She doesn’t need to know more than that at this stage.” I told her I was a torpedo, a shooter, for a powerful family in Europe, and that I had to get out fast. “Dasha and I were in Dobryanka prison together, and under the criminal code, the vorovskoy zakon, we are sisters. “I mean are we her guests, her prisoners. “When you live alone, you get good at stuff like this.” And you farting all the time doesn’t help.” “Look at the color of this bath water,” Oxana says, playing with my toes. The fittings are worn, the lift creaks, the plumbing clanks and grumbles. The building must once have been very grand, the sort of property where senior Communist Party officials and their families lived, but it has clearly been in decline for decades. The apartment is on the third floor of a massive neoclassical block in an area called Avtovo. Oxana, needless to say, has taken the end of the bath without the taps, but the hot water is bliss after our confinement in the container. Tall windows overlook a broad high- way from which the rumble and hiss of traffic and the clanking of trams are dimly audible. We’re lying at opposite ends of a huge old enamel bath in Dasha’s apartment.
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