saved for the journey. Then he gave his brother the cardboard suitcase with the bullet hole.
“I’ll send you the money for another ticket,” Lev said fervently. Grigori made no reply, but his skepticism must have shown on his face, for Lev protested: “I really will, I swear it. I’ll save up.”
“All right,” Grigori said.
They embraced. Lev said: “You always took care of me.”
“Yes, I did.”
Lev turned and ran for the ship.
The sailors were untying the ropes. They were about to pull up the gangplank, but Lev shouted and they waited a few seconds more for him.
He ran up onto the deck.
He turned, leaned on the rail, and waved to Grigori.
Grigori could not bring himself to wave back. He turned and walked away.
The ship hooted, but he did not look back.
His right arm felt strangely light without the burden of the suitcase. He walked through the docks, looking down at the deep black water, and the odd thought occurred to him that he could throw himself in. He shook himself: he was not prey to such foolish ideas. All the same he was depressed and bitter. Life never dealt him a winning hand.
He was unable to cheer himself up as he retraced his steps through the industrial district. He walked along with his eyes cast down, not even bothering to keep an eye open for the police: it hardly mattered if they arrested him now.
What was he going to do? He felt he could not summon the energy for anything. They would give him back his job at the factory, when the strike was over: he was a good worker and they knew it. He should probably go there now, and find out whether there had been any progress in the dispute-but he could not be bothered.
After an hour he found himself approaching Mishka’s. He intended to go straight past but, glancing inside, he saw Katerina, sitting where he had left her two hours ago, with a cold glass of tea in front of her. He had to tell her what had happened.
He went inside. The place was empty except for Mishka, who was sweeping the floor.
Katerina stood up, looking scared. “Why are you here?” she said. “Did you miss your boat?”
“Not exactly.” He could not think how to break the news.
“What, then?” she said. “Is Lev dead?”
“No, he’s all right. But he’s wanted for murder.”
She stared at him. “Where is he?”
“He had to go away.”
“Where?”
There was no gentle way to put it. “He asked me to give him my ticket.”
“Your ticket?”
“And passport. He’s gone to America.”
“No!” she screamed.
Grigori just nodded.
“No!” she yelled again. “He wouldn’t leave me! Don’t you say that, never say it!”
“Try to stay calm.”
She slapped Grigori’s face. She was only a girl, and he hardly flinched. “Swine!” she screeched. “You’ve sent him away!”
“I did it to save his life.”
“Bastard! Dog! I hate you! I hate your stupid face!”
“Nothing you say could make me feel any worse,” Grigori said, but she was not listening. Ignoring her curses, he walked away, her voice fading as he went out through the door.
The screaming stopped, and he heard footsteps running along the street after him. “Stop!” she cried. “Stop, please, Grigori, don’t turn your back on me, I’m so sorry.”
He turned.
“Grigori, you have to look after me now that Lev’s gone.”
He shook his head. “You don’t need me. The men of this city will form a queue to look after you.”
“No, they won’t,” she said. “There’s something you don’t know.”
Grigori thought: What now?
She said: “Lev didn’t want me to tell you.”
“Go on.”
“I’m expecting a baby,” she said, and she began to weep.
Grigori stood still, taking it in. Lev’s baby, of course. And Lev knew. Yet he had gone to America. “A baby,” Grigori said.
She nodded, crying.
His brother’s child. His nephew or niece. His family.
He put his arms around her and drew her to him. She was shaking with sobs. She buried her face in his jacket. He stroked her hair. “All right,” he said. “Don’t worry. You’ll be okay. So will your baby.” He sighed. “I will take care of you both.”
Traveling on the Angel Gabriel was grim, even for a boy from the slums of St. Petersburg. There was only one class, steerage, and the passengers were treated as so much more cargo. The ship was dirty and unsanitary, especially when there were huge waves and people were seasick. It was impossible to complain because none of the crew spoke Russian. Lev was not sure what nationality they were, but he failed to get through to them with either his smattering of English or his even fewer words of German. Someone said they were Dutch. Lev had never heard of Dutch people.
Nevertheless the mood among the passengers was high optimism. Lev felt he had burst the walls of the tsar’s prison and escaped, and now he was free. He was on his way to America, where there were no noblemen. When the sea was calm, passengers sat on the deck and told the stories they had heard about America: the hot water coming out of taps, the good-quality leather boots worn even by workers, and most of all the freedom to practise any religion, join any political group, state your opinion in public, and not be afraid of the police.
On the evening of the tenth day Lev was playing cards. He was dealer, but he was losing. Everyone was losing except Spirya, an innocent-looking boy of Lev’s age who was also traveling alone. “Spirya wins every night,” said another player, Yakov. The truth was that Spirya won when Lev was dealing.
They were steaming slowly through a fog. The sea was calm, and there was no sound but the low bass of the engines. Lev had not been able to find out when they would arrive. People gave different answers. The most knowledgeable said it depended on the weather. The crew were inscrutable as always.
As night fell, Lev threw in his hand. “I’m cleaned out,” he said. In fact he had plenty more money inside his shirt, but he could see that the others were running low, all except Spirya. “That’s it,” he said. “When we get to America, I’m just going to have to catch the eye of a rich old woman and live like a pet dog in her marble palace.”
The others laughed. “But why would anyone want you for a pet?” said Yakov.
“Old ladies get cold at night,” he said. “She would need my heating appliance.”
The game ended in good humor, and the players drifted away.
Spirya went aft and leaned on the rail, watching the wake disappear into the fog. Lev joined him. “My half comes to seven rubles even,” Lev said.
Spirya took paper currency from his pocket and gave it to Lev, shielding the transaction with his body so that no one else could see money changing hands.
Lev pocketed the notes and filled his pipe.
Spirya said: “Tell me something, Grigori.” Lev was using his brother’s papers, so he had to tell people his name was Grigori. “What would you do if I refused to give you your share?”
This kind of talk was dangerous. Lev slowly put his tobacco away and put the unlit pipe back into his jacket
