Arkady had the park to himself. He heard the slow condensation of mist on leaves, the thud of nuts from the beeches onto sodden earth, the dash of unseen birds. Where shadows faded, he found he had reached the edge of a wide meadow, completely lost in a circle of green. For a moment on the far side he saw a flash of white.

Running over the grass, he had the labored breath and heavy feet of a farm horse. When he reached the spot where the brief sight of white had been, she was gone again. Now, though, he knew the direction. A path led along a russet screen of maples and the languid vapor of another stream. He heard steps again and, where the maples ended, saw her, a bag over her shoulder. Her coat was actually more silver than white, with a reflective quality. Her hair was uncovered, darker in the rain. She looked back and then continued walking, faster than before.

They walked at the same pace, ten meters apart, down a dark avenue of firs. Where the path narrowed to a strip that threaded a stand of birches, she slowed, then stopped and leaned against the white, papery column of a birch for him to catch up.

They walked on together in silence. Arkady felt like a man who had approached a deer. The single wrong word, he thought, and she would bolt for good. When she glanced at him he didn’t dare try to hold her eyes or read them. At least they were walking side by side. In itself, that was a victory.

He was sorry that he looked so bad. His shoes were flecked with grass, his clothes damp and molded to his back. His body was too thin, and probably his eyes had the glower of the chronically starved.

They came to the edge of a lake. The water was black and still. Irina looked down at their reflections, at the man and woman looking up from the water, and said, “That’s the saddest thing I ever saw.”

“Me?” Arkady asked.

“Us.”

Birds collected. The park was rich in them: velvet-headed mallards, wood ducks, wigeons and teal appeared out of the mist, breaking the surface of the water into spoons of light. Shearwaters flew as acrobatically as signatures, geese dropped like sacks.

They sat on a bench.

She said, “There are people who come here every day to feed the birds. They bring pretzels the size of wheels.”

It was cool enough for their breath to condense.

“I sympathize with these birds,” she said. “The difference is that you never came. I will never forgive you.”

“I can tell.”

“And now that you’re here, I feel like a refugee all over again. I don’t like that feeling.”

“No one does.”

“But I’ve been in the West for years. I’ve earned the right to be here. Arkady, go home. Leave me alone.”