— Why?

— I don’t know. He didn’t know either. He had nowhere to turn, no family or friends he could trust. So he came to us. We agreed to take possession of his life’s work. Shortly afterward, he disappeared.

Maxim glanced over the notes:

— The music… is it good?

— We haven’t heard it performed. We dare not show it to anyone, or have it played for us. Questions might be asked.

— You have no idea what it sounds like?

— I can’t read music. Neither can my wife. But Maxim, you’re missing the point. My promise of help wasn’t dependent on the merits of his work.

— You’re risking your lives? If it’s worthless…

Lazar corrected him:

— We’re not protecting these papers; we’re protecting their right to survive.

Anisya found her husband’s assuredness infuriating. The young composer in question had come to her, not him. She’d then petitioned Lazar and convinced him to take the music. In the retelling of the story he’d smoothed over his doubts, anxieties — reducing her to nothing more than his passive supporter. She wondered if he was even aware of the adjustments he’d made to the history, automatically elevating his own importance, recentering the story around him.

Lazar picked up the entire collection of unbound sheet music, maybe two hundred pages in total. Included among the music were documents relating to the business of the church and several original icons that had been hidden, replaced with reproductions. He hastily divided the contents into three piles, checking as best he could that complete musical compositions were kept together. The plan was to each smuggle out a more or less equal share. Divided in three, there was a reasonable chance some of the music would survive. The difficulty was finding three separate hiding places, three people who’d be prepared to sacrifice their lives for notes on a page even though they’d never met the composer or heard his music. Lazar knew many in his parish would help. Many were also likely to be under suspicion of some kind. For this task they needed the help of a perfect Soviet, someone whose apartment would never be searched. Such a person, if they existed, would never help them.