The pouring rain had been slapping against the windows of the train for two hours. Johann had already prepared his luggage in the morning, now he was still waiting for lunch, which was probably served punctually at twelve o'clock, as yesterday. The scheduled arrival in Moscow was then to be at half past two.

It was only a week ago, Johann thought, when I was torn from my quite peaceful student life; and now I'll soon be there, a thousand kilometres from home in a country I don't know and about which no one tells me anything credible.

Several times Johann had tried to find out something from his interpreter Shakhlikov about the ominous contact person who would meet him at the station and become his contact person for the next months. On the other hand, Shakhlikov's manner was quite different from what Johann had expected: not a dogged, evil-looking capitalist-hater who only offered him his services under orders. And if he were, he could disguise himself well. On the contrary, probably because Shakhlikov shared the compartment with Winter and the latter spoke more and more familiarly with Johann, there was even a special surprise last night when Winter asked Johann if he might like to join in a game of cards.

Since he had hardly had any contact with Lieutenant Colonel Bruschek since they had boarded the Russian train anyway, Johann gladly agreed. But since he couldn't play cards, there was great laughter on the part of the other two. Johann wondered if the lieutenant-colonel lacked this cordial way of dealing with others. The formal manner he had already displayed in Austria, despite all his affability, had petrified his manners since they had crossed the border. Johann, however, had been prepared for this by himself: first of all, it had to be fundamentally assessed who was working for whom, and only then would it be possible to have more open conversations again. With Winter and Shakhlikov, on the other hand, who seemed very relaxed without imaginary or real heavy burdens on their shoulders and seemed to enjoy the journey, last night had been very funny. Johann had stuck to water; and when he met Staff Sergeant Winter at the aisle this morning, rather late and with a mixture of exhaustion, euphoria and slight dizziness, he knew that for him, too, water would have been better than vodka. Shakhlikov, on the other hand, seemed no different than usual, cordial and light-hearted.

Johann thought back and forth during the meal about what would be the best way to start the conversation. An innocuous greeting, which should definitely not be the so familiar "Grüß Gott", even if he still had to reckon with the component of translation. Then something about the train's advanced facilities and comfortable journey. In fact, the design of the Soviet train's interior was much more modern and eye-catching in its colourfulness than the very traditional Austrian carriages. And neither the electrical and sanitary equipment nor the quality of the food was inferior to what was offered at home. Eating alone in the segregated carriage did give a bit of an impression of confinement, but Johann didn't want to blame that on the train staff, who were very eager to check on him. Even if, due to the language barrier, a grateful nod was all he could return.

Johann reacted with surprise when there was a knock on his compartment door. It would probably be Shakhlikov or Winter. At Johann's request to enter, however, Doctor Bodin stepped into the compartment. Johann stood up and greeted the guest, offered him a seat and also sat down again. The gaunt, ever-smiling doctor began the conversation: "I hope, Doctor, that the train journey was not too arduous for you. I will continue to assist you in all medical matters after your arrival in Moscow and will treat you if necessary. Comrade Shakhlikov will contact me immediately in case of emergency. Rest assured that the Soviet health system is one of the best in the world."

Johann thanked: "I have always found your care very obliging since our first meeting in Lviv. Perhaps there will be time for a conversation or two in Moscow, because there won't be many there I can talk to without an interpreter."

Bodin nodded, "Yes, that is very likely. I admit I am very curious about the result of your research. I myself am only amateurishly concerned with hospital architectural history, but there will certainly be an opportunity to discuss your findings at some point."

Johann hoped that this was not an attempt to lead him up the garden path. He had fully trusted the doctor so far, believing in something like academic solidarity, but Lieutenant-Colonel Bruschek had warned him against any form of fraternisation.

"Yes," he replied briefly, "it will certainly be interesting to talk about it, even though hospital architecture is not my speciality. I will rather learn from you there."

Bodin stood up, shook Johann's hand with the words, "Then I look forward to seeing you again in Moscow!" and left the compartment.

Johann thought about the visit: Of course, he couldn't just go to any doctor in Moscow, if only because of the language barrier, but the fact that a doctor had been assigned especially for him increased the feeling of trepidation somewhat.

Shortly before the station, the train stopped, the carriage was uncoupled and pulled by its own locomotive to a separate platform from which one could not see the other platforms. On the platform, which was completely covered, some uniformed men waited, whom Johann assigned to the army because they wore a uniform in the style of Colonel Grabow. A little further back stood a group of civilians, four men and two women, all dressed in mackintoshes. One of the women wore a headscarf, the other a folded umbrella.

One of these gentlemen will be my main interlocutor for the next few months. I wonder who it is. Johann looked at the four of them carefully. Did their expressions reveal anything about the upcoming encounter? In a few minutes everything would become clear.

There was a knock at the door and Shakhlikov opened it immediately, causing Johann to flinch briefly. "Sorry to intrude, but I just wanted to remind you of how the greeting will now proceed. First, Colonel Grabow and the two Austrian soldiers will get out and receive a military welcome. One of the gentlemen in civilian clothes you see back there will also greet Lieutenant Colonel Bruscheck personally. It is Ambassador Yenal, the Ottoman ambassador to the Soviet Union. The two have been good friends for a long time, and it is no secret that the ambassador's intercession contributed in no small way to the selection of Lieutenant Colonel Bruscheck for this function. When all the soldiers and the Ambassador have left the platform, we will disembark and be greeted by Doctor Piatnitskaya."

Piatnitskaya? Johann thought. Didn't an "a" in Slavic languages suggest the femininity of the name bearer. Unexpectedly, he turned to Shakhlikov: "Is Doctor Piatnitskaya a woman?" and without waiting for the answer, he followed up: "My local contact is supposed to be a woman?"

Shakhlikov nodded, "Didn't you know? Doctor Aleksandra Osipovna Piatnitskaya from the Office for Scientific Cooperation is your contact person. She is an architect and therefore particularly qualified to answer all your scientific questions."

Johann pondered heatedly while military protocol played out outside. The men in civilian clothes and the woman with the headscarf slowly approached. When the military part was finished, a southern man who Johann had not noticed much before stepped forward and, after nodding his head in the direction of Colonel Gabrow, went straight up to Lieutenant Colonel Bruschek and embraced him. Staff Sergeant Winter, whom Johann only now saw step forward from the shadow of the platoon, handed his superior a gift package and a bouquet of flowers. Bruscheck handed the package to the man, who must be the Turkish ambassador, and the flowers to the woman with the headscarf, who did not shake his hand but nodded in a friendly manner.

Shakhlikov grinned: "I always admire these Turks. They just can't help holding on to their ancestral customs. The ambassador's wife always manages to find a good reason for wearing a headscarf, be it rain, wind or sun. Well, as a diplomat's wife, nothing else would happen to her, but in this way she makes it easier for us to put up with this completely superfluous tradition. People who also demonstrate their superstitions to the outside world through their clothing are hopelessly backward."

Instead of getting an approving comment, which he was obviously waiting for, from Johann, he was suddenly overcome by the fact that yes, Johann was also wearing only a black suit instead of a gown, but he didn't want to do without the strange shirt with the white stand-up collar. "Er, I didn't mean that, of course; that only applies to the headscarf and similar items of clothing."

Johann smiled, "I had prepared myself for much more insulting statements, and since our encounter in Lviv, I'm glad that I got off so lightly. One can certainly have different opinions about the importance of clothing, but in a state where every third person wears a uniform, one can ask this question in the same way: Here a religious sentiment, there a political one is on display. But the lady back there with the umbrella, is that Doctor Piatnitskaya?"

Shakhlikov nodded, "Yes, she will come to the carriage entrance as soon as the other group has left the platform."

Johann looked searchingly around his compartment, where only his black suitcase and the small briefcase were on the luggage rack. He frowned, "If I had known that my contact was a woman, I would of course have got flowers too."

Shakhlikov waved it off, "That would not have been a good start. The comrade is known for not accepting any privileges based on her gender. If I may take the liberty of saying so."

Johann smirked inwardly because he would never have been so directly informed by Winter about Lieutenant-Colonel Bruscheck's wishes or dislikes. Was this 'classless' behaviour? Could one speak more freely about one's superiors here, in a country that according to his information was so dangerous, than at home? Because here, despite different functions, everyone was equal on a more fundamental level? Or was it simply because of the interpreter's natural way of speaking his mind relatively directly?

Johann's thoughts were interrupted by a clearing of Shakhlikov's throat: The group of military and civilians had left the platform. The lady with the umbrella was now approaching the train. Her step was elegant but determined. Johann also put on his mackintosh, made sure that the light scarf covered his priestly collar and nodded to Shakhlikov. Then he walked out of the compartment behind the interpreter, not without taking his suitcase and bag.

"Doctor Erath, I welcome you on behalf of the Office for Scientific Cooperation in the Soviet Union. I hope your stay in Moscow will lead to the desired scientific results."

With these words, the woman, whose black hair was tied in a severe knot, held out her hand to him.

With slight hesitation he took it and replied, with a sideways glance at Shakhlikov, who immediately translated: "Doctor Piatnitskaya, it is a special honour for me to have been greeted by you personally. The journey in the comfortable and very futuristically furnished train through your beautiful country was an impressive preparation for my studies here."

Johann had not forgotten that he had been warned about having to work with a spy. He therefore tried to choose a greeting that was as much as meaningless. Surely it would not be the communists' intention to let me be seduced by this woman, he thought. Although she was incredibly attractive, he would only see her as a scientist and contact person. Hopefully, she was a scientist at all. Lost in thought, he still held Aleksandra's hand. The latter seemed a little confused by this and, after an instinctive reach for the smooth strip of her knee-length skirt, touching only her mackintosh of course, tried to relax the situation with a joke:

"I've become convinced of your handshake quality."

Immediately after Shakhlikov translated with a glance at the still linked hands, Johann let go of Aleksandra's hand.

"I will now accompany you to the Moskva Hotel, where you will be staying. Comrade Shakhlikov will stay next door to you and will be at your disposal as an interpreter at all times. You have already met Doctor Bodin, our doctor. He will be available throughout your stay if you feel unwell. I would like to ask you right now not to leave the room without first informing comrade Shakhlikov. This measure is only for your protection, otherwise you may experience inconvenience due to a linguistic misunderstanding."

And would be stopped at the latest at the reception by my men anyway, Aleksandra continued to think.

"Tomorrow breakfast will be served to you in your room at seven thirty; Comrade Shakhlikov will make the menu selection with you this evening. Since tomorrow is Labour Day, there will be celebrations all over the city. I will join you for lunch at twelve o'clock. If you like, we can take a boat tour in the afternoon, where I can tell you a bit about Moscow and its history. We will then start working on your project the day after tomorrow."