Back to Moscow Read Online Free PDF

removed our shoes and handed over our coats. Lena was wearing a white woollen jumper. At the sight of her curves, I had a sharp feeling of inadequacy – as if Lena were a real woman and
I were just a boy pretending to be a man.
    We were led into a larger underground room – the only light provided by candles flickering in the dark. The candles stood on eight or nine low tables, each of which was surrounded by piles
of cushions. The floor was covered with rugs from wall to wall, giving the entire setting a gloomy oriental feel. All the tables were unoccupied, except one at the far end, where another couple
cuddled and spoke in murmurs.
    Lena placed our order with the bearded man. We sat among the cushions, our backs leaning on the wall. Gentle sitar music filled the air. The atmosphere was sepulchral, holy.
    I put my arm around Lena. She leaned her head on my shoulder. Absorbing the sweetness of her perfume, my mind flashed back to Propaganda. An hour or so after we’d met by the bar, I had
followed Lena outside the club, through a side alley, into an old building. After climbing a few flights of unlit stairs impregnated with the stench of cat piss, I had found myself perched on a
rooftop – Lena was showing me the night-time view over Moscow. Look how beautiful and special this city is, she’d said. It was dark and cold, and I was wasted, but I understood what she
meant.
    A waitress in a kimono slid into the room carrying our tray and kneeled at our table. The tea ceremony Lena had ordered involved hot water being poured from a large jar into the teapot, from the
teapot into thimble-sized cups, then all back to the jar. The circulation of steaming water had a hypnotic effect on me. At some point, tea leaves were ceremoniously added to the teapot and, after
a minute or so, we were presented with two tiny cups of green tea. Lena grabbed her cup with two hands, bowing slightly, and expertly placed it under her nose. ‘Beautiful,’ she
said.
    I lifted my cup with the tips of my fingers. The tea had a damp-earth aroma and, once in my mouth, a faint taste of mud.
    ‘I love this place,’ Lena said after the kimono lady was gone. ‘So quiet and peaceful, you wouldn’t believe we are in the centre of Moscow.’
    Lena spoke in whispers, which made the sound of her Russian serene, soothing.
    ‘Moscow is full of surprises,’ I said.
    ‘Moscow is the best place in the world. The city has its own cosmic energy, you can feel it through your entire body.’
    Lena took care of refilling our teacups. As I took a sip, I felt the strength draining away from my limbs. I placed my cup on the table and lay down among the oriental cushions, my head on
Lena’s thigh. Lena stroked my hair, her nails making sweet ripples through my skin. There was a reassuring tranquillity about Lena’s presence, her mellow voice and graceful gestures. It
was as if her body had a different density and she were forced to move in slow motion.
    With my eyes closed, I drifted towards unconsciousness, floating in that graceful state before sleep. Images of colourful plastic bricks began to pop into my head in time with the notes of the
sitar.
    The spell of the moment was broken by a beep from my phone. Message from Colin.
Hey, lost you last night. banged the blonde dyev? Tonight: drinks at stepanov’s at 9.
    I switched off the phone without answering.
    When I returned from the toilets, I found Lena staring at the empty teacups, her face illuminated by the faint glow of the candles. The other couple had left – the dark cave was entirely
ours. I sat between Lena and the wall, my legs around her waist, my arms beneath her breasts.
    Lena didn’t move when my hands found their way under her sweater, or when my fingers slipped under her bra. She sat in silence, her eyes on the candle.
    I kissed her neck. My heart was beating fast now. ‘It’s getting late,’ I said, ‘why don’t you show me where you live?’
    For a long minute Lena kept