Trafika Europe 13 - Russian Ballet

Naum Vaiman

another room, apparently not wishing to intimidate me with its decorations, and I appreciated his sense of delicacy. He then produced some tea biscuits and three crystal shot glasses from the cupboard, and poured out the viscous, orangish-red fruit liqueur. “Lenka, come join us!” Lena brought in the tea service and arranged it on the table, and the three of us sat down, raised our shot glasses, all three of us smiling, only each differently: I felt terribly awkward, Lena was clearly amused, and the grandfather seemed to be squinting even more slyly. “Well, have you already become acquainted? With Naum?” He somehow put a particular emphasis on my name. “We have,” Lena smiled even more broadly and pleasantly. “It turns out he’s from our institute.” “Imagine that! Very interesting. And I haven’t properly introduced myself to you yet – Pyotr Naumovich Kharitonov, pleased to make your acquaintance.” We waved our shot glasses and drank to our meeting. The brandy turned out to be quite potent. “At the Academy, because of my patronymic, they assumed that I was Jewish,” the general fired from point-blank range at me, without the least bit note of annoyance. No matter howmuch you “steel yourself to the thought,”

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