She remembered the words she had prepared. “You look familiar—did I talk to you last time I was here, three years ago? My name is Tanya Dvorkin and I work for TASS.”

Vasili closed his mouth and started to collect himself, but still he seemed dumbstruck.

Tanya kept on talking. “I’m writing a follow-up to my series on emigrants to Siberia. I’m afraid I don’t remember your name, though—I’ve interviewed hundreds of people in the last three years!”

“Yenkov,” he said at last. “Vasili Yenkov.”

“We had a most interesting talk,” Tanya said. “It’s coming back to me. I must interview you again.”

Irina looked at her watch. “We’re short of time. The schools close early here.”

Tanya nodded at her and said to Vasili: “Could we meet this evening? Would you mind coming to the Central Hotel? Perhaps we could have a drink together.”

“At the Central Hotel,” Vasili repeated.

“At six?”

“Six o’clock at the Central Hotel.”

“I’ll see you then,” Tanya said, and she went out.

• • •

Tanya wanted to reassure Vasili that he had not been forgotten. She had done that already, but was it enough? Could she offer him any hope? She also wanted to tell him that his story was wonderful and he should write more, but again she had no encouragement to offer him: “Frostbite” could not be published and the same would probably be true of anything else he produced. She feared she might end up making him feel worse, not better.

She waited for him in the bar. The hotel was not bad. All visitors to Siberia were VIPs—no one came here for a holiday—so the place had the level of luxury expected by the Communist elite.

Vasili came in looking a bit better than he had earlier. He had combed his hair and put on a clean shirt. He still looked like a man recovering from an illness, but the light of intelligence shone in his eyes.

He took both her hands in his. “Thank you for coming here,” he said, his voice trembling with emotion. “I can’t begin to tell you how much it means to me. You’re a friend, a solid gold friend.”

She kissed his cheek.

They ordered beer. Vasili ate the free peanuts like a starving man.

“Your story is wonderful,” Tanya said. “Not just good, but extraordinary.”

He smiled. “Thank you. Perhaps something worthwhile can come out of this terrible place.”

“I’m not the only person who admires it. The editors of New World accepted it for publication.” He lit up with gladness, and she had to bring him down again. “But they changed their minds when Khrushchev was deposed.”

Vasili looked crestfallen, then he took another handful of nuts. “I’m not surprised,” he said, recovering his equanimity. “At least they liked it—that’s the important thing. It was worth writing.”

“I’ve made a few copies and mailed them—anonymously, of course—to some of the people who used to receive Dissidence,” she added. She hesitated. What she planned to say next was bold. Once said, it could not be retracted. She took the plunge. “The only other thing I could do is try to get a copy out to the West.”