“She moved into one of his apartments a few months ago. You knew where she lived, but she never mentioned that she was his woman?”
“I said we never talked about it.”
“You didn’t know she slept with him?”
“I didn’t ask.”
“The question was: did you know?”
Sergei shrugged again. “She liked to talk about Russia. I fucked her sometimes. That was it.”
“So she never mentioned Lu?”
“No.”
“Or any other man she was sleeping with?”
He shook his head.
“So you slept with her, but you knew nothing about her life and weren’t curious?”
“No.”
“Did you know about her family?”
“She mentioned a sister in Harbin. The rest, I don’t know.”
“Do any of them live in Shanghai?”
“She didn’t say.”
“Who were her other friends?”
“I don’t know.”
“What about Natasha Medvedev?”
He began to smirk again.
“What’s so funny?” Caprisi asked.
“Nothing.”
“Do you know her?”
“Sure.”
“Were they friends?”
Sergei sucked heavily on his cigarette. “Sure.”
“Who else?”
“No one else.”
“So.” Caprisi sighed. “Let’s get this straight. You were her boyfriend, but you never went to her apartment, you know nothing about her life in Shanghai.”
“She was a whore.”
Caprisi stared at Sergei for a long time, forcing the Russian to lower his head and study the floor. “What did you talk about, then?”
“We only fucked.”
“Where are you from in Russia, Sergei?”
“Moscow.”
“Your father was an army officer or . . .”
“A doctor.”
“Did you and Lena ever talk about the revolution?”
He shook his head.
“What do you think of the new Soviet Union?” Field asked.
Sergei looked from Field to Caprisi and back again, suspecting a trap. “Bolshevism is not the answer.”
“And what is?” Field smiled encouragingly at him.
“My views are my views.”
“Were they the same as Lena’s?”
The Russian didn’t answer.
Field smiled again. “You surely don’t believe the current situation here is tolerable.”
Sergei regarded him warily.
“I mean, if there has ever been a case for the redistribution of wealth, this is it, isn’t it? Here, in this city, with so many families sleeping—dying, even—on the streets.”
