Excerpt
with the stench of urine and filth. Through the arch she could see into the courtyard. Lights were on in almost all of the apartments. There were sounds of babies crying, dinner pots clanking, radios blaring at full volume. This was it: the chance that she had craved to dive into the vigorous Russian life. She would be entering that portal with a man whose breath was sweet with oranges and brandy, a stranger she had met only three days ago and who had so fed her hunger for experience that she would follow him.
He turned to look at her in mute appeal. “Please come,” his eyes said. She entered.
The light switch was defective. The light flickered then died. They stumbled to the top of the wide, stone stairs in the dark, her hand in his, their feet crunching on broken glass. At one point he surged ahead. She heard a jingle, then a swishing sound but realized that she had no fear of him. He opened the door and ushered her in with a loud “welcome” spoken in English. His choice of language alerted everyone that a foreigner was visiting. She knew there would be others living there because in the huge cities with their severe housing shortages, everyone shared apartments—or were out in the cold. He could be living with an old grandmother or a warring couple, she thought. She had seen pictures—you have your own room, share the toilet just down the hall and share the tiny kitchen. Often, you have your own stove in the kitchen and a place on the shelf to keep your sardines and tea.
But at this apartment there was a surprise. A dark-eyed, vibrant woman greeted them at the doorway and ushered them into Volodya’s own cramped bedroom. Volodya introduced her only as “Alya, my friend.”
A girlfriend? Or a curious apartment mate? The thought flitted through Jennifer’s mind that in the three days since their meeting, Volodya had found out a lot about her family background and her relationship with Michael but she still knew little about him.
While he went to gather wash water in a basin from the communal bathroom, Jennifer used the time to look about curiously. The room was neat, conspicuously so; it had the air of having been recently dusted and spruced up for just such a visit. A plain table and chairs stood in the centre; a long nightstand with ornately carved doors was placed along one wall, a bookcase served as a room divider to screen the single bed in the corner. The wall above the bed was covered in photographs and telegrams. She examined them quickly.
Libros Libertad 