“Of course, sir,” said Sasha without hesitation, “because on average, I would win every eight throws. But I would want to place at least a hundred bets before I would consider it to be statistically reliable.”
Mr. Sutton turned to Mr. Quilter and said, “Headmaster, please don’t allow this boy to go to any other school.”
9
ALEX
En route to Brooklyn
Alex gazed into a dark hole that masses of people were rushing into. “Follow me,” said Dimitri, as he led his reluctant charges down a narrow flight of steps, before coming to a halt in front of a ticket barrier. He purchased three tickets, then they made their way onto a long dirty platform.
Alex heard a rumbling sound in the distance, like the prelude to a thunderstorm, and then out of a vast cavern at the far end of the platform appeared a train like no other train he’d ever seen before. In Leningrad the stations were carved in green marble, the carriages were clean, and it was only the passengers who were gray.
“You’ll get used to it,” said Dimitri, as the doors slid open. “Ten stops, and we’ll be in Brooklyn.” But neither of them was listening, both preoccupied with their own thoughts.
Alex looked around the carriage and noticed that no two people were alike, and they were all chattering away in different languages. In Leningrad, passengers rarely spoke to each other, and if they did, it was always in Russian. He was fascinated. Elena looked overwhelmed.
Alex followed the names of the stations on a little map above the carriage door: Bowling Green, Borough Hall, Atlantic Avenue, Prospect Park, came and went, and he never stopped watching the passengers as they got on and off. When the train finally pulled into Brighton Beach, Dimitri led his two charges out onto the platform. Another escalator took them up, and after they stepped off at the top, Dimitri showed them how to feed their little tokens into a turnstile. They emerged into the sunlight, and Alex was struck by how many people were walking up and down the sidewalk, all of them at a speed he’d never experienced. Everyone seemed to be in such a hurry. The road was just as busy, with cars the size of tanks blasting their horns at anyone who dared to step into their path. Dimitri didn’t seem to be aware of the noise. Alex was also mystified by the gaudy colors daubed on walls, even doorways. Graffiti, Dimitri explained, something else he’d never seen in Leningrad. A droning sound caused him to look up, where he spotted a plane that seemed to be falling out of the sky. He stood still, horrified, until Dimitri burst out laughing.
“It’s an airplane,” he said. “It’s landing at JFK, which is only a few miles away.” A second plane appeared, which seemed to Alex to be pursuing the one in front. “You’ll see one every couple of minutes,” said Dimitri.
Elena was more interested in checking out each cafe and restaurant they passed. She couldn’t believe how many people were having breakfast. How could they possibly afford it? She wondered what a hamburger was, and who Colonel Sanders could be. The only colonel she’d ever known was the dock commandant, and he certainly didn’t own a restaurant. And Coke? Wasn’t that something you put on the fire at night to keep warm?
After a few blocks they came to a street market, where Dimitri stopped to chat with a couple of traders he clearly knew. He selected some potatoes, carrots, and a cabbage, which he paid for with cash. Elena picked up some of the fruits and vegetables displayed on the next stall that she’d never seen before. She smelled them, and tried to memorize their names.
“How many would you like?” asked the stallholder.
Elena dropped the avocado and quickly moved on.
Dimitri moved across to another stall, and was happy to take Elena’s advice before he chose a chicken, which the stallholder dropped into a brown paper bag.
As they left the market, Dimitri handed a coin to a boy who was yelling something at the top of his voice that Alex couldn’t make out.
“More Yanks killed in Vietnam!”
Alex was surprised that the boy selling the newspapers was younger than he, and was not only allowed to handle money, but to work alone.
They turned a corner into a side street, not quite as busy, not quite so noisy, with rows of large houses on either side. Could it be possible that Dimitri lived in one of them?
“I live at number 47,” he said. Alex was impressed, until Dimitri added, “I rent the basement.” After a few more yards he led them down a short flight of steps. He put a key in the door, unlocked it, and stepped inside.
Elena followed him into a sparsely furnished front room, and wasn’t in any doubt that Dimitri was a bachelor.
“Where are we going to live?” Elena asked, after Dimitri had shown her around.
“Perhaps you could stay with me until you find your own place,” said Dimitri. Elena didn’t look convinced. “I have an extra mattress, so you can take the spare room, while Alex sleeps on the sofa. As long as he takes his boots off.”
“Thank you,” said Alex, who felt almost anything would be an improvement on a wooden deck that never stopped pitching and tossing.
Finally Dimitri took Elena into the kitchen. Elena emptied the chicken and vegetables they’d bought at the market onto the kitchen table, then set about preparing the meal. The sink had two taps, and she scalded herself when she turned on the first one. She was even more surprised when Alex opened a small white box and peered inside.
“It’s a refrigerator,” Dimitri explained. “It makes it possible to keep food for several days.”
“I’ve seen a fridge before,” said Elena, “but never in someone’s home.”
Elena rolled up her sleeves, and an hour later placed three laden plates on the kitchen table, as if she was still serving officers. Once she’d sat down, she couldn’t stop talking about their life in Russia. It quickly became clear how much she was missing her homeland.
“That was the best meal I’ve had in years,” said Dimitri, as he licked his lips. “You won’t find it hard to get a job in this town.”