The Cautious Traveller's Guide to the Wastelands

by Sarah Brooks

“They haven’t been able to import any real Russian vodka for months,” says the Countess, ensconced on a throne of cushions like a small and irascible monarch in the court of a tiny nation. “So we must make do, I’m afraid.” She shakes her head. “I fear we have a difficult journey ahead of us. I happened to catch a glance of tonight’s menu and it was not a heartening sight. Poor Vera says her digestive system simply cannot take any more peculiar vegetables.” Vera purses her lips and nods in silent agreement. Marya reaches for a suitable response but finds herself at a loss. It is too long since she has been among so many strangers. She is aware, for the first time, of the dullness of her dress, beside the bright plumage of these men and women. She cannot help feeling that her falseness must show on her face; that this other Marya will fall from her like an ill-fitting gown. But Anna Mikhailovna is undisturbed, surveying her court with a critical eye, and her steady stream of observation is rather soothing, demanding that Marya do nothing but listen and murmur in occasional agreement. The Countess’s late husband was a diplomat, she says. “Though it was his father who encouraged it. If he’d had his way we’d have lived forever in the Petersburg swamps. It’s only now he’s gone I can travel for the pleasure of it.” Marya notes that she has retained many of the qualities essential to an ambassadorial life, including a jaundiced eye for her fellow men. “And that gentleman with the ...