A Single Spy

by William Christie

  Alexsi put his hand under her skirt and slid his hand up her leg to guide him to where he needed to go.

  Aida moaned and leaned back hard against him. “Oh, that’s nice.”

  Alexsi took the hint and slid his hand back and forth along the inside of her thighs. He was watching her carefully; she had her chin down on her chest, and her eyes closed. He tried to touch her the same way she did him, as if she were made of brittle glass. He wouldn’t have touched himself the same way, but how she had done it was a thousand times better.

  Finally he pressed the palm of his hand against her, just to get a sense of the unfamiliar geography. Aida bucked her hips up and whispered, “Yes, just hold your hand right there.”

  He did, with a little more pressure until she seemed to tire of it. Then he explored very carefully with his fingertips. He had never touched a girl’s parts before, and there were so many folds and ridges. She was squirming all over the place, so he supposed he was doing it right. With his arms around her his face was in her neck and he kissed her there because she seemed to like it.

  Without meaning to, his finger slipped inside her, and she cried out. “Sssh,” he said in her ear. With her eyes still closed she grimaced and nodded. She was holding on tight to both his forearms, not to stop him but just for something to hold on to.

  He left his finger where it was, because that was definitely working. It was very wet and sticky there, and he could see why she’d licked his hands to make them slick. As he continued exploring his thumb brushed a little knob of flesh and she practically leaped onto his shoulders. He thought he was going to have to put his hand over her mouth.

  She grabbed his hand and rubbed it back and forth over that knob, as if he were washing a spot off a window but much lighter. He understood instantly that he had to follow the way she was thrusting her hips and then go progressively faster. It seemed that girls were the same as boys in that regard, though they took so much longer.

  Finally she grabbed his arms even harder and her hips came up off the floor. He felt the cry beginning in her throat and he clamped his hand over her mouth. Just as well because she practically screamed behind his closed hand. Her body seemed to close in around his finger inside her, and pulse back and forth in a little spurt of wetness. Absolutely amazing. A whole new world.

  When she calmed down, she said weakly, “Please take your hand away. It’s very sensitive now.”

  “Let me see,” said Alexsi.

  “Promise you won’t touch it again.”

  “I promise.” He twirled her around on her bottom so she was facing him, and lifted her skirt up so he could see in the dim light of the closet. Amazing. The fine little wisps of hair were wet and matted, and the rest was like the petals of a flower. It seemed that girls pissed from the hole the cock went in the same way boys came though the piss hole.

  “It’s ugly, isn’t it?” she said.

  “No, it’s beautiful,” Alexsi replied truthfully.

  “I think yours is prettier.”

  Alexsi shook his head.

  Footsteps came down the hall.

  Aida rushed to put her underwear on, but Alexsi held her firm. He knew she wouldn’t make any noise so he didn’t put his hand over her mouth. His arms were wrapped around her, and she had her hand over his.

  The footsteps passed by their door, turned the corner, and could be heard taking the stairs down.

  “We should go,” Aida said. “If they find our beds empty they’ll search the whole house and then lie in wait for us to come back.”

  Alexsi nodded. He handed her the tin of fruit and they took turns drinking the sugar syrup until it was all gone. While she put on her underwear, he took a dustpan and carefully brushed up all the crumbs they’d left on the floor. He emptied them onto the rag she’d used to wipe up his come and crushed the empty tin flat onto it. The empty jam jar he placed on top, and he tied the rag around it like a package.

  “Why did you do all that?” Aida asked.

  “If the cleaners find anything in here they’ll know something is wrong,” Alexsi whispered. “Even if they don’t think anything is gone from the kitchen. You can’t just take things, you have to cover your tracks. I’ll get rid of all this stuff in the bottom of the trash bins. No one will ever find it.”

  Her eyes were shining with excitement. “When will we do this again? Tomorrow night?”

  Alexsi shook his head. “At least a week.”

  “That long?” she said, pouting prettily.

  “If they realize something is missing from the kitchen, they’ll set a trap for the thief. But if we wait long enough, they’ll get tired and think they were mistaken.”

  She hugged him hard around the neck. “I knew I was right about you.”

  “You go first,” he said. “I’ll follow right behind. Straight back to bed.” He wanted to check the closet one more time before he left.

  She kissed him, and her tongue teased its way into his mouth. He felt himself getting hard again.

  Aida giggled, rubbed herself against his crotch, and slipped out of the closet.

  Alexsi was glad the whole house was asleep because all the rich food made him have to shit over and over again. It seemed like he spent half the night on the toilet.

  Later, back in his bed amid the thunder of snoring boys, getting hard each time he thought about Aida, Alexsi reflected that he should have known they were lying about that, too. Having a girl touch your penis was the greatest thing in the world.

  10

  1936 Moscow

  “This girl Aida gave you no other name?” Comrade Yakushev demanded.

  “She said she could not tell me,” Alexsi replied. “That it was secret.”

  “Why?”

  “Because her father had known Comrade Stalin.”

  “And the father?”

  “She said,” Alexsi replied, putting emphasis on those first two words, “that Comrade Stalin had killed him.”

  “She did.”

  “Yes. I know nothing else about him.”

  Yakushev exhaled a great puff of smoke. “Now we see the origins of the conspiracy. Her father was a well-known enemy of the people, despite his high position. Yet Comrade Stalin has given orders that children should not be held liable for the crimes of their parents. This girl was taken in by the state, as you were.”

  At that Alexsi shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

  It didn’t escape Yakushev’s attention. “You took a misguided path, due to lack of attention on the part of those who were responsible for you. This girl, on the other hand, was nurtured by the state. Given every opportunity. Brought from the farthest edge of the republics to Moscow State University itself. And this is how she repays our great nation and our great leader.”

  There was an edge to his voice that restored the cold, clenching grip of fear to Alexsi’s stomach. He had run into many officials, before and after his time with the Shahsavan. A man on the make would do whatever he was ordered, but not one thing more, for fear of blundering. And if offered a bribe he would happily help himself. But a fanatic like this couldn’t be bought, dodged, or intimidated.

  “Her name is Aida Rudenko,” said Yakushev, “and she will be your entry into this group of terrorists. Now, the most important aspect of secret work is the creation of what we call a legend. It is almost exactly like an actor preparing to play a role. You are Hamlet, Prince of Denmark. A man has killed your father the king and taken his place. This murderer has married your mother the queen, and is perhaps preparing your death also. Your every action as this character is in accordance with these principles. So, pour yourself some more tea. Visit the toilet if you must. And think carefully and tell me who you will become and what story you will tell in order to reacquaint yourself with this girl. I caution you that every legend must be grounded in reality. You cannot present yourself as a circus juggler unless if called upon you are able to actually juggle.”

  Alexsi sat in the toilet for a good long time because he dou
bted he could think properly with Yakushev staring at him.

  Then he retook his seat.

  Yakushev lit another cigarette. “You neglected to flush the toilet.”

  Alexsi was fairly certain that was a joke, and marked its appearance. He was not counting on many more. “I do not think I can be a student. How would I reach university in Moscow after running away from an orphanage in Baku? And how do I simply appear one day with no one ever seeing me before? Also, if I posed as a student, they might ask me about subjects I know nothing of.”

  “I agree,” said Yakushev. “And now your solution.”

  “I am a thief,” Alexsi said. “Newly successful. You can tell me what the main rackets in Moscow are. Food? Petrol? Alcohol? Perhaps all of them. I bribed an official for my apartment in the Arbat. I have money. I have resources. I am outside the law already, and the forbidden is always attractive.”

  Yakushev finished his cigarette and stubbed it out. “Go over to the table and write me out your story in detail.”

  11

  1936 Moscow

  As the girl came out of the state bakery, she turned and faced the door in order to shut it against the stiff wind. The queue for bread wound around the inside of the store but everyone had packed themselves in tightly so they wouldn’t have to stand outside in the cold. Like every Russian Alexsi couldn’t look at a line without making the calculation. At least an hour’s wait, if they didn’t run out of bread before you reached the counter. Of course, they would always have some hidden away in the back. That’s why it was better to steal it.

  Timing it carefully, he leaped up the steps to intercept her.

  When she closed the latch and turned she collided with his chest.

  Alexsi lightly grasped her upper arms to keep them both from falling down the steps. “Your pardon, Comrade.”

  “Excuse me,” she replied.

  Still holding her arms, he said, “Do I know you?”

  She kept her eyes down and said, “I’m certain you don’t.”

  “I’m certain I do,” Alexsi said.

  Since he was going to be persistent, she finally raised her gaze to brush him off. But instead they went wide. “Wait.” She examined his face minutely. “I can’t believe it.” And then she pressed her gloved hand against his chest, as if to confirm that he was actually real. “Alexsi?”

  “I would know those eyes anywhere, Aida,” he said, smiling. They were so very blue. She was wearing her black hair long and straight, which based on what he had seen was not the current style. Though it suited her.

  “Alexsi! My goodness…” She threw her arms around his neck.

  There was now a crowd of people waiting to get in to the bakery, and being Russians they were getting angry, so with her still wrapped around his neck he lifted her by the waist and carried her down the stairs and out of the way.

  When he set her down they were both laughing. Aida drew back and touched his face fondly. “How did you get here? How did you get to Moscow?” She brushed her hand across the wool of his coat. “In your very nice clothes.”

  Alexsi thought she was even more beautiful as a woman. Taller, and both her face and body had filled out nicely. “I should ask you the same thing.”

  “I’m a student at the state university,” she exclaimed.

  “That’s wonderful,” he said. “But don’t they feed you there? You come away from the bakery empty-handed.”

  “Oh,” she said, holding up her empty shopping bag. “It’s my girlfriend’s birthday, and I so wanted to give her a cake. I was going to bake it, but finding all the ingredients was impossible. Now it seems I’ve been to every bakery in Moscow, but no cakes.”

  Alexsi took her by the arm. “Perhaps I can help. I wouldn’t want a friend of yours to have an unhappy birthday.”

  “And how are you going to arrange that?” she said, smiling at him.

  “There,” he said, pointing up ahead. “Let’s take that streetcar.”

  “Are you kidnapping me?” she asked, still smiling.

  “It’s not kidnapping if you come with me willingly,” he replied.

  “I suppose I have to,” she said. “I can’t let you go. I have several thousand questions for you.”

  They dashed out into the street as the tram started moving, the conductor ignoring them both. Alexsi grabbed the rail and helped her up the steps.

  They exited at Arbatskaya Square and crossed over it. “Let’s try in here,” Alexsi said, gesturing toward the wedge-shaped building on the corner.

  Aida pulled back on his arm. “Alexsi, no! Not the Praga. That restaurant is too expensive.”

  “Really?” he said. “I’ve never been inside. But I have walked by and seen people eating cake. So let’s go in.”

  They took a table. It was easy to see how rich the place had been, though like all the prerevolutionary buildings of Moscow you could also see how it had been beaten down for lack of maintenance. Still, the walls and ceilings were ivory with carved wooden columns in every corner and flanking the doors. All the paneled details were outlined in gold. There were crystal chandeliers, and dark velvet drapes hung in the windows. Carved statues looked down on the diners from the walls as if they didn’t care that their fingers and toes were chipped. Alexsi ordered cake and tea for two.

  “No one can afford to eat here,” Aida said, holding the menu over her mouth to muffle her words.

  “Yet there are people eating here,” Alexsi replied.

  “I mean regular people.”

  “I’m sure it will all work out,” Alexsi said.

  Aida made a gesture of resignation that was uniquely Russian. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

  “Now please tell me what you study,” Alexsi said, as if he hadn’t heard her.

  “I study to be an artist,” Aida told him.

  “You must have great talent, to bring it all the way to Moscow.”

  “I did win a scholarship contest,” she admitted. “It was very competitive.”

  “I congratulate you.”

  The waitress, a middle-aged babushka with a perpetually scowling face like a troll, set down their plates of cake.

  “Thank you, Comrade,” Alexsi said.

  The waitress just walked away.

  “That’s the one thing I can’t get used to in Moscow,” Aida said. “How rude everyone is.”

  “Perhaps our pleasant manner will inspire her to change hers,” Alexsi said.

  Aida snorted out her laughter and then quickly clapped a hand over her mouth, embarrassed. When she blushed her pale skin seemed to spring to life. “Do you remember I said you were the funniest boy I ever met?”

  “Yes, but you were the only person who ever thought that of me. I’m sure you now have a much wider sample to make comparison.”

  She giggled and shook her head in fond reproach. Then she reached across the table and put her hand over his. “You have been very careful on the tram ride to ask me every question and avoid every one of mine. Please, what became of you after the orphanage? One day you were gone, and they said you had run away.”

  12

  1932 Special Orphanage Number 27

  Baku, Soviet Azerbaijan

  Alexsi dreamed he was being crushed. Then he woke up and realized he really was being crushed. The blanket was over his head and someone had it and was using it to pin him down in the bed. He couldn’t move his arms but he lashed out with his legs and twisted his body, frantically trying to escape. It had to be more than one, because one boy couldn’t hold him down like that.

  “Hold still, you little shit,” a strained adult voice said.

  Alexsi recognized it as Maxim’s, an attendant. He knew he couldn’t fight them, so he relaxed and stayed still. The pressure on the blankets let up a bit, and he managed to slide his hand up under his pillow and get ahold of his pocketknife and tuck it under his armpit. Otherwise he knew he’d never see it again, and they were impossible to come by.

  The blankets flew off and hi
s arms were grabbed. There were three attendants, just for him. Maxim, Stanislav, and Yuri. They dragged him off the bed and stood him up, dressed only in his underwear. Every boy in the room was awake and up on one elbow watching him.

  Alexsi had his fists clenched as if he were holding something. They pried his hands open only to find nothing. After that he dropped his hands to his sides and bent his arm a bit to let the pocketknife drop from his armpit into his cupped hand. When they pulled his hands up over his head to frisk him, he had the pocketknife back in his fist. He’d practiced it until he could do it without looking. Just like the disappearing coin trick: look over here, so you don’t see me doing something else.

  They frisked him and shook out his clothes. And they took the bed apart. They found the nut and the twine, but nothing else.

  “Get dressed,” they ordered.

  He slipped the knife back in his trouser pocket without anyone the wiser.

  All the staff seemed to be running around the house. It was still dark, so Alexsi didn’t know if they were up late or early.

  The Comrade Director’s clothes were wrinkled and she had too much makeup on, as if she’d applied it hastily.

  “You have been stealing food from the kitchen,” she informed him coldly. It was not a question.

  Alexsi knew that in this case keeping silent would be the same thing as admitting guilt. “Comrade Director, when they give us an extra piece of bread for working hard in the kitchen, that’s not stealing. Is it?”

  She leaned back in her chair a bit, as if awed by his answer. But her voice was hard. “You have broken into the kitchen at night and stolen food.”

  The tone of her voice told Alexsi that she was convinced it was him. He knew he was in a tight spot, and it was getting tighter. But convinced wasn’t proof. “But the kitchen is locked at night, Comrade Director. How could I break in?”

  She took a different tack. “If you tell us where you have hidden the food, we will go easy on you.”

  That made him feel a little better. “I’m sorry, Comrade Director, but I don’t know what you are talking about.”