Fame and Fortune

Ilya and Catherine stayed in Kaliningrad four days.  They barely left the hotel room.  They weren’t there to sightsee.  They were there to establish the basis of their life together.  Ilya would lead, Catherine would follow.  Catherine wore one orange dress or another.  Much of the time she was in handcuffs.  She answered questions.  She listened to the role that had been assigned her.  She absorbed her new duties.  She knew without being told or threatened she had signed an IOU.  Lana was in Madison.  A bargain had been made; a bargain would be kept.  Lana got America; Catherine got Russia.

When it came time to return to Novosibirsk, Ilya told Catherine to pack all her orange dresses.  She would be wearing them again.  But for the flight, for the arrival, for the reception, she would wear her public color- white.  Ilya provided her with three dresses.  All were simple.  Scoop neck, half sleeves, A-line skirts to mid-calf.  Cotton.  White.  Glaringly white.  Noticeably white.  Stand out in a crowd white.

Catherine wore her first white dress in months.  One she wore, two she packed – next to half a dozen orange dresses.  A reminder.  A statement of her true condition.  She packed both the white dresses and the orange dresses carefully. 

Kaliningrad barely noticed her presence.  Just a very tall lady crossing a very small airport.  Moscow was different.  Three women were waiting with television crews.  Interviews.  A seating area had been reserved.  Questions about her books.  Catherine had read them.  Neither was particularly long.  Ilya had underlined the paragraphs that would garner the most attention.  She had been right.  Catherine was prepared.

“When did you know Colonel Korsakov was the right man for you?”

“Immediately.  I was working with some Ukrainian women, helping them understand the new opportunities they would have in Russia, and Yuri came by to see how things were going. He wanted to help.  He already had a plan to launch his Family Day.  We talked briefly about it, and I knew he was the man for me.”

There was a pause.  Checks on sound levels and lighting.  Men with headsets spoke to each other briefly, then signaled the on-camera people to continue.

“You must be feeling his loss.”

“Yes, of course.  I will always miss him.  But also, I will always be proud of all he accomplished.  He made a difference in the lives of so many.  And of course, he was a hero.  His final stand in Kherson will always be remembered.  Holding off hundreds of Nazi fighters while his men unloaded freight car after freight car, getting desperately needed artillery shells to our gunners.  It was an amazing feat.”

“Mrs. Korsakov, you were an American army officer at one time, were you not?”

“Yes, I served twenty years.  But all veterans will tell you the same thing.  All soldiers honor heroes. no matter what their uniform.  We respect courage wherever we see it.  I certainly saw boundless courage in my husband.”

There were a few more questions, but the main points had been covered.  Yuri was a hero, Yuri’s wife – an American army officer – confirmed that heroism.  Her book about Yuri would sell well.

Once back in Novosibirsk, Catherine moved in with Ilya and her husband.  Ilya and Catherine shared one bedroom; her husband used the second.  He was gone most nights – no explanations given (or requested).  On nights when he was home, he often slept alone, but there were nights when he came to the women’s room and stood at the side of their bed.  He would watch them for a while, and they would watch him.  Catherine on her back, her wrists bound, Ilya lying across her, hands in Catherine’s hair, one thigh pressed against Catherine’s thighs.  They would kiss.  Conrad would wait, then reach out and grab a wrist. 

Usually he took Ilya, but some nights he took Catherine.  She followed him willingly.  He was an indifferent lover, but she hardly noticed.  In the brief periods he mounted her, she thought of her two husbands.  She remembered Sergei and the day he pressed her against the wall in the Warsaw embassy, slamming the wall hard enough to be heard throughout the building.  Marking his territory and leaving her hot and breathless.

  And Yuri.  Binding her wrists, one arm tight around her shoulders, holding her, taking her, tightly, but tenderly.  Light kisses and fingertips caressing her face as he brushed hair back behind her ears.  Always staring into her eyes, searching for her essence.  He took possession of her.  He made her love him.

Victor was not a man she would ever love.  Just a warm body who helped her relive nights with better men.  He fucked her, kissed her once or twice, and was off her and asleep before she even finished remembering better nights with better men.  As soon as he slept, she returned to Ilya’s bed.

Ilya was clear about their relationship.  If no guests were in the apartment, Catherine was to wear orange, and cook and clean.  As much a servant as a lover.  Always the one on her back in bed, always the one who let Ilya lead when they danced, always the one who pleased in the shower.

But Catherine also had two books to promote.  The book about Yuri she actually liked the most.  She had no idea how much of Yuri’s final battle was true, but it was well written.  She could well imagine him standing alone firing magazine after magazine from his rifle, taking out whole squads of Ukrainians while his men worked in the shelter of his bravery, getting the last of the desperately needed artillery shells off the train.

The FSB had men write the book, and they put money into initial promotions.  They sent Catherine out to speak to several veterans’ groups in Novosibirsk.  Briefly.  Then the FSB moved on.  They explained there were over a hundred popular books describing Russian heroes.  Men, always large, always intense, somewhat frightening as they graced the book jackets.  All were real, all had killed at least a few Ukrainians, and all were dead.  Every book ended with a massive battle and mounds of Ukrainian bodies.  But one hundred such books was plenty.  The book Catherine had “written” was just one more.  Her efforts could better be used on the second book.

“Love and Marriage” was unique.  And Catherine had actually written portions of it, even though she didn’t know that’s what she was doing all those mornings in the museum.  The people who had crafted the book did a good job balancing the story of Catherine’s and Yuri’s love, and the new school curriculum.  Part romance, part educational treatise.  Everything Yuri was trying to achieve in Novosibirsk was in there.  Girls left school at sixteen having spent the final three years of their education concentrating on courses such as “Medicine for Mothers”. “Tips for shopping”, “Meals families will love”, and “Sewing the perfect wedding gown.”  Boys got lots of physical education, marksmanship classes, and computer network programming and repair.  Catherine noticed that she was quoted as being supportive of each of these new classes.

There was one additional component of this book – Catherine’s description of Svetlana’s engagement.  Her decision to find a husband for her daughter when she was just eight.  Benefits to the families, a chance for young ones to bond, her daughter’s delight to have a marriage already arranged for her.  She didn’t know who to talk to, but she wanted that out of “her” book.  Ilya said she would talk to someone about removing it from future editions, but the current edition was selling like crazy.

No question, “Love and Marriage” was popular.  The Women’s Council endorsed it and sponsored multiple reading circles and day-long conferences.  Half the women in Novosibirsk carried the book everywhere they went.  Priests also endorsed it.  They gave copies to all parents who entered their cathedrals.  They invited Catherine to attend their services and speak to parishioners.  They endorsed it in weekly homilies.  Finally – in their view – someone had presented a guide to the proper roles for God-fearing women.

The FSB had spread some money in some places to get complete support, but most support was genuine – and enthusiastic.  Catherine returned to Ilya’s apartment, changed into an orange dress, made dinner, and wondered if she would eventually come to believe the words she had written.  So many people loved the book, believed the book.  Schools had already adopted the curriculum of the book.  Yuri was getting what he wanted.  And Catherine was helping.  Lives were being changed.  Russia would have more babies – and far more teen mothers.