Exile, it seemed to her, was a juggling act between past and present, remembering and forgetting — and her emigration was a form of exile, given she couldn’t ever return. This loss of place was hard enough, but the way in which exile divided her mind was even worse. She needed her past, but not so much of it that it would sabotage her new life. Was this the condition of exile? To want too much of memory while at the same time trying to control it? When it concerned her mother, she wanted to remember everything, except the last illness. As for the rest, she tried to remember particular people, particular places, particular experiences. Demanding of memory yet restricting it, she was rarely satisfied. And there were the black holes, deliberately created in order to manage her new life, but which, at the same time, stifled crucial aspects of who she was. That more people did not collapse under the burden of exile was remarkable.

There was one prominent overlap between Australia and the Soviet Union that she found very amusing: the British Queen Elizabeth was as ubiquitous here as Lenin was at home. The queen’s image was on all the coins, it graced a good many of the stamps, it hung in public buildings, it appeared in churches and schools. Queen Elizabeth here, Lenin at home. The plenitude of Lenin ensured that all Soviet citizens were caught in his aura and the Soviet ideological web. So what might the omnipresent queen reveal about the Australians?

Thirty minutes later, Galina was settled at her desk at Ralph Merridale Graphics. Neil, who occupied the space next to her, had been at work for hours. His current artwork, his ‘real work’, a triptych inspired by Tasmania’s old-growth forests, was turning into ‘a dog’s dinner’, and he simply couldn’t stare at it for ‘another fucking fruitless innings’. Despite the state of his real work, he seemed quite cheery, humming along to some internal music as he drew.

The office was at capacity today: four artists, a typist, a receptionist, as well as the boss, Ralph Merridale, who was always there (and again, Galina found herself wondering how real his ‘real work’ actually was). When she started here, Merridale’s was supplying drawings to five real estate agents; that number had now increased to eight.

‘We could work here full-time,’ Neil said. ‘Live the Australian dream.’

There was not a glimpse of a smile, but Galina was sure he was making a joke, so she laughed. When he laughed in return, she knew she had got it right. Australian humour was a baffling business.