It snowed the night before, not a heavy one but still it added to the existing piles that covered the city of Gorky. A new layer of white now blanketed the black grime and detrius there from the soot of fireplaces and the exhaust of cars that drove along the main street.
There were work gangs armed with shovels, working to clear the streets and sidewalks.. Snow fell with such frequency here that cleanup was an endless cycle.
The temperature had gone up slightly, and a light rain was now drizzling down, creating a heavy fog that drifted along the sidewalks, moving and creeping as if it had a life of it's own.
A young blond man stopped for a moment, a little overheated from having briskly walked through Minin Square. He wasn't that far from his apartment building, but just didn't want to go inside and face the torments of the oafs with whom he shared his living quarters.
Though what he was was wearing never seemed sufficient even on days like today. His woolen coat, black cap and a ragged scarf wrapped around his throat were meager outerwear.
Beneath he was clothed in a cotton shirt, a worn sweater and a pair of trousers that had seen better days. His black leather boots had soles worn thin and pieces of cardboard added inside helped protect his feet along with his thick woolen socks that were in need of darning, again.
Illya had to look the part of a poor student, though his job was spying on the scientists who worked withing the confines of the closed city; yet in reality his look was not all for show. His stipend wasn't much and not always paid on time. Often he had to lie and steal to make ends meet; all in a days work for a spy he suppose, and he figured it was good practice as he rationalized his behavior.
He was trained to be a thief and liar, and might as well make use of his talents to benefit his hungry belly. He did, however, make a point of not taking from anyone who was too poor, that he couldn't bring himself to do.
Again he lived communally as he had in Moskva, with a bunch of louts who could care less if he ate or not. A few of them seemed to resent that he was a student, though it was merely his cover, a fact they did not know. Still, they took joy in tormenting him; making sure there was barely enough left in the dinner pot for him to eat when he would return home late in the afternoon or early evening.
"Come Comrade Potamkin," they only knew Illya by his assumed identity," find something in your books to make more food magically appear for you! You do not work for it, so why do you deserve to eat! " There was no use trying to argue with them, other than reminding them he paid to live there just as they did, and his money went toward the communal meals. They'd simply ignore him.
He had to avoid a physical confrontation, as he could not risk blowing his cover….even though his physical training in hand to hand combat would work quite well against them. Still a skinny bookworm being able to trounce them soundly would make for too many questions and raise suspicions; word would travel fast. Evengi Boroslav, his handler, would not be pleased, nor would his superiors.
So he would put up with it as his flat mates would tease him unmercifully as he scraped the pot with a large wooden spoon, coming up with barely enough to fill his bowl. He would water down the turnips, cabbage and potatoes down with a little vodka to give it some zest….at least the drink was plentiful and there was not a shortage of that, ever. There was never any meat left in the pot, not even grizzle or fat, that they would never leave him.
Sometimes Evgeni, who lived on the first floor of the same apartment building would feel sorry for him and give him a meal now and then. Illya was a good operative and he didn't want to lose the young agent to illness, much less starvation. Still the intelligence services had a method to their madness; they wanted to keep their operatives lean, hungry and always on edge.
Two of young Kuryakin's flat mates were a married couple who had the privledge of a room of their own, allowing them a modicum of privacy for the making new Soviet citizens. Illya would lay awake at night in his cot listening to the squeaking of their mattress springs, and he being a healthy young male full of hormones, found it to be torment.
When he could afford it, he would asuage his amorous needs with a lady of the evening, though he was loath to do that. If anyone ever mentioned prostitution, they were told such a thing did not exist in the Soviet Union...yet it did. The people believed what they were told.
But to young Kuryakin it was very real and was a last resort, which at times seemed a better alternative manual method to relieving one's sexual tension. Having a girlfriend was an impossibilty, he simply had no time or really an opportunity to meet someone.
As part of his job, he was always confined to a listening room, wearing headphones while he recorded the mundane converstions of the scientists he monitored, day after day, month after month. Such was his life and his job.
.
Looking like a dark shadow in the mist; Illya stopped on the street corner, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. They were strong, his Turkish blend, and after several tries to light a match he finally succeeded; though his first drag made him cough.
"Ey vy_hey you!"
He heard a woman's voice call to him, echoing against the piles of snow that lined the street.
Illya looked up, seeing a girl with bright golden hair leaning on her windowsell, her bare shoulders draped with crocheted red shawl, yet her white chemise was unbuttoned, revealing her cleavage and most likely a pair of young perky breasts.
"Vy ishchete nekotoryye kompanii_you looking for some company?"
"YA boleye zhazhdushchiye pishchi, chem kompanii_I am more hungry for food than company," he called back to her.
"You are hungry?"
"I thought I just said that," he took another long puff from his cigarette.
"I have blini and you have sausage, perhaps we can strike a deal."
"Sausage?" He was thinking too literally."OH," he blurted out, finally understanding.
He asked her the price, inquiring if the sex came with the blini, and she laughed at him.
"That was very funny. I like you."
It took a second to realize his little unintentional play on words, and shrugged to himself, figureing why not. Taking care of two needs for one price was more than resonable. He pinched the end of his cigarette with his fingers, not to waste it and tucked it behind his ear.
Walking up the two flights to her apartment; he stopped before knocking on the door and tucked his Tokarev pistol into his coat pocket. A floorboard creaked and the door opened unexpectedly and he was immediately let inside.
The place was simple and sparcely furnished, but surprisingly spacious, he thought so for one person.
"You live alone?" He asked, removing his outerwear, and pulling his sweater over his head.
The girl was pretty, now that he could see her close up, her blonde hair falling in ringlets around her shoulders, and her eyes were quite wide, brown and doe-like. Her lips were pouting, and definitely kissable. All in all, she was much nicer looking that the few whores he'd known with their painted faces and common ways.
"Are you kidding? A place like this all on my own. No, the people I share this with are all at the base...today is just my day off. We all work on the submarines."
"What do you do there?" He asked as she began to unbutton his shirt, but she stopped, holding out her hand for the money.
He gave her half, "The rest after we are done."
She helped him from his shirt, realizing how painfully thin he was when she saw his sunken chest, still his muscles seemed quite strong. She said nothing.
"Fair enough," she smiled, looking into his blue eyes. He was handsome, especially when she saw his beautiful blond hair after his hat had been removed.
"To answer your question; I work on the electronic circuitry. I have a degree in electronics from University." There was a note of pride in her voice.
His eyebrows went up, impressed at her background.
"What kind of electronic work do you do there?" His training kicked in as he probed to see what she would reveal.
"Come now Comrade, you know I cannot discuss such things."
"Yes I apologize, that was thoughtless of me to ask," he answered, his voice husky now as he watched her slipping from her shift. He was pleased not only with what he saw, but with the fact that she had passed his test. There would be no reporting her to his superiors...for now.
She leaned forward, kissing him and he responded; his hands wandering around her body. He was led to her bed in the next room where everything heated up very quickly.
They were done a short while later as it was sex for the sake of sex, no private emotions associated with love-making, just carnal indulgence at it's basest level.
Illya didn't care, his needs were filled, she was getting paid for her time and that was all that mattered. They were both willing participants.
She got up from the bed, wrapping herself in a faded red Chinese style robe. No doubt once a prized possession.
"And now for the blini I promised you," she said, heading to the kitchen; she felt sorry for this handsome young man.
"So are you a student?" She called to him.
"Da...how did you know?" Illya asked as he dressed himself.
"Your clothing, and the fact that you are so skinny. I bet you live with a bunch of bullies who do not let you get enough to eat."
"And how would you know such a thing?" He laughed but felt a little nervous as her guess hit too close to home. He began to wonder if she were an agent as well.
"Hey remember I was a student once too, and I do have flat mates now. People are just so afraid, and are out for themselves."
"And this other occupation of yours?"
"I do it sometimes to earn extra money. Times are lean, and we must do what we must. Why do you think I would submit myself to this? I am not stupid, but it earns me a little extra money to keep ahead. That is what it is all about nowadays."
Illya decided he would definitely not report her, though prostitution was illegal, most people turned a blind eye to it and she was not revealing any State secrets from the Naval base.
"Come," she called him to the kitchen.
He was surprised to see a samovar in the middle of the table, along with a big plate of blini, served with sourcream and a surprise... smoked salmon.
"Surely you cannot afford to feed me this? I am a stranger to you, why would you be so generous?"
She smiled, pouring a glass of hot tea for him. "A deal is a deal, and besides you really look as though you need it. Now eat!"
He gave her no further argument and savored every morsel until the plates were empty. She filled his glass with more tea.
"You do not eat?" He asked realizing he'd wolfed it all down by himself.
"Already did. "What is your name?" She asked, leaning on her hand as she rested her elbow on the table, studying his face.
"Illya, and yours?"
"Zinaida."
"Thank you for your, ummm, generosity," he actually smiled.
She suddently reached out, stroking his face with her hand and with the other, she put his money in front of him. "Stay the night with me?" There was a sudden loneliness in her voice.
"What about your flat mates?"
"It is none of their business."
"So will you? I will make you breakfast in the morning before I leave for work."
Illya inhaled deeply through his nostrils. "All right, your offer of breakfast is tempting, but being able to lay with you again is more so. You will however, keep the money...after all a deal is a deal," he parroted back her own words. He put the rest he owed her on the table.
Zinaida laughed, "Fair enough."
He spent the night, this time making love to Zinaida, and though some people might have called this a one-night stand, for a brief time Illya called it paradise. Laying in a comfortable bed next to a lovely woman, for once with his belly full was a contentment he'd not felt in a long time...not since the month he'd spent with the Kubanskiye Cossaks.*
Zinaida played with his his hair, twirling it in her finger as she stared into his eyes. They were supposed to be the mirrors into the soul but not with this one….she sensed secrets in there. Yet all she knew at the moment was how gentle he was, there was a hunger in him all right, but not for food. What it was, she couldn't tell for sure, but she hoped what they had that night was some of what he craved.
"Illya, I will pray that you will find what you seek," she whispered.
"Nyet, do not waste your time." He saw the hurt in her eyes, and softened his answer."Do not say a prayer for me now, save it until the morning after." He lied.
In the early pre-dawn hours they at ate a hearty breakfast of more blini with sour cream, hot bowls of kashi, along with plenty of hot tea and then it was time for him to leave. She would be off to catch the transport out to the Naval base as well.
Zanaida said nothing as he gave her a peck goodbye on the cheek. She knew she'd never see him again, and watched out the window as he walked down the darkened street, his blond hair shining under the light of the street lamps.
She blessed herself, saying that prayer she had saved for him…
* ref to "Zaporoche"