Liz Carlyle - 07 - The Geneva Trap Read Online Free PDF Page A

Alexander Sorsky, a visitor from Moscow State University where he was a lecturer in political theory. Sorsky looked little older than the postgraduate students, in his turtleneck pullover and jeans. He smoked unfiltered cigarettes the colour of maize, and spoke in excellent, accented English. He had high cheekbones and a prominent forehead, and though he wasn’t exactly handsome, his large, dark eyes made for an attractive, even exotic appearance.
    ‘I would like to speak of my own experiences during the recent upheavals in my country,’ he began. Then, talking without notes, he described how he had watched with mounting excitement as the new wave of freedom swept across the countries of the Warsaw Pact, moving inexorably towards the epicentre of the empire that had once contained them. He said that for months he had felt like a child waking up on his birthday morning.
    At his own university in Moscow there were student protests against the Communist regime. They had been timid ones at first, then buoyed by events in East Germany and Czechoslovakia they had grown bolder; there was even a series of ‘teach-ins’ – inspired, Sorsky noted proudly, by those held in American universities during the Vietnam War. People started to speak out for the first time in their lives.
    The guest speaker brilliantly conveyed the excitement of those days, and the uncertainty – no one knew when the Party might crack down on this new dissident movement, or if the military would intervene. It was only when the Republics of the Soviet Union broke away that it became clear there would be no counter-revolution. At one ‘teach-in’, in fact, a KGB officer had appeared in the lecture room and taken a seat. Out of habit everyone grew nervous in his presence, and the discussion – usually lively – was muted and restrained. But then the KGB man politely raised his hand and asked to speak. He rose, looking slightly nervous, and announced that he was not there in any official capacity. He came simply as a citizen, one who wanted to acknowledge that the time for change had come, and could not be denied. His listeners had applauded him, and to their astonishment the KGB man had burst into tears. To Sorsky this seemed the ultimate symbol of the Communist state’s demise.
    He ended his talk on an optimistic note, saying that however difficult the immediate future might be, there could be no return to the heavy-handed days of Party control. Looking at her watch, Liz was surprised to see that the Russian had spoken for more than two hours – yet her interest had never flagged.
    Afterwards Sorsky had stayed on to answer questions and several of the students then persuaded him to join them in the bar of the Student Union. Feeling a bit of an outsider among the postgraduates, Liz was about to leave, but Sorsky saw her and said, ‘You come too, please.’
    In the smoky student bar, they had all talked until late in the evening, bombarding Sorsky with questions about Russia and his life there. He was entertaining, telling them funny stories about the ridiculous ways of the old bureaucracy, but also asking them about their lives, and insisting on paying for more wine. When they moved on to bottle number three, he had even sung a Russian folk song. As the party finally broke up, he shook hands with the boys and kissed the cheeks of the girls, and said he hoped to see them all again.
    As Liz walked back to the hall of residence with Sylvie, a postgraduate who lived on the same floor, she said, ‘That was fun.’
    Sylvie agreed. ‘Wasn’t it just? And isn’t that Sorsky a charmer? He certainly seemed to take to you.’
    Liz would have thought no more of it or of him, but a week later she ran into Sorsky coming out of the Library. He seemed pleased to see her, and suggested going for coffee. Liz hesitated – she was revising hard – but it seemed churlish to say no. So they went into a nearby café, where after some initial awkwardness they talked