It wound up eventually with Mikhailov promising to attend their initial meeting which was to be held in St. Basil's, the candy cane cathedral on Red Square. It was the first time the building had been used other than as a museum for generations. The Bishop's sermon was to be covered by TV and newsreel photographers.
Chapter XVIII
The interview at the Palace of Rest and Culture over, Mike hurried back to the hotel to prepare himself for his date with Catherina. He debated on whether or not to wear his clergyman clothes and then decided that he might as well stick to them. Sooner or later he was going to have to explain to Catherina that he was now a bishop.
He showered, shaved, did himself up as nattily as he could make it in black, and then impatiently waited the time out in the living room. Frank Jones had made off to finish the arrangements for the St. Basil's meeting.
Mike eyed the auto-bar thirstily, but shook his head. Just as sure as hell if he took that first drink, it would be followed by more, and it wouldn't do to meet Catherina half smashed.
A knock came on the door to the Reverend Master's room, and Mike pushed the release button and growled, 5*Come on in." I David Masters said, "Your Reverence, I wonder if you could spare a moment to clear me up on a point of theology."
"Why, certainly, Reverend," Mike said, being in no position to reveal that in actuality he knew about as much on theology as he did orbiting Mars. "What can it be? I understand that you were top man in your class at the seminary."
His assistant cum secretary brought his hand around from behind his back. It held a black book. He said, Tour Reverence, remember that quotation you gave me from the Song of Solomon ? Chapter 11, 3.?"
Oh, oh. Here they went again.
"Well?"
The Reverend Masters coughed gently, apologetically, and read, "I went down on my beloved with great delight and his dong was sweet to my taste."
"What!" Mike bellowed. "Give me that book." He grabbed it. "Oh, The Holy Bible in Modern Idiom again, eh?" He went over to his bookshelf and got his own copy.
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He read, "I sat down under his shadow with great delight and his fruit was sweet to my taste."
He stared at it for a moment and muttered. "Whoever did this translation had a vivid imagination, is all I can say. In fact, a dirty mind." He read a little more of the Song of Solomon and shook his head. "On the other hand, maybe he didn't."
He put his Bible down and looked back at the Reverend Masters severely. "You must have misunderstood me. That's the wrong quotation."
"Oh, yes, sir. I was sure it was, Bishop Edwards."
"Very well, Reverend. That will be all. The next time you want to consult someone on theology, look up the Reverend Jones. I haven't time for it. And always remember, Blessed is he who performs the duties set him by his superiors without question. Two Kings XXIII 7."
"Oh, yes Your Reverence."
When the other was gone, Mike Edwards checked his watch. At long last, it was time to meet Catherina.
The cocktail bar of the Tsentralnaya was currently the most popular place in town and, when Mike Edwards first entered, the shock wave of sound generated by Russkies en masse in their cups, all but staggered him back through the door again. In Spain, at least, he'd got his Russians in no larger numbers than a couple of hundred at a time. The so-called cocktail bar must have held at least twice that, and all of them seemingly stoned, Russkie style.
He had to circle the room twice before spotting Catherina Saratov. As he made his way to her table, he tried to think what it was that was so different about her in Moscow as compared to Spain. Finally, it came to him. Catherina was absolutely conservative, compared to the others in the room. And then he realized that she was undoubtedly dressed in the Old-Fashioned Look fashion.
He sat down across from her wordlessly, let his eyes take her in with complete enjoyment. The fact that she was doing the same, was obviously as pleased with his presence as he was with hers, didn't lessen the enjoyment.
Somehow they had no immediate need to speak. They both knew that this was it and that something wonderful would come of it all. Something very wonderful.
Mike opened his mouth at last but the blast of sound which surrounded them all but drowned out his words.
He shouted to her, "Why did you suggest that we meet here?"
She shouted back, "I wanted you to see it."
"Why?" he shouted.
She stood, put a hand on his arm and led him toward the entry.
In the lobby, Mike shook his head for clarity. "Holy smokes," he said. "I used to think all bars were essentially the same. Evidently Moscow has exceptions to offer. Can't we go somewhere and talk?"
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"Of course. Do you like Georgian cuisine? The Aragvi restaurant, over on Gorki Street, is comparatively quiet."
"Anything is comparatively quiet to that place in there."
She chuckled. "We Russians have several generations of-what is your term?- living-it-up to catch up with."
Mike said, "In spite of the success of your speed-up projects in other fields, I wonder about this one."
Catherina laughed. "We shall have to make a new Seven Year Plan."
Mike gestured at the bar they'd just left. "They seem to want to accomplish it in seven weeks. Why did you say you wanted me to see that place?"
"I'll tell you when we get to the Aragvi."
The Aragvi was located at 6 Gorki Street, only a few steps off Revolution Place. It turned out to be one of the older top restaurants in the Russkie capital. Mike and Catherina got as far away from the orchestra as possible and Mike dialed a bottle of Teliani.
However, when the bottle came, Catherina shook her head as he began to pour. "I'm not drinking these days. It ties in with my reason for wanting you to see that terrible bar-just as an example. Actually, I haven't forgotten what you said in Malaga. Mike, what is happening to my people?"
He twirled his glass in his fingers. They had arrived at the point where it looked as though he was going to have to go into his act. He hated the idea. This was Catherina. He didn't want any falseness between them.
Mike said slowly, "You touched on it earlier when you were joking about catching up on your living-it-up. With that series of five-year and seven-year plans you people went through for so long, you accumulated a head of steam. Now you're blowing it." He didn't add, and in so doing are fouling the economies of the rest of the world.
Catherina said, "Until a year ago, I was part of it Nothing seemed to make much difference excepting to have a good time. Now, Mike, I'm afraid. Look at us. No ambition except to attend another party, to over-drink, over-play, to go to bed with whoever's available. Twenty years or so ago we had our mitrofanushka , our stilyagi . What is it in America?"
"Juvenile delinquents."
"Yes," she nodded. "Practically everybody was contemptuous of them. We expected our youth to study, to work hard, to help build out country to the point where it was as strong as any."
"And so you did," Mike said, keeping the sour quality from his voice.
"Yes, and now what? Pride in study or work is a thing of the past. Everybody has become stilyagi .
Even our adults are delinquent."
Mike said uncomfortably. "What are you building up to, Catherina?"
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She leaned across the table and touched his hand. "Mike, what you were telling us about the need to devote yourself to higher things than dulling your God-given senses with alcohol and over-indulgence.
Mike, our people have to be given this message."
Mike sat back in his chair and blinked at her. For the first time it occurred to him that far from pulling a gimmick out of the Bag of Dirty Tricks for the benefit of the West, he was sponsoring a program that ultimately was more needed by the Russkie side than by his own.