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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

Andrei’s mouth tenses, and he looks away. “I hated my father, and I still hate him. Not a single tear for him from me.” He turns to Sasha and cups her hand between his palms. “Except for you, Sashenka, from now on, not a single tear for anyone.”

16

16

In their field, she hardens herself to tell Andrei that she must go to Moscow, that she has already bought a one-way ticket and hidden it on the bottom of her suitcase. A one-way ticket, a brazen purchase, as if she knows for certain that she will pass the three rounds of auditions required to get accepted.

She has been putting off the announcement long enough, and for that she is punished: the enormity of Andrei’s recent losses has drained the certainty of her intent to leave and allowed doubts to seep into her soul. Her leaving will clearly announce her priorities: acting and Theater are more important than life and love, more important than Andrei, even after the fire has robbed him of his family.

She is prepared to say, as a preface, that long ago, she and Andrei made a promise not to hurt each other, when there was so much hurting happening after the war. Then she would admit that she has been keeping something from him, something that she knows is going to hurt him. She has prepared all those words, neatly arranged, but not one of them is now breaking from its mooring to float to the surface.

“There is no easy way to say what I have to, so I’ll just say it.” She cringes at her own awkwardness. “I’m going to Moscow to take an entrance exam to a drama school. I leave in two weeks,” she utters, unsure of whether she can keep up her resolve and not disintegrate into tears because the mere thought of leaving makes her nauseous.

She is afraid to look at him, and when she does, his face has lost focus as it blurs when it is next to hers, but now there is at least a meter of space between them, space charged with the smell of gathering rain and betrayal. She has never seen Andrei look so unguarded, so fragile.

“Why?” he asks. His voice is heavy, swollen with pain. “Why are you leaving? Have I said something? I don’t understand . . .” His voice trails off, and he peers into the grass, breathing hard. “What have I done to make you leave?” His eyes are now searching hers, not finding any answers.

Should she say that she might be back next month, one of the scores of high school hopefuls who didn’t get accepted, humiliation lapping around her like a foul smell? Or would the possibility of such an inglorious return mark the end of everything for her, even though Andrei might see in it a glimpse of hope?