Read Compartment No 6 for Free Online Page A

leaving, Arisa backed out of the entrance carrying a bucket made of Latvian tin.
    â€˜Kirov was a great leader in Leningrad who was stabbed in the back by Stalin. First they slaughter their enemies together with their allies, then the allies together with their friends, then their friends. They draw lots for the rest. No one is innocent. A person is always dissatisfied with something, and it’s always discovered. The guilty party is always found, and his offence, too, within a day of his arrest. Remember that.’
    The girl returned to her compartment, lay down, and pretended to sleep. She thought of the three years she’d studied in Moscow. Her first year had been spent in a tight-knit crowd of Finnish students that had dispersed when Maria went back to Finland and Anna went to Kiev. Then she made friends with Franz. Franz was a West Berlin philosophy student who idolised Ulrike Meinhoff and had a habit of pursing his lips contemptuously when he disagreed about something. One day Franz quit his studies and returned to West Berlin. So she was left alone and took the opportunity to get to know Mitka.
    A few versts later the man awakened with a jolt and sat up without opening his eyes. His greasy hair was pasted to his head.
    There was a sharp, crisp knock on the door. ‘Here’s your tea, comrades,’ Arisa said in a dry, cross voice.
    The girl quickly grabbed some coins from her small coin purse and paid her. The man looked at her in wonder.
    â€˜I’ll take care of the tea. Is that clear?’
    The girl nodded, abashed. Snowy hillocks like clouds grew beyond the drab evergreens on their side of the train. The last hills of the Urals.
    â€˜Don’t fret, my girl. Everyone wants to feel needed. I understand, but there are certain rules in life that every citizen has to follow. You’re here as my guest.’
    He groped under his pillow for a cigarette and lit it. He opened the compartment door and stood leaning in the doorway.
    â€˜Life just vanished in a strange red mist. There’s nothing left of it. Or maybe a little piece of it. Maybe a little piece of life at the bottom of your pocket.’
    He smoked his cigarette with one eye closed.
    â€˜Whenever I go home to Moscow after being away for a long time, everything looks sad. And when I leave with my suitcase full of darned socks and pressed underwear, I think that I’ll never come back again, that this is the last time. I always go back. When I’m home I’m as bored as a prisoner on death row, but I tell Katinka that everything’s fine. A person can’t live without deceiving himself.’
    Arisa dashed out of her compartment with a broomstick in her hand.
    â€˜Smoking here? Three-rouble fine! Right here in my hand, you old goat.’
    He handed her a bill indifferently.
    â€˜Think you can buy yourself privileges, you fool? It’s not that easy. I ought to drown you in the latrine. You disgust me.’
    He brushed his hair away with his hand and slapped Arisa on the backside. Arisa disappeared without looking back. He sat down on his bunk.
    â€˜Katinka can sure salt a cucumber. I’ve knocked her up sixteen times and she’s had fifteen abortions.’
    The girl gave him a dark look and let her tea glass fall over onto the table. The hot tea splashed on his bare toes. He grunted, flashed her a questioning look, and started whistling a lively soldiers’ march with a satisfied sound, curling his red toes to the rhythm.
    â€˜Do you know, my girl, what the difference is between screwing and mating? Screwing is a fun, cheerful activity, while mating is a heavy, joyless task. So how about some screwing?’
    He licked his lower lip. The girl’s breathing was full of long pauses.
    â€˜Katinka’s turned mouldy; that’s why our life in Moscow is nothing but a dry fuck.’
    He scratched the back of his neck with his left hand, then with his right, then put both hands on his chin