“Always griping.”
“Just making observations.” Hollis determined that they were now walking through the German section of the restaurant. There were well over a hundred of them, predominantly middle-aged couples. Most of them, like a good many Germans he’d seen in Moscow, looked dour and withdrawn. He could not imagine how they felt comfortable in a country that had lost twenty million of its people to the German armies and where half the tourist sights were memorials to the dead. He wouldn’t have been surprised to discover that some of the men had last seen Russia from the turret of a Panzer tank.
In the English-speaking section of the dining room, Hollis and Lisa found a table occupied by only one other couple, and Lisa introduced herself and Hollis as Sam and Lisa Randall, tourists.
The couple introduced themselves as George and Dina Turnbill of Rhode Island.
Hollis and Lisa sat. The table, Hollis noticed, was set for ten, and he knew the busboys had no intention of removing the other settings. On the table were two bottles of mineral water, four bottles of a popular pear soda that Hollis had tried once, and two bottles of Russian Pepsi-Cola. Hollis had tried the Pepsi once, and it wasn’t.
There was a basket of the ubiquitous black bread near them, white butter that was more like stiff cream than butter, and a bowl of pickled beets. There was apparently no menu, and a waitress brought four pannikins of mushrooms floating in hot cream. A waiter set down a tureen of borscht on which floated a film of sour cream.
Hollis and Lisa fell into conversation with the Turnbills. They were a casually dressed couple, attractive and in their mid-thirties. They were both instructors at Brown; he taught anthropology and she taught psychology. Hollis told them he was a used car salesman from Hoboken, New Jersey, and Lisa was a housewife, which earned him a kick under the table.
George Turnbill said to Hollis, “Our tour group is having lunch at the downtown Intourist so they can go to GUM department store afterward. But Dina and I came back here to see more of this Economic Exhibition across the street.”
Hollis replied, “We’re in the same situation.”
Dina said, “Isn’t it marvelous?”
“What?”
“The exhibition. They’ve done so much in so short a time.”
Hollis thought the old “so short a time” tagline was wearing a little thin after seventy years.
George exclaimed, “You can eat off the streets here! Have you seen the subways yet? My God, they’re marble and brass!”
Lisa smiled. “We’ve been exploring the subways quite a bit.”
Dina said, “George and I walked around Red Square last night — eleven o’clock at night, and we never once felt afraid. Right, George?”
“There’s no crime here,” George agreed. “This is a very well-run city and country. The people seem content, prosperous, healthy, and well fed.”
Hollis poured the pannikin of mushrooms into the beet soup and studied the result.
Lisa responded, “I’ve noted that almost no one smiles—”
“That,” Dina interrupted, “is just a national character trait. It doesn’t mean they’re not happy.”
“For instance,” George explained, “Orientals smile when they’re embarrassed.”
Hollis had the feeling he was getting a combined psychology and anthropology lecture. He tried the pear soda, then washed the taste out with the mineral water, then tried the borscht and mushroom concoction. Hollis badly wanted a drink, but the anti-alcohol campaign made it impossible to buy the stuff before four P.M., not even wine or beer in a tourist restaurant. He poured Pepsi, pear soda, and mineral water into one glass and swirled it around.
George asked him, “Did you notice how cheap everything is? Five kopeks for the metro, two kopeks for the telephone. I bought a beautiful photo book of Moscow for two rubles, and the room here is about thirty rubles, and there’s no tipping.”
Hollis thought about mentioning the price of fresh food if you could get it, or that badly made shoes cost about sixty dollars, junk cars about nine thousand dollars, and freedom couldn’t be bought at any price. He said to George, “What exactly did you come here to find?”
George answered without hesitation. “The truth. I came to Moscow to look for the truth.”
“That,” Hollis said, “is sort of like going to Forty-second Street to look for virtue.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
Lisa interjected, “We’re having a somewhat different experience here than you.”
“You have to stay open-minded,” Dina advised.
Hollis turned to Lisa and said in Russian, “I’m not sure I want to go back to America if there are any more shitheads like these two here.”
Lisa replied, “Just stay away from college campuses.”
George asked, “Is that Russian?”
“Polish,” Hollis said.
They finished the mushrooms, the bread, the mineral water, and the pickled beets, but there was no sign of the main course. From where he sat, Hollis could see behind the screen that shielded the kitchen door. Six waiters and waitresses sat there at a table, drinking tea and talking. Hollis said dryly, “I’m glad they’re having a good time on their day off.”
The Turnbills were extolling the virtues of black bread, mineral water, and pear soda, though they couldn’t find much good to say about the communist Pepsi.
Lisa asked the Turnbills, “Did you hear since you’ve been here that the Soviets have expelled two Americans from the embassy?”
“We heard that right before we left, Tuesday,” George answered. “In fact, we read it in The New York Times at Kennedy Airport.”
Dina said, “The Times story said they went into an unauthorized area, that the man was a military attaché, and that those people are usually intelligence people. Spies.”
George added, “I blame a lot of this tension on our government, I’m afraid. If we show we have peaceful intentions, then the Soviets will respond. They have a very responsive government in the Kremlin right now. You can see what a big thing they make of peace here. Mira,” George said, trying out his Russian. “Peace. Same word as for world. Mira. I wonder if they say mira mira for world peace. That sounds Spanish. Anyway, there are peace exhibits, things named for peace, Prospect Mira, banners all over saying peace. Peace.”
“Peace,” Hollis said. “‘They have seduced my people saying, Peace; and there was no peace. ’ Ezekiel.”
The Turnbills decided they couldn’t wait for the main course and were anxious to get to the Economic Exhibition. They stood to leave.
Hollis said to them, “A word of advice because you are my compatriots. Avoid black marketeers because they can get you in serious trouble, don’t force your friendship on ordinary Russians because that can get them in trouble. Also, every dark street is not safe at night. And if you can get permission — which you need — see if you can get into the countryside for a day. Also, try not to criticize your own country too much, and above all, remember that you are free and they are not.”
The Turnbills smiled tightly and departed.
Lisa commented, “That’s not like you to wave the flag.”
“I was just trying to help them see.”
“We all see what we want to see, Sam. This system here still has seductive powers as you indicated. Like an old whore on a good night.”
Hollis nodded. “I remember when I first got here. I was impressed with what I saw, but I forgot to think about what I couldn’t see — concepts and abstractions such as freedom of speech, the pursuit of happiness, and the right to assemble, to travel, and ultimately to emigrate. It takes a few months here before you realize what’s missing from the picture.”