[Illustration]
Tasso looked up at him lazily from the cot. "Have you any more
American cigarettes left?"
Hendricks went into the room and sat down across from her, on a wood
stool. He felt in his pockets. "No. All gone."
"Too bad."
"What nationality are you?" Hendricks asked after awhile.
"Russian."
"How did you get here?"
"Here?"
"This used to be France. This was part of Normandy. Did you come with
the Soviet army?"
"Why?"
"Just curious." He studied her. She had taken off her coat, tossing it
over the end of the cot. She was young, about twenty. Slim. Her long
hair stretched out over the pillow. She was staring at him silently,
her eyes dark and large.
"What's on your mind?" Tasso said.
"Nothing. How old are you?"
"Eighteen." She continued to watch him, unblinking, her arms behind
her head. She had on Russian army pants and shirt. Gray-green. Thick
leather belt with counter and cartridges. Medicine kit.
"You're in the Soviet army?"
"No."
"Where did you get the uniform?"
She shrugged. "It was given to me," she told him.
"How--how old were you when you came here?"
"Sixteen."
"That young?"