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take her to Stepanov’s place, where we’ll spend the rest of the night on his couch, next to the grandfather’s piano, under the strict vigilance of
comrade Brezhnev.
    Stepanov says, you’re welcome to fuck anyone in my grandfather’s flat.
    But it’s not ideal. Next morning I’ll have to wake up early, walk the girl to the ring road, put her in a car before I take the long metro ride to Universitet for my three-hour
language class.
    Exhausting.

8
    I T WAS K ATYA WHO suggested that I should add Moscow to my application form. ‘You’ll increase your chances,’
she said. ‘Nobody wants to go to Russia. People are scared, with all these awful things they show on the news all the time. There’ll be no competition.’
    I didn’t particularly care about academic life. But I was about to finish my degree in languages and literature and I didn’t know what to do next. A friend told me that a PhD was
nothing more than the usual academic assignment, just with a very long deadline. It sounded like something I could do.
    Moscow. Why not. After all, I had taken an interest in Russian books. During my studies I’d read Dostoyevsky, Gogol and even a couple of chapters of
War and Peace
. Then, for my
birthday, Katya had bought me an old English edition of selected short stories by Chekhov – the only book I later took to Moscow – and for a couple of weeks we had read the stories to
each other in bed.
    As Katya had predicted – and despite my mediocre grades – a few weeks after sending in my application I found myself facing a panel in the literature department of the University of
Amsterdam. It was never really explained to me why I wasn’t being considered for other universities which were top of my list – when they had asked me to submit a developed research
proposal, I was told it was Russia or nothing.
    At the interview I was invited to elucidate how my proposed research topic – the evolution of the female character in Russian literature – would contribute to the West’s
understanding of modern Russia. Following Katya’s advice, I’d taken two shots of vodka before the interview – a trick Russians always use to speak in public, she’d told me.
I felt confident and eloquent. I will certainly define the research topic further, sir, of course I think there is room for a fresh look at the subject, yes, a twenty-first-century view of Russian
literature. I’m planning to expand my sources, indeed, will definitely take into account these latest gender-sensitive theories you mention, madam, I mean professor, I will use them all.
Russian language? Da, da, I’m looking forward to learning Russian, certainly. I would be immensely grateful, I said at the end – trying to conclude my interview as solemnly as I could
– if I were awarded this prestigious scholarship to study at MGU, the famous Moscow State University.
    By the time I was offered the scholarship, another few weeks after the interview, I had no reason to stay in Amsterdam. In fact, I was desperate to get out.
    All friendly break-ups are alike; each painful break-up is painful in its own way. Katya certainly made sure of that. At first I was shocked, the entire thing had caught me off
guard. The days passed and I saw no improvement in my heart’s condition. I couldn’t understand where the pain was coming from. Had I really cared that much about her? Then, in the
middle of this unexplored emotional territory, confused and disoriented as I was, I received The Letter. Dear applicant, we have the pleasure of informing you that, and so on.
    It was only later, when I read
Nest of the Gentry
, that I recognised the dramatic potential of my situation. In Turgenev’s book, Lavretsky, too, finds himself in similar
circumstances and ends up fleeing to Russia looking for solace. Of course, now, when I look back, I wouldn’t dare compare my Katya to Varvara Pavlovna. Despite her glamour and beauty, Katya
lacked the old-school refinement of