looked older than he and was wearing black trousers and a red jacket with darts that combined with her pinned-up hair to produce a somewhat insolent effect. He noticed the man’s wristwatch on her arm. They took their seats, and Leonid looked around for a menu. “There are only three dishes,” she said. She opened her jacket, revealing a collarless lab coat underneath. “Smoked fish, smoked meat, and smoked whale. Everything’s too highly seasoned, but it’s edible.”
“You come here often?” The pistol was pressing against his chest, but he didn’t trust himself to transfer the weapon inconspicuously to another pocket.
“When I have to eat fast. The hospital’s only a block away.”
“That’s where you work?” The lab coat wasn’t right for a nurse.
“Alas, it is.” She looked over at the waitress, who came smiling to their table. “The Number One,” the woman said.
“For me, too,” said Leonid, falling in with the company. “And tea.”
“How do you know what the Number One is?”
“Well, you surely didn’t order whale, did you? What do you do in the hospital?”
“I’m a butcher,” she answered, adding, when he stared at her in surprise, “under the circumstances, what I do can’t be called surgery.”
“You’re a surgeon?”
“A visiting surgeon. In a few months, I can go back home.”
“Where’s that?”
“Yakutia.”
“In eastern Siberia? And you’re looking forward to that?”
“It’s cold,” she said, “but our hospitals aren’t as prehistoric as the ones here.” She exchanged her knife and fork. “In Yakutsk, I work as a doctor should. Here I’m glad for a day when chickens don’t stray into the operating room.”
Their food arrived. When the woman tucked in hungrily, Leonid saw that she was left-handed. “You’re not from here,” she said.
“How can you tell?”
“You have the big-city look.”
He cast his eyes down. “What does the big-city look like?”
“It looks like you know better. About everything.” She chewed. “Moscow, Leningrad?”
“Moscow. You’re eating too fast.”
“I know, it’s not becoming.” She drank some tea. “I’m Galina Korff.”
He took his first bite. “An unusual name.”
“Believe it or not, my grandfather was the last governor-general of Sakhalin.”
“So how did you wind up in Siberia?”
“How, indeed. We had a revolution. After that, governors weren’t very popular.” She looked at her watch. “My whole family was exiled.”
“You were allowed to study at a university even though your grandfather was a counterrevolutionary?”
“Only a smug, arrogant Muscovite would ask such a question.” She wiped her mouth. “Incidentally, what you’re eating there is whale meat.” She stood up. “I have to get back.”
He put down his fork. “You perform operations at this hour?”
“The electricity’s more reliable at night.” She buttoned up her jacket. “During the day, the lights flicker constantly. Sometimes we have to run the heart-lung machine by hand.”
“You’re exaggerating, right?”
“Of course. What’s your name?”
“Leonid Nechayev.” He pushed his plate away. “Are you here every evening?”
“Why do you ask that? You want to flirt with me?”
He wiped his greasy mouth on the back of his hand. “What makes you think that?”
“You’re the type,” Galina said. “What do you do?”
Leonid noticed that the people at the next table were pricking up their ears. He reached the waitress before Galina did and paid the check. “If you permit me, I’ll walk along with you,” he said. They left the eating place together. It was a friendly night, and contrary to his usual custom, the captain felt lighthearted. “Which direction?” he asked.
Galina stood still and said, “First you have to tell me what you are.”
“I’m an army officer. Stationed in the south, in Korsakov.” He scrutinized her to see whether this admission put her off.
“You’re wearing a wedding ring, Leonid,” Galina said, and started walking up the hill. He remained at her side. With every step, the pistol beat against his chest.
Metallic noises indicated that the men outside were busy with the salvage equipment; a steel hawser was being secured to the cutter’s hull. Captain Nechayev’s hand was still on his weapon. He wanted to hold Galina Korff’s face in his memory, but try though he might, it faded. In his imagination, Galina’s features were replaced by Anna’s—her cheekbones, her nose. Galina’s lips were more scornful, her eyes more mysterious.
They went down the ship’s rope ladders. Leonid had Likhan Chevken go first; behind them, the third man in their team provided security for the inspection. They reached a bulkhead with a sign that read CARGO HOLD. NO SMOKING. Leonid wondered what could be flammable in there. Peering through the hatch, he saw that the storage space contained scrapped motors; diesel oil and gasoline