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a display. Austin passed the pyramid, looking at it with disdain, surrounded by a clump of officials keenly pointing toward exotic fruits that Leo couldn’t name. In an attempt to integrate this excess with the ideology of Communism, the shoppers, all MGB agents, had been selected from across the age spectrum, dressed in plain clothes and scuffed shoes, as though Grocery Store No. 1 were for everyone—the elderly grandmother and the young working woman alike. The staff meanwhile—men for the meat counter, women for the fruit aisle—had been instructed to smile as Austin passed them by, their faces following him as if he were the sun and they were flowers turning into his light. There were more shoppers outside, offstage, shivering in the snow, entering at apparently random intervals in order to maintain the impression of people coming and going.
    Austin’s expression grew increasingly sour. He was no longer speaking. His hands were deep in his pockets, his shoulders slumped, while all around him customers behaved like a flock of magpies, swooping from aisle to aisle, picking up anything that caught the light. Leo glanced in one shopping basket to see three red apples, a single beetroot, and a tin of processed ham, an unlikely set of requirements for any shopping excursion.
    Austin broke free from the clump of officials, once again approaching Leo. He’d evidently decided that Leo represented the ordinary man. Perhaps it was his coarse uniform and gruff reticence—during the car ride here Leo had said almost nothing, in contrast to the incessant pitter-patter flattery of the official. Austin put a hand on Leo’s shoulder:
    —
I feel I can talk with you, Comrade Demidov.
    —
Of course, Mr. Austin.
    —
Everyone wants to show me the best. But I just want to see the ordinary stores, where ordinary folks shop. Is there something more ordinary around here? You can’t seriously be telling me every store is like this one? Is that what you guys are telling me?
    Leo felt the pressure of his question like a hand tight around his heart. He answered:
    —
Not all are the same. We are in the center of town. This store might have a better range than a village store.
    —
I’m not talking about a village store. I’m talking about an everyday store. You know? This can’t be the only place in town?
    —
There are other shops.
    —
Within walking distance?
    Before Leo could answer, the officials hurried over, keen to divert their guest back toward their displays. They still had things to show him—fresh bread, the finest cuts of ham. Austin raised his hand, as if to keep them at bay. His mind was made up:
    —
My friend is going to take me on a walk. He’s going to take me to a smaller store, you know, one that’s a little more… ordinary.
    The officials glared at Leo as if the suggestion had been his. Their survival instincts were acute. Suddenly the two other teams of agents pushed forward, addressing Leo:
    —
That is out of the question. We must stick to our itinerary, for security reasons.
    Austin raised an eyebrow and shook his head:
    —
Security? Are you serious? I’m not in any danger here, am I?
    They were trapped. They could hardly claim that they couldn’t protect him on the streets of their capital. Austin smiled:
    —
I know you got rules and regulations. I know you got things you want to show me. But I want to be able to explore, okay? I insist. You hear that? I’m insisting.
    He laughed to soften the order, but it was an order nonetheless. They were under instructions to do as their guest requested. From the way the others were looking at Leo it was clear that he was going to be blamed.
    Leo led the group out of the store, appointed head of this expedition in search of the ordinary. Austin was by his side, his mood already improving as they tramped through the thick snow. Leo glanced back to see the officials in an animated conference by the store’s grand doors as a new influx of carefully down-dressed,