“Have you ever been to a casino?” asked Seibert. “You haven’t? Oh, dear me, this won’t do! You must try everything life has to offer you while you still can. Especially as gambling houses are being closed down one after the other. A relic of bourgeois society, don’t you know!”

They entered an unmarked building, and its once fine lobby was now dilapidated and smelled musty. A worn staircase led up to the floor above, and a dim chandelier with broken strings of crystals hung from the ceiling.

“Comrades, where do you think you’re going in your galoshes?” barked the gray-whiskered doorman. “Off the carpet please!”

Seibert put on a puzzled expression and began to say something in German.

“Foreigners…” the doorman muttered with disgust but made no further comment.

The big hall on the floor above was hung with mirrors and political posters. Men in rumpled double-breasted suits and fashionable pointed brogues crowded around the gaming tables.

“Who are they all?” asked Galina in a whisper. “Are they Nepmen?”

Seibert shook his head. “They’re mainly foreigners, cashiers on the fiddle, and romantics who believe that one day, they’ll get lucky.”

There were few women among the clientele, and to Galina, they looked as if they had not come to play but to hunt for customers for the night.

Goodness, how horrible! she thought. The only sight that cheered her up was a group of old women in threadbare silk dresses and old-fashioned hats. They sat at a separate table, deeply engrossed in playing poker, or rather, in playing at “the good old days.” Seibert explained that the old ladies used the place as a club and did not bring in any money, but the management tolerated them because they had become something of a local attraction.

As she walked between the tables, Galina noticed that all the gamblers were using cards produced by the League of Militant Atheists: all the kings were priests and wonder-workers, the queens were treacherous looking nuns, and the knaves were deacons with drunken leers.

Seibert took Galina to a roulette table surrounded by a crowd of young men, their faces flushed with drink and excitement.

“Hey there, you great white capitalist shark!” they called out when they saw Seibert. “You’ve brought along another lady friend, have you?”

“And you still haven’t been paid, I see?” answered Seibert.

He explained to Galina that the young men worked in a corporation called Radio Broadcast. Once, they had produced wonderful lectures on subjects like “When Will Life on Earth Come to an End?” and “Hypnosis in the World of Crime.” Unfortunately, their work had become so popular that the government had sequestered their business. Now, they no longer produced educational programs but propaganda.

Galina remembered what Klim had told her about theater companies, film studios, and artists’ unions. It was the same thing everywhere: bureaucrats were becoming involved in the work of creative professionals, believing that they knew better how things should be done. Artists and performers were forced to follow the new rules whether they liked it or not, but they did so without enthusiasm. After the initial creative explosion of early Soviet culture, art was deteriorating into nothing better than hack work.

The young men pooled their money to buy a stack of gambling chips.

“That’s how they earn their supper,” said Seibert. “If they win, they eat, but if they don’t, they have to tighten their belts.”

“Comrades, place your bets!” announced the croupier.

Seibert put a pile of gambling chips into Galina’s hand. “You ought to be in for some beginners’ luck. Come on. Put it on whatever number you like.”

Hesitantly, Galina placed a chip on square number eight.

“Merci—no more bets,” announced the croupier.

Galina had always thought of herself as unlucky, and she was proved correct now—she did not win so much as a kopeck in half an hour. All she wanted was to go home, but Seibert, however, clearly had plans for a romantic evening.

“Let’s go wild and have some drink,” he told her.

What a vile man you are! she thought. After all, Klim is your friend, and you know that there’s something between us. Why do you have to stoop to such petty acts of treachery?

Still, she followed Seibert into the bar room. There, behind an enormous carved counter, was a bored waitress in a starched apron and a lace headpiece pinned to her hair. Behind her stood an array of dusty bottles, and in front of her on the bar, cheese, salami, and cakes languished untouched. Everything, including the soda water, was on sale at extortionate prices.

“A table please, my dear,” Seibert told the waitress.

Stern male faces stared down at Galina from all the political posters on the walls.

Be Ready to Serve Your Country! We Shall Dedicate Ourselves to Socialism!

It seemed to Galina that everybody was demanding something from her.

Seibert poured out two glasses of vodka. “Today, we’ll drink to you and to you alone!” he announced and chinked glasses with a resounding chime.

Galina was only too happy to have a drink.

“I’ve had my eye on you for some time,” said Seibert with a sigh. “And I have to say, I feel terribly sorry for you. You’re prepared to sacrifice everything for Klim’s sake. You’ll give him your youth, your time, and your hopes, and what are you hoping to get from him in return?”

“I don’t need anything,” replied Galina quietly.

“Oh, that’s not true! You want to change your boss. I can tell that. But I’ll tell you something else: you won’t do it because you don’t know who you’re dealing with.”

Galina looked up at him with a sullen gaze. “What do you mean?”

But before Seibert had managed to reply, the young men from Radio Broadcast, flushed with success, came piling into the bar.

“Waitress!” they shouted, excitedly. “Six ham sandwiches—and cut them thick!”

“And two bottles of port!”

“And some sardines! And cheese! Let’s have some for Seibert and his lady friend too! Let’s push the boat out!”

The young men had clearly had a lucky streak at the tables.

At that moment, a woman came running into the bar, her red headscarf knocked awry.

“We’ve just had a telegram!” she said, panting. “The Krasin icebreaker has been damaged and is going to be repaired in Norway. They’ve sent two steamers out from Murmansk to come to its aid. We need to prepare a special edition!”

The young men immediately forgot their sardines.

“Marusya, bring the food, could you?” shouted one of them as they dashed for the door.

Seibert gazed after them, eyes wide. “Please, Galina, for God’s sake, come with me to the Central Telegraph Office!” he said hoarsely. “I have to ring Murmansk and find out what’s going on with the Krasin.”

“Go yourself,” muttered Galina. “You can make a call. Why do you need me?”

“But I have a German accent! As soon as the telegraph operator realizes I’m a foreigner, she’ll ask if I have permission. You can say you’re ringing about something personal.”

Galina rose to her feet and found that she could barely stand upright. The drink had already gone to her head.

“I really ought to go home—” she began.

“I’ll pay you!” cried Seibert. “How much do you want? Five rubles? Ten?”

It was pathetic to look at him, his forehead puckered and his lower lip trembling.

Galina gave a dismissive wave of her hand. “All right, damn you. I’ll come with you.”

4

Despite the late hour, the Central Telegraph Office was full of people. Galina found a number for the port of Murmansk in the directory and booked a long distance call.

Seibert, frustrated by the wait, kept looking at his watch.

“Radio Broadcast has probably already produced its special edition,” he said. “Never mind. It’s too late now, and nobody will listen to it anyway. We still have time to find out the details and send a wire to my editors.”

At last, they were called to the telephone booth. “Murmansk on the line for you!”

It was so cramped inside the cabin that Galina and Seibert barely managed to squeeze in together.

“Well, go on then!” begged Seibert.

Galina put the cold receiver to her ear. “Hello. Is that Murmansk port?”

A faint voice could just be heard through the crackle and hiss on the line. “Yes! This is the duty operator. Who’s calling?”

“We’re calling from Moscow,” Galina said, “from the Central Telegraph Office. I am the secretary of Comrade Seibert. There are two ships—”

“Could you say that again, please? I can’t hear you!”

“From the Moscow Central Telegraph Office!” Galina shouted. “I’m the secretary! Have you sent two ships to Norway?”

“What?”

The duty operator was astounded when at last he grasped that the call was from Moscow. He clearly had no idea that it was possible to make a telephone call between cities.

With great difficulty, Galina managed to explain that she wanted to find out the details about the damage to the Krasin icebreaker.

“Well, what did he say?” prompted Seibert as soon as she hung up.

“He told me to call later. He’ll find the commandant and get him to speak to us.”

It was after midnight, and Galina wished she had never agreed to help Seibert. Now, he was looking into her eyes, for all the world like a wistful puppy.

“Galina, my dear, couldn’t you stay here a little longer? Please?”