The Speculist

Chapter Three

Part I

Chapter Three

A clear November afternoon in Moscow was a rarity. To have one fall on a Saturday struck Reuben as a lucky break, one that he doubted would last. Clouds were gathering and the brisk wind, which had begun as the faintest breeze, was gaining momentum as the day progressed. He set out from the Mezh and crossed the Moskva river on foot, making his way to the Hotel Ukraina.

Reuben liked the Ukraina. It was a product of the Stalin era: massive and powerful. It looked like a cross between the Empire state building and a medieval castle, much more interesting than the glass-and steel Mezh.

It was a short walk, not ten minutes from one hotel lobby to the other. He found the main lobby and, glancing at his watch, took a seat in a red leather armchair. He was five minutes early.

The place was almost empty; he noted that it was bigger, better lighted, and much cleaner than the lobby of the Mezh. He wondered what the guest rooms looked like — maybe it was time for a change of scenery. He could think of only one thing he would miss at the Mezh.

And there she was.

Ksenia had been there all the time, but he had not immediately recognized her in her heavy coat and red wool cap. She had not seen him, either. She was sitting on a sofa in the corner, next to a young man of about her own age. He was obviously another Russian — dark curly hair and a lean Slavic face. He was dressed in a long brown coat made of unconvincing fake leather The two of them were having what appeared to be a serious conversation in hushed tones.

He got up and strode over to the other side of the lobby to greet them. The young guy saw him first and nudged Ksenia, who smiled in recognition. They both stood up.

"Hi, Ksenia," said Reuben. "Dobraye Din."

"Hello, Reuben," she offered her hand in greeting. "Good day," she added, translating his Russian for him.

If this was a date, he thought, shaking her hand, it was getting off to a slow start.

"I’m really glad you were able to make it."

"I am glad for invitation. Reuben, may I present my brother, Pavel Victorvich Teremov. Pasha, this is my friend Mr. Reuben Stone, from the United States of America."

"How do you do, Pavel." He extended his hand to the younger man, who smiled and took it enthusiastically.

"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Stone." He shook Reuben’s hand vigorously. "Please to call me Pasha if you like. You are Ksenia’s friend, you are my friend."

"Pasha it is. And you must please call me Reuben, or I’ll feel like an old man."

"Okay, Reuben," he laughed, enjoying the unusual name.

"Pasha has said that he will be so kind as to drive us to museum. It will be long ride on the Metro, so we are lucky to have driver."

"That’s great, Pasha. Thank you."

"Come. If you will wait in front, I will bring car."

They proceeded out the front door of the hotel, where Pasha left them to retrieve the car.

"So," said Reuben. "You look very pretty today."

"Oh," Ksenia said, looking away. "Thank you."

In fact, she looked quite a bit different in daylight and wearing something other than the uniform in which he had seen her at least a dozen times. Her face was flushed, both with the cold and maybe with a little embarrassment. Reuben liked the change. She was more real now, somehow. She turned back to face him and smiled. She seemed nervous. That was normal. They had always been awkward around each other.

"Anyway," he continued, "I wasn’t expecting you to bring your brother. Is he the reason you wanted me to walk over here today?"

"Yes," she answered. "Is little bit easier for Pasha to drive from here. But I had other reason."

"Oh?"

"Is not important. But I am not allowed — no, ‘allowed’ is not right word — I am…" she clapped her gloved hands together, struggling to find the right word, "I am almost not allowed to be friend with hotel guest."

"Ah, I see. ‘Almost not allowed.’ You mean the hotel discourages you from socializing with the guests."

"Yes, that is it. Discourage."

"Well, I hope you’re not risking getting into any trouble."

She smiled. "We go from here, is no risk. Is no risk, in any case. Just, as you say, discourage…they discourage."

"What about Vladimir? He heard me ask you and he heard you accept. Do you think he’ll tell anyone?"

Ksenia considered this.

"I don’t think so. Vladimir said I should go after first time you ask. He likes you. He said you are okay for…for American man."

She quickly looked away again, once again embarrassed. Reuben couldn’t help but wonder whether she had edited out some racial overtones to Vladimir’s comment.

"That’s good. I’m glad he’s on our side."

"Yes," she answered, turning back to him. "And he is only one who knows."

That, of course, was not entirely true. The other person who knew, perhaps not that they were together today, but that he had taken a social interest in Ksenia, was Sergei.

Reuben suspected that Sergei had let Reuben know that he was being watched as some kind of warning. It was not made explicit what he was being warned about, but an obvious candidate was his nightly routine at the Café Vienna. Maybe his regular presence there was needlessly raising his profile. Going there served no purpose whatsoever, it was a pointless indulgence. Reuben had decided to phase it out.

Pasha arrived, driving a tan Lada that appeared to be in fairly good shape, which was itself something of a rare sight. Reuben was not sure what the seating protocol should be. Should he and Ksenia sit together in the back set, taxi-style? Or should somebody ride in the front seat with Pasha? It depended on whether Pasha was the chaperon, the chauffeur, or just the annoying fifth wheel.

Ah, to hell with it, he thought. He opened the back seat door for Ksenia, and then followed her in. This was the arrangement he preferred. If it was rude, it was no more rude than bringing your brother along uninvited.

He needn’t have worried. This seemed to be the seating plan that everyone was expecting.

"Okay!" said Pasha, enthusiastically. "Now we go to cosmonaut museum. Reuben, you have been before?" He drove the car out of the hotel parking lot and into Moscow traffic.

"No, it’s my first time."

"Oh. You will like this. I go when I was in school. All Russian children go."

"Really," Reuben said, turning to Ksenia. "You mean you’ve been there before?"

"Yes. When I was maybe seven, maybe eight years old."

"And you want to go back?"

She shrugged.

"Is interesting place," she said, "And there are two museums, not one. One is Museum of Cosmonautics—this is where everyone goes when they are in school—and the other is Cosmos Pavilion at the VDNKh."

"What’s the VD…KNH?"

"VDNKh. It is the Exhibition of Economical Achievements. One of the exhibits is the Cosmos Pavilion. And you may wish to look at some of the others."

"So we’ll go to the Museum of Cosmonautics first?" Reuben liked the sound of the Cosmos Pavilion.

"Yes," Pasha answered, smiling once again. "Is easier to go there first, then to Pavilion. Is little bit of walking, if you don’t mind."

"Not at all," said Reuben. "It’s a nice day for a walk. And I can really use the exercise."

The drive took about half an hour. The time passed quickly, with Reuben fielding numerous questions from Pasha about life in the US. A couple of times during the course of the drive, Pasha took a call on his mobile phone, which Reuben recognized as one of the brands supported by the WorldConneX system. He wondered what line of work this young fellow might be pursuing, to be driving such a clean car and carrying a status-symbol telephone known to be a favorite of pimps and drug dealers. The kid was definitely mixed up in something, it was just a question of what.

After a while, Pasha pulled over to the side of the road.

"Okay!" he said, turning to face them with a grin, his enthusiasm back in full force. "I leave you here now and you walk to Museum. Is not far from here. Excuse me for now, I have…appointment."

"Well, thank you very much for driving us, Pasha. It was nice meeting you." Reuben extended his hand.

Pasha didn’t take it.

"Oh, no," he said quickly. "I see you later and drive you back.. Is now," he glanced at his watch, "half past one. I meet you in front of Cosmos Pavilion at six."

Ksenia said something in Russian. Reuben recognized the word zdyes, here. Pasha seemed to disagree with whatever she had said.

"Ah, should we just meet you here at six and save you the walk?" Reuben asked.

"No, no," Pasha said, suddenly displaying the severity that had been previously reserved for his Russian exchanges with Ksenia. His smile was gone. "Is already decided. I meet you there."

This was neither an invitation nor a request.

Suddenly seeming to remember himself, he smiled again.

"Okay?" he said.

Reuben looked at Ksenia, who shrugged.

"Sure," he said. "If you really don’t mind, that will be fine."

"I don’t mind. Then maybe I take you both for dinner, yes?"

This day was not shaping up at all as Reuben had planned. But what choice did he have?

"That sounds great, Pasha."

They both climbed out of the car. Pasha drove on.

"Well," said Reuben, getting his bearings. "I guess we’re heading towards that thing." He gestured towards a gleaming tower a short distance from where they stood.

"Yes," said Ksenia. "Reuben, I am sorry for Pasha. Sometimes he also…discourages me." She looked puzzled. "But only sometimes. He also helps. Was kind of him to drive us."

Reuben nodded.

"He just wants to watch out for his sister. There’s nothing wrong with that."

"Come," she said, taking Reuben’s hand with a smile "I show you ‘that thing’."

That thing was the Space Obelisk, a shining metal tower standing about 300 feet tall. It’s shape was that of a plume of exhaust streaming out of an ascending rocket. Something about the curve of the tower as it swept both in and upward suggested tremendous velocity. At the top of the tower stood a stylized replica of a rocket.

"This is Alley of Cosmonauts," said Ksenia, pointing out the statuary that lined either side of the walkway leading to the tower. These were not full statues, but busts of the cosmonauts mounted on pedestals.

Reuben studied the faces of the cosmonauts as they passed. There was Gagarin, looking very somber. A little further down, they came upon Valentina Tereshkova.

"Hey," said Reuben. "She’s kind of pretty."

"So? You think everybody is pretty."

Reuben smiled.

"That is patently not true. But I always heard that that first woman you guys sent into space was kind of…well, butch I guess. It must have been Cold War propaganda. I mean, look at her; she’s lovely."

"They make statue to flatter, not to tell truth. However, she was very brave."

He studied the bust for another moment.

"You’re right about that. I guess brave is more important than pretty, isn’t it?"

Ksenia shrugged.

"Is more important for cosmonaut, anyway," she said.

"Anyhow, I don’t think that everybody is pretty. Just you. You and the first woman in space."

They pressed on to the museum, which stood at the base of the obelisk. Reuben paid the admission, a paltry 100 rubles, and in they went. He could see at once that there wasn’t much to the place. It was a single room, with just a smattering of memorabilia. There were replicas of the first Sputniks and other satellites, two scaled down space capsules, and two full-size replicas of the heroic Russian dogs who had given their lives to the exploration of space. Next to the dogs were their absurd-looking pressurized dog space suits.

Within half an hour, they had seen everything there was to see at least once. Reuben thought that Ksenia was woefully unimpressed by the significance of the Sputnik display. But then again, most people were. She was considerably more interested in the dog space suits and a blown glass sculpture of the Zodiac characters that ran along the far wall, but even these got old pretty quick. Reuben could sense that Ksenia was growing bored of the whole thing, and he couldn’t blame her.

"Well, what do you think?" he asked her. "Should we see if we can find this VDNKh?"

"If you like," she said, cheerfully enough.

As soon as they stepped out of the museum, Reuben knew that he had been right to suspect that the weather wouldn’t last. It was noticeably colder, now, and completely overcast. The wind had picked up, too, and was beginning to spit a few tiny snowflakes.

They started out across the plaza that led to the entrance to the Exhibition of Economical Exhibits.

"Sorry to take you out on a day like this," he said.

"Why? Is normal." She gestured at the sky.

"You don’t mind going out for a walk in the snow?"

She gave him a look of tolerant pity.

"Poor Reuben. Is not snow, today," she said. "Not yet. Soon we will see snow, real snow, and then you will ask who does not mind to go for walk."

"Meaning I won’t want to? Hey, I love snow."

She looked at him skeptically.

The VDNKh had a certain fading grandiosity to it. There were arches and columns everywhere, though many of the structures were crumbling or needed paint. Most of the buildings were boarded shut. A few that were not had been converted into small shops selling the ubiquitous matroshka dolls or other Russian souvenirs. Reuben could see stacks of toilet paper and dish washing soap in some of the windows. One particularly impressive building boasted a display of power lawnmowers. Walking past the open front of the pavilion, Reuben could see inside that there were rows of washing machines and dryers.

"I thought this place would be like the World’s Fair or something," he said. "It’s nothing but an enormous K-Mart."

Ksenia didn’t ask.

They stopped at a kiosk and had shish-kebabs. Reuben wanted to be close to the wood fire as much as he wanted the food. He was freezing.

Ksenia made short work of her kebab.

"Now we have ice cream," she said.

"Ice cream?"

"Is Russian tradition to have on cold winter day. Even on nice autumn day like this, is good. Will warm you up, Reuben. Come, I buy for you."

"Da," said Reuben, "Konyeshnye." Yes, of course.

After finishing their ice cream, they walked on past a fountain, not working, which was encircled by a ring of golden statues of girls holding hands. Ksenia explained that each of the girls, displaying a particular ethnicity, and dressed to match, represented one of the nations of the Soviet Union.

"This shows friendship forever of the nations," she explained.

"It’s pretty," said Reuben, stopping to take a longer look.

"For once you are right to use this word."

"I’ve been right more than once. Too bad about the nations, though."

"Yes, it’s a pity."

Reuben looked around him. He had never heard 700 years of Russian history summed up so succinctly: it’s a pity.

It certainly was.

They continued on their way. The snow, which Ksenia had not deemed worthy of the name, had grown much heavier, and was now mixed with rain. Turning a corner, Reuben could see what had to be the Cosmos Pavilion directly in front of them. In front of the building stood an enormous Vostock rocket. Reuben couldn’t tell if this was a full-scale model, or the shell of a real rocket which had never been used. It was flanked on either side by Aeroflot jetliners.

From this distance, it was impossible to see whether the building was open, or boarded shut as so many others had been. There were no kiosks out front. Nobody was selling cigarettes or Vodka or Snickers bars.

As they got closer, Reuben could see that the door of the pavilion was, in fact, open. There were people going in and out. They reached the front door, stepped inside, and saw what use had been made of this temple to the Russian conquest of space.

It was a car showroom.

All makes, all models, everything American or European, with a few Japanese. There was no place for even a clean Lada like Pasha’s, here. Just big Mercedes, Cadillacs, Volvos, even a pair of bright red Corvettes.

"Ochyen krasivi," said Ksenia, under her breath. Very beautiful. Reuben had to admit, the cars did look remarkably clean and new, especially in the midst of so much decay.

The place was crowded, although Reuben suspected that most of the people there were just having a look. The main hall of the pavilion was a long hallway. It was the car showroom, but beyond it, in a circular atrium with an even higher domed glass ceiling, it looked like there were still a few space exhibits.

Reuben left Ksenia to admire the cars while he had a look.

There were several panes of glass missing from the Atrium ceiling, and Reuben realized that he had to be careful where he stood as he admired the old space capsules, or he would get dripped on. He spent a few minutes looking at the displays. There was a full-scale model of the 1975 Apollo-Soyuz linkup. There were also replicas of the Russian Mars and Venus landers, plus several of the earlier Russian space capsules. These looked to Reuben like huge cannonballs with hatches.

Reuben noticed a false wall blocking off a portion of the atrium. Behind the wall, he could see parts of other satellites and spacecraft sticking out. They had apparently been pushed aside to make room for the cars.

On the far wall was an enormous photo portrait of Yuri Gagarin. Gagarin was crisply dressed in his military uniform. He was smiling, looking much happier than his bust back on the Alley of the Cosmonauts.

This was what Sergei had sent him to see, Reuben realized. He walked over to take a closer look.

This young man, hero to his nation, admired by all the world. In the moment the photo had captured, obviously some time shortly after his historic flight, he was beaming, on top of the world. A snow-white dove had been released just in front of him, and its spread wings made the perfect emblem for his chest.

Yuri and a dove: it was a ten-thousandth of a second of time, captured and preserved on the far wall of the Cosmos Pavilion.

Reuben stood there and studied the photo for a long moment. He didn’t know what he was supposed to see.

The he realized that he was no longer alone. Ksenia had joined him, and was also silently studying the portrait.

"I am sorry, Reuben," she said after a while. "I am sorry that you find museum in such condition."

Reuben shrugged.

"This is what life in Russia is," he said. "What life is."

"Da," she answered.

They stood that way for a long moment.

"How did you like the cars?" he asked at last.

"Cars were okay. Were — how you would say it? — pretty."

Reuben smiled at her.

"I see you’re learning."

"Yes, from you I learn how to say that everything is pretty."

"Well, you said you wanted to improve your English."

"Oh, is good English to call everything by same word. Now I know."

On a sudden impulse, he took her other hand and pulled her close to him. She turned her face up towards his.

"You need to ease up on the attitude," he said. "Besides, I don’t think everything is pretty."

"Oh, no? So tell me — what is one thing that you don’t think is pretty?"

"Well…" Reuben looked around. "That," he said, gesturing at one of the space capsules, "is not too pretty."

She looked at it.

"No," she said, turning back to him. "Is not pretty."

"So you see?" he said.

Not impulsively, but as naturally as anything could be, he bent down and kissed her. Her mouth was soft and warm. Her response was not one of surprise, and all traces of shyness or awkwardness were gone.

She drew back after a moment, and then looked at him, smiling.

"I do see," she said softly. She drew in close, this time taking the initiative.

She kissed him with a certain eagerness, perhaps curiosity, and Reuben sensed a passion he had not guessed at. She pulled away abruptly, apparently realizing that she was committing an impropriety.

The shyness returns, thought Reuben. He knew that taboos against public displays of affection are hard to shake off, but still. This wasn’t much of a public place; they were all alone in the atrium.

"Hello!"

The voice from behind explained everything. Reuben turned around and saw Pasha, more than two hours early and looking more cheerful than ever.

Posted by Phil at March 1, 2004 12:00 AM | TrackBack