“Papa told me you would say that. We discussed it at length.” His eyes didn’t leave her face. “It was his wish that if he was arrested, we should all admit to lack of vigilance. It is the only way to stay out of jail ourselves and have a chance of a normal life. Otherwise I will be thrown out of the Institute, we could lose this apartment, and my brother and sisters will never be accepted into further education. Besides, you could be arrested too, and the little ones need at least one of their parents.”

Maria shook her head. “I will only do it if Peter asks me himself. I must speak with him. Will they let me visit?”

Stepan sighed, clearly accepting that it would take some effort to persuade her. “I will ask tomorrow. I plan to make my own statement then.”

Maria turned away. It wounded her to the core that Stepan would speak against his father, even though she knew it made sense. “If he pleads guilty to some charge, what will happen? Will they let him come home again?”

Stepan didn’t speak for a long time, and she couldn’t bear to look at his face, fearful of what she might see there. “I don’t know,” he said at last.

* * *

After three days without any further news, Maria couldn’t bear the suspense any longer. She urged Stepan to let her accompany him to Bolshoi Dom, which was on Liteyny Prospekt. If she was there, on the spot, perhaps they would let her see Peter for a few minutes. She needed to know he hadn’t been hurt.

They sat in silence on the tram, arms linked. As they alighted, Stepan said, “Please let me do the talking. I know how to handle this.”

“I need to see him,” Maria insisted. “Be sure to tell them that.”

She paused and gazed up at the modern, pale beige stone building. There were nine stories. Which one was Peter on? Would he sense her presence? Or look out a window and spot her? She couldn’t see any faces because light was blinking off the glass.

They walked into a marble entrance hallway and followed directions to the inquiries desk. A silent line stretched all the way back to the lobby. Maria and Stepan waited arm in arm for almost an hour before they reached the desk, where a man with a scowling face was on duty behind a sliding glass partition.

Stepan showed his Party card and asked if it was possible to visit his father, who was being held there.

The officer flicked through a list on the desk in front of him, his expression cold. He found Peter’s name, nodded, and opened a drawer. “Fill out this form.” He handed it over. “Return tomorrow with the relevant sections completed and we will see.”