Outside, the snow continued to fall and Seryozha and I continued to drink. He told me about Marseilles and Florence and Rome and all those ‘wonderful warm places we shan’t be able to visit for months’. As he got drunk, his speech became looser. Luckily I was used to it. Indeed, I found the strain of being a gentleman somewhat relieved by Seryozha’s company. I giggled at his jokes and told him some of my own, at which he laughed as heartily as he laughed at his. ‘We should have some music,’ he said. ‘What a pity the other members of the troupe took the earlier train. We have so many wonderful people who can play the guitar and the mandolin and the balalaika and accordion, you know. We could have a little party. With girls. Do you like girls, Dimka?’ He smiled and put his large arm around my shoulders. ‘I suppose you are a little too young to know what you do like, eh? But you have the feelings?’ He winked.
I assured him I had the feelings. He squeezed my shoulder and then my leg. He suggested we order a further bottle of champagne ‘to keep us warm’. He rang the bell. The guard answered it. Seryozha said impatiently, ‘I wanted the steward.’
‘He’ll be along soon, your excellency.’
But an hour passed and the champagne was finished before the steward arrived.
‘Another bottle of this,’ said my friend. ‘Better make it two.’
The steward shook his head. ‘All the champagne is gone.’
‘We’ve hardly been travelling an hour!’
‘We’ve been moving for three, your excellency.’
‘And you’ve run out of champagne?’
‘I’m very sorry. It’s the War.’
‘Oh, it’s a wonderful War, isn’t it, when artists are no longer allowed to take the few pleasures left to them? You give the public everything and what does it give you? Champagne-rationing.’
‘It’s not our fault, your excellency.’
‘Then bring me a bottle of brandy.’
‘There’s no brandy available in bottles. We have to keep our stocks for the dining-cars.’
‘You mean if we wish to have a drink, we must dine?’
The steward took out his pad. ‘Shall I book you a table?’
‘You had better.’ Seryozha stood up, looming over both of us. He flexed his legs, his arms. ‘I shall be in agony by morning.’ He reached into the pocket of his frockcoat which he had flung on his bed. ‘Can’t you get us just one bottle, steward?’ He produced a silver rouble. The man looked at it as if he saw his child dying and was unable to save it. ‘There is no way, your excellency.’
From where I sat, I noticed the shadow of the bulky guard behind him. He was keeping an eye on the steward to make sure he was not bribed.
‘It’s all right, Seryozha,’ I said. ‘We’ve had plenty of champagne. More than most people will be getting for a while.’
The dancer slumped down again, waving the steward away. ‘When shall we have dinner?’
‘From five o’clock on, your excellency.’
‘Then make it at five.’
‘Very well.’
‘And ensure we get an aperitif.’
‘I hope so, your excellency.’
Seryozha rose in anger, but the steward scuttled off down the corridor. ‘Dimka, my dear, we must all suffer a little in the cause of the War.’ He gave me a strange look from beneath hooded, shadowed eyes. ‘You do not blame me?’
‘Of course not.’
‘I did my best.’
‘I saw.’
‘I think I’ll rest for a while, until dinner. Why don’t you do the same?’
I was feeling sleepy. I agreed it might be a good idea. Seryozha clambered to his bunk. I could see his bulging outline immediately above my head. I lay, in my shirt and trousers, with my jacket and waistcoat neatly hung up, trying to sleep. But the general atmosphere of excitement which I had experienced a few moments earlier now gave way to something akin to depression. I had been looking forward to that second bottle.
A moment or two later I heard a rustling from Seryozha’s bunk. He was now sitting cross-legged, judging by the shape in the mattress overhead. A little time passed. I heard him give one quick sniff and then another. It was a familiar sound. I got up, in time to catch him unawares, and sure enough he held a short silver tube to his nose. It extended to a little box, like a snuff-box. Deprived of his wine, Seryozha had resorted to cocaine. He looked at me and put the apparatus away. ‘You’ve caught me taking my medicine.’
‘You have a headache?’ I spoke with deliberate innocence.
‘Just a small one. The fizz, you know. And then that awful experience with the steward.’
‘You should sleep.’
‘I don’t feel sleepy. Do you?’
‘I’m quite drowsy.’ This was not entirely true. I thought it politic. I hoped to be offered some cocaine. I still had a little more than a gram in my luggage. I had decided to save it for an emergency, when my studies demanded. Now I had found a new source. I determined not to lose touch with my ballet-dancer. I must be sure to get his address. From him I could contact a source of supply. One of my secret worries would then be quieted.
Seryozha put out a soft hand and rumpled my hair. ‘Don’t worry about me, my dark-eyed beauty. I’m feeling better already.’
