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bus 22?”
    “Yes,” Tatiana replied in a tinny voice. “Wait, no.” She saw a bus with three digits coming up. It was Number 136.
    “This is the one I’m going to take,” she said without thinking and quickly got up.
    “One thirty-six?” she heard him mutter behind her.
    Tatiana walked toward it, took out five kopecks, and climbed aboard. After paying, she made her way to the back of the bus and sat down just in time to see the soldier getting on and making his way to the back.
    He sat one seat behind her on the opposite side.
    Tatiana scooted over to the window and tried not to think of him. Where did she intend to go on bus 136? Oh, yes, that’s the bus she took to Marina’s on Polustrovsky Prospekt. She would go there. She’d get off at Polustrovsky and go ring Marina’s doorbell.
    Tatiana could see the soldier out of the corner of her eye.
    Where was
he
going on bus Number 136?
    The bus passed Tauride Park and turned at Liteiny Prospekt.
    Tatiana straightened out the folds of her dress and traced the embroidered shapes of the roses with her fingers. Bending over between the seats, she adjusted her sandals. But mainly what she did was hope at every stop that the soldier would not get off. Not here, she thought, not here. And not here either. Where she wanted him to get off, Tatiana didn’t know; all she knew was that she didn’t want him to get off
here
.
    The soldier didn’t. Tatiana could tell he sat very calmly, looking out his window. Occasionally he would turn toward the front of the bus, and then Tatiana could swear he was looking at her.
    After crossing Liteiny Bridge over the river Neva, the bus continued across town. The few stores Tatiana saw out the window either had long lines or were closed.
    The streets became progressively emptier—bright, deserted Leningrad streets.
    Stop after stop after stop went by. She was getting farther into north Leningrad.
    Her head clearing briefly, Tatiana realized she had long since passed Marina’s stop near Polustrovsky. Now she couldn’t even tell where she was anymore. Unsettled, she moved tensely around on the seat.
    Where was she going? She didn’t know, but she couldn’t get off the bus. First of all, the soldier was making no move to ring the bell, and second, she didn’t know where she was. If Tatiana got off here, she would have to cross the street and take the bus back.
    What was she hoping for anyway? To watch where he got off and then come back here another day with Marina? The thought made Tatiana twitch with disquiet.
    Come back to find her soldier.
    It was ridiculous. Right now she was hoping merely for a graceful retreat and a way back home.
    Little by little, other people trickled off the bus. Finally there was no one left except Tatiana and the soldier.
    The bus sped on. Tatiana didn’t know what to do anymore. The soldier was not getting off the bus. What have I gotten myself into? she thought. She decided to get off, but when she rang the bell, the bus driver turned around and said, “You want to get off here, girl? Nothing here but industrial buildings. You meeting somebody?”
    “Uh, no,” she stammered.
    “Well, then wait. Next will be the last stop.”
    Mortified, Tatiana sat back down with a thump.
    The bus pulled into a dusty terminal.
    The driver said, “Last stop.”
    Tatiana got off the bus into a hot, earth-covered bus station, which was a square lot at the end of an empty street. She was afraid to turn around. She put her hand on her chest to still her relentless heart. What was she supposed to do now? Nothing to do but take the bus back. Slowly she walked out of the station.
    After—and only after—taking the deepest breath, Tatiana finally looked to her right, and there he was, smiling cheerfully at her. He had perfect white teeth—unusual for a Russian. She couldn’t help but smile back. Relief must have shown in her face. Relief and apprehension and anxiety; all that, and something else, too.
    Grinning, the