When he had washed and shaved he went back into the living room. She was sitting at the small table drinking her coffee and she pointed to the cup she had left for him. There was a sandwich on a plate beside the cup. Cheese and tomato.
“Tell me about your family, Andrei. I heard that you had married a very pretty French girl. Are you still married?”
He laughed. “Yes. Why are you so surprised?”
She shrugged. “The comrades don’t make very good husbands. Especially the Russians.”
“What’s wrong with Russians?”
“They may be OK in Russia but once they get to America they get the itch for some smart little chick and they’re off.”
“Have you met many like that?”
“Too many. Like Spanish wine you Russians don’t travel well.”
“And you? Are you married?”
“I was. I got a divorce as soon as I came over here.” She paused. “Do you have children?”
“No.”
She smiled. “No hostages to fortune, eh?”
“Exactly.”
“You’ve got brothers and sisters, haven’t you?”
“One brother, one sister.”
“Do you see them at all?”
He smiled. “Every day. We live in the same house.”
“Do they work for the Party?”
“Let’s say they do anything I ask them to do.”
“They don’t want you to go to the embassy. It’s under constant surveillance by FBI agents.”
“Where do they want me to go?”
“It’s a house not far from here, at the other end of the street market.” She stood up. “We can walk there and you can see the market. It’s for locals, not for tourists.”
The Mercado de Sonora in Calle San Nicolas was known locally as “the Witches Market” because it sold those strange things that were supposed to have magic powers.
She pointed out items on the stalls as Aarons stopped and asked her what various things were for.
“The bunches of garlic are to protect your home from envy.”
“And those dead birds?”
She smiled. “They’re dried humming-birds to make a man successful with women. And the candles beside them are good-luck or bad-luck candles. The soap in the basket there is to make you rich.”
“And those live animals in the cages at the back?”
“They’re for sacrifices.”
“My God, these people must be crazy.”
“Everybody’s crazy, Andrei. Haven’t you learned that? What about all those Russian peasants and their icons and my people who think that killing bulls in public is entertainment.”
He stopped and looked at her. “You know, I don’t even know your name.”
She shrugged. “It’s Maria. Maria Consuela Garcia.”
“What made you change?”
“Change what?”
“You were so enthusiastic in Moscow and now you sound cynical.”
“Maybe I am. Maybe I’ve learned a few lessons as the years went by.”
“What lessons did you learn?”
She sighed, looking away at the people at the market stalls. And then she looked back at him. “I’ve learned that no religion and no political credo can work.”
“Why not?”
She shrugged and smiled. “Because people are people. They want to live their lives their own way.”
“Even if it makes their lives worse?”
“Yes. Even if it makes their lives worse. They don’t think it does. And I’m inclined to agree with them.”
“Have you said this to our people?”
“Of course not. Or I shouldn’t be here, I’d be in some labour camp. And what kind of Party is it where a Party member can’t speak his mind?”
For a moment Aarons was silent, then he touched her shoulder gently for a moment as he said, “As far as I’m concerned I haven’t heard what you said.” He shook his head slowly and said quietly, “The Nazis are killing our people—tens of thousands every day. We can’t desert them now.”
She opened her mouth to say something then closed it and took his arm, leading him into the narrow alley that led to the avenue.
The medium-sized villa was surrounded by a white-washed wall and there was a gardener spraying the flower-beds from a hose. The Mexican didn’t look at them as the girl led Aarons up the stone steps. The door of the house was open and gave onto a hall with a marble floor.
Lensky smiled as he held out his hand before kissing him Russian fashion on each cheek as he hugged Aarons before standing back and looking at him. He looked as if he were about to say something and then changed his mind.
“There’s a room upstairs. Let’s go up.”
The room was quite small but expensively furnished. The two armchairs were made of cane with thick soft cushions on the seat and back.
As he sat down Lensky said, “Any idea why we wanted to see you?”
“No. I just got the message to come here to Mexico City.”
“We seem to have a problem, Andrei.”
“What problem is that?”
“You know Melnikov at our Washington embassy?”
“I’ve heard of him but I’ve never met him. My orders were to avoid any contact with the embassy unless it was absolutely vital.”
“He provides the political situation reports to Moscow. Your reports and his reports don’t agree.”
“About what?”
“The American attitude to the Soviet Union and the war.”
“What’s his opinion?”
“He thinks the Americans are dragging their feet so that the Germans can go on slaughtering Russians.”
“I think he’s wrong but it’s a legitimate point of view. I’ve told local parties to agitate for a more urgent response. But the Americans have only been in the war for a few months. They’re calling up tens of thousands of men, the factories are working day and night to make tanks, planes and ships.”
“Moscow prefer his view.”
Aarons frowned. “It doesn’t matter whose view it is. What matters is the truth—the reality.”
Lensky smiled. “Don’t be naive, Andrei. It suits Moscow to think that way. Great sacrifices are being made. They need a …” he paused.
Aarons said, “A scapegoat maybe.”
“Don’t spoil your record, Andrei. Everybody in Moscow admires your work. You’ve got a wonderful record. Why spoil it?”
“You mean they don’t want the truth if it doesn’t suit them?”
“That’s for Moscow to decide.”
“So what do you want me to do?”
“Moscow accepts that
