Oh. Disclaimer: Patriarch Alexy II is a real person, and I don't own him either. I think he's famous enough that I don't
have to say that - but better safe then sorry.
The Man from Yesterday
A Man from U.N.C.L.E. Story
by Darklady
Chapter Eleven -Going to the Chapel
Rated: G
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I would wish to talk to Napoleon, but by the time Chan is finished it is all we can manage to drag ourselves from therapy to the bathroom to our beds. If I were back on station, I think I would ask for the wheelchair again. But here? I will not give her the satisfaction. Neither will Napoleon. But the result is that both of us are out almost before our heads hit our pillows.
Yesterday's clothes are waiting for us when we wake, along with uniform shoes and very ugly grey socks. I do not complain. They will at least make it possible to walk outside.
I shower and dress quickly. It is later then I had anticipated, and I do not know how much time we will have. As it is, I am barely decent when Major Hovsepian taps on the door.
"Good morning Gentleman. Ready to go?" She stands there in Levis and a loose knit shirt very similar to ours. Perhaps that magazine was not as deceptive as I had assumed. I glance down at the 'fashion' I have on. I am not Pasha, but lifetime of such outfits is not a pleasant thought.
She smiles at Napoleon and they off down the hall, lightly saluting the sentinel outside the door as she passes. I follow, curious to see how far we will go.
A small brown car is parked outside. She opens the passenger door, then motions for us to get in. I take the back. She smiles. Naturally. Napoleon is the one she wishes to have sit beside her.
"Sorry for the car," she says as she settles into the driver's seat. "I could have checked one from motor pool, but I prefer to drive my own. Small, I know. But at least it's not a Yugo."
The roads are bad. Major Yellena's driving is worse. Even compared to Napoleon, she is reckless. No wonder she wanted a fast car. Not everyone shares her objection to a Yugo. There are enough of them on the road. Likewise Fords, BMW's, Mercedes, and Volvos. Along with other unknown models. And trucks. About the only make I do not see is the Zill limo. Perhaps all the officials are taking the day off?
The roadside is forested, primarily scrub and pine. That would fit with the near polar climate in summer. I try, but I cannot remember the foliage expected in South America. But...... I notice a sign at a crossroad... in Cyrillic..... this certainly *looks* like northern Russia.
I have ignored their chatting, but now I ask. "Excuse me, but.. what is the name of this town we are going to?"
The Major looks back, surprised. "Don't you know? Oh. I guess this hospital was not built when you....left. We are in the suburbs just outside St. Petersburg."
"St. Petersburg?" I repeat.
"Petrograd, isn't that what you called it? She pauses. "But no one call it that any more."
"Leningrad," I mutter under my voice.
"So." Napoleon easily recaptures her attention. "Where are we going first."
"I generally go to church at Saint Sophia's,"she answers. "Nearer the base, and far better parking. Today I thought we could go in to Saint Isaac's. That way I only have to park once. As long as you don't object to a bit if a walk?"
That gets my attention. "You... are a Christian?"
"No. Straight Russian Orthodox." She shrugs. "A lot of us are. The service tends to make people conservative - or maybe that is just who is attracted to the service. Good question for the recruiters, no?" She smiles at Napoleon. "But I'm not at all assuming you are. If you would care to go somewhere else? Or even nowhere?"
Except to her room, I think, but I only ask "This isn't a problem?"
She shakes her head. "I think I could find almost anything in downtown St. Petersburg. Or I could check the phone book."
What can I say? She has the car. And the map. "St. Isaac's will be...fine."
"Great." She turns back to Napoleon. "I just love the music there. That alone makes it worthwhile to pay for parking."
*********
I must admit, this looks like St. Isaac's. Same pillars, same carving, same gold dome. Not that I am ignorant of the Potempkin village. Still. This seems like a great deal of bother. Even for T.H.R.U.S.H.
We arrive early. I think. At least the parking lot is reasonably empty. Napoleon pays the attendant while Major Hovsepian makes vague threats about what will happen should her car not be properly watched. I rethink South America. Except for the architecture, perhaps we are back in New York.
We follow the Major as she avoids the main door and heads for a smaller portal on the nearest side. A short passage leads to the inner door, then we are inside. The huge room is covered with frescoes and mosaics. Impressive. Of course, I do not know what the inside of the original is supposed to look like, but if this is not it? I decide not to worry yet. Whatever will happen, for now it is best just to watch.
"We are here early." She summons Napoleon to a bench near the platform. "So we get the good seats - near the front."
I suppose they are good seats. At least they appear to be in demand, as the area around us fills quickly. I wonder what type of performance we should expect to draw such an audience. The lights dim and organ music begins. I sit back. It would appear I am about to find out.
********
Several dark garbed men march up the center row, flanked by candles. The outfits look historical. Something like Rasputin. The music is followed by some sort of group recitation. Difficult to make out over the clicks of a misadjusted sound system. I do not know the words, but the major does. At any rate, she recites with enthusiasm. Personally, I feel it could be better coordinated. I consider that. The entrance had also seemed poorly organized. Perhaps this is not one of the more professional performances.
Several of the men make speeches, which the squeal on the sound system renders impossible to understand. The old man talks longest. Then he reads. Then he talks some more. The major appears enthralled. I do not see the attraction.
Then they sing. Then everyone else sings. Napoleon has an excellent voice, even if he does not know the songs. I ignore the words and just enjoy the sound.
Finally they start serving some sort of beverage. From a single cup. The Major suggest we join the line going up to drink. I decline. It strikes me as very unsanitary. When Napoleon does likewise, she decides to remain seated with us. I am sorry if she is disappointed, but Napasha can buy her a drink later.
After about an hour the group on the stage takes their bows and leaves, marching out the way they came in. No one applauds. Very rude. Not that the performance deserves much reward, but I would think? Whatever. Perhaps it is not the custom.
We sit a while, waiting for the crowd to clear. The major looks at us, expectant.
"That was.....interesting," I say finally.
"Wasn't it?" She looks enthusiastically at Napoleon. "Patriarch Alexy II is such a wonderful speaker. We were lucky we came early enough to find a seat."
"Clever of you." Napoleon flatters. I just nod.
She points to the other door. "If you are up to a walk? It's about a mile to the Arbat. But I know a nice little restaurant there. Blini with caviar and sour cream. Sometimes you have to wait - but it's worth it."
END CHAPTER ELEVEN