The Widow Spy by Martha Peterson

Author:Martha Peterson [Peterson, Martha]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Red Canary Press
Published: 2012-02-15T07:00:00+00:00

Photographs - Laos and Moscow

Chapter 8

Life in Moscow

Through that first winter, I began to feel at home in Moscow, but being alone was hard. I had few dinner invitations. Even my neighbors who “stole” my furniture never invited me over although they gave me a few starter geranium plants. The couple directly next door knocked on my door once and gave me some hot homemade soup when she found out from her husband that I was home sick. My neighbor, Bill, of course, invited me many times and I reciprocated.

So, to ignore my lack of invitations and to avoid my dreary apartment, I often stayed after work and went to the Embassy club for a couple beers, a slab of pizza, and some company. It was not great for my waistline, but at least I had a little social life. My apartment was not a cozy nest; I simply slept there, did laundry, and ate occasional dinners. The refrigerator reflected that. On Friday nights, the Marine Guard’s bar was open, and I ended up there. Occasionally, I attended wine-and-cheese parties at girlfriends’ apartments in the Embassy.

Ellen had interesting parties with very different people than those I was meeting in the Embassy. One night, she had a group of Western journalists over and showed a movie, which most of us had seen when it came out in 1966: The Russians are Coming. But the movie was funnier and even ironic here in Moscow. I probably drank more beer than I should have, but the movie inspired comedy routines and amazing conversations. That night was the first time I heard someone say, “Bring on the nukes!” meaning it was okay for America to bomb our Embassy in Moscow with nuclear weapons. Even though we would be at the center of the bull’s eye and, potentially, the sacrificial lambs, this was the era when the Soviets were particularly prickly and difficult. We witnessed the harassment of Jewish dissidents and the persecution of famous Russian scientists like Nobel Prize winner Andrei Sakharov. Although the movie provided a meaningful diversion, the evening was sobering, especially hearing the journalists express their frustrations as they attempted to work in this closed, paranoid society.

One night in early January Shaun and I went for a long walk in the snow after work. We compared notes on our conclusions about life in Moscow. The winter of 1976 was one of the coldest in Moscow’s recent history, with most nights bottoming out at minus 20F. As we walked it snowed harder, and felt like pouring down rain. The women, maybe forty but looking sixty, who cleared the streets did their best with their brooms made of tree branches lashed together. They wore heavy thick boiled-wool felt boots that kept their feet warm and dry, but their inadequate gloves made their hands white with cold. Full employment meant everyone worked, but many jobs were extraordinarily difficult, physically hard, and no one’s first choice.

As we walked around the deserted inner city south of the Kremlin, we spotted a man lying on the sidewalk in the teeming snow.

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