take hold of Raisa’s hands and kiss them. She taught the lesson, managing to ignore the fact that none of the children were listening, all of them fascinated by the guests.
After twenty minutes a delighted Austin thanked Raisa.
— You have a real gift. The way you speak, the things you say about Communism, thank you for letting me listen in.
— It was my pleasure.
Jesse Austin was smitten with her too. It was hard not to be.
— Are you busy tonight, Raisa? Because I’d like it very much if you’d come to my concert. I’m sure Leo has told you about it?
She glanced at Leo.
— He has.
She lied with consummate skill.
— Then you’ll come? Please?
She smiled, expressing a razor-sharp sense of self-preservation.
Moscow
Serp I Molot Factory
Magnitogorsk
Same Day
Planners for tonight’s event had toyed with the idea of staging the concert within the factory itself, capturing footage of Jesse Austin singing, surrounded by machinery and workers, creating the impression of a concert
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