The Ballad of Nixon and Brezhnev

Chapter 2 - Gifts of Grandeur

Between Nixon and Brezhnev sat a long, gilded table covered in diplomatic gifts that each leader's staff had carefully chosen. The tension in the air seemed out of sync with the elaborate setting. Nixon felt a bead of sweat drip down his temple as he looked at the velvet-covered box in front of him, his jaw clenching. This exchange of gifts was symbolic, an outward sign of friendliness, so everything had to go perfectly. Nixon's instincts, however, told him differently when his gaze turned to Brezhnev's wide smile.

"You know, Natalya is my nephew's wife," Brezhnev said without shame.

"Good ol' comrade nepotism, eh?" Nixon asked not realizing the shrouded insult.

"Well, it's certainly not too far from an unreported break-in..." Brezhnev replied realizing it as a direct insult.

"-I don't know what the fuck you're talking about," Nixon's eyes momentarily bewildered.

"Mr. President," with a dramatic flourish, Brezhnev spoke first, his thick accent rolling over the words, "I bring you something from the heart of Russia. Something to keep you warm in your cold Washington winters."

Nixon was handed a huge fur cap by an adviser in a dramatic gesture. It was a large ushanka with thick black fur that gleamed in the light from the chandelier. Nixon fixed his gaze on it, a frozen smile on his face. The item resembled a bear pelt rather than a cap.

Brezhnev's grin widened as he gestured with a sense of pride. "This—this genuine Russian mink. Very warm. Very strong. Like our nations." His eyes glimmered with a sense of self-satisfaction as he waited for Nixon's reaction.

Nixon blinked, forcing a chuckle. "Ah, well, it's... quite something." He glanced at Kissinger, who was suppressing an amused smirk. "Thank you, Mr. Secretary. It's...robust."

Brezhnev's eyes twinkled as he nudged Nixon playfully with his elbow. "Try it on! You will look like a real Russian man. Вели́кая!"

Nixon paused, his gaze flitting from the enormous hat to the group of cameras that were lingering close to the rear of the room. He felt the ushanka's weight settle in his palms as he reluctantly removed it from Brezhnev's hands. The fur draped over his ears as he hoisted it awkwardly onto his head, almost hiding his eyes.

Slapping his thigh as he took in the sight, Brezhnev erupted into laughter. "Ah, perfect! You look like you're ready for Siberia!"

Nixon's mouth stumbled over what to say as he removed the hat with care, but his smile stayed tight. "Thank you, Mr. Secretary," he managed, setting the fur aside. "I'm sure it'll come in handy... for, uh, those cold nights in Washington."

Kissinger cleared his throat, stepping forward to present Nixon's own gift. "And in return," he began, his voice smooth as ever, "President Nixon offers this token of American craftsmanship."

The velvet box opened subtly to reveal a big commemorative plaque plated in gold. It featured an eagle in midflight with the words To Leonid Brezhnev—In the spirit of enduring cooperation written underneath. Beneath the chandelier, the plaque gleamed with a brilliant sheen.

Brezhnev's smile wavered a little as he ran his fingertips over the shiny, icy surface of the gift. His brow furrowed as if he was attempting to figure out what that meant, but he kept his smile tactful. "Ah... yes," he said slowly, nodding. "Very, uh, very nice. Strong eagle. Very American, I am sure..."

Nixon moved forward despite feeling uncomfortable and clearing his throat. "It symbolizes our partnership, Mr. Secretary. A tribute to the strength of our two great nations, soaring together in unity. Ca-caw!"

Brezhnev nodded once more, although there was a hint of perplexity in his gaze. He glanced at one of his assistants, who just shrugged. "Yes, yes. Very strong message," Brezhnev said, his smile returning, though it didn't quite reach his eyes.

The two leaders exchanged a nervous look, their forced smiles belying their disappointment. Nixon stood up uncomfortably, his former self-assurance now obscured by the fallout from a botched diplomatic attempt. Kissinger, standing next to him, arched an eyebrow and stifled a seemingly sly smile.

"Well," Nixon muttered, "I think that went... well."

With the plaque still in his hand, Brezhnev laughed once more, but this time it was not as warm as before. "Yes, indeed. Very well," he repeated, although both men were aware that they had completely missed each other's mark. Their differences in culture felt just as great as the table dividing them.