A Train to Moscow

by Elena Gorokhova

“You have to have patience,” her mother says, her usual refrain. “This is what Russia has survived on, century after century—patience and perseverance. We work, we wait, and we hope. And we believe. We have to believe in something. Before the Revolution, there was God. Now it’s our better future.”

“Look, I know it’s probably better now than it was under Stalin, but this is not enough,” she says, her words addressed into a barrier of wet cotton. “How am I supposed to live in a country where everything is based on lies? Our national game isn’t hockey. It is lying and pretending.”

“I often think about how we itch to run away from home and then keep searching for it for the rest of our lives.”

“Isn’t it ironic,” says Andrei, “that the executioner becomes the victim, and the victim becomes the executioner? Our system, if you think of it, is pure genius: executioners and victims are the same people. The engine of death has been in motion for decades, and no one is guilty, because everyone is guilty.”

“Every day we make choices.” His voice is thick, and his eyes are down. “Or at least, we think they are choices. I handed Marik that unexploded shell, a choice that killed him. Kolya decided not to return home, a choice that killed him, too, at least in the eyes of his family. You made a choice to go to Moscow.” He pauses after Moscow, and she knows that of the three, this is the most consequential choice for him. “But there is one thing my father-in-law told me about choices that has always stayed with me: you either pull the trigger, or you kneel on the floor.”

“That’s why you have to go to America. You have to get out of here before it’s too late, before the poison has seeped into your veins and you become just like the rest of us.” He peers into her face for a few moments as Sasha shakes her head. “I know you think this could never happen to you, but with time, it does happen. It happens without you even knowing it. It happens to all of us.” He props himself on his elbow and leans so close, she can feel his breath. “You were born in the wrong country, Sashenka. You’re naive and uncompromising. You don’t bend, and sooner or later, our motherland will break you. It breaks everyone.”