Troika bells, the KGB and little me! Part 2
May 7th 2008 04:27
The party was in full swing. Parents chatted animatedly in small groups inside and on the rear patio, where their children played a game of ping pong. As I scanned the party goers, I became aware that two of them were not engaged in light hearted banter, nor were they smiling.
They were staring at me!
They both wore dark suits and white shirts with dark ties. Both had short carefully combed dark hair, pale complexion and stern steady eyes, boring into my very soul, well, that is how it felt!
I was a little shocked actually and must have shown it, as I quickly looked way when I saw both of them standing by the double French doors, glaring at me as if I was a an unwelcome viper.
Not long after this, and still standing alone, an Australian woman, large, garrulous and haughtily happy, engaged me in some chit chat.
It was some time later, upon reflection, that made me curious about that chat. I was pumped for information about who, how, what, where, and why I existed, and why I was at their private gathering.
After I explained to her I was a student from a famous theatre school, she regaled me with stories of her and her husband, travelling with the world with the Australian ballet; on one trip to Japan, they ordered the best steaks one could buy, which they then found out cost $100- each, and that was in the sixties!
I was then told she had many great friends from Russia, and how she met them while touring through the USSR, and how, when the Russian ballet companies toured here, they all socialised together. It all seemed normal enough. I didn;t mention Nureyev!
The men glaring remained where they were, glaring at me seemingly without blinking, nor looking away. I mentioned their rather hostile appearance and attitude to my new friend, “Oh, don’t worry about them, they’re from the embassy, they look at everyone like that!” her laugh was becoming annoying, the funniest joke in the history of mankind had not been told, we spoke of normal mundane things, that were just not that funny!
Why was she nervous, I wondered to myself?
“Well, it is getting late, I must go. Nice to meet you and I hope to see you at other functions; they have them at the embassy in Woollahra. You will be sent an invitation.”
I didn’t remember giving the embassy my address actually; in fact I know I didn’t!
However, as she tried to extricate herself, I decided it was time to leave too, so I offered her a lift. Twice she refused, the third time, she gave in.
We ‘beetled’ off into the night; I still love that tootling sound the old VW Bugs made.
I was told to go to Woollahra, which I knew very well of course, having spent most of my late teens and early 20’s there, in friend’s mansions, sitting in cars in side streets with pals smoking pot, spilling onto footpaths from drunken parties, it was home, more or less.
Then we arrived at her home, a tall apartment block, ugly 60’s style, and one of the rare few in this particular area of Woollahra, that being the diplomatic area, which I also knew well, having friends who lived amongst the embassies.
I hadn’t noticed if there was an embassy opposite her place, however, after keeping me chatting about inane things, for about five minutes, an oldish Mercedes Benz four door cruised by us, we were parked in the building’s driveway outside the main entrance, which was off the street. The Merc then stopped in front of my car, a man got out, and stared at me as he crossed to the building’s list of tenants by the front door.
I watched him, as he was wearing a rather serious looking expression, then wondered why he just looked at the list for thiry seconds and then got back into his car, then driving down into the building's underground car park.
I said nothing, then unprompted, “Oh, that’s just Uri, he works at the embassy opposite.”
I stared questioningly.
“The Russian Embassy!” Immediately she prattled on with more meaningless nonsense. I then wondered why Uri had to look at the tenant list, at midnight, then not push one of the flat’s intercom buttons. On his immediate return to his car, he had again glared at me.
She kept on talking! By now, I had started to interrupt her boring monologue to say how I had to go home, as I had an exam in the morning, which was true. She just kept talking. Then a bright flash, from ahead of us. I instantly looked straight at its origin, the middle of the six foot hedge next to the car park entrance, right in front of us
“What was that?” I asked startled. “Oh, just lightening!” she countered disinterested.
Lightning usually does not emanate from inside a hedge, I pondered to myself.
“But it came from inside that hedge! I saw it from the corner of my eye!” I protested.
“No! No! You are mistaken! It was lightening!” she enthused in a ludicrously inappropriate and breathy jovialness. “Now, I must go! You talk too much!! Please make sure you come to the embassy party, next Saturday. There will be lots of lovely food and music and wonderful games to play with all the children.”
I couldn’t think of anything worse! That dreadful old folk music, kids screaming, KGB glaring and stodgy Russian food! There was now one other reason I didn't want to attend, I had the distinct feeling that, had I gone to that party, I may have been drugged and questioned, or as I actually thought at the time, tortured; ’WHOOO DOOOO YOOOU VERRRK FOR? SPEAK YOU CAPITALIST SWINE!! (SFX: SLAP! SLAP!!!).
I am sure they thought I was a spy, hence the questions, the stares, the stalling for the photo in the drive way and her calling it lightening.
However, it also meant that the Australian woman was extremely well acquainted with the embassy staff…
While rabbiting on to me, as the KGB organized my ‘photo opportunity’ as we sat in the car, the woman had joked about the fact that she lives one floor above, and one below, ASIO, who keep a close eye on the embassy, she laughed. She told me the whole building was full of spies! And she was in the middle of the ASIO sandwich!
So, I wondered, where did she fit in? Was she a double agent, or a ‘sleeper’ for the USSR? Or was she ASIO, or some other foreign agent herself?
I shall never know. However, I have to admit, I was eternally grateful for the assistance that couple gave me, with the sound track of troika bells. The director’s mouth actually gaped open, when I read out the description of the sound track! What thanks did I get? A murmured “Well done” and that was it!
I was supposed to return the LP of Russian sound effects when I had finished with it. I promised I would do this, that being the condition of the loan, for it was a rare record I was told. I must admit, I couldn’t see a lot of people owning one myself! Another student asked to borrow it from me, after I had finished with it. Later, when I asked for it back, he didn’t know where it was! I was furious, as it made me look like an uncaring oaf to the people who lent it to me, and it gave my school a bad name, which they would crucify you for.
It never reappeared. There was no reason for anyone to steal the ruddy thing, it wasn’t as if it was a record of popular songs, it was atmospheric sound effects! The first year student who borrowed it, remained completely unaffected by my entreaties to find it, and never apologised, nor had he shown a scintilla of remorse.
Writing this, it just occurred to me, maybe ASIO took it, for if the KGB had investigated me, obviously ASIO would have too? I can now see that they would have wanted to check out the record themselves, in case I was being given secrets that way.
Hmm…maybe I should have been a spy after all?
I was approached once, while still at school, by a General, through my Headmaster no less, at our school annual cadet camp. I was given a book to read, by the Headmaster, after the general paid us a visit, and he stopped to chat with me, in the camp hospital ward, why I was there is another story! The book was about the infamous spies of England; Burgess, McLean and Philby, all of whom were in Britain’s secret service, and all of whom were double agents…FOR RUSSIA!!!!
The main fact I remembered about this book was that, one of the double agents was a homosexual! It had been reviewed in the newspaper, and on TV, so I was well aware of its existence.
At the time, I thought it was a subtle attempt to find out if I was gay! I was certainly not going to give away that little secret, in a big homophobic private boys’ school, especially in that time, when it was not just being condemned by God to be gay, but it was also illegal to be gay!
Gays, being illegal, seems so strange today.
Probably just as well, that I turned down the subtle enquiry. I took the book, of course, as one does not refuse a seemingly kind gesture by the Headmaster. About a month later, when I returned it to the Headmaster’s secretary, I was invited into his office, “The Rector wishes to speak to you Fog.” she always had a dead pan boring monotone that woman. (The Rector was the head of the religious community, the priests, but he was also the Headmaster in my day) It was the first and last time that I was invited into the Rector’s office. Without any preliminary nicety, he asked, “So fella, did you read the book? What did you think of it?”
“I didn’t read it Father.”
His face then became a little stonier than usual, if that was at all possible.
“Very well, you may go.”
It was never referred to again.
KGB! School boy spies?
They were staring at me!
They both wore dark suits and white shirts with dark ties. Both had short carefully combed dark hair, pale complexion and stern steady eyes, boring into my very soul, well, that is how it felt!
I was a little shocked actually and must have shown it, as I quickly looked way when I saw both of them standing by the double French doors, glaring at me as if I was a an unwelcome viper.
Not long after this, and still standing alone, an Australian woman, large, garrulous and haughtily happy, engaged me in some chit chat.
It was some time later, upon reflection, that made me curious about that chat. I was pumped for information about who, how, what, where, and why I existed, and why I was at their private gathering.
After I explained to her I was a student from a famous theatre school, she regaled me with stories of her and her husband, travelling with the world with the Australian ballet; on one trip to Japan, they ordered the best steaks one could buy, which they then found out cost $100- each, and that was in the sixties!
I was then told she had many great friends from Russia, and how she met them while touring through the USSR, and how, when the Russian ballet companies toured here, they all socialised together. It all seemed normal enough. I didn;t mention Nureyev!
The men glaring remained where they were, glaring at me seemingly without blinking, nor looking away. I mentioned their rather hostile appearance and attitude to my new friend, “Oh, don’t worry about them, they’re from the embassy, they look at everyone like that!” her laugh was becoming annoying, the funniest joke in the history of mankind had not been told, we spoke of normal mundane things, that were just not that funny!
Why was she nervous, I wondered to myself?
“Well, it is getting late, I must go. Nice to meet you and I hope to see you at other functions; they have them at the embassy in Woollahra. You will be sent an invitation.”
I didn’t remember giving the embassy my address actually; in fact I know I didn’t!
However, as she tried to extricate herself, I decided it was time to leave too, so I offered her a lift. Twice she refused, the third time, she gave in.
We ‘beetled’ off into the night; I still love that tootling sound the old VW Bugs made.
I was told to go to Woollahra, which I knew very well of course, having spent most of my late teens and early 20’s there, in friend’s mansions, sitting in cars in side streets with pals smoking pot, spilling onto footpaths from drunken parties, it was home, more or less.
Then we arrived at her home, a tall apartment block, ugly 60’s style, and one of the rare few in this particular area of Woollahra, that being the diplomatic area, which I also knew well, having friends who lived amongst the embassies.
I hadn’t noticed if there was an embassy opposite her place, however, after keeping me chatting about inane things, for about five minutes, an oldish Mercedes Benz four door cruised by us, we were parked in the building’s driveway outside the main entrance, which was off the street. The Merc then stopped in front of my car, a man got out, and stared at me as he crossed to the building’s list of tenants by the front door.
I watched him, as he was wearing a rather serious looking expression, then wondered why he just looked at the list for thiry seconds and then got back into his car, then driving down into the building's underground car park.
I said nothing, then unprompted, “Oh, that’s just Uri, he works at the embassy opposite.”
I stared questioningly.
“The Russian Embassy!” Immediately she prattled on with more meaningless nonsense. I then wondered why Uri had to look at the tenant list, at midnight, then not push one of the flat’s intercom buttons. On his immediate return to his car, he had again glared at me.
She kept on talking! By now, I had started to interrupt her boring monologue to say how I had to go home, as I had an exam in the morning, which was true. She just kept talking. Then a bright flash, from ahead of us. I instantly looked straight at its origin, the middle of the six foot hedge next to the car park entrance, right in front of us
“What was that?” I asked startled. “Oh, just lightening!” she countered disinterested.
Lightning usually does not emanate from inside a hedge, I pondered to myself.
“But it came from inside that hedge! I saw it from the corner of my eye!” I protested.
“No! No! You are mistaken! It was lightening!” she enthused in a ludicrously inappropriate and breathy jovialness. “Now, I must go! You talk too much!! Please make sure you come to the embassy party, next Saturday. There will be lots of lovely food and music and wonderful games to play with all the children.”
I couldn’t think of anything worse! That dreadful old folk music, kids screaming, KGB glaring and stodgy Russian food! There was now one other reason I didn't want to attend, I had the distinct feeling that, had I gone to that party, I may have been drugged and questioned, or as I actually thought at the time, tortured; ’WHOOO DOOOO YOOOU VERRRK FOR? SPEAK YOU CAPITALIST SWINE!! (SFX: SLAP! SLAP!!!).
I am sure they thought I was a spy, hence the questions, the stares, the stalling for the photo in the drive way and her calling it lightening.
However, it also meant that the Australian woman was extremely well acquainted with the embassy staff…
While rabbiting on to me, as the KGB organized my ‘photo opportunity’ as we sat in the car, the woman had joked about the fact that she lives one floor above, and one below, ASIO, who keep a close eye on the embassy, she laughed. She told me the whole building was full of spies! And she was in the middle of the ASIO sandwich!
So, I wondered, where did she fit in? Was she a double agent, or a ‘sleeper’ for the USSR? Or was she ASIO, or some other foreign agent herself?
I shall never know. However, I have to admit, I was eternally grateful for the assistance that couple gave me, with the sound track of troika bells. The director’s mouth actually gaped open, when I read out the description of the sound track! What thanks did I get? A murmured “Well done” and that was it!
I was supposed to return the LP of Russian sound effects when I had finished with it. I promised I would do this, that being the condition of the loan, for it was a rare record I was told. I must admit, I couldn’t see a lot of people owning one myself! Another student asked to borrow it from me, after I had finished with it. Later, when I asked for it back, he didn’t know where it was! I was furious, as it made me look like an uncaring oaf to the people who lent it to me, and it gave my school a bad name, which they would crucify you for.
It never reappeared. There was no reason for anyone to steal the ruddy thing, it wasn’t as if it was a record of popular songs, it was atmospheric sound effects! The first year student who borrowed it, remained completely unaffected by my entreaties to find it, and never apologised, nor had he shown a scintilla of remorse.
Writing this, it just occurred to me, maybe ASIO took it, for if the KGB had investigated me, obviously ASIO would have too? I can now see that they would have wanted to check out the record themselves, in case I was being given secrets that way.
Hmm…maybe I should have been a spy after all?
I was approached once, while still at school, by a General, through my Headmaster no less, at our school annual cadet camp. I was given a book to read, by the Headmaster, after the general paid us a visit, and he stopped to chat with me, in the camp hospital ward, why I was there is another story! The book was about the infamous spies of England; Burgess, McLean and Philby, all of whom were in Britain’s secret service, and all of whom were double agents…FOR RUSSIA!!!!
The main fact I remembered about this book was that, one of the double agents was a homosexual! It had been reviewed in the newspaper, and on TV, so I was well aware of its existence.
At the time, I thought it was a subtle attempt to find out if I was gay! I was certainly not going to give away that little secret, in a big homophobic private boys’ school, especially in that time, when it was not just being condemned by God to be gay, but it was also illegal to be gay!
Gays, being illegal, seems so strange today.
Probably just as well, that I turned down the subtle enquiry. I took the book, of course, as one does not refuse a seemingly kind gesture by the Headmaster. About a month later, when I returned it to the Headmaster’s secretary, I was invited into his office, “The Rector wishes to speak to you Fog.” she always had a dead pan boring monotone that woman. (The Rector was the head of the religious community, the priests, but he was also the Headmaster in my day) It was the first and last time that I was invited into the Rector’s office. Without any preliminary nicety, he asked, “So fella, did you read the book? What did you think of it?”
“I didn’t read it Father.”
His face then became a little stonier than usual, if that was at all possible.
“Very well, you may go.”
It was never referred to again.
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Comment by tlcorbin
Coffee Quip
A Global Citizen
Paranormal Paranormal
Is Why
Alaska Chronicle
Sleezer's World
Raven
Comment by Mountain Fog
Infognito
yeah..maybe..but I still wonder soemtimes what my life would have been like as a spy...I can see me now, Aston Maritns, martinis...shaken of course, two olives and very dry, lots of gorgeous
womenmen in bikini swim suits...private jets...oh, just snapped out of my reverie, we are talking about Oz spies...ok...new dream; lovely nylon suits, Fosters beer, unshaken, BoganBimboHimbo Hooker Smack Addicts, a Ford Falcon, or Holden 1980's model, without air con, or it does not work anymore, economy class jet travel, maybe, but usually bus fares...ahh what a life it would have been!
cheers
fog
Comment by tlcorbin
Coffee Quip
A Global Citizen
Paranormal Paranormal
Is Why
Alaska Chronicle
Sleezer's World
I guess you started loosing me around the reality check stuff, when the visual of a Ford falcon, a shaken Fosters and a bus started filtering through....
Loosing the smack adled bimbo's or himbo's as apropos is ok, but really....the Fosters and bus fumes will never do, nope, not gonna happen...
The thought of Tisha in a form fitting black jumpsuit was starting to work its magic . . . uh huh, yes it was...reality, ha, overrated.
Raven