A Gentleman in Moscow: Book 2, 1923, An Actress, an Apparition, an Apiary Summary & Analysis

At five o’clock on June 21st, 1923, one year since the Count’s imprisonment, the Count ponders how to celebrate the anniversary. He thinks about men in prison cells who carve notches into wood to mark the days, in order to note the year of hardship they have endured. Feeling a sense of survival, the Count dons his finest smoking jacket and heads downstairs to meet Mishka.

Upon reaching the lobby, the Count notices a willowy figure (later introduced as Anna Urbanova) coming through the hotel doors. She is a woman in her mid-twenties with auburn hair and a striking presence. She attracts attention quickly, particularly because of the two massive hunting dogs she has on a leash. They tug every which way while she tries to keep them under control.

At that moment, the one-eyed cat appears, and the dogs leap out of Anna’s grip. They quickly knock over a lamp and a standing ashtray. The cat reverses course and the dogs skid across the floor into another guest. After watching this chaos for a few moments, the Count whistles and the dogs heel at his feet.

Anna thanks the Count, apologizing that the dogs are not well-behaved. The Count contradicts her, saying that it is the dogs’ handling that is at fault. Anna’s tone becomes noticeably sharper as she remarks that some of the best-bred dogs belong on the shortest leashes; the Count rejoins that the best-bred dogs belong in the surest hands.

One hour later, the Count sits in the hotel bar waiting for Mishka when he notices Anna once again, sitting with a “round-faced fellow with a receding hairline.” He meets her gaze, and the two pretend that they have not seen each other.

Mishka arrives in the bar, but explains that he can only stay for a drink, not for dinner. The Count is disappointed, but understands that Mishka is here on important business with the Russian Association of Proletarian Writers. Mishka explains how excited he is by the congress’s declarations that they are in solidarity with writers, publishers, and editors, but also with the street sweepers and welders, as well.

Mishka describes a spontaneous poem recited by one of his favorite writers, Mayakovsky. Then, another writer, whom Mishka disliked, had proclaimed that all poets must bow before the haiku. The Count jokes that he is glad Homer wasn’t born in Japan.

Mishka laughs and says that he will have to tell the Count’s joke to Katerina—another young poet from Kiev. The Count notes that Mishka has been dressing better and grooming his beard, and sees that Katerina might be sparking some interest in his friend. The Count is glad to hear about his friend’s happenings, but he is also a bit jealous of his freedom.

Half an hour later, Mishka leaves the bar. As the Count gets up, Audrius beckons him and gives him a note from Anna Urbanova, who he explains is a famous film star. The note reads “Please allow me a second chance at a first impression in suite 208.”

The Count arrives at suite 208 and is let in by an older woman, who then steps out of the suite. Anna greets him and introduces herself officially. Room service arrives with a candlelit dinner for two. Anna asks the Count to join her for dinner, and he agrees.

Anna uncovers their dinner to find one of Emile’s signature dishes: whole bass roasted with olives. Before the Count can serve her, Anna quickly debones the fish and prepares two perfect plates. The Count is impressed. Anna explains that she had been raised in a fishing village, and that she would help her father mend his nets at the docks when she was a little girl. The Count inwardly acknowledges the virtues of withholding judgement, considering how much Anna’s second impression on him has improved.

The Count speaks a bit about his own childhood. The province in which he grew up, Nizhny Novgorod, was the apple capital of the world, and he would eat apples constantly. He tells Anna that according to lore, deep in the forest lies a tree that grew apples as black as coal, and if one could eat this apple, one could start life anew. She asks him if he would start life anew. He says that he would not want to relinquish his memories: of his sister Helena, of his home, and of this night. Anna stands, takes him by the collar and kisses him.

The Count is both bewildered and excited by being seduced in this way, as he did not anticipate any of the events of the night. He had been surprised by the dinner, by Anna’s stories, and by her fish preparing skills, and the surprises continue. He is surprised to find her back decorated with freckles, surprised to find himself on his back as the two make love, and awestruck when she tells him close the curtains as he leaves.

The Count closes the curtains, hangs Anna’s blouse in the closet, and shuts the door softly behind him. As he walks down the empty corridor, the Count feels like a ghost. He wonders why ghosts roam the halls at night rather than during the day, and comes to the conclusion that they do not want to see the living. At least, interjects the narrator, that is what he tells himself. The Count runs into the one-eyed cat on the way up and attempts to tuck his shirt in, embarrassed. He worries that instead of etching his mark on the wall for his first year, the wall had “etched its mark on him.”

Just before the Count opens the door to his rooms, he feels a slight summer breeze. Intrigued, he walks to the end of the hall and discovers a ladder to a hatch in the roof. The Count climbs up is amazed at seeing the view of Moscow from this vantage point.

One of the hotel handymen, Abram, greets the Count, startling him. Abram makes him coffee and shows him his apiary. The bees are hard at work making honey, and Abram offers the Count a taste. The Count is amazed to taste a hint of lilacs, which Abram explains comes from the flowers in the Alexander Gardens. The Count asks how far the bees go, and Abram says that a bee’s only limit is the ocean. The Count explains that his childhood home had lots of apple blossoms; Abram says he had been raised in the same province. The two men continue to speak about their childhood as the sun rises.