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Back A Train to Moscow: A Novel Save as PDF
Chapters (59)
  1. TITLE PAGE
  2. COPYRIGHT PAGE
  3. DEDICATION
  4. CONTENTS
  5. ACT 1 IVANOVO
  6. 1
  7. 2
  8. 3
  9. 4
  10. 5
  11. 6
  12. 7
  13. 8
  14. 9
  15. 10
  16. 11
  17. 12
  18. 13
  19. 14
  20. 15
  21. 16
  22. 17
  23. ACT 2 MOSCOW
  24. 18
  25. 19
  26. 20
  27. 21
  28. 22
  29. 23
  30. 24
  31. 25
  32. 26
  33. 27
  34. ACT 3 LENINGRAD
  35. 28
  36. 29
  37. 30
  38. 31
  39. 32
  40. 33
  41. 34
  42. 35
  43. 36
  44. 37
  45. ACT 4 IVANOVO-LENINGRAD
  46. 38
  47. 39
  48. 40
  49. 41
  50. 42
  51. 43
  52. 44
  53. 45
  54. 46
  55. 47
  56. 48
  57. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  58. DISCUSSION QUESTIONS
  59. ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Why is it, Sasha wonders, that she was able to intuit such tragic, crushing love? What made the director so satisfied with the way she acted in the scene? How was she able to get it right so that the camera believed her? She has so many questions she would like to ask, although she knows she would never dare pose those questions to the director or to anyone else. Why did she have to die? Is death Lyubasha’s punishment for her intense, unbending passion? Does death stalk under the murky vaults of medieval and contemporary mores, her punishment for sex?

Sasha walks past the dark buildings, wallowing in sadness, as despondent as Irina from Three Sisters. She walks and walks, burnishing her sadness with every step into the ancient cobblestones of Riga’s streets, and Chekhov, she thinks, would be proud of her angst.

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In the beginning of November, the film director, Sergey Vladimirovich, calls her into a scene that isn’t hers, and as she sits in the corner knitting another sweater for the winter, she feels his gaze on her. If she is honest with herself, she doesn’t dislike this gaze. It is inviting and admiring, and it emanates from someone who—while not as good-looking as her acting partner who plays her lover—is still attractive, with his dark curly hair and thin-rimmed glasses pinched low on his nose. She doesn’t dislike his medium height and build, the solidity of him. Sergey Vladimirovich is also twenty years older than she is and, technically, he could be her father.

As she sits there, dipping her knitting needles, she fumbles inside herself for feelings toward Sergey Vladimirovich, itemizing in her mind all the pros and cons. He has been kind and generous to her, an acting student, although he is a film director with two major motion pictures to his credit. He is older and more established than anyone who has been interested in her before, but he is also married to an opera singer who is voicing over the main part of the film, which is a definite con. She should be grateful it isn’t her part, which would be utterly ironic. She thinks of having raced to the post office for three months, and she almost hopes that the director decides to keep his eyes on her a little longer. Besides, shouldn’t she be grateful to him for teaching her how to act on camera, a lesson her drama school has deliberately denied its students? Shouldn’t she thank him for showing her how to make the camera caress her face with radiance and light?

Sasha looks back at the director and smiles, letting him know that his attention hasn’t gone unnoticed, telling him with her eyes that she is almost ready.

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