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had to get off like everyone else, and now . Kolia threw his knapsack over his shoulder and said goodbye. He stepped down from the train, petrified with nerves. His legs, on the other hand, felt like they belonged to a rag doll. He completely missed the last metal step and landed hard on the platform, taking three rapid steps forward until he collapsed at the feet of a man who was evidently waiting for someone. It looked ridiculous, but the fall had been executed perfectly.

MOSCOW
    TANYA AND HER COMPANION found him sitting in Komsomolskaya Square in front of the train station. He was still dazed. The man who had helped him to his feet excused himself as soon as they arrived. As planned, Kolia wore a purple armband, which he had created out of a scarf. He recognized Tanya immediately and reached out to shake her hand. Then he greeted her friend with a nod, as he had seen other men do when they met.
    He spent his first night in Moscow with the couple in their two-room flat, three rooms if the kitchen counted. The man had Party business to attend to with another comrade, and he left them to their tête-à-tête at the kitchen table. Tanya prepared a thick soup. She resembled the photograph taken three years earlier; she was petite but not quite as pretty as she appeared in the picture. In fact, the kitchen light wasn’t flattering at all to the contours of her face. While the potatoes, beets, cabbage, and morsels of meat simmered on the stove, Kolia got the feeling that she was waiting for him to say something. He began to talk about Iosif.
    â€œI don’t know. He might have hung on for a few more months. I just don’t know. I never knew why he was there. He never said a word about that.”
    His voice didn’t sound natural. He had hardly spoken to anyone in the last two weeks.
    â€œI received a letter saying he was dead. They didn’t use the word ‘disappeared,’” Tanya said, lowering the gas flame.
    â€œI was told he had disappeared . . . by a guy who knew him, I think.”
    â€œHow was he the day before?”
    â€œHe was fine. Just like every day.”
    The radio that Tanya placed on the kitchen table right in front of him crackled out something indecipherable. They spoke to each other in Russian. Any other language would have woken up the walls.
    â€œDid they send his money to you here in Moscow?”
    â€œYes. Almost nothing. Before he was arrested, he spent virtually everything.”
    Kolia pulled a package out of his knapsack.
    â€œHis notebooks. Some sketches, a few doodles here and there, notes he scribbled down, and some of his writing.”
    As he began to leaf through Iosif’s notebooks and documents, he hesitated at the pages where there was a reference to the civil servant who had protected her brother.
    â€œYou’re lucky, you know,” said Tanya.
    â€œWhy do you say that?”
    â€œThe city is closed to ex-prisoners. I’m not going to be able to help very often.”
    He sorted through the documents and sketches, and placed them in chronological order; Iosif had meticulously dated everything. But Kolia decided to keep one thing for himself; he slipped Iosif’s diary into his pants pocket.
    The conversation was going nowhere. Tanya seemed distant, almost colourless in comparison to the letter she had written in Russian, and not particularly interested in her brother’s paraphernalia. She changed the subject. She started describing the vegetables in the soup, and how she had bought the meat that morning, just by chance, for almost nothing. Kolia couldn’t understand her indifference. It was clear that Tanya had loved her brother very much, but from a distance. She didn’t want any problems now. Kolia was an honorary member of the family and they would help him, but only to a point. They would do what her high-ranking boyfriend had promised.
    The next day, they took him to the workers’ hostel where he was to