—That’s why I had to come in person. But that is not the only reason. I’m here to tell you that regardless of whether you come to the concert tonight, you have not been forgotten in Russia as you have been in the United States. I am seventeen years old and you are a hero of mine. You are a hero for many Russians regardless of their age. You are played on the radio. Your popularity today is greater than ever before. That is the reason I wanted to come here today, Mr Austin, because we have heard your enemies tell you so many lies. We want to tell you the truth. You are admired and you are loved! You will never be forgotten and your music will never stop being played.

Jesse felt as if he’d been unfrozen from a block of ice, warm joy passing through his body. His music wasn’t lost. His songs were being enjoyed in another country even though his library of work had been erased from America’s consciousness. No longer listened to in his own country, his work could still be heard abroad. Overwhelmed, he moved to the table, forced to sit down. Anna moved towards him, taking his hands.

—What is it? What did she say?

—My music is still being played.

It was true that he’d felt abandoned by the nation and the party for which he’d sacrificed so much. To hear that this was not the case was a powerful salve to the many hurts inflicted over the years.

Turning back to the young girl, he asked:

—Who sent you?

Elena answered in Russian:

—My instructions are from the highest levels of the Soviet government. If nothing else comes of this meeting than my message of appreciation then that is enough. However, we are keen for us to do more together. We understand that you can no longer speak onstage or in concert halls because those venues will no longer employ you. When that first happened we were told that you reacted by speaking on street corners, refusing to give in, improvising venues, turning a parking lot into an auditorium. Ye t we have reports that you no longer speak in any capacity.

Jesse dropped his head. He’d initially fought against the FBI’s tactics by taking his words to the streets, standing atop a crate, a fruit box, the hood of a car, calling out to anyone who’d listen. That was the past. He hadn’t given a speech like that for at least two years. It wasn’t merely the frequent interruptions by patrol officers or being arrested for disturbing the peace. The passing audience was often indifferent and some were even abusive. He sighed a response in English.

—That is a young man’s game.

Anna squeezed his hands. There was agitation in her voice: