Chapter Twenty

The next day, the weather turned colder, but the sun was shining bright all morning. Early that morning, an army of workers descended on Popov Street. They picked up papers and trash, carefully blotted out footprints, carted away snow, and swept the streets clean. They even cleared out the rubble pile made when the balcony fell on the phone booth, years before, during the time of stagnation. Then hundreds of KGB men and women came and took up their positions. They knelt on the ground all up and down the street, combing the snow and picking up cat hairs, which they carefully placed into official-looking envelopes.

"What in the devil's name happened here yesterday?" Babushka Shura asked one of the workers.

"Nothing."

"Don't tell me nothing happened, young man!" said Babushka Shura, wagging her finger in the general direction of his face. "There were crowds like this city has never seen, and soldiers in uniform with guns, and militiamen running all over the place! And now here you are, kneeling in the snow and-"

A man with a thick briefcase walked up to the worker. "Back to work here! Back to work here!"

"Are you a supervisor or something?" asked Babushka Shura.

The man took in a deep breath, then sighed. "If you must know, I am Dmitry Dvornikov, Deputy Executive Minister For Maintenance And Sanitation After Major Public Events, that's who I am!"

"Well then, perhaps you can tell me what was going on here yesterday!"

"It was just an official state visit, that's all, citizen woman."

"Don't you give me that nonsense, young man!" said babushka Shura, shaking her finger at his nose. "Why, there were soldiers with bayonets running around! KGB cars were all over the place. And there were helicopters and floodlights and-"

"I told you, citizen, it was just a typical state visit."

"I've seen state visits before, young man! Stalin himself, and Brezhnev and Andropov and that Amerikan criminal Nikson too. So don't try to tell me what a state visit is!" Her eyes narrowed, and her bony finger came to her lips. "And what about the cats?"

The man's brows rustled, then straightened back out fast. "What cats?"

"Why, the cats that were here yesterday!" she snapped. "Thousands of them! All over the place! My Avvakuum included! Why, it must have been every cat in the Russian federation, and the other republics too!"

"There weren't any cats here, lady," said the man in measured tones.

With that, he turned away. Babushka Shura shifted the net bag in her hands, tightened the knot on her scarf, and limped up Popov Street, her head shaking from side to side. "Cats! Trying to tell me I was seeing things! The nerve of those young ones!"

"Back to work here! Back to work!" grumbled Dmitry Dvornikov, the Deputy Executive Minister For Maintenance and Sanitation After Major Public Events, as he went back to supervising his crew. "And remember, each and every one of you is under the strictest orders! Say nothing to nobody!"

#

And on Monday of the next week, a long speeding van barely made the tight turn from Kirovsky Prospekt onto Popov Street. The truck slammed to a stop in front of the Glasnost Hotel.

Two men propped up a ladder while two other men hauled out a long piece of metal from the back end of the truck.

There was drilling and pounding, and within two hours, a new sign hung over the building. "Glasnost Deluxe International Residential Complex."

Comrade Perezhitkov was there on the steps, making sure the workers put the sign up straight. Rodion rested on his broom, preparing to sweep up whatever plaster scraps the wind wouldn't remove, eventually.

Upstairs, Osip dusted off the tables of the Perestroika Buffet and Snack Bar and adjusted the silverware. The day's specials included fish soup, pickled herring, and even Pepsi Kola. The new dining room had been set up, and lavishly so, for there was a very special wedding party that afternoon, and the guest list included Russians and Amerikans. Osip adjusted his bow tie. It would be a great opportunity for an enterprising waiter to exchange rubles for dollars and maybe get a pack or two of real Marlboro cigarettes out of the deal as well.

#

Hundreds of miles to the south, the great Mrs. Comrade sat at her vanity and forced her hair into a bun. It was hard to talk, what with those thick Soviet bobby-pins in her mouth. "Hmm mmmm mmm,m,mmm m,mm," she said to her husband.

"What?" asked the Great Comrade. He was putting on his jammies for the night. "I didn't understand a word you said."

"Hmmmm mmmm,m,mm!" said the great Mrs. Comrade, louder this time.

"Darlink, take those blessed bobby-pins out of your mouth!" he pleaded. "I can't understand one word you're saying!"

She complied. "I said--I said, I wonder if those press people will pick up on any of--of--you know, what happened in Leningrad."

"Of course they haven't! And they won't!"

"Well, I know you control the Soviet press--you used to be able to, that is. But what about the world press? Why haven't they written about--you know, about what happened?"

"It's simple," said the great leader wisely. He stepped into the bottoms of his polka-dot jammies. "It's a story no one wants to tell and no one wants to hear. I mean, we certainly don't want it out! How would it look if word got out that some crack-pot Russians wanted to do in their leader? Or, for that matter, that a disgruntled old party official wanted to do in his leader?"

"But what about the foreigners?" She had finished with her hair, and she was spreading a deep, dark cream over her cheeks.

"It's the same story," said the premier, buttoning the top of his jammies. "It would do the Amerikans no good for word to get out that some of their right-wing fringe crazies tried to assassinate the prezident of the Soviet Union. And for that matter, it wouldn't help any world Communists to know that an Italian nut and a Cuban nut tried to do the same thing. So, you see, darlink, it's no conspiracy of silence here, as in the old days. It's just a story absolutely no one wants to tell, or wants to be told."

"But--but the cats," blurted out the great Mrs. Comrade, the cream drying and caking on her cheeks. "Why has no one told about the cats?"

"Ai!" said the comrade leader, slipping under the covers. "To know that the affairs of humans are sometimes controlled by animals, that a cat can change human history--why, that's more subversive than anything! Governments would fall apart, countries split, universities close! It would be awful! You see, the story of the cats is a story no one wants to tell or hear!"

"I suppose you're right, dearest," said the great Mrs. Comrade, pulling the blankets up to her chin.

A gentle hand reached towards her face. "Ai, what's that stuff all over your face" cried the premier. "It feels like dried mud!"

"It is dried mud, dearest. It's German mud, the best kind."

"Ai!"

There was silence. The great leader switched off his lamp, then the great leader's wife switched off hers. The clock ticked on the mantle.

"You know," said the great Mrs. Comrade in the darkness. "That striped cat who swooshed down and rescued me. He was awfully cute! And he's a hero, a genuine hero, even if no one will talk about what happened. And you know, I bet he'd--he'd make a wonderful pet!"

"We don't need any pets, my darlink. As it is, we're full up with body guards and KGB agents and-"

"But a cat--a little furry pet--a companion for chilly nights here in this drafty old Kremlin!"

The Great Comrade was silent, which to the Mrs. Great Comrade meant one thing--victory.

#

The very next morning, a gray sedan with wedding balloons pulled up to the Bronze Horseman Statue, next to Saint Isaac's Cathedral. There stood Peter the Great on his pedestal, frozen in stone, his hand pointing towards his window to the west. There too coiled the ugly snake of isolation and darkness, crushed by the rear hooves of Peter's steed.

David leapt out of the car, ran around to the passenger side, and opened the door. Out stepped a beautiful Anna in a white dress, and the widow Petrova, shivering in a blue floral dress. She was wearing a corsage, and there were tears in her eyes.

Anna placed a bouquet of Armenian flowers, compliments of Osip, at the foot of Peter's statue. "East met West then," she said. "And does so now too. Let's make sure East can live with West!"

David took her hand. They embraced, then kissed, and the widow Petrova pulled out a hankie and dabbed at her eyes.

Then Perezhitkov leapt out of the sedan and assembled everybody for a picture. His eyes were red too.

#

The next day, a long Zil limousine pulled up the to the front of the former Glasnost Hotel, now known as the Glasnost Deluxe International Residence Complex, and four men in black suits walked into the building.

"They're coming! They're coming!" Liuba Smetanova chanted, as she ran down the stairs, her gown swirling behind her. "They're here! I'm so happy! Why, imagine, they want to take my own beautiful pet, my precious Hagia Sophia, and they want to take her to the Kremlin itself! What an honor for me, for my beautiful, refined kitty!"

"Sorry, Liuba," said Perezhitkov. "They're here for another cat, not yours. Not Hagia Sophia."

"Not Hagia Sophia?' she gasped. "For who then?"

"For the cat at the Glasnost Hotel!" Perezhitkov said proudly.

And indeed, all was arranged. Comrade Perezhitkov, Osip the waiter, David, Anna, the widow Petrova--they all stood in the foyer, forming a make-shift reception line. Behind them, away from any nasty drafts, high on a red leather chair sat the hero of them all, the Wonder Cat. He basked in happiness.

"Greetings! We've come for the hero-cat!" said the four men in hushed tones.

"M-e-o-w," said Koshka with contentment.

"Oh, he's all ready!" said the widow. "The veterinarians were here. His eye is healed and his wounds are all better." She bent down to adjust the red bow around Koshka's neck, then she dabbed her eyes. "I'll miss him so!"

David took Anna's arm, and they stood fast together. Anna dabbed her eyes. "Oh, and I'll miss him so! This is the cat that brought me and David together." She bent down and patted his soft fur. "He's such a wonderful, wonderful cat!"

And Koshka was happy and in love with Anna, all at the same time. There was hardly enough room in his heart for all the happiness.

Osip bent down to pet the cat too. "Remember old Osip, oh hero-cat!" he whispered. "The waiter who saved your life!"

"M-e-o-w!" said Koshka, recalling the long ride out of the city on the night that seemed longer and darker than any.

"Ah, he remembers!" said Osip. He bent back down to Koshka. "Remember your friend Osip. Why, if there's a contract to be had, or a deal to be made, or a special banquet--just get them to remember old Osip!"

"M-e-o-w," said a happy Koshka.

"What a beautiful kitty!" said little Perezhitkov.

"Indeed, and a wonderful cat it is!" said Mrs. Perezhitkova.

Then it was Perezhitkov's turn to bend down. "The Glasnost Hotel--er, I mean, the Glasnost Deluxe International Residential Complex will never be the same without you! We are losing our hero!"

"No, you are not losing a hero!" said the four men in black suits. "You are giving your hero to the world! You are sharing him with us all. And he will live in love and in luxury all his days!"

And Koshka couldn't have been happier. Love--he knew exactly what that was. It was what Anna felt for David, what David felt for Anna, what he, Koshka, felt for Perezhitkov and the widow and all of them, and for all the cats, grumpy old Avvakuum included--especially Avvakuum. Love--it was something to share, the light that made the darkness go away. That's what love was. As for luxury--well, he could stand a little of that too, he decided.

The four men bent forward, lifting high the leather chair that was holding the national treasure. "What is the hero-cat's name?" asked one of the men.

"No one knows," said the widow. "We just called him 'cat' or 'Koshka,' or simply 'the cat at the Glasnost Hotel.' No one ever called him by a name, that we know of."

Anna patted Koshka, then bent down and rubbed her soft cheek along his side. Koshka purred like he'd never purred before. "Every hero needs a name!" Anna said. "So let's call him--let's call him-" She pursed her lips, then her eyes flashed bright. "Let's call him 'the Wonder Cat,' for that's exactly what he is!"

Koshka the Wonder Cat nodded in agreement, and all laughed--Anna and David and Perezhitkov and the widow through their tears.

The foyer soon filled up with humans. The procession formed and started for the door. First came the four men carrying the leather chair high on their shoulders. Then Anna, the widow, and David. Behind them, Perezhitkov strode, his hands clasped like a patriarch's. Behind him walked Mrs. Perezhitkova, with little Perezhitkov in tow. "My husband--he's the manager here," she told everybody.

Then came Osip the Waiter in a new red bow-tie. He walked solemnly, adjusting his tie at every step. "I saved that Wonder Cat's life once, I did!" he offered both right and left. Next to Osip walked his Uncle Vasya, in a new uniform that said "Supervisor, building maintenance." Vasya beamed. "My nephew, Osip--he saved that cat."

"Koshka saved us all!" whispered the widow.

Behind Osip came the Baron, decked to the nines for the occasion. His cane waved eloquently in the air, keeping time with the music he hummed. "Tis the final conflict, let each stand in his place! The Internationale shall be the human race!"

And behind the Baron, others lined up two-by-two and followed the red leather chair being led out of the foyer.

Crowds lined both sides of the street. When the hotel doors opened and when the four men brought the leather chair out onto the sidewalk, with Koshka held aloft, the crowd hushed. "There he is!" someone whispered.

"Ura! Ura!" went up the cheer.

"Hush! Hush!" came Dmitry's quiet, but audible voice. "Remember, comrades, nothing happened!"

"We know better!" said Babushka Shura. "But yes, we'll keep quiet!"

The four men descended the stairs and turned up Popov Street. The procession followed, and grew. All were silent, but hands removed hats and bare heads bent low in the wind.

"There he is!" went one whisper. "That's the miracle cat! He saved us all!"

And Koshka rode the procession in quiet happiness. The chair was plush and thick--perfect for any cat.

"Mommy! Mommy!" went a high-pitched voice in the crowd. "Look at that pretty kitty on the chair! He's got stripes and white paws and a pretty white dab at the end of his tail even!"

Koshka the Wonder Cat bowed and nodded, a warm glow spreading nearly to the tips of his whiskers.

And all along the sidewalk, a little lower than the humans, stood another horizon of eyes--cat eyes. There was Hagia Sophia. "My, a hero cat! If only I could speak with him for a moment!" she said. "I'm sure we'd make the best of friends!"

And next to her stood Masha. "I think you had your chance," she said. "And you wouldn't have anything to do with him."

"Hmph!" said Hagia Sophia. "And what makes you think you're so much better, you simple, ugly house cat?"

Just then the four men carrying the leather chair passed. "Masha, dearest!" called Koshka the Wonder Cat. And his heart leapt with warm memories--Masha swinging from the light fixture, Masha, always smoothing things over. Pretty Masha. Add his heart overflowed with longing and love.

"Masha!" cried out Koshka. "I love you!"

"I love you too," she called back. "We all love you!"

"But I--I really love you! I want you with me, always!" he cried. The chair was getting further and further away from Masha as the procession wound through the crowd, down the street.

Koshka leapt to all fours on the cushion. "Masha! I want you!"

"But, but-" protested Masha. "I'm just a plain old house cat, and you're a hero-cat. You can have any companion you want! Why, a young cat or a princess cat or-"

"I want you!" said Koshka. "Quick, jump up on the chair!"

"I--I cant. They--they wouldn't let me."

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Masha!" he called out. "Break into a long run, then jump up on the chair! Quick!"

So Masha lowered her head and broke into a long run. She shot out of the crowd and with one giant leap ended up on the chair next to Koshka. The four men in suits almost lost their balance, but the chair stayed straight.

"Look!" said Babushka Shura. "The wonder cat--he's taken a bride. My oh my, what a blessed sign for us all!"

"Hmph!" said Hagia Sophia. "He certainly must have meant me!"

And the procession went on, passing Misha. And next to Misha, of course, stood Grisha. Both beamed. "Imagine! Our very own hero!" said Misha.

"Yes!" gushed Grisha. "He's the miracle cat! Our very own Wonder Cat!"

"We'll miss you so, Koshka!" cried out Misha and Grisha together. "My, we'll miss you so!"

"And I'll miss you two--all of you!" said the hero cat. And Masha nodded.

Next to Misha and Grisha stood an old red cat. "Hrumph!" he said, clearing his throat. "Don't worry about a thing here, miracle cat! Old Avvakuum will keep everything in order!"

"I'm sure you will, my friend!" said the hero cat. "And keep a positive outlook too, okay? The world is not always such a terrible place."

The old red cat nodded, then wiped his eyes with his paw.

And next to Avvakuum stood the bouquet of yellow cats, the Yauza River Feline Elders' Congress. They bowed as the procession passed. Then came the entire membership of the Leningrad Mitrofan Memorial Society, their committee having voted unanimously, by acclamation, to attend the send-off of Koshka the Wonder Cat.

And next came the Popov Street cats, including Almaz the Persian and Terem and Terek the Caucasus cats, then the cats from Kirovsky Prospekt, from Kamenny Ostrov Island, and from all around the city.

"I'll miss you all!" said Koshka the Wonder Cat. "Each and every one of you!"

"Ura! Ura!" said the cats.

"Ura! Ura!" said the humans.

And the procession passed over bridges and canals, past the Peter and Paul Fortress where Galya-Falya once lived, past the winter palace where Fedya once lived, and up Nevsky Prospekt, where Mitrofan once lived.

#

It was the same in Moscow. Crowds of humans filled the sidewalks as the procession wound its way down Gorky Street. Soldiers saluted and people waved. Customers even left their places in line under the big crystal chandeliers of the Eliseev Food Market.

"Ura! Ura!" went up the cry in Pushkin Square.

"Hush! Not so loud!" pleaded the soldiers. "This is officially a non-parade, remember?"

The crowd nodded knowingly. Up went whispers of "Ura! Ura!"

And the Wonder Cat saw sights few cats have ever seen. The wide vistas of Gorky Street, Karl Marx Square, and the Bolshoi Theater. The Moscow Art Theater, where the great writer, Mikhail Bulgakov, once worked and wrote about Behemoth, another famous cat.

The four men held the leather chair high as they crossed the Manezh Square, and Koshka even spotted the Moskva River in the distance. There were trickles of water sparkling on the river ice even--the winter ice was breaking.

"My, the world has never looked so clean and fresh!" he told Masha.

Then they carried him across the long gardens, past the flame for the unknown soldier, and alongside the long line of red Kremlin walls. "My, just think!" said Masha. "This is where the Giorgy Cherny cats prowled along the walls!"

"It's so--so exciting!" said Koshka. "Just think! Inside these very walls Pimen wrote the beautiful princess Zoe and changed the course of history!"

Masha's eyes sparkled with happiness, and they were brighter even than the sky, or the Moskva River, or anything.

Then the procession carried Koshka and Masha through the gate that looked like a giant mouse-hole cut into the Kremlin's red walls. They passed the giant cannon and the giant bell and marched right into the Kremlin's Cathedral Square--the beautiful churches and golden domes, and Ivan's bell tower. The towers and spires, the big clock, the red stars high in the air--it was almost more than any pair of happy cats could bear.

And deep inside the Kremlin palace, they led Koshka the Wonder Cat and his Masha on the plush red leather chair down a long pink carpet in a room with arches and big windows and bigger chandeliers, down to the end, where stood the Great Comrade himself, and his wife. They stretched out their arms.

"Welcome!" said the great Mrs. Comrade, patting Koshka's head.

The Wonder Cat purred.

"Welcome!" said the prezident. "Welcome, oh great Koshka, Wonder Cat of the Kremlin! And welcome to your companion too!"

Both cats purred.

"Ura! Ura!" went the presidium and assembled guests. "They're purring. They're happy here! What a good sign for us all!"

To the left stood a low table covered with fine embroidered linen and lined with carved lacquer dishes, fit for a hero cat. The aromas were heavenly. There was herring, and not just any old herring. Marinated and pickled herring, just as Koshka liked it. And, miracle of miracles, there was caviar too! Beluga and Malosol! And how did they find out his favorite? There in the middle of the long table sat a whole platter of Georgian Chicken Satsivi, and not just the bones, but real chicken! Beef and turkey and quail and pheasant--it was a cat's dream come true!

"Ura!" went the crowd in the Kremlin palace.

"Well, it's time to eat, I guess," said Koshka the Wonder Cat of the Kremlin. He headed towards the table, as dignified as possible, as fast as possible--and actually more fast than dignified. Masha followed close behind. "Ura!" went the crowd in the Kremlin palace. And word was whispered out from the palace, across the Kremlin, across Moscow, then across the country. Koshka the Wonder Cat had taken up residence in the Kremlin. He'd had his first meal, thank you. He was quite at home, and it was a harbinger of good things to come for the whole country!

#

Spring did not come so early to the small village of Plotninsk in far Northern Siberia. The salt mine workers huddled near their stove in the tiny meeting room. At one end of the room stood a small platform with two chairs and a make-shift, crooked podium.

A man with big teeth and a head of thick white hair leaned on the podium. "Brothers and sisters!" he wailed. "We have a mission from the Lord! Salt! It's the perfect seasoning! Let us take salt from the very bowels of the devil, and let us bring it to light! Let us carry this salt to the world, for a beloved, but tidy profit!"

"Amen!" said the woman sitting next to him. "Amen and hallelujah!" She adjusted her hair. "Let us season the lives of everyone, communist and capitalist alike! For, we are all children of the Lord!"

"Oh, shut up, p-l-e-a-s-e!" begged a sobbing Winston Hale from the back of the room. "Of all the dirty, rotten luck! How many labor camps are there in this god-forsaken country anyway? A thousand? And I have to end up with--with this!" He pointed at the Mrs. Billy Bob, then at the reverend, then he broke into sobs.

"Shut up already!" snapped Johnny Frisco. "Nick, deal me another!"

Nick lit up a stubby Russian cigarette. "God, I hate these smelly, stale things!" He dealt the cards.

"Can't win at nothing!" grumbled Johnny, tossing his cards on the table. Deep in the bowels of the earth, under the meeting room, there was another assembly of men. The sound of shovels and pick-axes slamming into rock echoed in the chambers. "We're orphans--that's what we are!" snorted Rassolnikov, spitting on his hands. "If there was a God, or even a Karl Marx, I wouldn't be crouching here in the middle of nowhere, deep in the earth, where it's colder even than in those places where lobsters hibernate."

"Oh, shut up and keep digging!" said Borya Smetanov. "If it wasn't for you and your stupid idea, we'd all be still in Leningrad! We could have done the job all by ourselves! Using those damned foreigners--that's what did us in!"

To Chapter Twenty-One

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