Riding the Iron Rooster by Paul Theroux Read Free Book Online Page A

spinach wrapped in newspaper, some cans of food, a pack of plastic clothespins and a box of disposable diapers.
    "Here?" I said. "Now?"
    They all smiled at me. Out the window I saw people sweeping the sidewalks, raking leaves and shoveling up piles of rubbish—a little unselfish demonstration of civic pride for Lenin's birthday.
    "How much will it cost me to make love to Natasha?"
    "One hundred and seventy U.S. dollars."
    'That's rather a precise figure," I said. "How did you arrive at that price?"
    'That's how much a cassette recorder costs at the Berioska shop."
    "I'll think about it."
    "You have to decide now," Olga said sternly. "Do you have a credit card?"
    "You take credit cards?"
    "No, the Berioska shop can."
    'That's an awful lot of money, Olga."
    "Hah!" Tatyana jeered. "My boyfriends give me radios, tape recorders, cassettes, clothes—thousands of dollars. And you're arguing about a few hundred dollars."
    "Listen, I'm not boasting—believe me. But if I like someone I don't usually buy her before we go to bed. In America we do it for fun."
    Olga said, "If we don't have dollars we can't buy radios at the Berioska. It closes at six o'clock. What's wrong?"
    "I don't like being hurried."
    "All this talk! You could have finished by now!"
    I hated this and had a strong desire to get away from the nagging. It was hot in the kitchen, the tea was bitter, all those people raking leaves sixteen floors down depressed me.
    I said, "Why don't we go to the Berioska shop first?"
    Tatyana dressed and we found a taxi. It was a twenty-minute ride and well after five by the time we arrived. But for me it was simply a way of saving face—and saving money. I had been disgusted with myself back there at the apartment.
    Before we went into the shop the three women started bickering. Olga said that it was all my fault for not making love to Natasha when I should have. Tatyana had to meet her daughter at school, Natasha was due home because she was going to the Black Sea tomorrow with her husband and small child—and was counting on having a cassette recorder; and Olga herself had to be home to rook dinner.
Vremya,
Natasha said,
vremya.
Time, time.
    I had never seen such expensive electronic equipment—overpriced radios and tape decks, a Sony Walkman for $300.
    "Natasha wants one of those."
    Olga was pointing to a $200 cassette machine.
    "That's a ridiculous price."
    "It's a good cassette. Japanese."
    I was looking at Natasha and thinking how thoroughly out of touch these people were with market forces.
    "
Vremya,
" Natasha said urgently.
    "These are nice," I began trying on the fur hats. "Wouldn't you like one of these?"
    Olga said, "You must buy something now. Then we go."
    And I imagined it—the cassette recorder in a Berioska bag, and the dash to Tatyana's, and the fumble upstairs with Natasha panting
vremya, vremya,
and then off I'd go, saying to myself: You've just been screwed.
    I said, "Tatyana, your daughter's waiting at school. Olga, your husband's going to want his dinner on time. And Natasha, you're very nice, but if you don't go home and pack you'll never make it to the Black Sea with your husband."
    "What are you doing?"
    "I have an appointment," I said, and left, as the Berioska shop was closing.
    I went to the Bolshoi, and I noticed at the coat check and the buffet and the bar, Russian women gave me frank looks. It was not lust or romance, merely curiosity because they had spotted a man who probably had hard currency. It was not the sort of look women usually offered. It was an unambiguous lingering gaze, a half smile that said: A
lay be we can work something out.
    Moscow had a chastening effect on the tour group. They became very quiet and rather wary. They seemed actually afraid—something I had not expected. Was it the glowering soldiers and police? Or perhaps the repeated security checks, and having to show your hotel ID card before you were allowed into the lobby? Or was it the big bare