They were nearing the end of their endurance. Isabella was using her flashlight recklessly as a scraping device.
“Give it another five and then we’re off,” Gabriel said. “Yana will be waiting.”
“Hang on. I think I’ve found it.”
Gabriel came over as fast as he could through the drifts.
“Yes, this is it.” Isabella rubbed the rest away with her elbow. Frozen flowers.
He was beside her. “Let me see.”
Isabella turned on the light. Nothing. She shook it. The sudden illumination made the surrounding snow glimmer, almost blue. They stood back. In Cyrillic letters, the name spelled out was Anastasiya Andreev.
“That’s her,” Gabriel said.
“Yes.” Isabella played the beam back and forth across the name.
After a while the bulb cut out completely. But even then it seemed a shame to stop looking while there was still a little light lingering in the sky.
She spoke softly. “What now?”
“Start again,” he said. “Every day, start again.”
Acknowledgments
My thanks go to my friend and agent, Michael Carlisle, for providing that rare blend of brilliance and sound advice. I am also very much indebted to Webster Younce for his insight, for his wise literary counsel, and for being such a fine editor to work alongside. Likewise, Sasheem Silkiss-Hero, Andy Heidel, Martha Kennedy, Liz Duvall, and Carla Gray have all worked hard on this novel, and I am greatly appreciative of their help, their care, and their dedication.
Next a thank-you to my friends in Russia. In particular Angelina, for her indefatigable spirit, for taking me with her to all those parties, and for reading the draft. Also to Lena for a very informative Uzbek lunch and for teaching me “I love you.” I am grateful to Sean McColm, formerly of the British Consulate in St. Petersburg, for a beer, his time, and his refreshingly detailed knowledge of the facts. Thanks to Yana for pointing out the best graveyards. Thanks to Sergei for the most dangerous car rides of my life and coming with me on the dodgy stuff; I’ll buy you some new tires one day, I promise. Thanks to comrade Paul for his company and conversation through the long nights of whatever it was we were doing and for catching the “Anna Karenin” train with me, just for the ride.
In London I owe a great deal to everyone at the Westminster Drugs Project; they work tirelessly to make troubled lives a little less troubled regardless of the endless farrago of misinformation and misunderstanding “that will carry on for as long as there is fear and loathing.” My appreciation especially to “Jacqueline” for her generosity in sharing her experiences with me, most of which were harrowing and painful. Thanks also to “Mark” for holding my hand, for the turkey sessions, and coming off all over again—keep on running. On this subject, I want most especially to express my gratitude to Dr. Tom Carnwath, long-time friend of my family and one of the country’s leading psychiatrists on addiction. Thanks for the hospitality, the patience, and the benefit of three decades of your daily experience. Those who wish to know more should read Dr. Carnwath’s book, Heroin Century, without doubt the most even-tempered, informed, and informative appraisal of this subject.
I want to acknowledge the support of some kind people who let me hang around their houses while apparently doing nothing. Bob and Elisabeth Boas for their generosity regarding Rome and for providing me with the happiest editing environment to date. And Stuart and Kate, for the use of their apartment on Lake Orta where there really is nothing to do but write the goddamn book; thank you.
I am grateful to Simon Mulligan for an enlightening half-hour on the phone. To my brother-in-law, Dr. Vincent Khoo, consultant at The Royal Marsden, for ensuring medical accuracy where required and pointing me to the right pills. And to Ian Leslie, an early reader, who took me to Veselka when I was starting and El Bulli when I had finished.
Here, too, the fondest of tributes to my brothers and sisters, who always get it, even when no one else does. Especially this time to Adelaide, who has the finest literary taste in the English-speaking world—always quick with that roll of tens; thanks, JP; nothing is revealed.
Last and most important, a great deal more than thanks to Emma—there’s nothing I can say that would cover it; you are the beauty and the light and the better part of what I am.
And after it’s finished, and before it all begins again, a thank-you to BD: still the greatest living artist, the only soul to whom I listen every day, and one of the few who know what it can cost a man to really get something done around here.
About the Author
EDWARD DOCX is the author of the acclaimed The Calligrapher, named a San Francisco Chronicle Best Book of the Year. He lives in London.
Copyright
Copyright © 2008 by Docx Ltd.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
For information about permission to reproduce selections from this book, write to trade.permissions@hmhco.com or to Permissions, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company, 3 Park Avenue, 19th Floor, New York, New York 10016.
The Library of Congress has cataloged the print edition as follows:
Docx, Edward.
Pravda / Edward Docx.
p. cm.
ISBN-13: 978-0-618-53440-1
ISBN-10: 0-618-53440-7
1. Family secrets—Fiction. I. Title.
PR6104.028P73 2007
823'.92—dc22 2007008523
eISBN 978-0-547-34692-2
v2.1017
Lines from “Where Are You Tonight? (Journey Through Dark Heat)” by Bob Dylan copyright © 1978 Special Rider Music. All rights reserved. International copyright secured. Reprinted by permission