‘We won’t be a serious country until we have democracy.’

‘But people approve of the President.’

‘Of course. He is all we know. He has kept us out of war.’

‘Perhaps that’s all you can ask.’

‘For now. Soon things must change.’

‘The people I have met here are good people. I think maybe your country can remain peaceful. Advance, and remain peaceful.’

I called for the bill, paid in cash. ‘I’ll drive you home, if you like. I’ve got a feeling the buses might be difficult.’

‘Where are you going?’

‘Well, I was going to go towards Koyandy. There’s a supermarket out there that stocks some European things I can’t get anywhere else. It’s open late.’

‘Really? That’s quite close to where I live.’

‘Perfect.’

‘You have a car?’

‘Yes. I’m parked just around the corner.’

A home visit was good due diligence. She would invite me in. Hard, if not impossible, to fake a family.

‘No. It is not necessary,’ she said suddenly.

‘I am driving you,’ I said. ‘No arguing.’ I was surprised by a burst of adrenalin. I watched her wrestle with something that evidently needed to be said.

‘You must understand,’ she said, finally. ‘My home is not rich.’

THIRTY-EIGHT

I’d left the car a street away. She climbed in without comment. I kept the headlights off for as long as possible, in case someone was looking out for them, only switching them on once we were on the main road. She looked at me curiously.

Night had settled, with a quarter moon sharpened by the cold. Her directions led us into older eastern suburbs, in the process of being brought into line with the architectural look of the capital. All the surrounding villages were meant to be put in order by 2020. Right now it looked like a construction site: concrete plants, steel frames, tower cranes with aviation warning lights.

‘A city changes faster than a human heart,’ I said.

‘What is that?’

‘Baudelaire.’

‘Oh, I know Baudelaire. Les Fleurs du Mal.’

‘He’s one of my favourites.’

‘Do you think it’s true, about the city?’

‘This city, for sure.’

Digital visions of the paradise to come decorated the hoardings of building sites. Faceless people moved through an imagined world: hotels, shopping centres, residential compounds with their own golf courses. Build it and they will come. Oil dreams. Aberdeen, Houston, Kuwait City, Baku. Crude trades at over $100 and cities appear. You can make any ideology seem successful. But it’s not the future, it’s just money. It runs out.

I put the radio on. Semey on a knife edge. Nazarbayev on his way to address protesters’ concerns.

‘Have you heard about this?’