with a tape measure in his hand, making sure the distances were correct to within a fraction of an inch. Then, when the tank command received the signal indicating that the fighters had taken off from Aerovokzal Airport, the armored unit would set out in a wide formation for the city center. Final alignments and adjustments would be made on Gorky Street, where they would already be surrounded by a sea of red flags. As they neared Pushkinskaya, the military music would begin to play, and then the convoy, its engines roaring, would roll into the square of all squares. The gunners stood in the open turrets, wearing their parade uniforms, while the drivers had to follow the spectacle through their observation slits. And for all, what an honor to be there! Leonid wasn’t a man to whom pomp and ceremony meant very much, but for anyone who had ever experienced the scene, even if only once, the joyous cries, the luminous flags flying along the way past the Historical Museum, fluttering toward St. Basil’s Cathedral, and up above, the comrades in their dark overcoats, standing on the platform in front of the Mausoleum and waving down, and then, at the beginning of the festivities, the bells pealing in the Spasskaya Tower and the fighter squadron thundering overhead—for anyone who’d witnessed that, patriotism had stopped being just a word, and the feeling of a common bond among all free men under the sign of socialism had become a reality.
One’s duty to society could be carried out anywhere in the country, no matter how remote the spot, and yet Leonid was starting to get the feeling that he’d been lucky to live close to the heartbeat of Soviet life, and that he’d gambled that good fortune away. The pay he’d received while stationed in Moscow was far lower than what he got in Yakutsk, but what was a man supposed to do with his money in an icy wasteland? In the beginning, he’d given Galina presents—a bracelet with glittering pendants, which she never wore because it got in her way at work, an electric samovar, a new mattress—until she’d admonished him, telling him he’d do better to save his money for his son’s future. Leonid had the impression, however, that Galina didn’t care at all about Petya; it was more as if she were preparing him for the day when he’d realize that their time together was nothing but a stage in his inevitable return journey to his son and Anna.
Maybe that was the reason why Leonid started writing the letter. He wanted to do something that would make his purpose irreversible. You didn’t reach a decision of these proportions and then overturn it because of a little misgiving. Leonid wanted to see himself as a man swept away from the fat life of the capital to the periphery of the Soviet world. Pioneers were needed here, men who were idealistic and serious. Deep inside, Leonid was aware that his idealism was a mere dream and his duties as an insignificant captain limited to office work. After the adventurous Sakhalin interlude, in Yakutsk his life had settled back into monotony. The sameness of the days was disrupted only by the weather and Galina’s whims.
Her doubts also affected the passionate side of their relationship. As long as their time together was marked by the delirium of transience, Galina had been wild with desire; but now that Leonid treated her like “the woman at his side,” her intoxication was a thing of the past, and their erotic life had become predictable. He wanted her every night, but she’d been turning him down more and more frequently, claiming that her work at the hospital left her exhausted. Leonid, however, was thoroughly committed to having made the right decision; he wanted absolute validation. He’d chosen Yakutsk for his future, and he wasn’t about to let some initial difficulties push him into admitting defeat.
One afternoon when the sun was already going down outside and he was in the barracks, he began his letter to Anna. He placed his briefcase within easy reach so that he could slap it on top of the light gray letter paper quickly should his superior officer come in. The letter would close the door to Anna so irretrievably that Leonid would no longer have to fear his own fickleness.
Insensibly, the daily routine began to envelop Anna again. Petya’s next visit to the doctor was coming up, and even though you needed