CHAPTER 7. I SEE NOTHING, HEAR NOTHING, KNOW NOTHING, WILL TELL NO ONE

For weeks, in the rare moments spared from classes or from playing the role of the happy newlywed at home, he nursed the torment of his mutilated soul. Then, one grim evening, as he crossed the apartment threshold and was asked whether he preferred venison or seafood for dinner, he rolled his eyes in irritation and declared he wanted to engage in something more elevated than mere stomach-stuffing.

“Ah, yes!” his new wife exclaimed, nodding. “As we grow closer, the cook awakens in me, and in you the warrior begins to lift his head! By the way—you don’t yet know this—but starting tomorrow I’ll be joining the space training program. After that, I’ll be teaching you two new disciplines: judo, for your physical conditioning, and another to broaden your—shall we say—more elevated pursuits. And tonight, we can already begin preparing you for those lessons.”

“What belt will I have in judo?” he joked.

“The most beautiful one—like in photographs,” she smiled, then added: “We’ll have time only to learn to walk like a judoka, fall safely, and never surrender. That last part you’ll need beyond sports. But for now, we need this.”

From somewhere she produced a case, its contents unpleasantly shocking him. Inside were vials, tubes, wires leading to a device, and certain adult implements he had been afraid even to contemplate.

“What is this?” he asked, paling and stepping back.

“To minimize the pain,” she said, lying with deceptive gentleness. “We’ll play music here, run the shower in the bathroom, and insert this lovely gag so you won’t scream as much. I’ll monitor the process via the device and try to keep it bearable. We’re not in prison, where they do this with hatred. We love each other, after all, and I want only what’s good for you. Understand—right now you’re merely a double among many. You must become completely identical. Completely. From every angle. So that not even a mosquito could find fault. Do you know whether he lets his loyal foot soldier or his potato daddy do shameful things to him? I do. All of it. Trust me.”

“Whisper to me,” she said.

“I’m bitter about sacrificing my real family,” he replied, then asked: “For what? Kremlin tower struggles, or foreign intelligence?”