Terraplane Read Online Free PDF Page B

on jeans and samovaramats at GUM today during Noontime
Madness Hour. Vibrant springwear on display at Zinoviev Fashion
Mart off Mayakovsky Square. Sultry yes, shameless no-"
    "We're taxied or no?" Jake asked, pushing forward, palming the
desktop as if prepping to leap.
    "Da. Returning when?" she asked, her smile but a memory.
    "Uncertain," I said. "Business meets after."
    For record's sake she entered my response into memory in case of
belated inquiry. "Enjoy Moscow hospitality," she snorted, staring
through us as if we were glass. The hotel guards, awared by
Krasnaya of our Guests of State status, steered us past the metal
detectors. We hit the street, inhaling pure, painful air. A pasteboard Big Boy directed Intourist groups away from the main
entrance to the side, next to the disposal area. Ignoring the cold
were sixty-odd vendors, ready and spreadwared, set for tourist
reveille.
    "There," I said, spotting our cab, a lipstick red Volga Supreme
Wagoneer carrying as driver a stub ruffed headround with wiry hair
and beard. Dashing rearward, he opened the tailgate.
    "Interested?" he asked, attempting English. In his taxi's flatbed
lay a bulky oak bureau swaddled in animal pelts, resembling a
coffin built for six. As he slid hands across his furs, I noted several
fingertips lacking. "Finest ermine and mink from my Kamchatka
native home."
    "Terrier and mastiff," said Jake, copping his own feel. "Roll us,
hack. Blow. "

    "Best prices for British friends if you reconsider," he said, jerking
about as if guided by strings, heaving himself wheelways while we
boarded. his cab's interior called to mind an unlicensed souvenir
stand at an unsuccessful resort. Glued to the dash were plastic
icons, pipeholders and holographic badges. A green skeleton dangled from the rearview Rubber hands affixed to the front seat's
underside impressioned that deportniks desperate for breath were
hauling themselves up through the oilpan.
    "Ya Amerikanets," said Jake, unfortunately using one of his few
accurate phrases.
    "Americans!" the driver said, beaming, stunned by fortune. "See
what I have wholesale for you experienced hard bargainers." From
the glove compartment he slid velveteen-covered trays layered with
paste jewelry. Jake, drawing his powerdrill, set the bit against our
driver's cranium, fingers itching to trigger. "Toystore me," he said,
so softly I barely heard. The hack heard; lipshut and floored. We
bug-ran before reaching the first stoplight, discovering multiple
infestation as expected. Wiping mist from my window I eyed a
black Marx DeVille pacing us.
    "Travel buddies," I said to Jake as I waved their way. They waved
in return. Another carload drew up, keeping several carlengths
rearward. "They trail all but the chaperoned," I explained; Jake
gave them a moment's attention. "They'll drop once our stability's
proved."
    "Will it be?"
    On rightward, a third black Marx came along. All, undoubted,
tuned in to hear our confessions. Desuspicioning, I noted local
glories; Jake yawned. The sun, a pink ball skulking along the
horizon, threw faint heat and little light. St. Basil's multihued
domes, brushed clean of snow, radiated morning's lavender hues.
Edging Red Square and the Kremlin's inquisitional walls and
steeples we saw the touristline awaiting their moment in Lenin's
box, his tomb dyed in dried blood's color in this season's light. At
distance, Moscow attracted; close in the city forever bore the look
of a sixth-generation dupe: details fuzzed, colors weren't true,
images bled at the borders. In the middle distance, wedding-cake
skyscrapers from the Big Boy's day screwed heaven while awaiting some long-delayed celebration. We reached the store. I slapped our
furrier a fiver.

    "They even ad the green?" Jake asked, examining a ten-ruble
while I took my change. Debilling him, I perused the ornate
designs wreathing Akhmatova's debeaked profile.
    "Coins, too," I said. "Stamps, stocks and bonds."