“I do, my darling.”
She rested her head on his chest. “I hurt your leg when I make love, don’t I?”
He would not lie to her. “Not really. It gets sore for a minute or two, but I’m so engrossed in watching you enjoy yourself that I rarely think of it.”
“Truthfully now. Does it bother you that I must come like that?”
“Why should it?”
“Oh, you know, the male’s conceit being frustrated by being unable to climax the woman on the end of his penis.” She shrugged. “The woman having to masturbate to bring it off.”
He knew better than to chuckle or to pass it off lightly. “I’m masturbating also, Katrine. It’s just that I’m doing it inside of you.”
She raised her head and looked levelly at him, her brow wrinkled as she digested his comment. “That’s quite true,” she finally said, lowering her head again onto his chest. “I’ve never thought of it in that sense before.” She was silent for a few seconds. “But you are doing it the conventional way.”
“Who decided it is the conventional way?”
“It’s the way you make babies, and that’s supposedly the primary function of poking.”
“How do you know that people didn’t poke from the rear in the past? Like almost every animal does?”
She shifted to his side and began caressing his chest. “Are there other animals who do it from the front also?” she asked idly.
Hershel chuckled. No wonder he loved her. “I don’t really know,” he said. “Let me think. Wait, some of the crustaceans do. The lobsters, certainly, and I think the crayfish. And, oh yes, spiders. There are others, I’m sure.”
She lay peacefully still for a while. “Will you do it from the rear the next time?”
He drew her closer. “If you wish.”
“Good.” She placed a leg over his hips and snuggled against him. “I love you,” she said.
“I love you, too.”
In almost no time at all, they were both asleep.
CHAPTER 6
They ate supper in the long, formal dining room. Katrine had prepared a pheasant roasted with berries, with side dishes of various vegetables, and a bottle of champagne resting in a cooler. Hershel was delighted to see white asparagus in a prominent place.
“Where did you get these?” he asked.
“Teddy got them from Germany. You once mentioned how good they were, so I asked him to search them down.” She placed a number of them on his plate. “Why are they white?”
“The farmers cover the tips with soil the moment they come through the ground. Ergo, no sun, no green.”
When they had eaten, she served strawberries with thick cream, then demi tasses of coffee.
Sated, they leaned back to smoke the fierce Turkish cigarettes she favored.
“Hershel.” He looked at her with fondness. “What do you plan to do this time?”
Hershel wiped his mouth with a damask serviette. “I need one box of leaflets taken to Minsk, and two to Kiev.”
“That won’t be a bother.” She rose and refilled his cup with more coffee, then resumed her chair. She cocked her head at him. “I’ve been trying to figure you out ever since we met. Are you really a socialist?”
“All the way.”
“What do you really want? From Russia, I mean?”
“I want the vital services of the country, the railroads, postal system, banks, and all the important industries, such as mines, factories, and food distribution agencies owned and operated by a governmental organization responsive totally to the people.”
“The Tzar would never permit that, and you know it.”
“Then why do you help me?”
A half smile played on her lips. “I’m in love with you.”
He blew her a kiss. “The Tzar would spank you with a heavy hand if you were caught.” He knew it would be more than a heavy hand, irrespective of her noble rank and relationship to the Tzar himself. She was a first cousin, once removed, of his Exalted Majesty. But despotic rule is related only to power.
At first, Hershel was delighted with his conquest. It was nigh impossible to achieve his mission without help from the indigents, whether it was in Russia or Poland or Lithuania, and to have a confederate who could move about with the greatest of ease and meet with salutes from train conductors and customs officers and police instead of the usual surly, suspicious checks, was fortunate indeed. He had drawn her into his affairs without disconcert, but somewhere along the line he had awakened to realize he was truly in love with her. It was actually nothing new, for he had met other women under similar circumstances, had induced them to participate in his operation, had slept with them, fallen a bit in love with them, and when one in Poland had been caught and beaten so savagely that she had divulged his identity, he had understood, and his heart had ached for months over the pain and privation he had caused her. He had suffered a degree of pain himself, for while escaping the police, he had taken a bullet in his upper leg, and it had festered badly before he had managed to cross back into Germany and obtain proper treatment.
He loved Katrine deeply enough to marry her, but it would mean the end of his work if he did so, for both would be marked people from that moment on, since he would no longer be able to conceal his true identity.
Katrine had smiled at his remark about the Tzar spanking her with a heavy hand if she were caught. “Is it so important that all these services be controlled by the people? The Tzar does it well enough. And anyhow, the people are not competent enough to rule.”
Hershel chuckled. Loving her sometimes made him forget that she was essentially a despotic monarchist, and that he was enjoying her favors in spite of that fact. He was tempted to argue the point, but it would not be worth the effort, for if he convinced her that in Russia were hundreds, perhaps thousands, of untitled people capable of running the country for the benefit of the masses, not just for a privileged class, would he gain a more cooperative accomplice? Would it help one iota to explain that the Tzar himself owned about seventy percent of every meter of soil in Russia, and that the oppressive taxes went directly into his own coffers? Or that many of his court officers were exempt from taxes on their massive estates? And if he tried to convince her that the salutes she received because of her rank should also be extended to untitled women who excelled in medicine or writing or even, heaven forbid, politics, she would probably agree, but definitely not at the expense of her own position. His mission was to influence large numbers of people, not to expend his energy to convince the one.
“Oh, yes, I almost forgot,” said Katrine. “There is a plan being developed to move all the Jews from Lithuania in the event of war with Germany.”
Hershel almost rose from his seat. “Where did you hear that?” he asked quietly.
“At an engagement party for a friend of mine in St. Petersburg three weeks ago. Old General Kokov was holding court. He is about ninety years old, can barely stand, yet his mind is as clear as a bell. Someone brought up the subject of the war with Turkey twenty-five years ago, then someone else spoke of Turkey’s growing