Kingsley Amis - Russian Hide-and-Seek

‘A good question, Nicholas,’ said his large, deep-voiced wife. ‘When a Guards colonel is plunged into deep philosophical gloom by a remark made by one of his junior ensigns, instead of telling the young whippersnapper to go to hell, you have every reason to ask what’s to become of us. There’s only one solution that I can see – Sergei, I’ll trouble you for a little more of that sterling brandy.

There was laughter at that, in which Alexander joined with every sign of spontaneity, Theodore noted. Deputy-Director Korotchenko joined in too after a fashion – a horrible sight, thought Nina. Mrs Korotchenko made no attempt.

A little later the party was assembled in the drawing-room, where a still white wine and more tea, together with freshly-cut rye-bread sandwiches, were available. Petrovsky, the Tabidzes and, after some delay, Korotchenko settled down at a card-table for solo whist. Tatiana Petrovsky took out her embroidery, a gros-point chair seat. Her daughter, Elizabeth and Theodore placed themselves near by. Speaking for the first time in his hearing, Mrs Korotchenko said to Alexander,

‘It’s very hot. I should like some fresh air. Would you come with me for a turn in the gardens? I haven’t seen them in the light. I don’t want to fall.’

Her voice was harsh and flat, with an idiosyncratic pronunciation of some vowels. Even now she failed to look him in the eye. He noticed that she was thin-faced and thin-lipped, with large ugly ears injudiciously exposed by her short haircut. ‘Of course not,’ he said. Nina and Elizabeth were watching him. ‘I mean of course you don’t want to fall. Of course – I’d be delighted to accompany you.

His brain was operating at several times its usual speed, with two things attaining some prominence: that it was RATHER hot was the most that could fairly be said, and, as he remembered from the small hours of that morning, when he had stumbled out into the open after Mess Night, the moon was almost at the full. But surely…

They moved out by the east entrance, went down the steps and reached the nearest lawn. This was not at all well mown, but any sort of serious fall was most unlikely in the intense moonlight. He was considering just how soon and just how to grab her when she grabbed him. The speed and violence of her assault took him quite by surprise. Her open mouth shoved itself at his; her body pushed and wriggled against him; she took hold of him after a fashion calculated to extinguish at once any lingering doubt of her wishes. His arms were round her, or his left arm was.

Taking her mouth away, she said warmly, ‘Let me go, struggling now.

‘Let you go? But you- ‘Otherwise how can I take my dress off?’ He stepped back. ‘But you-’

With her voice muffled by folds of material she said something he failed to catch. As she tugged and thrust at her clothes his lively consternation resolved itself into a daze of excitement. In about the time it would have taken him to untie his stock she had taken off everything but her white silk stockings and her garters, which looked black at the moment but probably were not in fact. Her breasts, on view in full so much more precipitately than almost anyone could have foreseen, charged him with wonder.

‘Come on, what are you waiting for?’ the lady asked him in a blurred voice. Again he pounced upon her, but again this proved unsatisfactory. ‘Never mind about that,’ she said, and fumbled with his clothing. A moment later she lay down on the grass. ‘Oh do be quick,’ she said. ‘Hurry up.’ Her body weaved slightly and she made sounds like someone in considerable but not extreme pain. When he lay down beside her he got it wrong a third time -’For the love of God, man, will you DO it!’ – and was hauled on top of her; her strength was frightening, but not very. The first response she made was so marked that he thought she must have attained her objective; her continuing movements, however, quite soon undeceived him. More than having her in his embrace he clung to her or was enfolded by her. He found that by going all out he could just stay in the game, so to speak. Finally, at about the critical moment for him, she redoubled her exertions and uttered a long, wavering, stifled cry, stifled as he found by her own hand pressed against her mouth – and a good thing too, for the unstifled version would beyond doubt have been heard clearly enough in the house. He felt a little troubled; it had presumably been a cry of pleasure, but he had fancied he heard something else in it, some darker feeling.

He kissed her cheek; by way of return she took his hands and held them to her breasts, then, not roughly, indicated that it was time to move. Still breathing deeply, he started putting his clothes to rights and she picked up hers. His disquiet had passed and he felt only joy and gratitude.

‘My darling, that was delightful,’ he said, ‘and you’re very lovely.’

She made no reply.

‘When can I see you again?’

‘You mean you want to do that with me again? After you’ve already done it once? What for?’ Dressing at top speed, she looked doubtfully at him.

‘Well, of course I do. We can take longer next time.’

‘Yes, we can,’ she said, as if this was an unexpected but, on reflection, valid point.

‘When, then’?’

‘Tuesday afternoon. Two-thirty.’ ‘I’m on duty at the base then.’

‘So you won’t be able to come, will you?’

‘Oh, I can rearrange it.’

‘All right.’

She had finished dressing and moved off briskly at his side, brushing with her hand at the back of her head. It occurred to him against his will that perhaps she kept her hair short so that leaves, twigs, etc. should not get stuck in it whenever she committed adultery on a lawn or other outdoor surface.

‘Where shall we meet?’

‘Come to our house. It’s called The Old Parsonage and it’s about two miles out of the centre of Northampton just off the road to Wellingborough. Most of the English know it by now; we have plenty of official visitors. Ask for the Russian policeman if they don’t understand you. Now when we get indoors I’m going to be rather cool to you. My husband will think you’ve made an approach to me and of course I’ve rebuffed you.

‘My mother isn’t going to like that.’

‘Only my husband will see.’

‘Very well.’ He added, not at all because of what she had just proposed but on general grounds, ‘You’re a sweet girl. You deserve well of me.

When he kissed her she failed to respond, but said in her monotonous harsh voice, ‘That’s extremely kind of you.’

He had by no means settled in his mind that she was a sweet girl; however, she had done as he had wanted, to put it mildly, he had enjoyed himself and, since they had reached the foot of the steps down which they had come an unknown amount of time ago, this must be their private farewell. Ascending, he looked about him at the moonlit gardens, the pond, the faint glimmer of the lake in the distance, and wished with some force that he could have seen the place as it had been in the time of that other Alexander, half a century away. At the top of the steps he looked again, and realised that to anyone standing here what had been going on just now would have been easily visible, and no doubt audible too. Well, time enough to debate the sweetness or otherwise of the girl in question when the next few minutes were safely past.

The re-entry into the drawing-room of the wife of the Deputy-Director and himself came at an unusually lucky moment. The card-players were in a state of some excitement as Mrs Tabidze was about to make good an abundance call; although the stakes were not high (£100 a point) even Korotchenko was too engrossed to do more than glance up briefly. In rather similar fashion, Theodore Markov was entertaining the ladies with a tale about the embezzlements practised by the cashier at his university. Alexander strolled over to the marble-topped table where the wine was, poured himself a glass and nibbled at a chicken sandwich. He would have said that there was no need for him to try to act casually because he felt perfectly casual; it would surely be rather simple-minded to imagine that there had been anything much out of the way in the encounter on the lawn, just a matter of a reasonably personable, normally sexed young buck running into a – well, there must be quite a few women like Mrs Korotchenko round the place and one could hardly expect them to advertise their condition, or rather the downrightness of their nature.