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ights were on； although it was only just twilight outside。
〃You go ahead；〃 Irina said without much enthusiasm。 〃I'm not feeling hungry。〃
''But of course you must be hungry；'' Mars said； taking down some plates from his cupboard。 〃It's after eight； and if I know Number One Gastronome； the lines must have prevented you from having time for a proper lunch。''
〃Actually； they weren't so bad；〃 Irina said。 〃I had time to get these。〃
Mars took the small envelope from her； opened it。 〃Tickets to Three Sisters'。〃 He grinned。 〃Well； you certainly are full of surprises tonight。〃
You don't know the half of it； Irina thought unhappily。
Mars put the tickets down。 〃But why so sad； Irina？ Did you have a bad day at the office？ No； no； don't tell me if you don't want to。 I know you like your privacy。 But e； I see dinner at home holds no interest for you。 Let's go out！〃
This was Mars's solution to all things： eat； be with people； get drunk； feel life in all its diversity flow like a powerful stream all around you； until it began to seep through you then into you； until the roof of your despair was made leaky and； whether you liked it or not； life began again to wash over you。
He took her to a tiny Georgian restaurant he had discovered； where they were happy to serve him even when it was near to nine at night and other； larger； restaurants had stopped serving hot meals。 It was a boisterous place； filled with good smells； the bined heat of the nearby kitchen and its cheery denizens。 They ate chicken tabaka； drank pepper vodka； and most important； Mars kept her talking。
〃Tell me about your family；〃 he said。 〃What was your home life like？〃
〃Lousy；〃 Irina said。 〃My father was a secret drunkard； you know； weekends； days off。 But he never missed a day's work。 He's been dead now a long time。 He worked in nuclear engineering； but he never brought his work home； never talked about it。 I suspect he drank because he had watched his parents die in the Siberian winter； and I think he could never forgive himself。''
〃For what？〃
〃For living when they had died。 He took the coat off his mother's body； the shoes off his father's feet。 He remembered the feet so clearly； he said。 They were blue； bloated； and cold as ice。 It took him a half hour to get the shoes off。 He told me once that those items of clothing saved him from freezing to death； but they couldn't stop him from remembering。 He was eleven years old when that happened。〃
〃Poor fellow；〃 Mars said。 〃But he had his whole life ahead of him。〃
〃I think a part of him died on the Siberian ice fields with his parents；〃 Irina said。
〃He was to be pitied； then。〃
Irina tried not to think。 She could hear a voice calling； she knew what it was saying； but she didn't want to listen： KGB。 Keep calm。 The Siberian winter； bars across the moon； her country a prison。 He's dead。
〃Perhaps it all would have been different if my brother Yvgeny hadn't died；〃 Irina said； not believing a word of it； and despising herself for dissembling。 〃He was killed not so far from here； on the bank of the Moskva； on a cold； clear night； a night of the full moon。 He had fallen in with criminals； and he was selling… well； I don't know what； contraband of some kind； surely。 He was knifed； but whether by a potential customer or by a rival； we never found out。 Considering what my brother was up to； the police were understandably resistant to spending man…hours tracking down his killer。 Frankly； they just didn't care。 I got the impression they were glad he was dead。''
〃And the family？〃
〃Our family was so fragile anyway； the relationships so close to cracking。 My father had already been dead for many years。 I think； now； that it wouldn't have taken much at all to send us spiraling down。 But his； Yvgeny's； murder was like a detonation in our kitchen； our place of warmth and sustenance； the place I remember my mother always being； until the police brought us the news。 She disintegrated。 She ran out into the night without a coat or a care for herself。 She beat her breast； tore her hair； and； on the spot where they had found Yvgeny sprawled with the knife still between his ribs； she wailed for her son。 I remember dragging her away from there。 She was hysterical； screaming invectives I never suspected she knew。 I think she tried to bite me。 At that moment； I don't believe she knew who I was。〃
Mars allowed a silence to close over them。 The boisterous sounds of the restaurant seemed abruptly at odds with their own tiny world； and Irina found herself wanting to scream。 Shut up！ Shut up！ Why are you all so happy？
At last Mars said； 〃Is she still alive？〃
〃Only after a fashion；〃 Irina said。
〃I'm sorry。〃 He took her hand； stroked it with his thumb。 〃But words are so inadequate sometimes； aren't they？〃
Irina looked into his eyes； aware of some subtle difference。 It was like walking into a garden one had known all one's life； and finding that one rock had been shifted ever so slightly； but that this alteration had in some magical way transformed the aspect of the entire garden。
She said； 〃Sometimes nothing more is needed than being there。〃 Something had changed in her relationship with Mars。 But what was it？
The following Saturday； Mars asked her to go with him to visit his parents。 Irina agreed； although she did not really know why。 She suspected that she would be bored。
As it turned out； she was wrong。 Mars's parents lived in a beautiful old cream…colored house on Bolshaya Ordynka Street。 Its front was shaded with lime trees。 It was quite near the 350…year…old Church of St。 Nicholas of Pyzhi； whose architecture was so Eastern baroque； it reminded Irina of a wedding cake。
Mars's mother and father were wonderful people； warm and full of love for one another。 Irina watched them covertly； almost shyly。 And although they looked at each other or touched only rarely； they seemed always aware of one another's presence。
They loved the special foods she and Mars had brought； and Mars went out of his way to say that the Nova Scotia salmon was a special gift from Irina herself； Irina helped Mars's mother in the kitchen； and found that they had an easy and almost instantaneous rapport that stemmed from cooking。 They shared suggestions； then little secrets they had learned。 They laughed together。
Near to dinnertime； Mars's sister and her family arrived。 She looked like Mars； and was very beautiful。 But she seemed shy； and when Irina at length arranged to talk with her； confessed to being unhappy with her thick…waisted； heavy…legged body。 〃I am just what the American magazines portray Russian women to be like；〃 she said with a sigh。
Her children…two boys and a girl…were well…behaved； and they obviously adored their grandfather； who played games with them and loved tricking them； then telling them how he did so。 Often； there were gales of laughter。
The children's father； Mars's brother…in…law； worked as an architect。 Mostly； he said； he drew up plans for concrete housing developments； which Irina privately thought must be the height of boredom； like driving a bus back and forth along the same route all day long。 He was an altogether ordinary…looking fellow； whose face was transformed when he watched his children。
Gradually； as the afternoon turned into evening； and as the evening became night； Irina found herself sinking into the warmth and homeyness of this family's life； with the kind of bliss one feels when lying back on an eiderdown pillow。 For the first time in quite a while； she found herself relaxed。 And then； with an electric tingle； she knew there was more to it than that：
she was content。
At that moment Irina looked across the room at Mars Petrovich Volkov in an entirely different light。 So what that the physical part of our relationship doesn't quite connect？ she thought。 He has so much more to give me。 He can share with me what I've always wanted。 With him I can be part of a family。
Kasumigaseki； the downtown Tokyo district where Honno worked； meant 〃Shrouded Gate；〃 Big Ezoe was familiar with Kasumigaseki； though not in the ways Honno was。 He showed her places within the district she otherwise would never have guessed existed。
Being in Kasumigaseki was the equivalent of living underwater。 The light…what there was of it seeping through the steel and glass skyscrapers…had that aqueous quality that skin divers know well； and which can be approximated by peering through the bottom of a green glass bottle。
Big Ezoe had said； 〃Kakuei Sakata was a samurai； so you and I must begin to think like samurai。 If we cannot put ourselves in Sakata's mind； we will never solve me riddle he has left you。〃
Big Ezoe had turned the key Sakata had sent to Honno over and over in his hand。 〃A businessman would have a safety deposit box in a bank。 A Yakuza would have a lock box buried beneath the tatami in his bedroom。 What would a samurai have to keep his most valuable possessions safe？〃
Honno had looked at him。 〃I don't know。〃
Big Ezoe had grinned at her。 〃But I think I do。〃
And so he had led her back to the heart of the metropolis； to Kasumigaseki； the Shrouded Gate。 They were consumed by modern Tokyo。 There was industrial grit beneath the soles of their shoes； the exhaust of a ha