Excerpt
Fortunately, the glacially slow bureaucratic process kicked in and before the authorities could find a more appropriate position for him, he decided that he would confess. Apologize. Make friends with Ivana. Demonstrate that he was as pure as the driven Siberian snow. Definitely no threat to anyone’s wife. A genuine good guy.
This slow process of ingratiation had taken a lot out of him, and that was why he needed the support of the trusty Gennadi who was always there to keep him honest. But deep down, Volodya realized that the entire farce designed to keep his miserable job was only a stop-gap measure. Truly, he would never be free to play his music until he left the Soviet Union. Forever.
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Jennifer loved Leningrad from the moment she stepped off the plane. After the drabness of Moscow and the subsequent rocky flight in an antiquated Ilyushin, even the airport terminal felt cheerful and bright as the sunlight filtered through three huge domes and splashed over hanging baskets of greenery.
As their bus travelled to the Hotel Astoria, she stared with interest at the elegant buildings, now crumbling, many still painted in sunshine yellow as decreed in a pre-revolutionary time, the lacy ironwork on the bridges that crossed a network of canals, and the tall linden trees that crowded the wide streets.
Their tour halted briefly at St. Isaac’s Cathedral situated on the same expansive square as their hotel. Natasha ushered them through the darkness of the foyer to stare at the dimly lit, centuries-old frescoes under the church dome. She pointed. “Seven types of marble were used in the construction of this cathedral—the red and white from Italy and the grey, green and black from the Ural Mountains.” The cathedral’s foundation was thick and solid, its flagstones hollowed by thousands of visitors, its wall paint blackened and peeling.
“It’s real dark and creepy, isn’t it?” said Lona from the foyer’s shadows. Her words were caught up in the acoustics and amplified. Natasha turned to glare at her.
