CHAPTER ELEVENIn the vestibule of the train, Sasha exploded with laughter. The train was leaving Riga, and Sasha stood alone with a cigarette and laughed, catching his own angry, grinning face in the window glass.
A bottle of vodka was tucked into the inside pocket of his jacket, and he drank from it without any chaser. He breathed heavily. Twisted his lips. He spat into the ashtray — the ashes flew and some went right into his eye.
He laughed again and then, as if tearing off a mask, cut short his own laughter.
The conductor came in, looked at him suspiciously. Sasha made a face at her after she turned away.
“Should I say, ‘Thank you, Lord’?” he said out loud, staring through the window.
I won’t say it.
Why, oh Lord, did you take this from me? I’ll get mine somewhere else.
He press
