Trans-Siberian Express by Warren Adler Page A

about her appearance and her clothes and, when the train stopped briefly at Novosibirsk, she dashed into a station store to buy a lipstick. Later, she coated her lips lightly with it and smeared some into the skin over her cheeks. Then, admiring herself in the mirror, she brushed her chestnut hair, pinning it up with particular care.
    The senior attendant, a large chunky woman with a brooding expression, rarely talked to her, except to bark an order or smirk when something had not been done to her satisfaction. But seeing Tania so freshly turned out caught her attention.
    “What are you painting yourself up for?” she hissed. “Got some man giving you the eye?”
    “Of course not,” Tania had replied, blushing.
    “Better watch out,” the senior hissed.
    Tania knew she was under surveillance now, but could not help herself. She worked harder too, approaching her chores with remarkable zeal to prove to her superior that she was only interested in improving her job performance. It was only when the senior attendant had gone off to eat or sleep that she moved closer to the colonel’s compartment, keeping close to the door, like a starved puppy, peering in to catch his eye.
    As the journey had progressed, she began to feel the pressure of time. In just twenty-four hours they would arrive at Chita and the colonel would depart. She began to grow anxious, wondering how she could possibly cope with the farewell, as if they had been lovers for years. The fact was, as she later remembered, they had exchanged no more than a few polite words, she of inquiry, he of casual response, mostly “Yes, thank yous” or “No, thank yous.”
    But she was now certain that somehow she had gained his attention. She entered the compartment while the other soldier was in the restaurant car and began tidying the upper bunk. She was quite conscious of her own movements, stretching upward to puff pillows and smooth the linen dust cover. It was then that he stood up and, politely waiting for her to descend, touched her shoulder, and spoke the only complete sentence that she was ever to remember.
    “You are a remarkably dedicated comrade,” he said. She felt the weight of his hand on her shoulder and, blushing deeply, she placed a hand over his. Then, overcome by the gesture, she had run out of the compartment and rushed into her own, to douse her face with cool water. Luckily, the senior attendant was stretched on the lower bunk, her face to the wall, and she was snoring noisily as usual.
    Later, when the train stopped at the Irkutsk station, Tania stood beside the car breathing gulps of fresh air and feeling the impending sadness of the colonel’s imminent departure. Chita was next. A bright moon hung in the distance, unreachable and mysterious, like her relationship with the handsome dark man. Her melancholy was intense. It was only after she had climbed up onto the metal step again that she felt her depression ease, for she saw in the window the face of the colonel, who had apparently been watching her.
    When the train began to move again, she waited near the samovar, watching the doors close, and some of the passengers, including the colonel’s companion, walked unsteadily toward the restaurant carriage. When the passageway was empty, she poured out a glassful of tea and placed it in the filigreed container, then, watching it shake in her hands, opened the door of the colonel’s compartment.
    He had drawn the curtains and the room was dark except for the occasional pinpoints of light along the track. She put down the tea on the table, as usual, and almost immediately felt the colonel’s hard body against hers, his mouth searching out her lips, digging deeply between them with his tongue. The crush of his body against hers seemed a culmination, a release from pain, and the feel of his mouth on hers seemed to trigger an enormous wellspring in the depths of her body. She felt her own hunger to touch his flesh, his clean white pure