The halls were bustling at the Offices of the Duma. Russia hummed under his breath as he strolled past the legislators' offices, people avoiding him without a second glance. Four times he stopped in front of an office, popped his head in, rummaged in his coat and pulled out a small, stapped two-way radio. The owners of each of the offices took no notice as Russia hung the two-way radio on the offices' coat racks next to heavy autumn jackets, and then wandered off still humming his tune.
"We are in agreement, then." Russia's boss looked at each man and woman sitting in the small conference room; officers of the army, members of the Duma, the Prime Minister. "We shall bring Russia back to its former glory!"
"I support you, of course, President," a general said gruffly. "And the armed forces shall support you as well." He leaned back in his chair. "However, there are younger officers, those who came of age in the 90s…I fear they will rebel unless I have your absolute certainty that this is what Russia wants."
"I assure you, General, Russia wants nothing more than the stability we once had." The boss smiled and folded his thin hands together. "And those who truly prefer this current Russia will be brought over to our side by the unification of all Russians. Those who were once lost shall be found again."
The general and the boss locked eyes for a moment. The general nodded smartly.
"Very well, then."
The boss stood, and his partners stood with him.
"We have almost reached the peak, my friends," the boss said. "I will contact you soon."
The partners left the room silently, not looking at one another. The boss watched them leave with his tight smile.
"I do not feel so unstable," Russia said from the corner he sat in while the meeting was in progress. He stood with hands in his pockets. "A little money worries is not so bad."
"You would say that," the boss said absently, stacking papers. "You have no perspective."
Russia's eyebrows rose. He smiled.
"That is why you are such a good leader," he said. "You always know my faults."
"Don't joke!" the boss snapped. "We are close to bringing you back to Glory, Russia. We shall be an empire again!"
"Something to celebrate," Russia said, eyes flashing.
"It is," the boss said, narrowing his eyes and thumping the table lightly with his fist. "You should be proud!"
"I am always proud." Russia shrugged and walked toward the door, hands still in his pockets.
"I expect no interference from you!"
"Of course not," Russia said, still walking.
"And no distractions either, like that…that little girl you've been seeing."
Russia paused at the door. His teeth clenched beneath his smile.
"Girl?" he asked, cocking his head.
"Yes, that little foreign girl," the boss continued as he threw the papers in his briefcase and snapped it shut. His annoyance seeped into every word. "Don't deny it, I've already run a check and surveillance."
"Ah! Spying on me! That takes me back –"
"I don't care what you do for recreation," the boss said, sliding past Russia out the door. "Just see that it does not distract from your duties."
Russia's cheeks colored.
"Duty is always first," he said.
"Good." The boss walked off quickly, his pace level, his moves efficient. Russia narrowed his eyes at the boss's back. He pulled a two-way radio out of his pocket, turned it off, and then stuffed it back in the pocket.
"Always first," he muttered.
The streets were filled with midday traffic, sidewalks bustling with people. Russia walked easily through the crowd, looking over the heads of the pedestrians. He was focused on the lingerers; the window shoppers, those that stopped to tie their shoes, the man with crutches, holding his hand out to the passing people. At last he spotted his prey leaning against a wall next to the large windows of a grocery store. The man on the wall puffed on a cigarette, his face a mask of boredom. Russia sidled up to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. The man started.
"Hey, what's –" he looked up. His face filled with joy. "Oh -!"
"Yes," Russia said simply. "Perhaps it is time to go?"
"But I have to watch –"
"Unnecessary," Russia said, removing his hand. The man nodded and wandered off in a stupor. Russia watched him go with a satisfied smile.
"Ivan!" He swung his head around. Emma was walking toward him, bags dripping off her arms, beaming.
"Oh…"
"What an odd coincidence!" she said, leaning on the wall her stalker had just occupied. "I didn't think I'd see you 'til tomorrow, you know, at the tea room." She let her arms sag. "But I saw a couple things at the store that reminded me of you so I – oh, am I interrupting something?" She cocked her head. "You look like you're somewhere else right now."
"No," Russia said. He stared at her unflinching for a second before reaching down and untangling most of the bags from her arms. "Your wrists are red," he said lifting the bags into his hands.
"Yeah, I guess I bought out the store." She let the bags slip from her grip and rocked back as her body was freed from its burden. Her cheeks reddened a bit. "Well. Um. Do you. Want to follow me home then?"
"That would make the most sense," Russia said with a smile.
"Lyudmila!" Emma called as she unlocked the door. She pushed it open, removed her cap and fluffed up her hair, kicked off her shoes, tossed her heavy jacket on the coat hook by the door. "Mila! Mil – no, I don't think she's here."
She paused, blushing again, and ushered Russia through the door. He leaned under the doorframe and plodded to the kitchen table, plunking the bags down upon it. He shook out his hands a bit, and looked at Emma, smiling.
"Well!" Emma said, a little too loudly. She cringed as she slammed the door behind her. "Um. You should have tea!"
"Oh, I do not –"
"Tea it is!" Emma grabbed the electric kettle and filled it, slammed it down on its base and flicked it on. As she rummaged through the cabinets for a couple of mugs, Russia shuffed off his coat, placed it on a kitchen chair and walked around the tiny living space; brushed a hand over the old stuffed sofa; squatted in front of the tiny TV and read the titles of the DVDs; stood and leaned over a bookcase, pulling a finger across the varied spines of the novels.
"Too much Dostoevsky," he said. "War and Peace, but no Anna Karenina. And where is Gogol?"
"Oh, we are not having THAT argument again," Emma griped as she spooned tea into an infuser and tossed it in her ceramic tea pot. The kettle popped, and she quickly poured the nearly boiling water over the tea. "You and your 19th century masters!"
Russia shook his head, pulling out a copy of The Idiot.
"I simply do not understand your love of him," he said, flipping through the pages. "Dostoevsky would have been nothing if not for his wife and his crushing debt. Gogol -"
"Gogol was a crazed ascetic, and Tolstoy was an upper-class snob," Emma said, pouring tea into the mugs. She walked to Russia and placed his tea on the open book, nose in the air in mock superiority. "Dostoevsky was the working man's novelist! Not to mention entirely sexy."
Russia raised a brow as he took his mug and replaced the book on the shelf.
"He was bald."
"A common affliction," Emma quickly countered.
"And consumptive."
"A minor issue."
"That killed him."
"Well." Emma shrugged, placed her tea on the table and began unpacking her groceries. "I still say that Crime and Punishment is better than anything that Tolstoy ever wrote and YES I am including War and Peace DON'T look at me like that, I am allowed my opinion."
"True," Russia said, hovering over the table, watching as she swiftly removed cans and boxes from bags, lined them up on the table and placed them at their predesignated locations in cabinets around the kitchen. "But you are not entitled to accuracy. Do you want help?"
"No, no, I am almost done," Emma said, rolling her eyes as she unpacked the last of her groceries - a brown baggie that held two pirozhki, and a large bottle of tarhun.
"Lucky that I got two!" Emma said, holding the bag out to Russia. He hesitated, then picked out a meat pie. Emma gave him a smile, quickly grabbed two glasses from a cabinet, poured some of the bright green, carbonated liquid into both, slid a glass across the table and sat. Again Russia hesitated before pulling out a chair and joining Emma. He sipped at his tea, paused, then sipped at the tarhun, eyeing the pie.
"Are you alright, Ivan?" Emma said. She took a bite and cheerfully continued, "I've seen 'oo wolf down tree o' those in one go!"
"You have told me before that you are studying in Moscow only until summer," Russia said, picking up the pie.
Emma swallowed, then swallowed again.
"Yes, that's true," she said, glancing at him. "The program lasts a year, that's it."
"And then you have one more year of studies before you graduate?" Russia bit into his pie, bit again, and swallowed. Emma's knees shook a little.
"Yep, one more year 'til I'm free! Well, free to flounder for a job, heh."
"You'll be a professor," he said, raising his brows. Russia finished off the pie in two more bites and gulped his tea. Emma sipped nervously at her tarhun.
"Yeah, that's the hope," she said.
"I wonder." Russia looked up at the ceiling. "I wonder if a university here will take you."
Emma turned a bright red.
"Oh! Well, that would - I mean, maybe - "
"Just a thought," Russia said, placing his mug on the table.
"Well, it would be nice I suppose," Emma stammered. "Just…so very far away from home…"
"But you love Russia, yes? Enough to, what did you say…live in poverty forever?"
"Russian literature," Emma said, fiddling with her bun. "I love Russian literature. Russia…well, it's strange to LOVE a country, isn't it?"
Russia shot her a sharp look.
"What, you do not love your own nation?"
"I dunno," Emma shrugged. "I mean, Australia… there have been so many mistakes. BAD ones, you know. How can you love something that has done such horrible things?"
"You love your mother," Russia said, leaning toward her. "And yet, she is not perfect."
"My mother never attempted to deny an entire culture's right to exist," Emma intoned with a flat look.
"Well then, that shall make it easier if a Russian university asks you to join them!" Russia said with a nod and a smile.
"I suppose, but…" Emma sagged a little. "I'd miss home very, very much."
"Ah, so you DO love Australia," Russia said. "So much that you cannot leave him."
"Him?"
"There. Not for long." He drummed on the table. "You, Emma, can love a nation. And if you love one, you can love another."
"Listen, Russia is great," Emma said quickly. "There are bits and pieces I really, really like. The literature, obviously. The food, even though it's a bit bland and so much garlic! The people, the culture…the movies, the humor…"
"That IS Russia," he said, cocking his head. "What else is there?"
Emma frowned.
"The history. The corruption."
"Ah. Ah, yes." Russia's smile sagged a little. He stared into his tarhun. "That is a problem."
They were quiet a moment.
"But…" Emma hesitated, then barreled on. "But all the good stuff is so very good. And I know I will miss it when I'm gone. So maybe…" her blush returned. "Maybe I'm falling in love and I just don't know it. And, and, maybe if you've found that you Lo - Like ME, you should just say so rather than framing so strangely. Because I've thought you were nice since I saw you sitting alone in the park two months ago."
She finished off the tarhun in one go and slammed her glass on the table.
Russia leaned back in his chair, eyes wide. He looked up, as if deep in thought.
"I am unsure if I can say I Lo - Like you," he said smoothly. "I admit, I do enjoy your company. And your humor, that is quite good. Your temper annoys me and your Russian is better but still unpleasant. Your chess is much improved. You will forever be wrong about Gogol." he leaned forward and tapped his mug. "You prepare tea well. Yet I am still unsure." He smiled. "Perhaps I am falling in lo - like, and I simply do not realize it."
Emma was shaking, her face still beet red.
"Is that so?" she said, lifting her chin.
"Yes," he said, leaning further towards her. His violet eyes filled her vision completely.
"Um." she whispered. "Um. Would you like to play chess?"
"No."
He pulled her chair towards him and kissed her.