Finding the right cigarettes became a priority: if he was happy while smoking, he would have less opportunity to complain. She took him to a tobacconist, and translated his preferences to the proprietor. They returned to the saddlery with four different packs. The first was the local Marlboro brand, which he insisted was not the same as the Marlboros he had smoked in the Soviet Union; Australian Marlboros were gavno, he said, and tossed the pack in the rubbish. He then tried the Peter Stuyvesants, another brand he’d smoked at home — also quickly trashed. She prayed, as non-believers do in desperate situations, that one of the brands would suit. And when Mikhail declared himself satisfied with the English Dunhill (what a life of privilege he must have enjoyed in the Soviet Union), she decided God must be a smoker. She bought Mikhail a carton. A whole carton, she learned, lasted a single week.

He wasn’t interested in seeing the sights. Melbourne couldn’t compete with Moscow, it couldn’t even compete with Leningrad, a city for which he had little fondness; besides, walking tired him. She said they could order a taxi, but he was not interested in taxis. He did, however, allow her to take him to a barber, not to have his hair dyed as he initially wanted, but to have it cropped. She explained that thick grey hair in an older man was considered attractive here, and the appeal to his vanity worked. But little else did. He complained about the food, he complained about the saddlery, he complained about the absence of friends. He absolutely refused to meet her Jewish Russian friends. ‘I’m not interested in your zhidovnia,’ he said, the insult so much worse coming from the mouth of a Jew.

He sat on the green, floral couch, smoking his cigarettes and watching TV. He liked the game shows. And golf, he liked to watch the golf. ‘Do you play?’ she asked, already planning to sign him up at a club.

Of course he didn’t play. How many golf courses had she seen in Russia? He liked the pace of the game, and it required no English. ‘It is suitable for me at this time of life,’ he said. ‘I have earned my relaxation.’

One day she observed him watching an American slapstick movie. He was still laughing when the credits started rolling. The very next day she invested in a video recorder and signed up at the local video store.

She kept him occupied, and that kept her occupied. He watched the TV, he watched the rented movies, he ate the food she prepared, he smoked his cigarettes, he complained often, he never thanked her. But then what did he need with thankyous? As far as he was concerned, she was just doing her duty.