Clear, wintery afternoon… The frost is hard and snapping, and Nadyenka, who is holding my hand, has silvery rime on her temples and on the fluff above her upper lip. We stand on a high hill. A sloping plane stretches from our feet all the way to the ground, and the sun gazes into it like a mirror. Beside us is a small sledge, upholstered in bright red cloth.
‘Shall we slide down?’ I beg. ‘Just once! I assure you, we will be safe and sound.’