Matryoshka (revision 2) Layer 1, The Romance Jemima Smith gazed longingly at the small Matryoshka doll that her

new fiance George had given her as a keepsake. He had had to stay in Russia for a few weeks longer and had given her the doll as she flew out, to remind her of the layers of their relationship and the good times they would have together. The doll was purple for the most part with overlapping white swirls circling the face and body. Its bowling pin shape filled her hand as comfortingly as when George had pressed it into her grasp at the airport, body to palm, head to fingers. She began to examine the features on the doll more closely, using its features as a map to remind her of Georges. Its big dark eyes, the small pouting red lips and the wryly inscrutable suggestion of a smile that hinted at hidden depths. The many flowers in the dolls costume brought to mind the roses and bouquets George had showered her with. What a strange but romantic gift she had thought, when he had surprised her with it at the airport, and how typically Russian. Apart from the dolls face the majority of its decoration was a mixture of abstract and floral patterns. There were no arms or legs or identifiable clothes, but perhaps the central dark circle of flowers on the front body could be taken as an apron. But all in all the insularity of the dolls face and hair (which had the only browns on the whole puppet) gave it the appearance of a baby swaddled in a mixture of purple tie dye by a new-age mother before an old-age grandmother added a selection of more flowery decor, including a posy in the poppets hair. It was obviously hand-painted, with intricate detail presumably applied at speed in order to produce a souvenir at a reasonable price. The base showed the only unpainted section its soft wood crumbling slightly and bearing he marks of whatever tools had turned it from tree to wood to doll. She couldnt tell how old it was. Perhaps it dated from the days of the old Soviet Union, or the economic chaos that followed its breakup when ordinary people turned to any way to make money, while the oligarchs moved in on the state industries and resources. Still those industries and markets had brought her career-woman management consultant to Moscow. And that had led her to meeting George in the overfull hotel restaurant when they had had to share a table. The dolls outer skin, for she had not yet opened it at all, glistened and twinkled and as there were small clumps of golden glitter decorating the glossy surface. George had told her not to open it, it contained a surprise She placed it on the mantelpiece from where the dolls long lashed eyes could survey the room she busied herself preparing her evening meal.

Layer 2, The Mystery Turning on the TV news after her supper she sudden saw to her amazement what looked like a picture of George on the screen. Man arrested in connection with diamond theft, said the banner below. Shocked Jemima waited for the newsreader to get to the details of the story and discovered that George had been accused of stealing a valuable diamond in a few days before from a Moscow museum. the city where she and George had met // been staying // She and George had lunched nearby that museum before she left, this must just be mistaken identity. Surely It must... Perhaps she should call someone, the Russian police? The British police? But George had not wanted her to make any official requests about his visa. He had said he would need to get an exit visa to leave, and that that would be simpler without the authorities knowing he wanted to marry a foreigner. She did not want to make things worse for him. Suggesting he was about to leave the country might be the worst possible thing she could do. But what would happen to him, and how long would it take? Should she just wait and save the surprise until they were together again? The dolls impassionate face stared at her like a teenager hiding a secret behind a mask of coy truculence. She stared back, wondering again what the doll contained. A gnawing feeling grew suddenly within the pit of her belly, washing out over her body like a malevolent orgasm. As the fear reached her head she almost retched realising that the doll might contain more than the usual smaller Matryoshka. Her mind whirled like the swirling circles of pattern and petals on the wooden knick-knack. Had she been used to smuggle the stolen stone out of the country? Was it even now hidden within the figure in front of her? Had he planned their lunch to provide an alibi? Had her whirlwind romance been nothing more than a route out of the country for George? Had she been nothing more than arm candy to distract the border guards? Should she trust in the Russian justice system? Should she open it? Should she trust in George to get himself out of this?

Should she trust George? The Matryoshka was certainly large enough to contain a stone, or she thought an engagement ring, which she had been starting to think might be the surprise he had promised her. Maybe he had stolen the jewel to make her a solitaire ring, large and flashy, (not quite the style she would have naturally chosen, her tastes were more demure), but what a strong statement of love and commitment. But if he had stolen it he might be committed to prison before they saw each other again. An engagement ring was supposed to cost a man a months salary, not years in prison. She picked up the doll again and passed it repeatedly between her hands, feelings its weight as she turned it end over end, grasping the two halves but unable to bring herself to separate them. She sighed and placed it on her bedside table and prepared for bed so as to sleep on the problem. But she could only toss and turn endlessly, churning the sheets and the thoughts in her head over and over. Finally she resolved to stay as still as she could and lay on her side staring at the doll, its features dimly lit by her alarm clock. Staring at the mesmerising circles of dots around its face and belly, the central clump of gold in the middle of the stomach seemed to draw her attention and hint at a treasure within. Feeling uncomfortable she shifted her focus to the face, remarking for the first time that the features were entirely chinless and that the nose existed only as a pair of nostrils. It gave merely the impression of a face, the suggestion of humanity. The dolls eyes gazed back at her while she felt a trickle of the first slow tear roll down her nose and drop soundlessly onto the pillow. Eventually her consciousness slowly evaporated and she found her way through exhaustion to sleep.

Layer 3, The Horror When she awoke and saw the doll still on her bedside table she reached for her ipad and checked for the news about George. Man Charged With Gem Theft, Jewel Still Missing said the headline Oh no!, she thought, even as she read on. Fingerprints had been found on the broken display case said the detail and police were sure they had the thief, but the reporter pointed out that there was no word on what had happened to the gem. But it also seemed they were now sure he had been the mystery man seen in the building before the robbery. That settled it, she would open it. If it contained a gem stone in place of a smaller doll she would know that George had been a liar and thief, and had only been using her.

Layer 3, The Horror

She picked up the doll again and tipped it this way and that, feeling the weight of something within. Taking a deep breath she said a silent prayer that the contents would not break her heart she gripped the two halves of the Babushka figure and pulled them apart with a twisting motion. The shape of another doll emerged upside down in the top half. It was not so gaily decorated as the outer shell, but was still painted albeit mainly with shades of brown and other darker hues. It reminded her of the suit George had been wearing when they met, if he hadnt been so personable and had such deep blue eyes shed not have taken him seriously at all. But as theyd chatted and shed relaxed shed teased him about how Soviet it looked. Arms and legs were painted onto this figure and if she had looked more closely she might have remarked that the facial features looked a lot like Georges as well. But she was already grasping the two sections of the smaller brown character and tugging them apart. As she expected within the little representation was another smaller likeness. But if shed thought to find another yet cruder mannequin she was shaken to find another image of George. This one was more finely crafted, in his better suit, and definitely looked like him. She held the facsimile up in the light and marvelled at its detail. It really was the embodiment of George in his dark blue Italian suit. This miniature was even more fully formed. Its hands and legs were clearly defined, although still part of the tiny bulbous body and it like the others it had a fine dividing line around its middle. This was truly magical