“Ivanushka,” she asked one night as the jingling street sounds played below the window. “Would you perform tasks for me, if I asked?” “What do you mean?” “Would you … get me a firebird’s feather, or fetch a ring from the bottom of the sea, or steal gold from a dragon?” Ivan pursed his lips. “Those sorts of things are so old-fashioned, Masha. They are part of your old life, and the old life of Russia, too. We have no need of them now. The Revolution swept all the dark corners of the world away. Yes, remnants still lurk in the hinterlands—Koschei, a Gamayun or two. But they are irrelevant. The
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Clash of old ideals with the new.
