“What? That I would become your brother’s mistress? His whore…”

Ruzsky swallowed hard. “Don’t talk like that.”

“Does it disgust you, Sandro?”

Ruzsky found that he was holding his breath. He shut his eyes. “I made a terrible mistake.”

“You made your choice, and now we can both pay for it. Does it disgust you to think of him touching me? To think that he can do as he wishes with me?”

“Stop it.”

“Does it disgust you to think of him naked beside me, inside me? Your brother-”

“Control yourself.”

“And now it is too late.”

He looked at her and saw the emotion swelling in her eyes and in her breast, then breaking like floodwater. She curled herself into the corner of her bunk, her body racked by fierce convulsions. He moved instinctively to her. “Maria,” he said, but she pushed him away.

“Get away from me,” she screamed.

There was a knock at the door. She did not reply. “Are you all right, madam?” the conductor asked. Ruzsky moved back to his seat.

“Yes,” she said weakly.

“Please open the door so that I may ascertain that you are not being threatened.”

Maria did not move. The conductor turned the lock and pulled the door back. He glared at Ruzsky, who avoided his eye. Maria was wiping the tears from her cheeks.

“Is this gentleman upsetting you, madam?”

“No, Officer. It is all right.”

“He’s not from the first-class compartment.”

“It’s all right. Truly. He’s a friend.”

The conductor eyed Ruzsky suspiciously. “There are all kinds of bad sorts on the train,” he said. “I only let him in because he showed me police papers. I’ll check them again if you wish.”

“It’s all right, Officer, honestly. I know the gentleman.”

The conductor hesitated. He shot an admiring glance at Maria and then reluctantly withdrew. “If you need anything, Miss Popova, please don’t hesitate to call.”

“I won’t. Thank you.”

The conductor pulled the door shut and relocked it from the outside. Maria closed her eyes and for a moment looked composed, before starting to shake once more.

“Maria, please-”

Ruzsky was leaning forward, but she had raised her hand to prevent him coming closer. She switched off the lamp, and the landscape beyond the window sprang instantly to life, illuminated by a bright moon in a cloudless sky.

“You really don’t understand, do you?” she asked.

“Understand what?”

Maria’s anger had gone, and in its place Ruzsky saw only regret. It was worse. “You would not compromise,” she said. “But I did.”

Ruzsky’s eyes pleaded with her.

“And you don’t understand why, do you?”

“I-”

“I’m your brother’s mistress because I loved you.” Maria rested her head against the window. “I’m your brother’s mistress because you would not bend. And now that you will, my compromise has put love beyond our reach.” She turned back to him. “Don’t you see?”

Ruzsky could not answer. He shook his head, as if to try and deny what they both knew to be true. “Christ,” he whispered.

“I’m sorry, Sandro,” she said.

“No,” he muttered.

“I’ve hurt you… I’m sorry.”

Ruzsky did not move, attempting to lose himself in the rhythmic beat of the pistons. “Do you love him?” Ruzsky bit his lip. He had not wanted to ask the question and did not wish to have an answer.

Maria looked up. She wiped her eyes.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”

“I’m very fond of your brother, Sandro.”

“Fond?”

“I’m moved by him; by the sadness in his heart, and by his devotion to you… I am nothing more than an adornment for him. I know that he will never really be in love with me…” She sighed. “I do not believe he can love-really love-another.”

“Why not?”

“Because he does not love himself.”

“I don’t understand,” Ruzsky said.

“Oh, Sandro…” She seemed to look right into the depths of his soul. “I think you understand better than anyone.”

Ruzsky waited for her to continue, but she did not.

They sat quietly together in the dark. From time to time, the moon disappeared behind a stand of pine trees, then burst out again, making brilliant the snow-covered fields, and washing her troubled face with light.

“Why him?” Ruzsky asked at length. “Of all people, why him?”

Maria’s head rocked from side to side. Her hands rested upon her lap. “I have told you already,” she said. “Because, at his best, he is like you.” She gave him a look of almost infinite sadness. “And because I can’t have you.”

They listened to the sound of the train and watched the changing patterns of light and shadow as it carved its way across the landscape. They were silent for a long time.

“What do you want of me?” he said.

“I don’t know anymore.”

He watched her face.

“It is too late for us,” she said. “But it doesn’t change the way I feel.”

Ruzsky swallowed hard. His throat was dry. “Should I go?”

“No.” Her voice was just a whisper.

“Do you want me to stay?”

Maria did not answer immediately. “Can we escape from the world, just for a moment? Just for a heartbeat?”

She turned and lay down on her bunk, her head on the pillow.

Ruzsky watched her face.

He waited.

One long, elegant arm stretched out toward him in the moonlight.

He watched, transfixed, marveling at the cool perfection of her fingertips, desperate for her touch.

He moved across the compartment and lay down beside her, his arm over her waist, his lips brushing the nape of her neck.

She lay quite still, her breast barely rising and falling as she breathed. At length, she turned toward him, her lips close to his, her eyes searching his own. “Are you nervous, Sandro?” she whispered.

“Yes.”

With her thumb and forefinger, she smoothed the lines on his temples, then gently caressed his cheek.

Her lips were parted, her breath warm.

“So many wasted years,” she said.

“Maria, I cannot-”

“Don’t punish me,” she said, placing a finger upon his lips. She brushed his eyes closed, and then smoothed his brow. “Just rest, Sandro. You need to rest.”

They lay side by side. The compartment was warm. He wished he could stay here forever.

26

M aria’s cheek was resting on his shoulder and he thought that she might be sleeping.

He listened to the sound of her breathing.

On the train journeys he had made with his family, he and Dmitri had always occupied the top bunks in the same compartment and lain awake deep into the night, listening to the train rattling south.

“I love to listen to the sound of the train at night,” she said. “The snow outside, the warmth within. It makes me feel safe.”

Ruzsky did not move. He didn’t want to do anything to break the spell.

“Do your parents still live in Yalta?” he asked.

“No.”

“Where did they move to?”

Maria did not answer.

“You said you were going to see your sister.”

“Yes.”

Ruzsky sensed he was skating on thin ice, but needed to continue. “Why don’t you ever talk about your past?” he asked.

“For the same reason that you don’t.”

“Are your parents in Petersburg?”

“No.”

“So you moved up alone?”

“They died a long time ago.”

Ruzsky hesitated. “I’m sorry,” he said.

Maria slipped away from him, onto her back. She gazed up at the ceiling.

“How old were you when they died?”

“Young. But old enough to remember how wonderful they were, which should make it better, but only makes it worse.”

“What-”

“It was an accident.”

Ruzsky watched the shadows crossing and recrossing her solemn face.

“Who looked after you?”

“My uncle.”

“Is he still in Yalta?”

“He’s dead now, too.”

“Were you fond of him?”

“Of course. He was a good man.”

Ruzsky sensed a reservation in her voice. “But it was still-”