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remained slightly ahead, then a sign flashed by at a stop with an arrow pointing west that said ‘Europe’ and one pointing east that said ‘Asia’. A few hours later the mountains started very slowly to recede behind them.
    The girl slept, and awoke when the man waved something under her nose. His knife? She opened her eyes, alarmed.
    â€˜You’ll grow too much, little one, if you sleep so long. Your arse will get fat. Watch out.’
    He looked at her with playful sternness for a moment and put the paper carnation back in the vase.
    Burning clouds dashed across the southern sky, headed north. A lukewarm sun fought its way through the tops of the tallest spruce trees. Old birches decorated in a fluff of frost like blooming bird cherries graced a derelict garden. She sat up in bed with her eyes closed. Concentrated. Lifted both hands to the top of her chest near her throat and tried to calm her breathing.
    After a moment she opened her eyes and looked for her headphones. She looked at the man. He opened his mouth without looking at her.
    â€˜It often happens that I think I’m going to do one thing and I do another. As a young man, when I was screwing Vimma, I thought I’d never give up that pussy. But then what happened? I played cards with the boys and lost everything, even my coat and my leather belt. When there was nothing else left, I bet Vimma. I lost. And Vimma disappeared like a bunny in a magician’s hat, and I never saw her again.’
    He poured water into the samovar and turned it on, measured a small spoonful of tea into the enamel pot. Then they just waited for the water to boil, the tea to steep, to pour it into the glasses.
    â€˜If we were lice, or maybe bedbugs, I’d be the kind of bedbug that hunkers down and doesn’t move and stares at something that nobody else can see. You, on the other hand, would dash around until you died from exhaustion. But if we were cockroaches, we’d hook up with our own crowd straight off. They take good care of each other, help each other out at every turn. We’d take responsibility for everything that happened between us. What is a crowd? It’s a partnership, a gang. It always sticks together. The cockroaches are right. For good or ill.’
    The train braked softly as it approached Sverdlovsky. Lights and shadows slid peacefully past. The soft, frozen winter dusk beckoned along the side streets of the town, its parks and squares. A local train squeaked on the next track. A wave of people arriving from the suburbs flooded into the small station from an arriving train, a full moon reflected orange from drifts of snow yellowed with dogs’ piss. The stars in the sky were like a vast array of portals to another reality, the same stars as in Moscow, but different.
    The train rocked and accelerated. It was soon speeding forward, and all the villages that had sprung up east of the city long ago were left far behind. The man tossed and turned in his bed with his clothes on. The girl put her headphones over her ears and closed her eyes. The music carried her to autumn in Moscow, the grey-bearded doorman raking dry autumn leaves, the light from the university hallway, the fresh-painted smell of the handrail, the simple beauty of the office coat rack.
    As a perfect, velvet-black night opened up outside the window, the man finally undressed bashfully, slid between the covers, and turned his back to her, not even wishing her good-night. She was tired, but couldn’t sleep. She lay awake, staring at Russia’s deep darkness until finally, when night was nearly morning, she pulled her head into a hood of blanket and fell into restless dreams.
    In the morning she stopped in to see the carriage staff. Arisa was cleaning the entrance and Sonechka was sitting alone in the compartment with her back towards the door. The girl ordered two teas and some bubliks . Sonechka nodded, but didn’t turn to look at her. As she was