A Single Spy

by William Christie

  The girl grabbed the knob and pushed the door up until it locked. Inside was like a wooden box, open in front, with two thick ropes off to one side.

  “It’s a dumbwaiter that goes down into the kitchen,” she whispered in his ear.

  Alexsi had no idea what she was talking about. But he watched as she climbed into the box and pulled up and down on the ropes to move the box up and down. That was really something. He’d read about elevators before, but nothing like this.

  “I’ll send it back up after I get down,” she whispered. She handed him a chunk of wood. “After you get in, close the door and put this under it so we can get back out.”

  The girl seemed to have thought things through. She pulled on the rope and the box slid downward. Once the top disappeared from view, Alexsi stuck his head into the hole. Even in the darkness he could see how the box was lowered by the ropes and a pulley. He lightly touched the rope as it moved. It seemed to be in pretty good shape, but he could also see what a misfortune it would be if it broke while he was in the box. Well, the girl had done it.

  The rope stopped, and a moment later it began to move in the opposite direction. Soon the empty box was in front of him.

  Staring into it, he almost lost his nerve. What if he got stuck on the way down? Wavering, the only thing that moved him was that the girl had done it, and she’d surely call him a coward.

  He sighed and began folding himself into the box. He had to rearrange his body twice until he was all the way in and able to grip the ropes properly. When he slid the door down with the chunk of wood holding it slightly open, he was in total darkness and started sweating as if it were summer, and it suddenly became very hard to breathe.

  After pulling on the rope for what seemed forever, faint cracks of light began to show through the bottom. Then he was in another opening, and the girl’s head was right in front of him.

  It was the kitchen. There were no lights on, but moonlight came through the high windows on the back wall and reflected off the wall tile. And brighter light from the frosted glass panel above the door to the dining room.

  Alexsi wanted to leap from the box, but he forced himself to slip out as quietly as possible. His shirt felt like a wet rag. As soon as he was back on his feet, the girl took his arm and whispered in his ear, “Don’t worry. I felt like that the first time.”

  And with those few words of sympathy she completely won him over.

  There was more than enough light to see by, and they could hear the voices of the attendants playing chess through the dining-room door. Alexsi turned around and looked at the open hole he’d come through, and realized it wasn’t meant for people. The rich had used it to send food from the kitchen to the upper floors, without someone having to walk it all the way up the stairs. Dumb-waiter. Now he understood.

  She led him away from the pantries where they stored the food to a door around a corner that was protected with a stout new silver padlock. During kitchen duty Alexsi had been where they kept the food, always escorted by a cook who watched his every move and made him carry everything, no matter how heavy. But he’d never seen anyone go in this door.

  He held his hands up in a questioning motion, but the girl emphatically pointed to the door and pantomimed opening the padlock.

  Alexsi shrugged and hoped she knew what she was doing. He didn’t need light to open the padlock; it was all about feeling the pins with the pick. He had it unlocked in less than a minute. The door was easier. The keyhole lock below the knob was very old and only a matter of pressing in the large pins and circling the lock. He opened the door very slowly so it wouldn’t squeak. The girl was practically jumping up and down with excitement.

  They both slipped inside, and the girl took hold of the light chain and motioned for him to close the door before she turned it on.

  He did. The chain rasped, the switch clicked, and the bulb popped on.

  It was just like the story of Aladdin’s cave. There was food he had never seen served in the house, some food he had never even seen before in his life. Loaves of white bread on the counter. White bread! They never had white bread, only black bread. There were two delicious-looking cakes under things that looked like big glass jars over serving plates. Shelves full of jars of jam and tins of exotic food. The bastards. They’d been keeping it all for themselves. No wonder all the kids were always hungry, and all the grown-ups had fat bellies.

  The girl had been rummaging through the shelves, and now she gave off a muted squeal and held up a big paper-wrapped bar. She was about to tear the paper off when Alexsi lunged over and snatched it from her hands. “Don’t open it!” he whispered fiercely.

  She put her hands on her hips and did everything but stamp her foot. “But it’s chocolate,” she whispered back plaintively.

  Alexsi leaned in close to her ear and made his case. “If we want to come back again, we have to make it look like nothing happened. There’s only four bars of chocolate here—they’ll know someone stole it.”

  She still looked longingly at the bar and whispered, “But it’s chocolate.”

  Alexsi carefully replaced it on the shelf exactly where it had been. He motioned for her to hold up her skirt to make a carrying basket. He took a loaf of white bread and rearranged all the others so there was no gap on the counter. There were two loaves that had been cut—he left those alone. He took a jar of jam and restacked the shelf to make the row symmetrical. And chose a fat tin of fruit. That was enough. Even if the grown-ups did notice what was missing, they’d think one of them filched it.

  After a last careful turn around the storage room to make sure they’d left nothing out of place, he clicked off the light and practically pushed her out. She was still gazing longingly at those chocolate bars.

  He lifted her back into the box, a necessary act with all the food wrapped up in her skirt. As soon as she disappeared out of sight he dashed back and relocked the door and the padlock. There was still a steady hum of conversation coming from the dining room.

  The rope stopped moving, and he waited patiently. Then there was a loud clunk, like a metal tin being dropped on wood. It echoed down the dumbwaiter shaft like a cannon shot.

  Alexsi hoped it hadn’t actually been as loud as it sounded to him, but the conversation in the dining room had stopped and he knew he was in trouble. As soon as the weight was off the rope he pulled it hard hand over hand to get the dumbwaiter down.

  The voices were talking in the dining room again, but the pitch had changed. He heard the squeak of chair legs on the wood floor and the groan that adults always made when they stood up.

  A key was inserted into the kitchen door lock. Alexsi frantically worked the ropes. The key turned and the dumbwaiter slid down in front of him. He leaped into it and pushed the wooden door shut just as the kitchen door opened.

  Alexsi could see the kitchen light snap on through the cracks in the dumbwaiter door. If he tried to pull himself up, it would be heard.

  He could hear leather soles tapping on the tile floor. The footsteps circled the kitchen, rattling doors to make sure they were locked. As they came closer the dumbwaiter rope went taut. The girl was impatient, trying to pull him up. Alexsi locked his hands on the rope so the dumbwaiter wouldn’t move, praying the girl wouldn’t make any more noise.

  The footsteps stopped right in front of him. Alexsi was sweating again; he even tried to breathe quietly. He waited for that moment when the dumbwaiter door would be thrown open and he would be dragged out for punishment. It seemed that both he and whoever was in the kitchen were both waiting in limbo for an eternity.

  Then the footsteps started up again, and the kitchen light snapped off. The door was shut and the lock was locked. Alexsi heard it all with crystal clarity. He wanted nothing more than to yank at the rope and take himself out of there, but he forced himself to wait long enough for them to sit back down and resume their game. Only then, very slowly, did he pull himself up.

  The girl was waiting at the open door upstairs, and s
he seemed furious that he’d taken so long. Alexsi just held up a finger to his lips. He climbed out and sent the dumbwaiter back to the kitchen. He’d seen that there was a line marked on the rope that told when it was in the right spot.

  “You were down there forever,” she said, as soon as they were back inside the closet.

  “They heard you drop that can,” Alexsi said. “They came in to check.”

  Her hand flew up to her mouth. “I’m sorry.”

  Alexsi just shrugged as he sliced the loaf of bread in half and then in pieces with his pocketknife, making two even piles. Stabbing the blade into the tin of fruit, he cut a rough X at the top and pushed the four flaps down to open the tin.

  She took the knife from him and began spreading jam on the bread. She’d taken off her cap after the exertion of the thievery and the wisps of black hair dangled over her face. She really was pretty, with those big blue eyes.

  Watching her, he asked, “What is your name?”

  “Aida,” she said.

  “I’ve never known anyone with a name like that.”

  “It’s from an opera.”

  Alexsi digested that. “I’ve read about operas. It’s a play where they sing instead of talk, right?”

  She looked up from the bread and brushed the hair from her eyes. “You never heard an opera?”

  Alexsi snorted. “Operas don’t come to farms.”

  “Not even on the radio?”

  “Who has a radio?”

  “There wasn’t even a radio on your farm?”

  “Well, on the kolkhoz where I lived, there was a radio at the community center that people listened to at night. But if you ever said you wanted to listen to an opera they’d beat you up and throw you out the door.”

  “You’re funny,” she said, handing him a slice of bread. “Your name is Alexsi, isn’t it?”

  Alexsi just nodded. The bread was light and fluffy. Not like the black bread they always got, which sometimes tasted like it had sawdust mixed into it. And it was fig jam, almost the best thing he had ever tasted.

  “Why are you eating so fast?” she asked.

  Alexsi paused for a moment to swallow. “So if someone pushes that door in and takes this food away from us, at least I have something in my stomach.”

  “You are the funniest boy I ever met,” she declared. And then, “I can’t tell you the rest of my name. It’s secret.”

  Alexsi took up another piece of bread from his pile.

  She went back to spreading jam, to try to keep ahead of him. “Don’t you want to know?”

  “You just said you couldn’t tell me because it was a secret.”

  “You’re so funny. I can’t tell you because my papa was very important. He knew Stalin himself.”

  Alexsi went on eating.

  “Don’t you believe me?” she asked.

  “If you say so.”

  “It’s true. Papa called him Koba. They knew each other from before the Revolution. Stalin killed him.”

  Alexsi didn’t want to say he was sorry, because maybe she felt like he did. He’d be overjoyed if he heard that Stalin killed his father.

  “Papa said that Stalin was waiting patiently until he had enough power. And Papa said that when Stalin thought the time was ripe he would kill everyone who could ever challenge him. And everyone who knew him before, when he was weak.”

  She talked really fast, the way most girls did. The words spilled out like they were afraid you were going to run away before they were finished. Aida passed him another piece of bread. She’d spread the jam on thick. With a whole jar to use on one loaf, it was the first time in his life he’d ever had enough. Alexsi thought but didn’t say that it sounded like Papa had talked a lot. No wonder he was dead.

  Aida scooted over until she was leaning back against him, reaching into the tin for a slice of fruit. “Open your mouth.”

  When she fed it to him Alexsi’s stomach felt like when Anastasia back at his old school used to put her hand on his leg. And it was a preserved pear in sugar syrup. Maybe the best thing ever.

  “You said you lived on a kolkhoz?” she said.

  “That’s right.”

  “You got out just in time. It’s going to get bad there.”

  “It’s already bad,” Alexsi told her.

  “Papa said it was impossible to turn twenty million farms into a quarter of a million collectives in just four years. People would starve.”

  It sounded crazy to him. Maybe her papa was crazy. “Then why do it?”

  “Because Papa said that the peasants were always the key to power in Russia. That when they stopped supporting the Tsar, the Tsar fell. He said that the peasants didn’t care about Communism, so they had to be kept under control until they did. And the only way to control the countryside was for the state to be in charge of the farms. So Stalin ordered it done no matter what. Starving wasn’t part of the plan. But there weren’t enough tractors and things, the crops spoiled before they could be picked up, and soon there wasn’t enough food for everyone in the country. They didn’t mind, though. The party is never wrong, and Stalin would never admit he was wrong—his enemies might attack him.”

  It occurred to Alexsi that being Stalin was a lot like being the boss of kids in an orphanage. But then he’d always seen for himself that no matter what kind of shit they talked, the bosses always made sure they had enough. “That’s why you have to look out for yourself.”

  Aida stretched her head back to look up at him. “Papa said the worst thing about famine was that the first to die were always the simple people who did what they were told. The ones who would never steal food, lie, or break the law. He said the new Soviet man who would be created by these conditions would be terrifying.” She fed him another pear slice. “Like you.”

  “I’m not the only thief here,” Alexsi said defensively.

  “No, you’re not. But we’re full, aren’t we.”

  “For the first time in a long while.” He looked down at her. “You remember everything your papa said?”

  “I remember everything everyone says.”

  “I’m a nice fellow,” Alexsi said. Though he wasn’t sure who he was saying it to. “Just don’t push me around. Or hurt my friends.”

  She looked up at him again. “Am I your friend?”

  Alexsi only shrugged.

  She twisted around so she was up on her knees and they were face to face. “Allow me to thank you for the food.” She put her arms around his neck, leaned in, and kissed him.

  Alexsi was frozen in the fear of both not knowing what to do and the terrible prospect of making an embarrassing mistake.

  Aida seemed to sense that. “You can put your arms around me. And just move your lips with mine.”

  His whole body seemed to be humming, but it wasn’t like the trembling when he thought he was going to die. Though he was just as scared. The burglary had been easy—this was hard. She was so slender and so soft. They kissed some more. She tasted of pears.

  “That’s better,” she whispered. “Now open your mouth and just touch tongues. It’s so much better than ramming your tongue down someone’s throat—that’s terrible. Oh, that’s nice. You’re so gentle,” she said, marveling.

  Clearly she had kissed boys before, but Alexsi was just glad someone knew what they were doing. His cock was hard as a tree branch, and he tried to move so it wasn’t touching her. Who knew what she might do?

  But she was on to him instantly. “Oh, what’s that?” She touched him through his trousers. “Let me see.”

  She pushed him, and as he fell back he caught himself on his elbows. She unbuttoned his trousers and pulled his underwear out and away without touching him. And he was staring at her staring at his penis, which was literally pulsing back and forth under her gaze every time his heart beat. And his heart was beating very fast.

  She reached out and touched the shaft with the fingertips of both hands. Her touch was so light he felt like he was going out of his mind. And then her h
ands closed around it without really closing around it. She was touching him as if he were made of thin breakable glass.

  When she pushed his foreskin down and ran her fingertips up and over the head Alexsi groaned, “Aaah.” His hips bucked and he shot past her startled eyes; his come hit the closet wall and he felt as if all his insides had been pulled out through his cock. His right leg just shook back and forth without him doing anything about it.

  When he regained his senses he looked up quickly to see if he had offended her. But she was smiling at him. “It’s still hard,” she whispered. She kept sliding her hands up and down, and each time her palm rolled over the head it felt so incredible he could barely stand it. He was holding his breath to keep from making too much noise, and each time he had to breathe it came out in a half groan, half squeak that made her giggle every time.

  Alexsi wasn’t sure which was better: her touch, or the way she was looking at his cock as she stroked it, biting her lip in concentration. Soon he couldn’t take it anymore. “Again!” he gasped.

  She giggled and ducked out of the way, and again it came out like a pistol shot. Aida patted his cock as if she were giving a dog a “good boy” pat, and jumped up to get a cleaning rag off the pile and clean his come off the inside of the closet. More than a little embarrassed by that, Alexsi pushed it back into his trousers and buttoned up.

  “Oh, you hid it away,” she said when she was finished. “I like to look at it.”

  Alexsi felt his face burning red.

  “Would you like to touch me?” she asked.

  Alexsi managed to get out, “Very much.”

  Aida put her hands up under her skirt and slid her underwear down, primly stepping out of them. She sat back down and pressed her back against his chest. Then she took his right hand and licked his fingers.

  Alexsi was glad he had already come twice because otherwise he would have again, just from that.

  “Go ahead,” she said. “Just touch as gently as you kissed me.”