The Cautious Traveller's Guide to the Wastelands

by Sarah Brooks

In front of her, a man with a beard and gold spectacles and the kind of voice that elbows all other voices out of the way, leans out of the window and shouts in English, “Where is the Station Master? Be careful with those boxes! Oh, I do beg your pardon.” He squeezes himself against the window and attempts a bow as Marya approaches. She limits herself to a small smile and an incline of the head and leaves him to his hectoring. She has no wish for social niceties, nor the curious, appraising gazes of men, already observing her black mourning garb, noting her solitary state. Let them note. All she wants is to be alone in her cabin, to shut the door and close the curtains and gather a comforting silence around her. But she is not to be allowed, not quite yet. “Really, do stop fussing, I am perfectly capable of looking after myself.” An elderly lady approaches from the other end of the carriage, dressed in dark-blue silk and followed by her maid. “Is this really First Class?” She peers at Marya, and then at the cabin door beside her. “I had been led to believe this train was the finest money could buy. I confess, I cannot see it…” Hearing the familiar sounds of well-to-do St. Petersburg, thousands of miles away from its wide streets and tall houses, gives Marya a painful tug of homesickness.