Patsy! : The Life and Times of Lee Harvey Oswald

by Douglas Brode

  “There’s the question we must attempt to answer,” piped in the other man occupying the room. Yuri Nosenko, the KGB agent assigned to Lee Harvey Oswald, even now had that American’s file open on his lap. “It could mean that he is a plant, an agent for the CIA, sent here as a spy.”

  “Precisely what occurred to me as you were speaking.”

  “It’s also possible he’s the real thing,” Shelepin added. “We can’t ignore the possibility this may be the case and pass up information he apparently has about America’s new super-spy plane, the U2, as well as other significant military details.”

  “What makes me believe this could be the case,” Nosenko said, flipping through the file, “is that he has a history of strange, self-conflicting activity. Our agents who have been in contact with him in the U.S. and Japan during his tour of duty suggest that once a person comes to terms with his own self-contradictions, it’s logical, at least according to this man’s unique logic— the world as it exists in his individualistic vision—he’d volunteer as an American warrior, simultaneously dedicating himself to the seeming opposition of communism.”

  “It’s not unheard of,” the young woman, extremely well-read and university educated, agreed. “One of their greatest generals from the Second World War, Carlson, was a dedicated communist.”

  “True. Which of course explains why the public does not know his name as they do Eisenhower, Patton, or MacArthur.”

  “My assignment then will be to seduce him in order to learn one way or the other who he is and who sent him, if anyone?”

  “More ’involved’ even than that. You will marry him.”

  Her jaw dropped. “I didn’t expect anything so ...”

  “If you wish to back out,” Nosenko offered, “you may.”

  “When I committed, I did so with the understanding my mission might be ... how to put this ... ‘extreme’.”

  “Why? Of course. You have a right to know, and in fact must know if you are to fully grasp what is expected. If this fellow—Lee Harvey Oswald is his name-—turns out to be what he says he is, marriage will allow you to draw from him all he knows about rockets, radar, other bits and pieces of information we can fit into the jigsaw puzzle that we daily attempt to complete so as to achieve a full picture of America’s defensive and offensive capabilities. Even if he agrees to speak with the KGB, as we imagine he will in exchange for Soviet citizenship, a wife—you—will on a daily basis be able to learn considerably more.”

  “Supposing he knows nothing, says nothing?”

  “A quick divorce could be arranged. You would not be stuck with him permanently, if that’s what concerns you.”

  “Precisely! I want to pursue this career—“

  “And you will, particularly if he turns out to be not what he claims but an American agent. If that’s the case, Oswald will want to remain here just long enough to learn as much as he can while spreading disinformation. The CIA understands that to mis-lead us about, say, the U-2 will do more harm to our side than any secrets he might share. At any rate, if that is the case, he will, that job accomplished, decide he is not as happy here, choosing to return to America. That’s where you come in.”

  “Now, I’m confused again.”

  “In-between attempts to achieve his aims and a departure, you seduce and marry him. Then, you will return with him to the U.S. There, you will be in a position to observe and provide us with up-to-date reports even as you spread disinformation.”

  This is even better than I thought! The one thing I always dreamed about, even more than an exciting life as a spy, was to go to America. I can either do what the director asks, serving in the U.S. Or, if I do fall in love with this man, and his country, cut off all communications.

  What can the KGB do other than brood? In that case I will become, in time, what I initially pretend to be: an emigrant housewife. There is no need for any rush as to deciding.

  “That certainly sounds an effective strategy.”

  “As we discussed earlier, ‘you’ will cease to exist. A missing person who will never be found. From this moment forth, no communication at all with family or friends. Hoping that you would accept, we have already created your new identity.”

  Excitedly, she said: “I can’t wait to start.”

  “Then we’ll start now. Here is your ‘legend,’ as our CIA counterparts would put it. You come from poverty, born out of wedlock on July 17, 1941, in the remote town of Molotovsk.”

  “By the seaside, in the province of Arkhangelsk? Oh, but I went there once on holiday.”

  “We know. That’s why we picked it. At any rate, you never knew your father, not even his name. Your mother—we’ve decided to call her ‘Klavdia Vsilyevna Prusakova’—couldn’t care for you and so turned you over to her grandparents to raise.”

  “Interesting plot point.”

  “More than merely interesting. This Oswald experienced something similar as a child. When the two of you meet according to our schedule, this creates an immediate symbiosis. Besides being entranced by your beauty, he will see you as his soul-mate. To further this, we have included in your ‘legend’ that when your grandfather died—you were four at the time—you rejoined your mother, now living in Zguritsa near the Rumanian border, she remarried to an electrical engineer. The family soon moved to Leningrad.”

  “My home city. Of course! That way I can speak fluently of where I recently lived. Now, this again parallels ... what did you say his name was, the man I am going to meet and marry?”

  “Lee Harvey Oswald. Yes, his mother remarried. Constant moving about appears to have had a significant impact on the boy, creating disorientation, as we know from reports written by various doctors. One more thing you will have in common.”

  “Will all this happen in Leningrad, or Moscow?”

  “Neither. Minsk.”

  She was flabbergasted! Minsk? “So out of the way ...”

  “Precisely as we wish. No question that he will request to live in Moscow. That’s where he could be the most dangerous to us, if Oswald is what we fear instead of what we hope for. By relocating him in Minsk, Oswald will be temporarily diverted into a holding pattern while we determine which side he’s on.”

  “Minsk will render him harmless. When am I to leave?”

  “Three days. As to your motivation: Your mother died, your stepfather remarried. You no longer felt comfortable there. You have an ‘uncle’ in Minsk. A charming, gruff old Colonel, Ilya Vasilyevich Prusakov. He and his wife share a comfortable, large apartment in one of that city’s finest areas, Kalinina Street.”

  “As to this ‘uncle’: Who is he, really?”

  “Officially, a high-ranking official in the Ministry of Internal Affairs. Secretly, the top KGB agent in that sector.”

  “Why, you’ve worked this out to perfection!”

  “Thank you for the compliment. As for your personality, you must strike Lee Harvey Oswald, when you meet him, as none-too-bright, despite some upward aspirations toward gentility. You know nothing much about classical music, but are enthusiastic as to learning. This will allow him to perceive himself as your mentor as well as lover; that he, however superficial his knowledge of such things, can lead this beautiful girl into a more sophisticated realm that they, together, will share.”

  “Naïve. That’s what I’m to be?”

  “I hadn’t thought of it, but you are absolutely correct.”

  “As for your ‘look’: On that day when you first come in contact with him, your hair should be styled in the manner of the French actress Brigitte Bardot. You are familiar with her?”

  “Yes, of course. Rather decadent, don’t you think?”

  “Absolutely. But our agents in America who are in contact with Oswald made clear he, like most men, is enamored of her. You see, sheer beauty, which you already possess, is not enough. We want you not only to be ‘a’ dream girl, but ‘his’ dream girl. The character you will play—become, as the Stanislavski method would have it—must not
only be highly attractive to all men but Oswald’s vision of the perfect woman. That way he can’t resist.”

  “So thorough! And my new name will be?”

  “We gave that much thought. Apparently, young Mr. Oswald has all his brief life been involved in a bizarre love-hate relationship with his mother. That’s something we can make use of. Her name is Marguerite. The only other thing he appears to have ever truly loved is the marine corps. So we have devised a name for you that partakes of both. From now on you are Marina.”

  *

  For their second date Lee, or Alik as he insisted everyone address him, escorted Marina to yet another dance. Her earlier boyfriends Anatoly and Sasha, both anxious for her to arrive, saw her enter with the American and realized both were lost as to ever winning Marina. The former competitors found common ground for friendship and left to drown their tears in vodka.

  Marina agreed to go to Victory Square with Lee later, the two slipping into a booth at one of the coffeehouses so popular with the elite of Minsk’s youth: Those attending the university, mostly boys, and girls pretty or bright enough to be escorted here, where everyone talked politics and culture late into the night. Marina spoke plainly about her current life. She worked at the pharmaceutical section of the Third Clinical Hospital, in the city’s central hub. As she lived with her uncle and that man’s wife, who did not charge room and board, Marina was able to spend most of her 45 ruble salary on clothes, explaining why a woman of such modest means could always appear so striking.

  Lee talked openly about himself and his current situation, or more correctly presented Marina with his “legend,” then only recently re-aligned with current realities. Each, oblivious to the other’s play-acting, hoped that the person seated across the table would accept fantasy as reality.

  Lee, according to his tale, had arrived in the Soviet Union full of high hopes, these gradually dashed. In America, he had devoured the works of Karl Marx and Vladimir Lenin, drawing from the philosopher who had crystallized the communist manifesto and the revolutionary who put those values into action back in 1919.

  Lenin: a pure idealist! All men could be equal; everybody must share and share alike. In time, experiences in Moscow and Minsk made all too clear that the dream did not transfer into reality. High-ranking Party members enjoyed all sorts of special luxuries that were obviously denied the common man and woman.

  “Oh, Lee! That is so true, so true ...”

  Worse, instead of having more than the average American, the working poor possessed considerably less. Lee rambled on and on about the lack of bowling alleys and nightclubs, the déclassé entertainment enclaves where blue collar workers congregated on Friday and Saturday nights in America to spend however little they had on simple pleasures. These did not exist here and, had they, the masses would not have been able to afford them.

  Even the movies, which almost every U.S. citizen could enjoy owing to low ticket prices, were here mostly attended by the elite, as their date to see La Dolce Vita made clear.

  “Back home,” Lee/Alik waxed rhapsodic, “there is so much more democracy. Every person can say what he wants in the press, radio, TV. Censorship here is worse than I expected. Not that my country is perfect. All in all, though, I’d have to say that ordinary people have it far worse than where I come from.”

  “I’d like to see America for myself someday.”

  Lee eyeballed the ravishing young beauty as her eyes danced at the thought. “Maybe we could do that together, you and I?”

  “That would be ... a dream come true, Lee.”

  “Sometimes dreams do come true! Or so Americans like to believe. If we strive, perhaps you and I can make that happen?”

  Her eyes remained locked with his. “Do you know what I like most about you?” she finally asked, smiling like some Sphynx.

  “Uh-oh! I don’t know if I want to hear this.”

  “Well, you shall. There is a quality of innocence to you. So much passion in your voice. I am very attracted to that.”

  “I see. Do you know what I like most about you?”

  Marina laughed: “That with my hair styled is this manner, and my dark eye-make up, I look like Brigitte Bardot.”

  Lee laughed too. “No. That’s what first attracted me to you and what I like second-best. Beyond that, there’s a quality ... not ‘innocent’, as you said of me ... for there’s a kind of quality to you ... how shall I put it ... a naivete?”

  “You think me a silly girl, not a true woman?”

  “I think you are quite remarkable. The ultimate female I have searched for all my life. To me, you could be wife, lover, sister, mother, friend, comrade—“

  “Alik! You are moving far too fast.”

  “Sorry. I hope I didn’t spoil everything.”

  “Not at all. Come, walk me home. Meet my aunt and uncle.”

  Lee feared they might resent any American. Certainly they would express concern if he dared admit that any loyalty to Russia was fast-fading. To Lee’s happy surprise, they enjoyed him, commenting on Lee’s excellent manners, as compared to many of the local boys whom Marina brought home. In addition to being polite to a fault, Lee was provocative, interesting to listen to and converse with. Clearly, they heartily approved.

  “Come back soon, and often, Lee. Always a pleasure.”

  Within a week the family extended to Marina her freedom to visit Lee at his apartment, with the understanding Lee would behave as a perfect gentleman. The two kissed on the couch and stood together on one of the twin balconies, holding hands, her head on his shoulder. They watched the ships slowly move up and down the river, from and to the sea.

  Hours were spent listening to records, Tchaikovsky Lee’s favorite. He would, between movements, explain details about the work. Marina said that she had listened to such music before, enjoying live performances in Leningrad. Now, through Lee’s mentoring, she truly understood them. He introduced her to Sinatra, opening up a whole new world for the wide-eyed girl.

  In between passionate kisses, though no more than that as promised, each revealed his or her own inner lives, or at least the “legends” concocted for them, to the other.

  Your mother abandoned you? So did mine!

  You never knew your father? Nor did I!

  You were moved from place to place until you believed that you belonged nowhere? Me, too.

  Why, we are soul-mates! This is not merely some temporary attraction. I believe we were made for each other!

  In a bizarre sense, that happened to be the truth.

  *

  Another date was set for March 31. To her surprise Marina received word Lee would not be able to keep it. Suffering from an ear-ache, he had admitted himself to the Fourth Clinical Hospital, where he was to undergo an operation on his adenoids.

  Lee hoped she would visit, mentioning that he would be stuck there for two weeks. Marina rushed to his side, her big eyes full of concern for her skinny American. The doctors told her that they were having difficulty locating the infection, though the patient continued to complain of insufferable pain.

  While with Lee, who certainly looked none the worse for wear, Marina was taken by a sudden personality shift. When Lee spoke, his voice sounded ever so slightly different than before. This she wrote off to his throat problems.

  Far more perplexing was what he had to say. Her Alik seemed tougher, which impressed Marina. If there had been anything lacking in him during their time together, it was masculine assertiveness. Gone, though, was a certain quality she adored, in Lee’s words and his eyes; that innocence she had mentioned.

  In its place, a jaded element appeared. So when he without warning proposed, Marina could not answer at once. Back in the apartment, likely she would have capitulated while in Lee’s arms. Instead Marina insisted she had to think about it.

  Still, she came to see him every day. For whatever reasons, Alik chose not to discuss intellectual matters, as before. Now, he spoke of mundane things, like the quality (or lack thereof) of foo
d here; which nurses were pretty, which were not.

  Previously, she’d had the impression that when with Marina, Lee remained oblivious to other woman.

  So what am I to do now? At first, I felt myself falling in love with my prey, though as a secret agent that is verboten. That caused concern; such emotions leave one vulnerable. I could easily have said ‘yes,’ traveling with him to his wonder-land, sharing his bed, as my orders insist I must.

  Now all of that is changed. I don’t love this man as I thought. Me, the real me, that is; not Marina. She must. I can pretend to do so, despite a sudden hardness in his character.

  I will do whatever I decide is best for me ... or, more correctly, Marina will do whatever I decide is best for her and me—the real woman who performs that character daily, but never forgets that beneath Marina’s persona, there still exists an entirely other person, filled with hopes all her own ...

  Though every day I play this role, I lose a little more of her ... of me.

  *

  As Lee and Marina exited the theatre, she anxiously tried to get him to talk about the film. The two headed to their favorite coffee shop, taking their regular booth. But while she rhapsodically recalled the contemporary clothing the women had worn, and the wild, decadent parties—the men literally forcing women down on all fours, riding them about a huge chateau like horses—Lee remained silent for the longest time.

  When Marina asked if something were wrong, fearful this intriguing American had grown bored with her, Lee snapped back into the moment. He assured her that that was not the case.

  In truth, he’d been so engrossed with La Dolce Vita’s implications he found it necessary to think them through before responding. Now, he was able to do so ...

  The main character, Marcello, was the first true paparazzi ever to appear on screen, photographing superficial/celebrity Beautiful People on their late-night odysseys through Rome. The city’s classical architecture served as an almost surreal foil for the ultra-contemporary goings on.

  In the most memorable scene, one tall, busty blonde movie star, Anita Ekberg, drunkenly sloshed her way into the Trevi Fountain, her jet-black gown soaking through, shimmering in moonlight as her impossibly long, tangled mane of blonde hair, seductively wet and messy, fell across her oblivious face.