He nodded. “I can understand that but that isn’t what matters.”
“Oh. What is it that matters?”
“What matters is that she had those thoughts and enough people felt the same way to put them on the Statue of Liberty.” He turned his head to look at her. “Americans mean those words even if they don’t live up to them.”
“They’re very you, Andrei.”
“In what way?”
“A great feeling for humanity and an inability to face the basic facts of life.”
“What basic facts of life?”
She laughed softly. “Another poet said it better than I can. A Scot who married an American. Robert Louis Stevenson.”
“Go on.”
“He said—‘Saints are the sinners who keep on going.’ They were contemporaries, Emma Lazarus and him.” She paused. “But you’re absolutely right. What matters is that that was how people wanted it to be.” She shrugged and smiled. “We’ll get it right in the end—you’ll see.”
“Thanks for the photographs and all the trouble you …”
She stamped her foot, “Don’t say that. Don’t be like that.”
“Like what?”
“Don’t be so … so grateful. I enjoyed doing the photographs for you.”
“What can I do to please you?”
For long moments she looked at him, smiling. An affectionate smile as she shook her head slowly. “You know, Andrei, what makes the difference between most people and an artist is that most people look without seeing.” She paused. “And I guess that some people listen without hearing.” She took his arm. “Let’s go upstairs and eat.” She laughed as she squeezed his arm. “Just an omelette and then some strawberries and cream.”
They had finished their meal and were playing chess when the bell rang and when he opened the street door Aarons had hesitated for a moment when he saw that it was Serov. Then he invited him in and upstairs he had introduced him to Tania Orlovsky. With the introductions over she went to the kitchen to make them coffee and when she came back with a tray Aarons said, “My friend here wants me to meet his fiancée. They both live in Washington. I thought we might all go to Sam’s club on Saturday evening to celebrate.”
“A good idea, Andrei.” She looked at Serov. “Do you like jazz, Mr. Serov?”
Serov smiled. “Is ‘Tiger Rag’ jazz?”
She laughed. “Kind of. We’ll get him to play it for you and your girl. What does she do?”
“She works in a small restaurant as a waitress.”
“Is that where you met her?”
“Yes. I used to eat there every evening.” He laughed. “I still do.”
“D’you speak Russian, Mr. Serov?”
“Yes. I was born Russian.”
“How do you like Washington?”
“Better than Moscow but not as good as Paris.”
“You know Paris well?”
“Yes. I lived there for many years.” He shrugged. “That’s where I first met Andrei.” He smiled. “We were just very young men in those days. Not very wise in the ways of the world.”
She laughed, glancing at Andrei. “I don’t think he’s changed much.”
Serov stood up. “Shall we come here first on Saturday, Andrei?”
“Yes. Come about seven and then we’ll all go to the club.”
After Serov had gone they finished the game of chess and as Aarons put the pieces back in the box she said, “Does he know about you, Andrei?”
He nodded. “Yes. He was part of it, way back. But he defected. He worked for an OSS network during the war. He’s been very lonely over here. I’m glad he’s found a girl-friend.”
“What does he do in Washington?”
“Works for the CIA.”
“You’re kidding.”
“No. He just works on documents for the French desk.”
“And you trust him not to tell them about you?”
“Yes.”
“And Moscow—do they know that you’re in contact with him?”
“No. I haven’t told them.”
“Why not?”
He shrugged. “We were friends, comrades.” He smiled. “We shared that dream. He no longer believes it—but he’s still a friend. I understand.”
“What do you understand?”
“When people try to make it a better world for us to live in they will make mistakes. Serov was too close to Moscow. He saw the mistakes and in the end, for him, the mistakes were more real than the dream.”
“And why aren’t you affected the same way?” she said quietly.
“Because I wasn’t so close to the mistakes and because the dream for me was for the whole world not just for the Soviet Union. It’s like those words on the Statue of Liberty in my photograph. I can’t forget them. I love them. And the words of the Constitution. They dreamed of the same world. The Americans have made terrible mistakes too.”
“But there’s a difference, Andrei. A big difference.”
He smiled. “Tell me.”
“The Americans admit their mistakes. People can say fully what they think. There’s no knock on the door in the middle of the night. And no Gulag camps.”
“What about Senator McCarthy and his committee who have trials by the newspapers and television. And the negroes in the south who are harassed by the police just because they are black. Is that justice any more than Moscow’s justice?”
“Do you really believe that there’s nothing to choose between them? Millions of people come here for a new life, a better life. Are they all fools? And how many people leave their homes for a new life in the Soviet Union?”
For a few moments Aarons was silent and then he said, “No. They’re not the same. America is a better place to live. But there weren’t twenty million Americans killed in the war and the country wasn’t devastated by an invading army. I do what I do because I want the Soviet people to have good lives too.”
“So why doesn’t Moscow collaborate with the Americans, and make it so. Why are we the enemy?”
“Because there are people on both sides who have a vested interest in making it so.” He paused.
