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Back A Train to Moscow: A Novel
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

“Please don’t worry,” says Marik’s father to his wife and son, but also to Sasha. He stands by the door, scrambling to get his arms through the sleeves of the coat Marik’s mother holds out for him. “Go to school and make me proud,” he says to the children, who are clutching on to each other on the floor, braving the bruises that are just beginning to throb. “They will straighten this out soon,” he promises. “I will be back in a few days.” He is trying to stay composed, but his voice is quivering. “All will be well,” he says, even though his words sound hollow, lacking the weight required to ground them in Sasha’s mind, maybe even in his own.

Should Sasha believe him? Despite the two policemen leading him out of the house, Marik’s father still looks like the hero from a film about the first Five-Year Plan they saw at school, imperishable and proud. Whom can she believe if she doesn’t believe him? She holds on to Marik to keep him from lunging after the guards, wishing that everything, as her grandma likes to say, would soon indeed turn out to be well.

2

2

Sasha stands next to Marik by the gate to the courtyard, checking that Grandma can’t see her. Her house, like Marik’s, sits on the outskirts of Ivanovo where the town streetcar ends its route behind a field, where every hour it crawls past Grandpa’s garden to come to a standstill farther down the street, by the cluster of lilac bushes. But Sasha is not thinking about the lilacs now. She is thinking about the streetcar clanging along the track, with sparks bursting on the wires above. The best manifestation of defiance is to jump onto the back of the streetcar and straddle the long piece of iron protruding like a tail, gliding past the clumps of nettles, past the envious glances of their friends, until the streetcar screeches to a stop and its driver rolls a cigarette between his fingers and cups his hands around a lighted match. So far, nine-year-old Andrei, two years older than Marik and Sasha, is the only one who has had the guts to ride on the streetcar’s metal tail, and he has been sauntering around with his hands in his pockets since, forgetting that the three of them are friends, whistling and gazing over their heads as if they’ve suddenly shrunk in size.