There is a shadow now that dims everything in the room, as if the curtains were suddenly pulled closed. The street below is empty except for a blue Moskvitch parked at the curb below their window, probably an official Party Committee car waiting for Andrei. “Why did you come here,” she asks, “if you only intended to stay for a night and run out at the crack of dawn?” He straightens up but doesn’t turn to her and doesn’t answer. “Why did you go to all the trouble to find me? There are other women, I’m sure, women you could’ve had with much less effort.”

From his tense shoulders, she knows he is back to being as closed as he was in Ivanovo, as guarded as the borders of their motherland. Sensing her anger, he turns and sits in an armchair by the bed. With morning light flooding into the room, he is no longer Andrei. He is Andrei Stepanovich, a Party functionary.

“Is that car downstairs one of the Party perks?” she asks, sharpening her voice to counter his silence. “Am I just a perk, too?”

“Leave the Party out of it,” he snaps. “There are things about the Party you’ll never understand. The Party isn’t a concept; it’s made up of people, flesh and blood. And these people trust me. You might even say they love me. They were my family when I no longer had a family.”

She walks around the bed and sits on the arm of his chair, hoping that he will stop talking about the Party and pull her into his embrace. For a moment, he hesitates but then holds her tight.

“I saw you at the train station when I was leaving Ivanovo,” she whispers into his neck. She can’t see his face, but she can hear a sharp exhale.

“I wanted to say goodbye to you before I left. The real you, not a mirage hovering at a distance I could only see through a cloud of smoke.”

“You always expect too much of me, Sashenka.” He releases her from his embrace. “You—more than anyone else—know who I am. My father was a criminal, and my mother swept the streets. I live in the provinces. I have provincial blood running through my veins.” He looks down, searching for words. “I didn’t say goodbye to you at the train station because I was confused and scared. Because I did something I’m ashamed of. Something I couldn’t tell you about.”

She puts her hand on his sleeve. “We have always been close,” she says. “You understand me better than anyone else. I wouldn’t have told you so much about my life, I wouldn’t have told you about my uncle’s journal, I wouldn’t be here in this room with you if I didn’t think I could trust you.”