Trafika Europe 13 - Russian Ballet

Igor Sakhnovsky


“Just imagine it!” Schneiderman was saying quietly, worrying himself like a little boy, clearing from the table the third empty can of Isabella’s Home-Cooked Goodness. “What was I supposed to do? A night in February and all around us, Biscayne Bay. She’s waiting for me – meet me immediately! – at Saint Sebastian’s. Of course, if she’s really waiting. And what do we have here – an idiotic lighthouse on the left traverse and the operational clock at 00:20. And so I disappeared into my piloting duties, body and soul. Because I did love her, like some 40,000 of my brothers and sisters in the service couldn’t possibly, all of them put together! Please, understand me!” Schneiderman is holding back his huge tears in a mighty effort, and I don’t know how I can console him. To my best knowledge, Gena Schneiderman had never been beyond the borders of our nation. In those security-sensitive times, no one would ever have let him out. Not to mention the fact that in his 35 extraordinary years, he somehow managed to never enter into any official dealings with the state.


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