The Ice Curtain Read Online Free PDF

out at Nowek, then tossed a cloth over the display and switched off the lights.
    It began to rain. Nowek turned and headed for the music store.
    Melodiya
didn’t look like the sort of place that specialized in old recordings. Teens in black leather and polychromed hair lounged against the windows, blocking the door. Advertisements behind the glass touted acid-jazz, Caribbean ska, and something called house.
    Nowek pushed his way inside.
    The shop was bigger than it seemed. The main room was filled with long tables stacked with CDs. A half-dozen kids in headphones tested music in a separate listening room. They swayed, eyes shut. The air vibrated with heavy bass notes.
    The smell of coffee wafted over from the bar. The price for a cup was a breathtaking one hundred twenty-five rubles. A fifth of a teacher’s monthly pension, when he got one. There were computers there, too, turned on, probably connected to the Internet. He could check for messages from Galena if there was time. He made his way to the counter.
    A girl in a forest-green tunic stood behind a computer screen. Her shoulder-length hair was lank yellow, pinned back with tiny black headphones. Her face was hidden behind enormous glasses set with rhinestones. Her nose was decorated with a ring. In her matching green tights she looked like a forest elf gone bad.
    â€œI’m looking for . . .”
    â€œClassical’s over there,” she said, briefly looking up.
    â€œWhat makes you think I was looking for classical?”
    â€œJust a lucky guess. Is there something in particular?”
    â€œThe Dvo(breve)rák Violin Concerto in A Minor. It’s performed by the Czech Philharmonia.”
    Her fingers poised at a keyboard. Her fingernails were painted a bright, acid green. “Violinist?”
    â€œTadeus Nowek.”
    â€œYour name?”
    â€œGregori Nowek.”
    She looked up, focusing on his face. The light made her eyes seem almost violet. She entered the name into the computer.
    â€œHas this store been here long?”
    â€œMy grandfather opened it.” She peered at her screen. “I’m not showing anything in current stock.”
    â€œIt wouldn’t be current. It’s an old recording. My father thought you might have some left.”
    â€œMaybe upstairs. It will take a little time to check.”
    He’d have to leave soon. “Ten minutes?”
    She nodded over in the direction of the coffee counter. “Buy a cup of coffee. I’ll be back.” She disappeared behind a door.
    He bought a cup of coffee, found an open computer, and logged on to his
elektronka
account. There was a message from Galena.
    His daughter was staying in America with Anna Vereskaya, an American woman of Russian parents, and a biologist at the University of Idaho. He’d met her when she came to Siberia to save the last few hundred Siberian tigers. Once, they thought they might be in love. Anna’s Russian was fluent, but underneath she was one hundred percent American. It was a gap too wide for either one of them to cross.
    From: Gail Nowek <[email protected]
    To: Gregori Nowek     Father:
    You probably already could guess, but I won’t be coming back to Irkutsk next week. Please thank Uncle Arkasha for everything he did to get me into the university. But there’s not one student in Irkutsk who would stay if she had the chance to live here. It’s like switching on a TV and instead of black and white, everything is now in color. I know what you’ll say, but you haven’t seen America so you don’t have a clue. Sure, I could study for years in Irkutsk. Then what? Don’t be too mad. Even better, why don’t you come? If you do, you’ll never want to go back, either.
    Gail
    Gail?
Nowek stared into his expensive cup of coffee. He started typing, slowly at first, then faster, then pounding.
    To: Galena Nowek <[email protected]
    From: Gregori Nowek