Cockpit

  Shy and withdrawn, she became friendly only after I offered to teach her some stunts performed by the better skiers. Soon, she wouldn’t leave me alone. When we ate lunch, she angrily told any waiter who addressed her as my daughter that I was not her father but her best friend.

  We agreed that I despised my work as much as she hated school and that one day the two of us would visit places where together we would do only what we liked. We would wear beautiful clothes and ski the highest mountains. We would fly south to swim in warm, turquoise oceans. She hung on every word as I described the strange animals we would see in the jungles and the parties we would attend on the roof-top terraces of skyscrapers. As we talked, she would pull at my parka, demanding that we escape right away. When her parents complained about her grades or reprimanded her for sleeping too late on school days, she gave me a conspiratorial glance.

  We went skiing on the last Saturday of the season, though the slopes were already bare in many spots. When I hit places where the snow or ice was too thin, I removed my skis and walked the trails, but the girl insisted on skiing even the baldest patches, laughing and making fun of me.

  At dinner that night, I mentioned that I would be leaving early on Monday. The girl’s mother proposed a toast to my return the following year, but I told her that I might not even be in the country then. The girl said nothing.

  During Sunday supper, the girl ate little and sat quietly at the table. She surprised her parents by volunteering to go to bed early and, as she went upstairs, I embraced her and she kissed my cheek.

  The next morning, I awoke while it was still dark, dressed and finished packing. I was attempting to leave the house without waking anyone when I saw the girl standing in the hall. She was wearing her best coat and clutching a small suitcase in her hand. She whispered that she was ready to go. I tried to explain that our trip had been make-believe and that she was too young to be allowed to travel alone with me. She replied that she was planning to escape secretly.

  Once I realized that she was determined to go, I went upstairs to wake her parents. When we returned to the hall, we found that she had disappeared. We assumed she was upset about my leaving, that she had decided not to see me off. As her parents walked me to my car we spotted her poised on the roof of the chalet. Her mother pleaded with her to come down, but the girl insisted that if I left without her she would kill herself. She swore she would jump if I abandoned her. Her father urged me to leave at once so that his child could see I had no intention of taking her with me. I fastened my skis onto the car, stowed my luggage in the trunk and started the engine. When the girl saw me going, she stood up, swaying very near the roof’s edge. I wanted to get out and talk to her, but her father slammed the car door and ordered me to go. I backed the car out of the driveway, but, just as I began to move forward, I heard her mother scream. The girl had fallen off the roof, and was rolling down the slope.

  She was unconscious by the time we reached her and we were afraid to move her. While her mother and I sat with her, her father called an ambulance. At the hospital, waiting for the doctor’s report, her father kept trying to explain to me how much he had loved his daughter, as though I had blamed him for her accident. The doctor appeared with the x-rays and told us that the girl had broken her spine and fractured several ribs; she might never walk again. I have never seen her or her parents since.

  When the French scientist whose works I had been translating came to see me, I asked him to help me find a better job. He took me to a cocktail party given for him by a prominent Swiss industrialist and his wife who, he felt, might provide good job connections.

  Our hostess was tall, olive-skinned and very glamorous. I learned from the scientist that she was of Lebanese descent and had been an actress in second-rate French and German films.

  Since she was constantly surrounded by admirers, I had no chance to talk to her alone. She was too busy to bother with me until she overheard me speaking English with one of the guests. In the middle of a conversation, she abruptly turned to me and complimented me on my fluency and then returned to her conversation. A few days later, she called to say she would like to refresh the English she had learned as a child. I agreed to give her lessons, which began the following day.

  The lessons were held in her study while her husband was at his office. I saw him infrequently, only when she invited me to one of their parties. During our lessons she read English prose and poetry aloud, and I criticized her pronunciation. She always remained cool and distant.

  One morning, I was awakened by a phone call. She said she had to see me and would be over at once to pick me up. As we drove, she insisted that what made her call was not boredom and restlessness. She told me that her need to see me was too desperate to wait the twenty-four hours until our lesson, that what she wanted to say was too important for the time we had alone. Rather than reveal only part of what she felt, she had said nothing, but now she had to speak. That afternoon we became lovers.

  Our physical intimacy only increased the ambiguity of our relationship. She said that she wanted to be more than an afterthought tacked onto the main part of my existence. She wanted to be the center of my life and would not settle for less. Since she knew this need made unreasonable demands upon me, to spare me, she suggested we consider our relationship unsalvageable and part.

  After several days, we began to meet again. Still she blamed me for holding back. She claimed that each time she had tried to get a response from me, I had moved away; she was always the one to suggest we make love.

  She also told me she assumed our every meeting would be the last, and that she would do anything to keep me. She grew more anxious every time we were together, our encounters became more and more tense, and she again demanded that we part. We did, for about three weeks, then she wrote that she could no longer suppress the tenderness she felt for me. We began to meet again.

  Since she claimed to want to build her life around me, I was puzzled by her frequent trips abroad. She always went alone and her husband did not seem to mind, but I suspected she was meeting a lover and she finally admitted it.

  A year later, her husband was about to move his base of operations to Washington, D.C. During the last few weeks in Switzerland she insisted on seeing me more often. The evening before they were to leave, she came to ask if I would consider returning to the United States. I said I could not afford to go back.

  Then she took an envelope from her purse and handed it to me. The package, she said, contained coded documents of considerable value. She gave me the names of foreign intelligence agents who would all be eager to buy these secrets at a high price. The originals, she assured me, were abroad, in the private safe of her lover, who was a prominent member of a powerful government. She had photographed the documents and developed and printed the copies herself; no one but she and I knew she had done it. I could become wealthy by selling the documents, she said, and if I wanted to could even begin a new career. But she warned me not to betray her.

  Soon after she had left the country, I sold the contents of the envelope to the highest bidders, the Americans, who also made me an offer to join the Service. I accepted.

  I recall vividly how, upon arriving at the training center, I was asked to wait in a small room packed with over a hundred men roughly my own age. The room had a large exit that was locked from the outside. An official stepped onto the podium at the far end of the room, announced that we would soon be called for a medical examination and left through a small door behind the podium.

  We waited an hour. Most of the men began to grow impatient. Then the door opened again, another official entered, closed the door and mounted the podium. He apologized for the delay and told us to undress completely and to leave our belongings where we were standing.

  We undressed in the cramped space and hot, smelly air. Many of the men grumbled as they were elbowed, inadvertently, by others. Some left their clothes in a heap, some tucked one garment into another, but they all clung to their walle
ts and watches.

  When we had stripped, the first official returned and conferred with the second, who said with some embarrassment that the order had been intended for another group. He asked us to dress again and await further instructions. After both officials left, the men sullenly started to gather their belongings together. The sealed windows could not be opened and cigarette smoke was further polluting the already stale air.

  Fifteen minutes later, when we were dressed, one of the officials came back looking agitated and asked for our attention. As soon as we had quieted down, he said he was sorry and that we actually were the group that had been ordered to undress. His apologies were labored and profuse, mixed with bad jokes about bureaucracies, which served only to irritate the men around me. Some of them angrily threw their clothes onto the floor, while others refused to undress at all. The official pleaded with us and, in the end, everyone stood naked.

  Thirty more minutes passed. By the time another man entered the room, the crowd was at the boiling point. This official did not ask for silence but simply glared at us. He finally announced that complications had delayed the other group’s examinations and that we might not be taken that day at all. His tone managed to suggest that we were somehow to blame for the inconvenience and disruption of the schedule. He ordered us to dress again and left without another word.

  Men trampled upon their clothes and smashed their shoes against the wall. A fight broke out, but the combatants were restrained. A man next to me popped the buttons off his shirt sleeves. When another man’s zipper stuck, he angrily yanked at it until it broke. Few men bothered to lace their shoes; almost no one redid his tie.

  The next official who entered the room was greeted with boos and curses. He was the one who had pleaded with us earlier, and now, his voice heavy with contempt, he confirmed what we had been told. Our examination would not be held that day and we were free to go as soon as he finished speaking.

  Some men went on swearing and gesturing. Others, exhausted and listless, merely followed instructions and continued dressing. Still others began to nod with delayed comprehension. Those who had behaved most theatrically were now the most calm. At last, there was general quiet and the man continued.

  He explained that during our repeated dressing and undressing we had actually undergone the examination. Our physical would come later. Today, we had been filmed by teams of psychologists, who would study our behavior. The sullen candidates looked suspiciously around the room, checking for cameras.

  Days later, during one of many interviews with people from the Service, I was told I had achieved one of the highest scores in the examination. I had undressed and dressed each time with approximately the same speed, removing, piling and picking my clothes up again in the same order. I expressed no visible emotion during the test and accepted the changes in orders as if I had expected them all along. They noted that I circulated, joined no group but conversed easily with whomever stood near me.

  After months of training, I began my intelligence work in the United States. I made a formal Service inquiry about the Lebanese woman and was told that she had been an intelligence agent for years, but when she failed to acquire some strategic European documents she had been dropped.

  Apparently, her marriage to the Swiss industrialist had been arranged for intelligence purposes, and for those reasons had also been ended. The divorce had left her penniless and she was forced to work for a living. She was now settled in New York City, where she was known as Theodora.

  When I arrived at her apartment, she said she had known I would turn up sooner or later. I was shocked at the change in her. She had aged badly and become obese. Her face was heavily powdered a pasty white, and she wore thick false eyelashes, bright lipstick and garish rouge. She was dressed in a skin-tight black leather pants suit and an ill-fitting wig. Later, she told me she had lost so much of her own hair that she had to wear the wig all the time. Her living room was filled with books inscribed to her, autographed movie stills and photographs of her and her ex-husband.

  She told me that after her dismissal, within a year of their arrival in America, she had found her first job with a real estate firm. One day she was asked to show a luxurious, furnished duplex apartment to the new United Nations’ representative of a recently founded republic. It was one of the most expensive apartments the agency had ever handled, and she would receive a substantial bonus if the diplomat bought it.

  The diplomat was a distinguished-looking older man dressed in a long, elaborately draped robe, his country’s national costume. Reserved and polite in the best British colonial tradition, he accepted a cup of tea and told Theodora how anxious he was to find a good home for his family. While he drank his tea and nibbled at the canapés, he chatted about his children. As he and Theodora toured the apartment, he inquired about its air conditioning, the closets, the kitchen facilities and the house telephone system.

  They had reached the upper floor. Just as she was about to show him the master bedroom, he grabbed her by the neck and tripped her with his leg. When she fell, he ripped off her underpants, and, with a single, rapid movement, shed his robe and covered her mouth with it to muffle her cries. He dropped onto her and spread her legs with his knees. He moaned and gasped as he raped her. When he was finished, he rolled off her, got up, wiped himself with her panties and neatly rearranged the robe around himself. In the most exaggeratedly polite manner, he apologized for his behavior, insisting that nothing like that had ever come over him before. He had simply been overwhelmed by her beauty, he explained, and would never forgive himself. Then he left.

  Since she needed the commission and was afraid to make trouble, Theodora reported to her agency that the diplomat required a few days to make a decision. On the following afternoon, she received a giant bouquet of roses from him accompanied by a note of thanks. Her employer was delighted and congratulated her for having made such a good impression.

  About a week later, she received an invitation at the office to a reception celebrating the opening of the diplomat’s mission to the UN. Her first reaction was to refuse but her employer was anxious for her to go. To check whether there really was a party, she telephoned the mission and was told the reception would be attended by the diplomatic corps, by the city’s most distinguished citizens and by reporters. Under those circumstances, she felt she could attend.

  As soon as she arrived at the party, the rapist came over to her. This time he was wearing a robe embroidered with gold and semiprecious stones. He introduced her to his wife, an elegantly dressed woman much younger than himself. The diplomat looked into Theodora’s eyes, then gallantly kissed her hand. He complimented her on her dress and asked in a whisper if she had forgiven him for the most irresponsible moment of his life. She didn’t reply.

  During the reception, she mingled with the other guests to avoid the diplomat. In one of her attempts to stay with a large group, she joined a tour of the mission’s art collection. The rapist, who was escorting his wife, discreetly followed in the long line of visitors.

  On the third floor, as the guests were being guided to a group of sculptures, Theodora felt secure enough to head for a bathroom around the corner. As she was opening the door, she was suddenly shoved inside from behind. Before she could cry out, a large hand covered her mouth and another unzipped her dress. She recognized the diplomat’s cologne even before he turned her around. He was not drunk and seemed perfectly in control. With his hand still on her mouth, he pinned her to the wall, ripped off her brassiere and pressed her cheeks between his fingers until she opened her mouth; he then stuffed a guest towel into it.

  His robe dropped to the floor as though he had pulled a ripcord. Naked and excited he stood before her, squeezing her breasts as his knees parted her thighs. When she attempted to twist free, he deftly turned her over, ripping her pants as though he had rehearsed it, and thrust into her. He climaxed rapidly, then pulled out and let her go. He carefully wrapped his robe about himself; he looked into her eyes and w
hispered how sorry he was that once again he could not restrain his passion for her. Then he glanced into the mirror to smooth his hair, opened the door and swiftly left the bathroom.

  The diplomat failed to buy the apartment, and Theodora lost her job. Afterward, she worked as a nightclub hostess, a cosmetics saleswoman, a translator. When I met her, she was supporting herself by gathering data for a small sex research institute. Assisted by professionals, she conducted interviews with men and women who had responded to personal ads in pornographic tabloids. It was not a bad job, she said, although many of the men she talked to pursued her constantly. She was looking forward to ending the project and planned to restructure her whole life.

  She was getting old, and even though she realized it might be too late, she had decided to try to have a baby. She planned to increase her chances of conception by taking hormone shots and finding a lover for intercourse with her at least twice a day. I mockingly remarked she had a better chance of becoming pregnant than of finding a lover, but she said I was wrong: I would be her lover. Before I could protest, she offered to provide me with a different woman every day on the condition that Theodora could join us in bed and collect my sperm. When I objected, she insisted I should first test the sexual skill of her protégées.

  She fixed lunch and, while I ate, made several phone calls. Soon a teen-aged girl arrived. Theodora asked whether I wanted her, and when I said I did the girl took off her clothes. I undressed and got in bed beside her. Theodora, still dressed, reclined on the edge of the bed next to the girl.

  I told Theodora to leave the room and she obeyed. I played with the girl and she began working on me, determined to accomplish what she had been brought in to do. Soon we both knew she would not succeed.