“What have you been doing since I saw you last?” Nina asked him as they strolled around the park, drinking lukewarm orange cordial bought from a stall.

“Working,” he said.

“Is that all?”

“I usually get to the office an hour before Khrushchev, to make sure everything is ready for him: the documents he needs, the foreign newspapers, any files he might want. He often works until late into the evening, and I rarely go home before he does.” He wished he could make his job sound as exciting as it really was. “I don’t have much time for anything else.”

Valentin said: “Dimka was the same at university—work, work, work.”

Happily, Nina did not seem to think that Dimka’s life was dull. “You’re really with Comrade Khrushchev every day?”

“Most days.”

“Where do you live?”

“Government House.” It was an elite apartment building not far from the Kremlin.

“Very nice.”

“With my mother,” he added.

“I’d live with my mother for the sake of a place in that building.”

“My twin sister normally lives with us, also, but she’s gone to Cuba—she’s a reporter with TASS.”

“I’d like to go to Cuba,” Nina said wistfully.

“It’s a poor country.”

“I could live with that, in a climate where there’s no winter. Imagine dancing on the beach in January.”

Dimka nodded. He was thrilled by Cuba in a different way. Castro’s revolution showed that rigid Soviet orthodoxy was not the only possible form of Communism. Castro had new, different ideas. “I hope Castro survives,” he said.

“Why shouldn’t he?”

“The Americans have invaded once already. The Bay of Pigs was a disaster, but they will try again, with a bigger army—probably in 1964, while President Kennedy is running for reelection.”

“That’s terrible! Can’t something be done?”

“Castro is trying to make peace with Kennedy.”

“Will he succeed?”

“The Pentagon is against it, and conservative congressmen are making a fuss, so the whole idea is getting nowhere.”

“We have to support the Cuban revolution!”

“I agree—but our conservatives don’t like Castro either. They’re not sure he’s a real Communist.”

“What will happen?”

“It depends on the Americans. They may leave Cuba alone. But I don’t think they’re that smart. My guess is they’ll keep harassing Castro until he feels the only place he can look for help is the Soviet Union. So he’ll end up asking us for protection, sooner or later.”

“What can we do?”

“Good question.”

Valentin interrupted them. “I’m hungry. Have you girls got any food at home?”

“Of course,” said Nina. “I bought a knuckle of bacon for a stew.”

“Then what are we waiting for? Dimka and I will buy some beer on the way.”

They took the Metro. The girls had an apartment in a building controlled by the steel union, their employer. Their place was small: a bedroom with two single beds, a living room with a couch in front of a television set, a kitchen with a tiny dining table, and a bathroom. Dimka guessed that Anna was responsible for the lacy cushions on the couch and the plastic flowers in the vase on top of the TV, and Nina had bought the striped curtains and the posters on the wall showing mountain scenery.