The Impossible Journey by Gloria Whelan Page A

something?”
    â€œListen,” I whispered, “we are going to run away and find Mama.”
    Georgi’s eyes grew large, and he gave me a huge smile. “When?” he asked.
    â€œTonight,” I said. “But Georgi, it will be very hard. We have a long railway journey and not much money for food. And Georgi, we will have to walk a thousand miles.”
    All Georgi heard was “railway journey.” His face lit up. “We are going on a train?”
    â€œYes. Now hush and pack your things in your suitcase. Take only what you need. And remember, appear unhappy when you are with the Zotovs.”
    From time to time one of the Zotovs looked into our cubbyhole to see what we were doing. They were reassured as we packed the small suitcases that had belonged to Mama and Papa. As he said good night to us, Mr. Zotov handed a ruble each to Georgi and me.
    â€œYou are good children, after all,” he said.
    Georgi and I gave him a very sad look. Some devil made me ask, “Will you come to see us?”
    He was taken aback. I could see the idea had never entered his head, but he assured us, “Yes, yes. Yes, indeed. Very often, and we will bring you treats.”
    I thought the Zotovs would never go to bed. They sat up late into the night. I had left our door open a bit and could hear them talking about Mr. Zotov’s new job and what the extra money would mean to them.Then there were only whispers, and I knew they were talking of us.
    It was long after midnight when Georgi and I heard the Zotovs’ familiar snoring. I stuffed a blanket into each of our suitcases. Georgi and I quietly slipped into our coats. Tiptoeing into the kitchen, I snatched the ham, the cheese, and the packages of fruit. My suitcase had a pleasant full feeling. We crept out of the apartment, down the stairway, and into the night.

CHAPTER SIX
BY TRAIN INTO SIBERIA
    But for a dark figure in a doorway or a shadow rounding a corner, the streets were deserted. We hurried down the Nevsky Prospekt and across the Anichkov Bridge with its great bronze horses to the Moscow Railway Station. The station clock said three in the morning, but already there were passengers awaiting the early trains. Every few minutes a voice announcing the departure or arrival of a train boomed out over the loudspeakers, startling Georgi, who was hanging on to me as if he were slipping over a cliff and I were the rock he was grasping.
    Our train left for Moscow at six A.M . FromMoscow we would change to the Trans-Siberian Railroad. The journey seemed so mysterious and so difficult, I did not see how to take the first step. So strange were the clouds of steam that nearly hid the trains, so loud was their rumble as they came and went, and so sharp the odor of coal that filled the station, I was almost resolved to hurry back to the Zotovs’ apartment, replace the food, and crawl into bed. How could the orphanage be worse than this trip into the unknown?
    Across the waiting room I saw a woman leaning against a man. The man’s arm was around the woman. Two boys were curled up asleep next to the couple. The boys were Georgi’s age and looked like twins. The man was staring at us in a curious but friendly way, a smile on his lips. A friendly face in all that strangeness drew me. Pulling Georgi after me, I settled down on a bench next to the man and his family.
    The man watched me for a moment and thenquietly asked, “What are the two of you doing here all alone?”
    I was afraid of falling into a trap. I could not trust anyone. How could I tell him the truth? He might turn us over to the authorities. We would be arrested for running away and put not into an orphanage, but into a prison.
    Hastily I said, “We are waiting for our parents. They will be here at any time.”
    The man did not miss Georgi’s amazed look at my lie. Still, the smile stayed on his lips. His wife had awakened and was looking curiously at us now. The