(continued continued)

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Out of concern for my beloved companion, who had been sleeping on the lower bunk, I peered down below me to see what was going on. Two men sat on the bunk opposite her, one wielding a bottle of vodka and a glass in a cheap-looking, decorative steel holder. Laura had politely accepted a drink and she and the man with the glass and bottle clinked glasses and saluted one another.

“Cheers!” he said to her, in a deep, husky voice, clearly ravaged by countless cigarettes, and he proceeded to teach her the Russian equivalent, “nastrovya!”

A few minutes later, I got up and he introduced himself as Alexis, Alex for short. He had poor, blotchy skin, and his cheeks were sunken. His hair was cut short, and his hairline receded half way across his skull. It was clear that he didn’t look after himself very well, and it was obvious that alcohol was a leading factor in his situation. That morning he was cheerful and this appearance was impacted by his bright, blue eyes that were really quite gripping. Initially he was cold to me, and I detected a significant preference for Laura’s attentions- I admit I was a little uncomfortable about that at first, especially since there was a chance he could be with us for a few days and the cabin was so bloody small! It didn’t take much for him to fill it up, with a poignant blend of charisma and calamity. Communication was problematic because his English- though much better than our combined knowledge of Russian- was of a low level. Determined as he was to communicate with us, the other man in the cabin acted as a mediator for most of our introductory banter. Having established some basic information about us and us about him, Alex went to bed at about 10am.

I’ve not really spent any time with alcoholics before and so I only really had the typical kind of notions that most people have, gained from books and films and TV. Many of these notions proved to be evident in his behaviour. Alex stayed in our cabin for two days. He spent the majority of the first day in bed, getting up every hour or two to go and have a cigarette. Every time he moved in the cabin I flinched: his was (like mine) the top bunk and his method of ascent and descent managed to involve as much clumsy physical contact with as many people as it possibly could. He would grab onto my sheets and leg to propel himself from the bunk, moving slowly and cautiously at first but finishing with a loud thud has he hit the floor below. Refusing to use the small ladder or just not realising it was there, he would step all over the two lower bunks (and it’s inhabitants) and pull up on each of the upper ones, twisting chaotically in midair before thumping down on to his bed. It was frightening. What was worst was that he repeated this terrifying series of manoeuvres many, many times, as he bungled off to feed his cigarette craving. As the day wore on so he grew more and more pale and less and less responsive. It transpired that he had a (sober) friend in another cabin who, at some point in the early afternoon, came to assist him eat the plastic-boxed train lunch- sitting at the end of Laura’s bed facing the cabin window, I intermittently watched him struggle to pick the food out with the plastic cutlery, chewing languidly with head sunk low and Laura watch him with a mixture of pity and displeasure.

Meanwhile the land outside was becoming increasingly green, with only scattered remains of the winter snows. Along the banks of the tracks silver birches mingled with pine trees, some of which retained there snowy tops. We passed numerous farms and villages, which grew increasingly European in their appearance. Laura and I entertained ourselves with card games and books and a few visits to the next carriage where Steve and the English couple- James and Clare- resided.

Again the time passed slowly but I was quite content. Around the middle of the afternoon the man on the lower bunk- who I had at first assumed was a friend of Alex’s due to the familiarity with which the latter treated him- alit. At that station a young man boarded and entered our cabin. As Alex continued rested, Laura and I got chatting with the young man, Sergei, Serg for short. He was a graduate working for a solicitors, and he spoke and understood English well. Gentle, inquisitive and personable, it was a real pleasure to chat with Serg.

Later, Alex awoke and started to stir. Again, he adopted a familiar air with Serg, who was patient and responsive in return. Alex cracked open the vodka and- without enough to invite others to drink with him- started drinking again. He quickly perked up, resuming his affable interrogation of Laura and I, and with the assistance of Serg. It seemed to me that Alex was determined to be at the centre of everything going on around him- he acquainted himself with everyone, and joked and laughed familiarly with all those that he could. It was evident though that alongside this- or perhaps even at the root of this- was an unusually dependent disposition that needed the support and the friendship of others. When awake it seemed he was incapable of being without company. Conceivably this dependence was a factor in his alcoholism.

Night fell without too many incidents. Alex continued in much the same way, but was peaceful most of the evening. Early the following morning before the sun came up, he rose first, stirring me to an undesirable wakefulness with his usual clumsiness. He left the cabin to smoke, and I tried to ignore him as much as possible, turning away so that he didn’t see that I was awake. When he returned he did so with beer, which he noisily poured for himself on the cabin table. After having a drink and tumbling back up to bed, he caught me eye and in husky whisper offered “beer?”. I refused.

Serg left that morning, and fortunately this time- having been stirred so early by Alex- I was able to say goodbye. Day four was underway.

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