Martindale turned to them and ceremoniously draped the sashes across their chests. Martindale said into the microphone, “For the nondiplomats here who don’t know Latin, persona non grata means ‘someone who doesn’t tip.’”
Lisa whispered to Hollis, “This is embarrassing.”
“You’re lucky Martindale didn’t pin a scarlet A on you.”
“On me? On you.”
Martindale announced, “Before we begin the music and dancing, and especially before the ambassador and his wife arrive, we’ll have the presentations and speeches. I would like to introduce our first presenter, Comrade Vladimir Slizistyi.”
The people who understood Russian laughed at the word for “slimy.”
One of the young consular officers, Gary Warnicke, came through the door, wearing a brown suit about six sizes too big. His hair was slicked back, he had a red tie painted on his shirt, and he was barefoot. There was a burst of loud laughter.
Warnicke stepped onto the platform, kissed Hollis perfunctorily on both cheeks, then planted a long kiss on Lisa’s lips. Hollis got the feeling it was going to be a long night.
Warnicke addressed the audience. “Comrade American swine, thank you for here me inviting. I make now presentation to Colonel Hollis.”
Martindale led Hollis to the podium as Warnicke bellowed, “Colonel, by order of Central Committee, I present now to you, for consistently inferior work product, Order of Lemon.” Warnicke hung a red ribbon around Hollis’ neck from which was suspended a pear. Warnicke explained, “Sorry, no lemons.”
“I understand.”
Everyone applauded. Warnicke motioned Lisa to the podium. “And for you, sexy lady, by order of Central Committee, I present Medal of Socialist Loafing, for spending whole year sleeping in supply closet.” Warnicke reached into his jacket and produced another red ribbon from which hung a red plastic alarm clock. Warnicke said, “Wakes you at quitting time.”
Lisa said, “I’m honored to have done my part.”
Warnicke took the opportunity to give her an intense kiss on the neck.
The guests, who hadn’t interrupted their drinking for the show, began to hoot and whistle.
Warnicke barked, “Silence, comrades! Serious business here.” He took two pieces of paper from his pocket and said to Hollis and Lisa, “Here two putyovki—worker vacation passes — for five-year stay in Siberian Gulag of your choice. Separate rooms.”
This brought some guffaws from the crowd.
Warnicke made a few more light remarks, then said, “Now I have pleasure of calling to podium, great American diplomat, great statesman, peace-loving friend of Soviet peoples, good dresser, expensive shoes, Comrade Charles Banks.”
Everyone applauded as Banks stepped onto the platform. “Thank you very much, comrade, ladies, and gentlemen. As you know, every year about this time, we present the Barlow award to one or more deserving individuals. This coveted award is named in honor of Joel Barlow, American Ambassador to the court of Napoleon, who in the year 1812 accompanied the French army into Russia in order to maintain diplomatic contact with the emperor. After the burning of Moscow, Mr. Barlow found himself caught up in Napoleon’s retreat and, tragically, died of exposure, making him the first American diplomat to freeze to death in Russia.”
Banks’ timing was good, and everyone laughed.
Banks held up his hand. “So each autumn to commemorate that sad event and to honor Mr. Barlow’s memory, we pay tribute to one or more of our compatriots who made it through the previous winter without bitching and griping and without running off on thirty-days’ leave to the Bahamas. This year it is my honor to present the Joel Barlow award to two people who have demonstrated a unique ability to work together in keeping warm. Ladies and gentlemen, this year’s recipients of the Joel Barlow award, Colonel Sam and Miss Lisa.”
The guests applauded and laughed as Charles Banks retrieved a full ice bucket from behind the podium and handed it to Hollis and Lisa. “Congratulations.”
Lisa said, “Thank you, Charles. This is a dubious honor but a nice bucket.”
Hollis found himself holding the dripping ice bucket.
Banks said into the microphone, “Now for more serious business, may I present Colonel Hollis’ aide, Captain Ed O’Shea.”
Captain O’Shea, carrying a small parcel, took over the podium from Banks, who stepped aside. O’Shea said, “It has indeed been a rare opportunity to work for such a talented officer.” O’Shea made a few more salutatory remarks, then said, “On behalf of the military attachés here and their staffs, I would like to present Colonel Hollis with a farewell gift.” O’Shea opened the box he was carrying and withdrew a small plaster bust of Napoleon. O’Shea said, “Colonel, this is courtesy of the French embassy. As you pass from duty station to duty station and wherever your service to your country takes you, let this be a reminder of your time here in Moscow and of your last interesting weekend in the Russian countryside.”
Hollis held out the ice bucket, and O’Shea stuck the plaster bust in it.
The guests applauded, and there was some subdued laughter. Hollis assumed there were at least a dozen versions of the itinerary-violation weekend going around, and most of them somehow included Borodino, hence the Napoleon bust. Hollis said to O’Shea, “I’m very grateful for the memento, and I’ll have it on my desk when I write your last efficiency report.”
The military personnel in the crowd laughed.
O’Shea smiled weakly and introduced Kay Hoffman, who climbed onto the platform carrying a beautifully hand-painted balalaika. Kay Hoffman smiled at Lisa and said into the microphone, “In all my years with the United States Information Service, I have rarely encountered an individual who had such a profound knowledge of the host country, its language, its culture, and its people.” Kay Hoffman delivered a short tribute to her assistant, then said, “On behalf of everyone in the USIS here and also in our Leningrad consulate, we would like to present to Lisa this going-away present. Obviously this is not a joke gift, but a very special piece of Russian art, which, though it was difficult to come by, was worth the search because it is passing into the hands of a very fine lady who appreciates such native craftsmanship. Lisa…” Kay Hoffman held out the balalaika. “May I present you with this exquisite electric samovar.”
The joke caught everyone off guard, and there was a silence followed by a burst of laughter and applause.
Kay Hoffman continued, “You loosen these three strings here and shove them into an electrical outlet. The tea goes in this big hole here. I’m not sure where you put the water.”
Lisa took the balalaika. Kay embraced and kissed her, saying in her ear, “Don’t let that stud get away, honey.”
Lisa winked and wiped a tear from her eye. She said, “I don’t play it — the samovar — but I love its music, and I promise to learn to play it in memory of the thoughtfulness of my coworkers.”
James Martindale stepped back to the podium carrying a display easel on which was mounted a blowup of a newspaper article written in Russian. Martindale said, “For those of you who want the truth about the unfortunate incident that has brought us here, I direct your attention to the Soviet free press. For your convenience we’ve had the Pravda article blown up and mounted. Pravda, as you know, means ‘truth,’ and Izvestia means ‘news,’ and I’ve heard it said that there is no news in the Truth and no truth in the News. Nevertheless I’ll read you the English translation of this incisive Soviet reporting.” Martindale read from a piece of paper. “‘The Soviet Foreign Ministry has announced the expulsions of S. Hollis and L. Rhodes, a man and a woman, American embassy employees, for activities inconsistent with their diplomatic status. This is yet another example of American agents hiding behind their diplomatic immunity to engage in anti-Soviet activities. However, the organs of State Security had been watching this S. Hollis and L. Rhodes for some time and finally put an end to their abuse of Soviet hospitality.’” Martindale looked up from the translation and shook his finger at Hollis and Lisa. “Bad, bad.”