The Russian Century: A Hundred Years of Russian Lives

It had been decided that we would return to Moscow at five o’clock. Melkumov had given me strict orders not to be late. I tried to hurry Lora along, but she dallied.

Finally, we set out on our return trip. (Feinzimmer left earlier, not having approached Lora after all.) Somewhere on the road I pulled ahead of a car in a no-passing zone. (I didn’t have a KGB permit to avoid a license and registration check, since my Volga wasn’t an operative car.) I was stopped by a highway patrolman. The Chevrolet pulled over behind me. This was immediately reported to Gribanov via radio. As Kunavin later told me, Gribanov cursed both me and the highway patrolman. But the latter, having verified my documents and glanced at the little French flag on the ambassador’s car, quickly saluted and let me go on my way. As we were nearing Moscow we came up to a small and rather dirty lake. Lora suddenly decided to go for a swim, and asked the ambassador to stop the car. I noticed this in the rearview mirror and also stopped.

We walked up to the lake. I was hissing at Lora, recalling Melkumov’s order, since we were already running late. She just laughed in response and did whatever she pleased. (We made sure the ambassador didn’t hear us arguing, of course.) O, great is the power of woman! How right Lora was in everything, listening to her intuition and acting in accordance with some sixth sense. I was forced to follow her into the lake. Maurice and Alla didn’t swim, and Lora didn’t have a bathing suit. And so right in front of the ambassador’s eyes, she began undressing and climbed into the water in just her slip, which immediately conformed to her body, and when she came out of the water, she looked not just naked, but naked twice over. She came out of the water several times and walked around on the shore looking like this. Poor Maurice!

Whenever we swam out from shore, I would hurry Lora as much as I could, reminding her of Melkumov’s order to return to Moscow no later than five. She just waved me off.

At this time, according to Kunavin, Gribanov was sitting near the receiver, listening to the reports from the scene of the events. They told him about Lora’s swimming. Gribanov couldn’t contain himself any longer and called her a prostitute.

In half an hour the prostitute—or, better yet, the mermaid—got out of the water and somehow got dressed. We got into our cars and continued on to Moscow. We split up at the fork near the Danilov Market. The ambassador took Lora home. Along the way they arranged for him to come see her in forty minutes.

Iurii Krotkov, The KGB in Action

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Upon returning to the embassy, Maurice changed and got a new chauffeur, for some reason. He took Boris, as if realizing that he was more dependable.

As soon as De Jean walked into Lora’s apartment, she showed him a telegram lying around on the table, which she had “received” the day before from her “husband.” The telegram said that he was arriving the next day. At the end it said, “Love, your Misha.” (As might be easily guessed, this was a KGB forgery.)

And what followed would have been unbelievable even in the movies. Only in the Soviet Union, where the KGB was all-powerful, could this take place.

Lora and Maurice, naturally, having been left alone, gave way to human temptation.

Gribanov and Melkumov, pressing up against the speaker, or maybe wearing headphones, were listening to everything going on in the neighboring apartment. Perhaps one of them may have even envied De Jean. But they were waiting for the pre-arranged signal, the code word. Lora herself had come up with this word in the private booth at the restaurant at the Metropole. She had to say the word “Kiev” in some phrase. As soon as she said the word, Gribanov would give Kunavin and Misha the go-ahead. But Lora drew it out and out and out, all but frazzling the remnants of Gribanov’s nerves of steel. And Kunavin and Misha got completely soaked in sweat in their geological expedition gear.

“Kiev!” Gribanov and Melkumov distinctly heard, “Kiev.” Lora had clearly said, “Kiev. . . .”

Chapter Thirty-Two

Vladimir Azbel, Siberian Adversity

In the 1970’s the Western press was filled with reports about the “refuseniks.” These were Russian Jews who petitioned the Soviet government for exit visas, principally to Israel. Under fierce international scrutiny, the government acceded, and previously unimaginable numbers of refugees left the country. Vladimir Azbel’s story is set within this period. His very relocation to Irkutsk in Siberia was a direct consequence of his family’s filing papers to leave the USSR. Taken from Vladimir Azbel’, “Dva goda v Sibiri” [Two Years in Siberia]. New York: The New Review, No. 116, September, 1974.