We know that spies live in the D.C. area, since this is the capital city of one of the most powerful countries in the world. And we do have our enemies.
Once in awhile, one reads an article in the Washington Post about a spy who has been discovered. The story usually goes that the person--and family--lived on a quiet suburban cul-de-sac, and no one suspected anything unusual. I read a story about spies in Slovenia who told everyone they were Argentine (but actually Russian). They were caught. The kids did not know about their parents. The two young girls did not look too happy when they landed in Moscow.
Every once in awhile, I spot a person who I decide is a spy. I keep it a secret because, of course, I am not certain. But, in my imagination, he/she/they stands out. Something is not quite right. My latest suspect is a woman who lives across the hall from me. The individual of interest, lets call her Ludmila (not her actual name), is dressed inside as if she's expecting a cold wind out of Siberia. Winter or summer, she wears long exercise pants and a matching jacket zipped up to her neck or a cardigan, blouse, and nicer pants. What is concealed beneath the jacket or sweater, hmm?
Whenever I see Ludmila, she repeats herself, "Is that your daughter?" or "It is nice that your daughter is with you." Once or twice, she has invited me for coffee but was a no-show. When I try to make conversation, other than answering the one question and comment about my daughter, Ludmila behaves as though she does not understand me. She mutters something incomprehensible.
She appears at every condominium association event, but remains silent and restrained, for example not laughing at a comedic scene in a movie. Ludmila does not demonstrate disapproval either, always pleasant. Who says spies can't be friendly? A group of us watched the Super Bowl together, including Ludmila. She seemed bemused and curious about the American extravaganza.
Ludmila told me she came from the Czech Republic. When I responded enthusiastically, like a typical American, "Oh, I loved Prague!" Nothing was uttered in response but a quizzical look. I fantasized that we could bond with tea and my photo book from a trip there. But, no. I don't think so. I guess she could have aphasia, dementia, or poor comprehension of English. Something does not add up.
She used to enter and exit another unit on our hall. The occupant was a woman in a wheelchair who was also mysterious. That woman has disappeared, probably to assisted living. But, still.... Oh, when Ludmila returns to her apartment, she walks in quickly and bolts the door. I could say, poor thing. She thinks she's still living behind the Iron Curtain. I guess kinder people would come to that conclusion.
I prefer to let my imagination run wild. It harms no one. I cannot be friends with someone who does not seem to understand anything I say.
I have never seen her with female friends, just men. Maybe, Ludmila is what people used to call, a ladies man. Somehow, I cannot imagine wild sex going on behind Unit B44 (fictitous apartment). But, I could be wrong. She exhales air audibly at all times which is kind of strange. I know, she could have a lung disease. But, maybe it is an exercise for the wild sex? At least, I am warned when she is coming down the hall. But, the breathing pattern is unnerving.
A few weeks ago, I saw her in one of our outside public spaces, bent over a cafe table, talking to a man with that Russian/KGB look. You know, very close cropped hair, conventional clothing. Hmm, her fixer?
If she is listening to us boring people or watching our typical behavior, I am glad to let her comrades know my political beliefs. If she has paid off one of the employees here and planted hidden cameras, I do not think she will find much going on in the entire condominium complex; since the average age here is 75. Perhaps, she is listening in on the conversations of retired government workers. Though what she would gain from the old information does not seem vital to our current relations with Russia.
Her east European accent seems too obvious. But, maybe the Russians think we will dismiss her because she is so stereotypically Slavic--tall, high cheekbones, blondish/greyish hair. Anyway, by now you have decided I am bonafide nuts. But, I will keep looking out for our interests, rest assured, quietly engaging my imagination.
Do Svidanyia.
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