Alexandra was waiting for her assigned interpreter in her office. On the walls there were numerous drawings of plans, a picture of Lenin and two postcards, one of which showed a panorama of Odessa, the other the town hall of Omsk. Just opposite the door was the simple desk on which various cardboard folders were neatly stacked. Opposite the two windows on the right was an architect's desk with a plan clamped in it. The green plant, which was placed on a small filing cabinet on the window side, was the only natural thing in the room.

Alexandra was engrossed in reading a report and making notes on a small pad when there was a knock. After a short shrug, she straightened up, smoothed out her skirt and firmly invited the knocker to enter.

To her surprise, it was not the interpreter she had expected, with whom she had already had to deal several times when talking to comrades from Thuringia or the German-speaking parts of Poland or the Czech Republic. "Comrade Pyatnitskaya, Leonid Shakhlikov reporting as interpreter," the blond boy, whom Alexandra estimated to be barely eighteen years old, rattled off and then stopped in front of the door closed behind him with a taut posture.

She eyed him closely before she could bring herself to reply in a way that did not express her anger too strongly, she had liked the correctness of his appearance: "Who sent you to me? I don't doubt your abilities, comrade, but I was expecting an experienced colleague. Surely you know that our visitor is not from our kind and therefore special care must be taken." 

Several problems ran through her mind: on the one hand, never giving away too much information, on the other hand, getting the maximum information out of the other person, registering every gesture and every change in tone, and all this in a kind of conversation where no one could really assess the other person's background. Alexandra doubted whether this boy was even remotely suited for such a thing. She could not afford to have to think for an interpreter in a matter that was both outwardly trivial and inwardly delicate. 

As if he had read her thoughts, Leonid began after a brief clearing of his throat: "Comrade, it is an honour to be of service to you on this visit. Comrade Yakin, whom you were expecting, is in hospital with a broken leg. He is my immediate superior in the interpreting department of the Foreign Ministry."

Alexandra was taken aback, but quickly regained her composure: "Thank you for that explanation, comrade, but it is superfluous. I do not question the competence of your superior office. If they deem you suitable and assign you to me for this assignment, then that is sufficient justification for me. I trust that your knowledge of German has been tested. Your loyalty is not in question, otherwise you would not be here. In your conversations with the foreign guest, it will also be particularly important that you reflect in your translation every emotion or subtle accentuation resonating in the choice of words, if necessary, by explicitly pointing out such a secondary meaning to me. You will speak only when I give you a sign, and whatever you hear you will not communicate to anyone else."

When Leonid noticed that she took a short breath, he used the resulting pause to speak up again himself: "That is the case with all my orders, comrade."

Alexandra could not gauge whether this statement was meant to express her new co-worker's sense of duty or was an insult because she doubted him. The implied smile on his otherwise concentrated face directed at her made her decide in favour of Leonid. At the same time, she decided to find out something more about this fellow. As if it were her inner musings, she closed the folder in front of her and stood up, "Report to Comrade Relaya, who will show you to your place in the office during the next three weeks. I expect you to be available around the clock during the entire period of our guest's stay. During the times when there is nothing to translate, you will keep yourself usefully occupied. For the duration of the visit, you will live in a room in the Hotel Moskva directly next to our guest and be available to him as an interpreter at all times. Of course, you will report to me should he leave the room outside of our joint activities. Your attire will be correct at all times." 

To somehow take the edge off what she had said, which she was sorry for afterwards, she added: "Just as it is today. Comrade Shakhlikov, I look forward to our collaboration."

Leonid's hand twitched as if to salute before he remembered that this was not intended for civilians. 

Ah, that's good, Alexandra thought, he hasn't forgotten military manners. Leonid indicated a bow of the head and took his leave, "Thank you, comrade, for the trust you have placed in me." After Alexandra returned the nod wordlessly, Leonid left the office.

Aleksandra sat down and began to think. She was not comfortable with this assignment, of which she herself was still not clear what the deeper meaning of a cooperation with this ideology from Rome, which always justified imperialism anew, was supposed to be. And the suggestion of her mentor Schelepin that there might be common interests against the class enemy had been far from convincing.

Nevertheless, she took it for granted that she would put all her skill into this task. As with her previous assignments, she knew that the mixture of complete devotion to the state, radical peacefulness and professional qualifications as an architect had led her superiors to choose her. 

But this project was different from the previous assignments, where it had always been about probing the situation in states or regions that the government hoped to persuade to develop or even first adopt socialism, under the guise of development cooperation, which really left bridges, dams or rail networks as a side effect. And if Aleksandra, by her modest and doubly effective actions, could serve this goal, the victory of socialism, she would do so in almost any circumstances. Just like my brother Vladimir, she thought, looking at the picture that showed Odessa.

When she had sat down again, Aleksandra picked up the phone and arranged to meet her friend Olga for the evening. She invited her to have dinner together at her flat. "I always like it best," she thought after Olga's immediate acceptance, "when we meet in the safe atmosphere of my flat."

After the final examination before the five-member professors' commission in the additional presence of Prelate dell'Acqa and Lieutenant Colonel Bruscheck had passed calmly and successfully, Johann barely had time to pack his belongings. All the while, he pondered whether he should send a succinct note about his journey to his parents or his sisters. But what should he write? That he was going to Moscow to start a dialogue between the Church and the Communist Party? That would be too sumptuous. At the same time, he was not much more comfortable with the alternative story, the visit to civil war-torn North Africa. In any case, his family would be worried. But anything he could write to them would only increase those worries.

Finally, Johann put the few books he had taken with him privately into his travel bag. As he did so, he had to think of the novel James had shown him yesterday: this spy story with the witty title "From Moscow with love". The few hours that had passed since then had presented his life with a completely new situation. Instead of returning to Austria, taking over a parish and starting a career at university, he would now be sent to the East. At least the examination had been excellent to Johann's satisfaction. Whenever he would now return to Austria after the Moscow adventure, at least he had acquired this requirement for his future.

The farewell to the rector was very formal. The older gentleman, who was not informed of the exact circumstances of the sudden departure, felt at the same time deceived and yet obliged not to put his protégé on the spot by direct questions about his quick departure.

At least, he thought, it could not have been anything particularly scandalous if he had been allowed to sit his exams early. Was there an urgent need to fill an important post in Austria? But then why the officer? The rector decided not to worry about it any further and was already thinking about who the vacated room could go to: "You have behaved very well here. I will also write that in my certificate of good conduct, which I will send to your bishop." After this cool statement, he shook Johann's hand, went back behind his desk and, after Johann had stopped undecided, made a gesture to go out.

"Thank you for the proper care and the confraternal cordiality with which I was received and accompanied here," Johann reeled off tonelessly, at least to match his previous superior in lack of emotion.

"I would not have acted differently in his place if another authority suddenly came and ruled into my area of responsibility. But possibly I would let it be felt by the interfering authority and not by the one who was chosen for such a curious assignment through no fault of his own," Johann thought as he descended the stairs of the college with his travel bag in his hand. The last hope of meeting someone who asked about the bag and to whom he could give a small hint also vanished. Had the others been forbidden to stay in the corridors on some pretext? Was Johann slowly becoming paranoid?

When the door slammed behind Johann, it seemed to him that his time in Rome had been left behind finally. And as he made his way to the agreed meeting point at the Austrian Embassy in Palazzo Venezia, he tried to soak up every last impression of this noisy and lively city. And then he suddenly stopped as if frozen, but avoiding him was no longer possible: James had already seen him and skipped happily towards him: "Hello, friend, where are you off to? Have you once again borrowed a bit more books from the library than allowed?"

Johann's mind raced: he had never lied before and was immensely proud of it. But how should he act now: The story with North Africa was prepared for his relatives in Austria, who could not know what he was doing in Rome; for his fellow Roman students, the version of an urgent visit home was provided. But home would only see Johann for a brief moment before it was on to the great unknown land. James was the most trustworthy and cordial fellow student. And he was Johann's best friend next to Grigori. He probably wouldn't notice anything about the lie, and yet it seemed particularly shabby to Johann with this counterpart: "James, what are you doing in these quartiere at this time of night? Has a new bookshop opened where you can buy more spy novels?"

Johann waited anxiously to see if his attempt succeeded. And he wasn't wrong about James: "Admit that you liked From Moscow with love? I knew you'd be fascinated by it! No, I'm just passing through town, seeing what turns up. Would you like to join me? We could have a glass of red wine in a little trattoria; and, lest it seem idle to you, discuss the consequences of the Seven Years' War for the organisation of Catholic dioceses in Europe. Because even though I've almost finished my dissertation on it, I can still learn a lot from you about the Eastern European perspective."

Johann had to smile; for James, of course, Austria was always Eastern Europe, although he himself was convinced, according to the federal anthem, that his homeland was the centre and heart of Europe. This moment of relief immediately gave way to Johann saying, "I'd love to some other time. I still have something to do. And I'm sure your dissertation will be excellent; and possibly, with your passion for conspiracies, it will even be exciting and uncover secret machinations that even your professors didn't know about until now."

James grinned, "Not yet this time, but if my scholarship is renewed, I will habilitate on the activities of Soviet spies in the Vatican between 1917 and 1957. Then I will uncover real secrets; or be kidnapped by the KGB."

Johann gave a strained laugh. James really had a talent for saying things quite clearly, even if he himself sometimes didn't catch it. Johann shook his hand in farewell; and, following an impulse, hugged him. James was a little confused, but returned the embrace, "Don't worry, I haven't started yet; and you needn't fear that I'll be carried off from Rome tonight."

Johann released the embrace and smiled, "That's right, I'm sure you'll still be here in Rome tomorrow!" What he didn't say to that was that he would see the next morning already in Austria.

A dark blue car was parked in front of the iron-barred gate of the Austrian Embassy. The chauffeur helped Johann load his travel bag, then held the left rear door open for him. Already seated in the vehicle was Lieutenant Colonel Bruscheck and a second soldier in the front, whose rank Johann could not place, but who seemed to be subordinate to the Lieutenant Colonel because of the silver decorations. "Good evening, Doctor." he greeted politely and extended his hand to Johann in greeting, "This is Staff Sergeant Winter, my attached non-commissioned officer. He will accompany us to Moscow." Johann reached forward to also greet the sergeant with a handshake, which the latter only noticed after some astonishment and answered in a friendly manner.

Then an awkward silence fell for a moment. Bruscheck interrupted it by dryly enumerating: "We will travel by night train to Vienna, where we will arrive tomorrow afternoon. A sleeper compartment has been reserved for you, as it has for me, and the costs have been paid. I suggest that we eat together in the dining car at twenty-one o'clock. As it is an Austrian train, the cuisine will certainly suit us. Tomorrow we will spend the night in Vienna, a room has been prepared for you in the seminary. At seven-thirty the day after tomorrow we will board the train to Lemberg, where we will spend the night once. Until then the journey will be without problems, we will have lunch and dinner in the dining car, breakfast will be served in the compartment. In Lemberg we will sleep another night because I have something to discuss with the military commander of Galicia there. You can visit the city in the meantime. Staff Sergeant Winter will put together a programme for you and organise the escort. The following day we will meet at the Soviet Consulate with the Consul and a representative of the Soviet Ministry of Defence, who will first question us together and then separately. Then we will board the train to Moscow and continue under good guard," he winked wittily, "via Kiev to Moscow, where we will both prepare the start of our..." he hesitated briefly, "missions."

Johann cleared his throat and then launched into a question, "Will I get any more information about the purpose of the trip? Will I get a new passport?"

The officer smiled, "You read too many spy novels. Since you are not in the Vatican or Austrian diplomatic service or travelling on assignment, you don't need a new passport. You will receive your visa for the Soviet Union, which allows you a stay of four months for research purposes in Moscow and possibly Leningrad, in Vienna. The fact that we are travelling together is purely coincidental and courtesy of the Austrian state towards the Catholic Church. Should any additional information become necessary in the course of the journey, you will always receive it directly from me; and at such time as I deem appropriate."

Johann marvelled, and this amazement displaced his slight annoyance at the commanding undertone in his seatmate's voice. He had the detailed travel plans and all sorts of arrangements in his head and could reproduce them with a precision as if he were reading them off a page. Whether this was routine or simply his own meticulous way of preparing for the mission, which was also new to him, Johann could not decide at this point.

As there was little traffic by Roman standards on this Wednesday, the car arrived at the forecourt of Termini station at twenty o'clock. The car came to a halt in the dedicated stop for vehicles of the diplomatic corps and the government. As Johann got out, his gaze roamed once more over the delicately leafy forecourt, to the remains of Diocletian's Baths in the background, into which Michelangelo had so ingeniously built the Church of Santa Maria degli Angeli e dei Martiri, to the Piazza Esedra, where the balmy evening breeze gently swayed the Italian flags erected around the central fountain, to the remains of the Severian city walls that lay directly opposite the entrance to the station.

The entrance to the station did not look very cosy due to its concrete-grey colour and blocky structure. After unloading his luggage, Johann took charge of his bag himself, and the staff sergeant lifted his and the lieutenant-colonel's suitcases onto a luggage cart. The chauffeur saluted the officer wordlessly, who returned the salute just as wordlessly. Then the chauffeur got into the car and drove off. "Staff Sergeant Winter will also push your luggage."

Johann waved a friendly hand at Bruscheck's offer, "There's no harm in everyone carrying their own cross, as we would say here."

The officer frowned briefly, as if there had been a quiet criticism of his demeanour and relationship with his subordinate in the biblical quotation alluded to, but then said, "As you think, Reverend."

On the platform, the conductor in the uniform of the ÖBB saluted the lieutenant-colonel and led him to the first-class sleeping car, where the first compartment was reserved for him, the second for Johann. The sergeant, who was about Johann's age, put the suitcase in the compartment. Then he followed the conductor's indication towards second class.

Johann admired the fine furnishings of the carriage, the elegant curtains, the finely patterned wallpaper, the comfortable bench, the washstand hidden behind a wooden door, which the conductor humbly showed off. While Bruscheck took travelling in first class for granted, Johann had only ever travelled seated in the third-class open-plan carriage. He had wondered each time what it would be like to sleep in the privileged compartments; and had forbidden himself this thought each time, because any kind of ostentation and distinction from the common people seemed unchurchlikely to him.

"Whenever you need anything," said the conductor, with a final bow, "Herr Oberstleutnant, please just press the call button and I will come at once to fulfil your wish." Following the officer's gaze towards Johann, the conductor added - now without bowing - "Of course, that of all the other guests in First Class as well. The Austrian Federal Railway wishes you a pleasant journey. During dinner I will come and prepare your beds for the night. At seven o'clock I will serve breakfast. I may ask you for your passports, so that you will not have to be awakened at the border crossing in Occhiobello." The lieutenant-colonel and Johann handed the passports to the conductor, who opened them carefully, examined them and then put them in his leather bag.

When the conductor had left after a final greeting, Bruscheck turned to Johann still in the corridor: "As I said, I expect you to be ready to leave five minutes before twenty-one o'clock so that we can have dinner in the dining car on time." He then locked the door behind him.

Johann now also went into his compartment and closed the door. Through the window he could see the hustle and bustle on the platform: Italian and Austrian railway officials, lovers saying goodbye, businessmen hurriedly walking forward with a fixed gaze. Families with children, where the women had trouble following the step of the man in front with the children by the hand. As it was starting to get dark, Johann fumbled for the switch to turn on the compartment's two electric lamps. The soft yellow light illuminated the room. Johann opened the suitcase, took out his washing things and put them on the shelf above the washstand, whose wooden door he then closed. He hung his coat, his second talar and the rest of his laundry in the narrow cupboard, into which he finally placed the suitcase vertically. Finally, he took his breviary and sat down on the bench, which was even more comfortable than it looked. The prayer, he thought as he opened the corresponding page, will be the same there as here or at home. So what should I be afraid of? Then he began to pray Vespers in his usual manner.

At twenty fifty Johann stood in the corridor and locked the compartment door behind him. He briefly considered knocking on Bruscheck's door, but then paused. The train had left on time and was moving noisily through the suburbs of Rome and finally into the open countryside of Lazio. At twenty fifty-five Lieutenant-Colonel Bruscheck stepped into the corridor and also locked the door behind him. "Oh, you're here already. I praise that. Punctuality is a main soldierly virtue!"

Johann smiles kindly: "I think that punctuality is a quality and not a virtue, but I am also not a soldier and therefore not familiar with your sometimes somewhat deviant use of language. Perhaps virtue means something different in military speech than in humanities speech."

Bruscheck now laughed aloud for the first time: "We should continue this philosophical question over dinner and a good glass of Austrian wine. I think we'll get along fine. I like academic jokers like you."

Johann silently followed the officer ahead, wondering whether this was to have been the start of an interesting travelling friendship or a bottomless insult.

Lieutenant Colonel Bruscheck ordered a ham roll filled with mayonnaise salad as a starter, then a Wiener Schnitzel with parsley potatoes and green salad, and an apple strudel for dessert. Johann dispensed with the starter, took a cheese platter for the main course, which was served with Austrian brown bread, and at the insistence of his counterpart, a piece of yeast Gugelhupf for dessert. While the officer drank Grüner Veltliner from the Traisental with his meal, Johann took only water, which he had long made a habit of drinking.

"I only drink wine at church services," he had explained to the inquiring lieutenant-colonel, "otherwise water is my favourite drink. It's easier to live if you look at things soberly not only during the day but also in the evening. And the daily reading in the church's night prayer from the first letter of Saint Peter also invites us to 'be sober and watchful'" Johann interrupted the quotation just in time to avoid having to continue "because the devil goes about like a roaring lion, seeking whom he may devour", because his counterpart would have had to perceive that as a threat in any case. "But I come from a very good wine region, as you have confirmed by your choice. My grandfather pressed some wine himself for his own use with a few vines in his garden in the Traisental."

The last sentence seemed to end the brief interruption of Bruscheck's enjoyment of the schnitzel, for he now raised his glass as if in confirmation and toasted Johann. "Why did you become a priest?" he now asked directly.

Johann thought back and forth about how best to answer when the questioner continued, "I'm sorry, that was probably too frank a question. I rarely have to deal with people like you. Yes, I am a good Catholic, like most Austrians, but that doesn't mean that I have much time beyond attending Mass on Sundays to deal with theological questions. In truth, it is the first time I have had the opportunity to speak privately with a priest. You don't have to answer, though."

Johann had meanwhile composed himself and tried to answer calmly: "I will gladly answer you as far as I can. But it is already clear to me that I cannot come up with an explanation in the scientific sense. It is a difficult mixture of social environment, personal interest, reputation of the church and a last inexplicable remainder that the theologians like to call grace or divine calling, but which is in no way legally or philosophically verifiable. For the outsider, the atheist, my path is therefore perhaps even easier to understand. My family comes from humble beginnings, working class, which in interwar Austria was not exactly conducive to being on good terms with the Church. My father was a radio operator in a special unit during the war, and - before you say anything - he is an honest man who thought a lot about his actions. He acted to the best of his ability and was convinced that the anti-religious excesses of National Socialism were only the figments of the imagination of a few lunatics who wanted to introduce pseudo-Germanic cults. In short, he enrolled me in the Napola in Melk in order to make a good citizen out of me and at the same time, through the monastic environment of the expropriated monastery, to let the religious dimension at least affect me through the place, which no amount of flags and symbols could cover. After the end of the war, after a year of this kind of education, I continued my studies at the Episcopal Boys' Seminary and Grammar School in Melk and, as was customary at the time, quickly graduated. The permission to study and the parallel study of history and theology in Vienna are probably due to this double past. Parallel to my studies, I attended the seminary in St. Pölten because I come from this diocese, but I lived in Vienna during the week to have direct access to the university. The St. Pölten university only offers theology, not history. Last year I was ordained priest, with dispensation because of my age. Certainly, my family and my homeland have given me a lot for this path, my upbringing, my interest in history and my abhorrence of all nationalistic narrow-mindedness and exclusions towards that all-embracing catholicity for which the Church stands for me, into which everyone is accepted regardless of their origin. But ultimately and technically, it was the witness of my formators and the call of my bishop that made me who I now sit before you. And although at first glance all of this lacks any deeper meaning as a historical coincidence, as a theologian I would say that in every piece of the mosaic of this biography, God has always inserted just the right little stone into the pattern, in His very unspectacular but very definite way. So everything I encountered becomes a call, a vocation."

The lieutenant-colonel had listened with interest throughout the narrative and had eaten his apple strudel with relish; at the definition of "catholicity" he had listened briefly, then finally speared the last piece of the tasty dessert and brought it to his mouth. He nodded appreciatively: "I didn't understand half of what you said. And I think it's very brave of you to talk about your past like that in a dining car, that's not often seen in Austria at this time, because after all, everyone was supposedly in the resistance." The lieutenant-colonel glanced around routinely, but the other guests seemed either not to have overheard the conversation because of the noise of the train, or they were frantically trying not to act suspiciously because there was an officer in the carriage. "Your image of the church is surprisingly new to me, I've never seen the church like that before. It almost sounds a bit socialist. Like 'classless society'."

Johann almost choked on his Gugelhupf: "With respect, but I am anything but a socialist. The mindless materialism that reduces human beings to a pile of atoms and the inhuman politics of violence that leads so many people - including many of my spiritual brothers - to prison or death are completely alien to me!"

The lieutenant colonel smiled, "I'm not your bishop, you don't have to list your arguments against socialism to me. Nor did I think you belonged to that real socialist group indebted to political reality, but to those naïve intellectual socialists and utopians who dream of a better world; and who are suspected or declared mad in the West as in the East."

Now Johann's counterpart noticed that some people were a little too conspicuously not looking at them and listening. So he said to Johann: "It's getting late, and tomorrow will be a busy day. I look forward to continuing this interesting dispute at lunch tomorrow." Abruptly he finished his wine and stood up.

Hastily, Johann, who enjoyed the cake immensely, shoved the last piece into his mouth and rose as well. The waiter nodded knowingly as the lieutenant-colonel signalled him to put the food and drink consumed on a bill. Apparently he was familiar with the procedure for military service passengers, who were always treated courteously and discreetly on trains run by the Austrian Federal Railway.

"Perhaps tomorrow you can tell me," Johann said as they both unlocked their doors, "why you became a soldier?"

Bruscheck looked at him in surprise and then answered dryly, "Maybe, but certainly not in the dining car. Good night, Reverend." Without waiting for the greeting to be returned, he went into his compartment and locked it behind him.

Johann looked after him for a moment, wondering if he had made some mistake in the conversation, if the officer was being overcautious or if he was too naïve, and then decided to just travel on as amiably as possible, because he could not judge his counterpart: was he a cynic or a friend, an ally or one forced to cooperate.

In his compartment, Johann was surprised to find that the cosy bench had been converted into a comfortable bed with light blue bed linen. A towel lay folded over the head cushion and the blanket was folded in half at an angle. The curtains were closed. No one has ever prepared a bed for me like this before, he thought.

After he had also prayed Compline and Matins for the following day, Johann took off his robe and hung it up in the wardrobe. He opened the stiff collar and put the starched linen ring in the box as well. Still dressed only in a white shirt, black trousers and the obligatory black shoes, he stepped out into the corridor once more to go to the toilet, which was at the end of the carriage. When he returned, he saw Staff Sergeant Winter walk past Bruscheck's and his door. "Do you need anything?" he asked him, trying to suppress his alienation at this strange shadowing.

"The Herr Oberstleutnant has instructed me to patrol your cabins regularly during the voyage. Of course there is no danger, but it is customary that persons of certain importance are also looked after in a special way."

Johann considered for a moment, then his curiosity won out, "Do you have some more time to chat. I have some questions that I suspect you will answer sooner than your superior. I have some chocolate left that I would like to invite you to."

The sergeant hesitated for a moment, as if considering whether this invitation would be appropriate and whether he would be violating his duties by talking in confidence. Finally he agreed and stepped into the compartment. He sat down on the seat on the other side of the bench that had been converted into a bed. Johann took the last quarter of a chocolate bar from a side compartment of his suitcase: "It's dark chocolate, not so tasty, but keeps well, rich in nutrients and cocoa. It helps me concentrate when I read."

Winter smirked, "I wouldn't have guessed that you eat the chocolate because you like it."

Johann eyed the sergeant questioningly, to which he immediately stopped smirking, "Sorry, I didn't mean to offend you."

Johann sat down opposite him and handed him the chocolate, of which he then took a piece. "Don't worry, I'm used to people dismantling my long-winded explanations, I have four sisters and a twin brother who I don't impress so much with my profession that they silently accept everything I tell them. Besides, I try to make military humour more understandable to me." Now he smiled too, and his counterpart relaxed. "Yes, I eat the chocolate mainly because I like it. And I probably wouldn't let go of it even if it were completely unhealthy and I didn't get the slightest benefit from it."

"Would you," Winter now asked, "stop eating chocolate if it were forbidden by the Church?"

Johann didn't think for long: "I wouldn't eat chocolate then, although I can't imagine why the Church should forbid eating chocolate. But as a soldier you will probably understand best that in communities you have to keep rules, on the one hand out of loyalty to your pledge, and on the other hand at least to be a good example for the others. If one also understood the meaning of the commandment oneself, one would be even further ahead."

Winter nodded and took another piece of the chocolate. "You wanted to ask me questions. But I must point out right away that I have nowhere near the knowledge and experience that the Herr Oberstleutnant has. At the same time, there will also be answers that I cannot give you."

Johann took the last piece of chocolate, then carefully folded the golden paper before putting it in the wastepaper basket under the table. "What kind of person is your superior? Understand me correctly: I can't assess him at all; perhaps because I've never had anything to do with the military before. What does he take me for? How openly can one talk to him?"

Johann watched as the answer to his question was slowly weighed. Finally, the sergeant began, "It is not for me to judge my superiors as a matter of principle, but I have known Lieutenant-Colonel Bruscheck for some years. My father served with him during the war. He was also a non-commissioned officer like me. I also owe my selection for this exciting mission to his mediation. According to my father's stories, who, however, gave only very sparse accounts of the war, they were both deployed in the Balkans and in Greece. The lieutenant colonel was a very correct officer who treated his people well and made his decisions with foresight. He is trustworthy in any case. He was chosen for this mission partly because he understands and speaks passable Russian. In building up the Federal Army, he took a clear line of neutrality from the very beginning and therefore urged that contacts with the East must be cultivated just as intensively as with the West; after all, it was primarily the Soviet Union that made Austria in its present form possible. I cannot say anything about his attitude to the Church. But what strikes me is how interested he listens to you. In a way, in the military system, he's usually more used to just talking."

"To command," Johann interrupted, "you rather meant. I sometimes get the impression that he sees all the people he works with as chess pieces in a game he is leading. He pushes them from A to B or expects them to automatically take the position he wants. In principle, I know this from my own institution, but that makes it stranger for me that someone else is now talking to me in this way. Someone whose intentions I am not nearly as clear about as I am about the goals of the church, which I am after all fully striving for."

Winter began to grin mischievously again, "And you are surely of the opinion that the so-called goals of the Church are fully absorbed in the interests of your superiors? There are no private concerns there? Intrigues? Ambition?"

Johann winced. The accusations were not new, he had heard them over and over again from his siblings, from classmates and from critics. It had become such a habit for him to dismiss it all as anti-church propaganda that it simply bored him at first approach. Then, if anyone else asked, the concession was made that there must have been one or two who had not yet shed all the vices that interfered with his officiating. Apart from his siblings, there was no one who then probed further, for in reality all the indignation was mainly an excuse for the fact that he himself, of course, knew exactly how much some forms of ambition were upsetting him. He had, if not always quite single-mindedly, at least very willingly accepted every opportunity to improve his starting conditions in the church. Certainly, he had never denounced others in order to take their place himself, but he had cleverly and unobtrusively waited in the background when others had exposed themselves. And he had not come to the aid of some - which pains him to this day - even where they were openly treated unjustly. He had always justified this to his conscience by saying that such an intervention would probably have done more to escalate the situation than to help those who had been treated unjustly. But the naïve question about the ostensible and the true motives of the action, which the seemingly ignorant non-commissioned officer had put to him, touched on his most vulnerable side, which he liked to let disappear under a torrent of erudition. But unfortunately, in theological circles this was an easy game, because everyone knew exactly what not to ask about. And even in church practice, it rarely happened that believers dared to question a priest in such a way. And the politically motivated criticism was mostly directed against anonymous bigwigs, the church as a large landowner, as a school supervisory body, as a political functionary on the side of the powerful, hardly ever against individual persons and so far never at all against him personally.

"Was there something wrong with my question?" Winter inquired, interrupting Johann's brooding.

He quickly answered: "There is no guarantee that everyone thinks, speaks and acts according to their mission. But the Church, from the simple priest to the Pope, has provided for the confession of guilt three times a day, so that none of us could lull ourselves into self-assurance. I trust, then, that my superiors are at least as honest and solicitous in exploring their thoughts as I am."

The conversation was strangely cut short by this cool reply. "It's getting late, and I'm sure tomorrow will be a busy day as well. I hope I have been able to sufficiently portray the full trustworthiness of the Lieutenant Colonel. Thank you also for the chocolate," Winter said, already getting up, "I wish you a good night."

Johann stood up as well and replied politely, "Thank you for your frankness. I would be happy if we could continue our conversation in due course. Good night."

Olga pranced into Aleksandra's flat like a little spring storm. There were two plates on the table, some bread in a basket, two glasses and a bottle of water. "How could I have thought that you would accompany me and Ilya to a meal out? You haven't made only plinis again, have you?" Before Aleksandra could answer, Olga was already taking two packets out of her bag and placing them on the table. "Ham. And some cheese!"

"Welcome!" replied Aleksandra, provoking Olga's embrace at the same time, "Sorry, I'm glad to see you anyway! Even if you should apply for a bigger flat someday!"

Aleksandra now went to the cooker and fetched the food while Olga sat down and poured water for both of them. After they had also unpacked the ham and cheese, the conversation began, "Olga, I have a question for you."

Olga nodded with her mouth full: "Yes, your plinis are excellent, and they would make a full meal even without the ham and cheese. But I guess that wasn't your question. Usually, you only call in the middle of the week when there's something to celebrate or mourn. I hope it's something to celebrate."

When Aleksandra remained silent, Olga grabbed Aleksandra's hand with a trembling hand, still holding the fork: "Oh no, don't tell me something happened? Are you ill? Is Igor or Vladi ill? Or was there an accident?"

Aleksandra shook her head, "If you let me finish, I could tell you right now why I invited you today. There's someone from your department I met, and..."

Olga dropped her cutlery in shock, "Aleksandra, you've fallen in love? Who is it? Have you been together?"

Aleksandra shook her head indignantly, "Where do you get these ideas? I'm working with someone I just met today. As part of an assignment, I will have to look after a German-speaking guest. Your department has assigned me an interpreter for this. So far I've only ever had to deal with comrade Jakin when it came to such contacts. But today a little fellow, well, a very young comrade, introduced himself to me and I wanted to ask you about him."

Olga purred briefly and looked at the puzzled Aleksandra. Finally she replied with relish: "If it's comrade Shakhlikov - and I can't think of anyone else - then I can think of ten female comrades right now who would swap jobs with you in a heartbeat. He is the crush of all the younger comrades, and also of some of the older ones. And if I weren't with Ilya, then I could certainly..."

Aleksandra interrupted her harshly: "Olga, you know that I'm not interested in departmental gossip. I also don't care at all whether the interpreter is good-looking or has only one leg and wears a Rasputin beard. What I care about is his reliability and his qualifications."

Olga shoved another piece of the delicious ham into her mouth and chewed on it. When she had finished, she replied slowly, "Well, you almost sound like our security inspectors."

Aleksandra rebuffed with a slight wave of her hand, "You know I always want to be extra sure about international projects and not allow myself any embarrassment that could damage the Soviet Union's reputation."

Her friend swallowed the credibly presented diversion and continued: "Leonid Shakhlikov is by no means as young as he looks, he was born in 1934 just like us. In 1941, his mother was captured by the Germans and deported to Poland, where she was made the maid of some butcher. Leonid grew up in a family whose father sent thousands to their deaths every day, while at home his wife embroidered, and his children played. Leonid had to accompany his mother and learned German with the children of this family. His blond hair probably saved his life there, because at the end of the war, the SS officer not only shot Leonid's mother and a second forced labourer in a shed behind the house, he then committed suicide in his room. His wife went crazy and poisoned herself without thinking of the children. When other Germans came to the house the next day to look for the missing officer, they found three children and four adult corpses: Leonid with the German's son and daughter immediately sitting apathetically next to the wife's corpse. The others took the three children with them as they fled. After being placed in an orphanage in Thuringia, Leonid only returned to Russia after four more years, where he then lived with a distant relative. After his military service, he studied German in Moscow and Weimar and began working for our department. You don't need to doubt his convictions, because with this story it's absolutely clear that he deeply detested everything Western. And as much as he suffered at the hands of Germans, he learned their language well in childish naivety; as some claim, even better than Comrade Jakin."

Aleksandra looked affectedly at the plate in front of her, "I wouldn't have thought he had such a dramatic back story."

Olga nodded, "Very few people know that. At work he is always cheerful and in high spirits, probably also to avoid being constantly reminded of this background. So far, he has been employed in the translation of written documents, but I am convinced that he will be a good co-worker for you. And who knows, maybe more will come of it."

Now Aleksandra smirked again, "You can't help it!"

Olga gently cradled her head, "However, he is still in a trial phase at the moment."

Aleksandra listened up, "What do you mean? Is there any reason to doubt his disposition?"

Olga sighed, "You really are the most unromantic woman I know. By 'trying out' I meant more that while he is not in a committed relationship, he certainly has more frequent 'encounters' with different women."

Aleksandra frowned, "Possibly that's not a disadvantage; those who have many girlfriends are not blackmailed by commitment to one woman."

Olga winced, "So once you find your husband, I'll remind you of that statement. Anyway, with that attitude, at least you won't be hurt if he doesn't use his charm only on you."

Aleksandra laughed, "I'm only interested in his knowledge of German, nothing else. But since you seem to know his past so well, do you know what branch of the armed forces he served with?"

Olga took another piece of cheese: "You'll like this: He was in the navy. Just like Wladi!"