Cockpit (8 page)

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 wallets 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 whispered 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.

Finally, I called to Theodora, who appeared immediately, as if she had been expecting my call. She moved toward the bed in high-heeled slippers and a black robe, descending like a monstrous bat upon the girl’s body. Almost at once, the girl had loosened Theodora’s robe and their heads were locked between each other’s thighs. They swayed rhythmically until Theodora moved away and told me the girl was mine.

The bed was warm and the sheets were fresh. In the soft glow of the bedside lamp, I felt sheltered from the outside world. Theodora perched against the headboard, her face hidden in the shadows, watching every move I made. The girl was still excited from being with Theodora. As I took her, she screamed and cried. Anger suddenly swelled in me; I pushed her across the bed, straddled her head and sat on her face until she went limp. As I climaxed, Theodora arose from her corner to collect my semen in the palm of her hand, then glided off to the bathroom.

I occasionally hinted at my sexual needs to guide Theodora in selecting the women. Whenever a girl could not arouse me, Theodora would help; watching her make love to another woman invariably excited me. Eventually, regardless of how much the girls attracted me, I would prefer to have Theodora prepare them. I never penetrated Theodora with my flesh and never kissed her mouth.

Once in a while, I brought a girl I had picked up myself.
Theodora would fix lunch or dinner for the three of us and by the end of the meal she would have captivated our guest. While the girl was changing into the nightgown Theodora offered her, Theodora would put on one of her black lace or leather outfits. She always managed to seduce the girl before I did.

When one of her girls did not show up, I threatened to find my own partners and make her find another sperm bank. Theodora laughed. She told me she was sure I could trap plenty of women on my own because the passive, repressed types I preferred were always the easiest to find. But in the end, she said, it was I who would be trapped: these women were just the opposite of what I really wanted.

One day, Theodora phoned me to announce she was pregnant. Although I did not believe it, she continued to insist exuberantly that she was going to have my baby, and the next time I saw her she immediately showed me the result of the hospital test. In the following weeks, she told everyone the news. Even though she refused to reveal who the father was, many people assumed the child was mine.

A few months later, I arrived at one of Theodora’s parties to find her wearing a gown that accentuated her prominent belly. During the evening, she reproached a guest, a playwright, for using experiences from her life in his latest play. The man, who was quite drunk, accused her of faking the pregnancy by wearing padding under her dress. He lunged at her, trying to tear off her gown, and Theodora fled the room in tears. From that night on, no one believed she was pregnant.

When she bought a crib and began knitting baby clothes, people thought she was losing her mind, and even her closest friends soon abandoned her. She continued to work with the sex research institute and stopped discussing her pregnancy.