Memoir of a Russian Punk

34

An hour later, warmed by the tea, Eddie is sitting in the conductor's compartment looking out the window. Kostya is asleep in the upper berth, or at least is pretending to sleep. Sitting across from Eddie is a fat Georgian cook from the restaurant car. Selecting the Russian words with difficulty, the latter is telling Eddie about his first impressions of Russia in the winter, since this is the first time he has ever left Georgia, even though he's already around fifty.

"I look out window," the naive cook says, "and I see that all trees is dead. All dead."

Eddie smiles.

"Your have smiling," the cook says, "but I not know. I have never leave Georgia. 'Why Russian not cut down dead trees?' I ask vaiter. Vaiter…"

"Tu-tu-tu-tu-tu-tu-tu," go the wheels.

"Eddie'll do, and Cat will too," Eddie rhymes sadly. What he'll do and what will be, he still doesn't know.