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prestige accorded her by being Eikichi's intended bride changed her life overnight。 Nine months ago； from the moment they had gotten married； her phone would not stop ringing； and she was obliged to install an answering machine to handle the flood of invitations from her friends and associates to lunch and dinner for her and Eikichi。
Eikichi was everything Honno could hope for in a husband。 He was already cool； aloof； displaying all the signs of ittai； that special intimacy that came from the fusion of two spirits into one。 He never praised her； and would never think to； since this would be akin to praising himself； which would have been unutterably embarrassing。 His deep male silences； his coolness to her； proved the existence of their ittai feeling； their extreme intimacy。 Like all her friends her age； she never referred to him by name at home。 Rather； she called him 〃Oto…san。〃 Papa。 This was not particularly her choice； but what the culture dictated she do。 Anyway； it was difficult for Honno to put into words； or even coherent thought； just what her relationship with Eikichi was。 It was ittai。
Eikichi's private life was as rigid as his professional one。 He liked his meals set out on the table at a certain time； and expected Honno to have remembered and have prepared his favorite foods each day。 On those occasions when they went out to eat； Honno was expected to follow his lead in conversations； and to know when； in business discussions； it was time to remain silent。 If she harbored opinions about business matters…she was； after all； the personal secretary to Kunio Michita…she was to keep them to herself。 Every month； like clockwork； Eikichi had a dinner party at his home for his business associates and contacts。 Honno was expected to arrange everything； and then； like a geisha； blend into the background。
No； the same stubborn streak that prevented her from confronting Michita kept her from alerting Eikichi。 Besides； she had never told him about her friendship with Kakuei； she would never have known how。
The key。 The key seemed everything to her。 A message from beyond the grave； a terrible responsibility thrust upon her。 She felt giri； the obligation too great to bear； weighing upon her。 For some reason； Kakuei Sakata had chosen her to carry out his last wish。 Why her？ Honno did not know。 Perhaps when she learned what it was this key opened； she would begin to understand。
Sakata had been a plex man。 In their frequent talks together； he had impressed her as someone who understood the subtleties of the feminine mind。 He was not like most samurai； disdainful of the contributions a woman could make。 〃Times have changed；〃 he once told her。 〃Women were once thought to be unclean。 My father； who made sake； would not see my mother for many months during the crucial stages of brewing because he was convinced that she would in some way pollute the process and spoil the sake。〃 He laughed。 〃Samurai tend by nature to live in the past。 But the past was not always what it was cracked up to be。〃
Sakata was not prone to deep male silences when he was with her。 He spoke to her often and at length。 He seemed to derive pleasure from these talks； as if to him they might be a form of intimacy。 Honno had listened； answered his queries； and eventually； at his prompting； spoke about herself。 She was happy； too； to be with him； but without quite knowing why she should feel this way。 It was odd for a man to talk to her so much and in such detail； as if her opinions were of some value to him。 Kakuei liked modern…day Japan； or at least admired some of its new strengths。 ''We are more resilient now；'' he told her。 ''And so are better able to deal with adversity。 For younger people； such as yourself； there are perhaps options that we oldsters never had。 It's only when this newfound resilience is abused and turns into corruption that I； like Mishima； mourn the loss of the old Japan； as unpromising as the blade of a katana。〃
The truth was； they liked each other； and she had counted Sakata as one of her few friends。 Honno could not fail that trust now。
She felt a growing terror of the evidence that Sakata had left behind him： the dark heart of the maelstrom that had so abruptly； so cruelly overtaken him。 What would it do to her if it had destroyed a samurai？
But she knew that she could not back down。 Her feet were already set upon this particular path and there was no turning back。 Giri dictated that she find the evidence that had destroyed Kakuei Sakata。
What； then； was she to do about the key？ She could hardly handle this situation on her own。
Honno could think of only one answer； and it scared her to death。
Mars Petrovich Volkov was an altogether different breed of animal than Valeri Bondasenko。 For one thing； he wasn't Ukrainian； or a member of any other Soviet ethnic minority。 He had been born and raised in Moscow…in the White City； not so far from where Valeri now made his home。 Accordingly； he possessed that sangfroid peculiar to Muscovites which only a Parisian or a New Yorker would fully understand。 Everyone else would have resented the kind of arrogance Mars Volkov exhibited were he not so smooth a talker and a genuinely sympathetic listener。
Mars Volkov liked to think of himself not as a lifelong politician or even a party member； though there was no doubt that he was both； but as a problem solver。 〃I am like a cryptographer in the KGB；〃 he told Irina when they first met； 〃locked away in some subbasement of the Lubyanka； struggling to make sense of the inprehensible。 But unlike my somewhat clinical counterpart； I deal with real people in the full light of day。〃
This was not； strictly speaking； the whole truth； or in any event it was not as simple as that。 For Mars Volkov sought to convert the subversive into the patriotic。 Like Valeri； he dealt with the gray areas of daily life in the Soviet Union。 It was he who decided the new coats of paint with which to cover the old。
And that； fundamentally； was where he and Valeri differed。 For it was Mars's considered opinion that the old should not merely be repainted； but be done away with entirely。 Valeri found this idea at best dangerous； at worst subversive。
Irina was up on all the latest rumors。 It was all well and good for Valeri to be paying lip service to Mars's growing power in the Congress； but Irina knew who ultimately held the advantage： Valeri Denysovich Bondasenko。 These days； though he was continually trying his best to pound home his views to the rest of the Politburo； Mars； like all of Valeri's previous enemies； was definitely ing out second best。 Irina wondered how long it would be before Mars was removed from his seat in the Congress of People's Deputies； shipped off to God only knew where； far from Moscow； the center of power。 No doubt that would be determined； in part； by how successful she was in the aftermath of her seduction。
Mars Volkov looked like a movie star。 A Russian movie star； to be sure； but a movie star nonetheless。 He was tall and slim； with the pale eyes and high cheekbones mon to the people of the windswept northern Steppes。 His hair was blue…black； very straight； and he wore it slicked back from his wide forehead。 He had a generous； thin…lipped mouth； and a firm chin。 His only oddity was his rather small ears。 But this lack of perfection somehow enhanced his overall appearance； rather than detracted from it。 In sum； he was more than attractive； he was desirable。
This made the task Valeri had given Irina far less odious。 But in the beginning it was almost irrelevant。 What drove her… Valeri was so right； damn him！…was the sense of absolute freedom she gained by initiating the contact with Mars Volkov。 She orchestrated his subsequent seduction with the aplomb of someone born to the role。 By the time they went to bed for the first time； Irina was giddy with her newfound sense of freedom； but also a little afraid by how much pleasure she derived from this act of treachery。
She was no longer one among many coworkers at the Ministry of Education； some drudge； given work no man would do； accorded a minimum of recognition for either her initiative or her innovations。 Up until this moment of separation； she had seen herself only in terms of being her parents' daughter or； briefly…until he had died in a training maneuver accident…her husband's wife。 But something inside her had always whispered； Is this the sum of what life is？ Can this be all there is to Irina Viktorovna Ponomareva？ Now she knew the answer； just as Valeri had known。 There was another Irina； independent； in control； yearning to be free。 And at the moment of her triumph； when she knew that she had caused Mars Volkov to bee enamored of her； to desire her beyond all other women； she had at last caught the first glimpse of her own true worth。 And she knew with an immense thrill that the real Irina Viktorovna Ponomareva was just beginning to be defined。
Mars had been elected to represent Moscow in the Congress； a signal honor。 His constituency included the Soviet Baseball Federation； as well as Zvezdny Gorodok； Star Town； the city built to house and train the Soviet cosmonauts。 He had been one of the main architects of the space program for some years； which； Irina supposed； was why he had been chosen to help build the national baseball team。
Irina thought that Valeri had good reason to fear Mars。 Their views differed in quite fundamental ways； and Mars was in every sense a charismatic figure。 In America this talent would have caused Mars to go far in whatever field he chose； but this was Russia； and charisma was looked upon with a good amount of suspicion。
Where Valeri held sway through the sheer force of his personality； Mars charmed people。 While Valeri easily forced other wills to bend to his； Mars had to struggle for every inch of political ground gained。 He was； he said； always fighting against other people's innate fear of Valeri Bondasenko。 〃I feel like a salmon；〃 he told Irina that night when she asked him why he had not eaten the meal she prepared for him。 〃Always swimming upstream。 Valeri Denysovich will beat me； despite all my efforts； just as he has beaten everyone else。〃 He looked up at her with a weary smile。 〃They say that beneath the Kremlin there is a pile of bones that is all that remains of his enemies。''
〃Defeatist talk；〃 she said。
〃Tonight；〃 Mars said； 〃I feel like the defeated。〃
〃Tomorrow…〃
〃Tomorrow will be different； yes？ That was what you were going to say； Irina； wasn't it？〃 He shrugged。 〃Well； who knows； perhaps you're right。〃
She sat down beside him； took his hand。 〃Tell me what happened。〃
〃No。 It's too boring…and too depressing。 And I've had enough of gloom for one evening。 Let's go out； have dinner； get drunk on pepper vodka。〃
They did。 Irina let him do all the talking。 He seemed in the mood to do so； and she wanted to get to know him better。 When he spoke； she was a student； soaking up information…the bits and pieces of his life…as if she were studying for a final exam。
He told her about his parents； who still lived in Moscow and whom he visited every Sunday； bringing them treats…tins of caviar； fresh Baltic herring…things they would never buy for themselves。 He told her about his brother； who had died； and his sister； who was married with three children。 〃Sometimes；〃 he said； refilling their glasses with vodka； ''I think that my sister is the lucky one。 She lives a simple； unplicated life； and her worries are small ones； mon ones； not so much to bear。 She had a little trouble with the last baby； it was born with a heart murmur； but the child is fine now。 She lives under the signs of love； of contentment； of the family。 These are everything to her； without them； she is lost。〃
Later； he said； 〃You know； it's funny about my sister。 We weren't close when the three of us were growing up。 My brother and I were inseparable； and she was； well； an outsider； I suppose。 The enemy。 We never confided in her for fear that she would pass on our secrets to our mother。 Imagine my surprise when； years later at my brother's funeral； she recounted our boyhood secrets。 She had known them all the time because she was far smarter than either of us boys had been。 And she had kept them to herself。 Our secrets had been sacred to her； even thoug