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‘We have a schedule to keep,’ said Baikalova in a husky voice.

With an emcee’s gesture, Grunsky pointed at Baikalova and returned to his place.

‘What a jerk,’ said Dunya, beginning to laugh.

‘I won’t…’ Tarabukin was still shifting his papers around. ‘I won’t, because of the lack of time, read all the examples, I have twenty-three of them… But excerpt No. 19… uh-huh, there it is… I’ll still cite this one.’

Fragment No. 19

Gen. Larionov Notes for an Autobiography	D.P. Zhloba Report Regarding Entry into the City of Yalta
One time I vanished. I was around six years old. I left our house without saying anything to anybody and wandered aimlessly. Why did I do that? I don’t know. I didn’t have any set goals, I remember that. I walked downhill, along Botkinskaya, examining my surroundings. Laborers were placing a huge carved cabinet on a cart and the carthorse was pawing at the ground, its flanks trembling. Both the cart and even the horse seemed small compared to the cabinet. The cart began moving heavily up the hill and the laborers supported the cabinet from both sides. This contraption moved jerkily, in time with horse’s steps. With a sad creaking. I stared after them, until they disappeared around the corner. And even then they continued creaking, unseen, for a time. / Later, I ended up on the embankment. I stood, leaning against the fence at the Tsar’s Garden, and watched street musicians. Cello, two violins, and a flute. They played there for many more years, I saw them on each of our trips to Yalta. My back could feel the cool rhombuses of the fence. I admired their ancient Jewish faces, nubby fingers with fine hair on the phalanges, and dusty black clothing. Their leader was an old violinist. The wind brought his long gray hair to his lips, flattening it there. He would blow the hair away or toss it by nodding his head. He made horrible grimaces as he played, and I watched him, unable to tear myself away. Everybody knew this was an expression of devotion to the music. Nobody laughed. The musicians played music by request or for no particular reason. Copper coins scattered into the open violin case. There was nothing they couldn’t play. To this day, I think most of them when I hear the word music. I listened to those musicians for a long time—the entire time they played there. I didn’t budge, even when they were taking their ceremonial bows. Only when their instruments ended up in their cases was the magic gone. I knew then that not another sound would be heard. / I continued my journey along the embankment. The embankment was narrow then, not like it is now. I walked right next to the cast-iron railings; the sea’s edge was just on the other side. My hand slid over the lower crosspiece of the railing: it was black with silvery, hanging drops. I collected those drops in my hand and they ran along my arm, flowing up my sleeve. That was nice. / I turned on Morskaya Street and ended up by a pharmacy I knew. It was cool inside the pharmacy. It smelled of oak cabinets and medicines. ‘What can I do for you?’ the pharmacist asked and patted me on the head. The tip of his nose was bulbous. I was proud to have come here by myself. I was quiet because I didn’t need anything at that time. After showing me a chair, the pharmacist disappeared into the next room. The chair was huge, with leathery folds. It reminded me of an old bulldog. I have not seen such a good chair since. The pharmacist brought me a cough drop. I popped it in my mouth and went outside. / Finally, I ended up at the jetty. I stepped onto it because that, it seemed, was where my road lay. When I reached the end of the jetty, I saw that the sea surrounded me on three sides. I didn’t grasp that when I was walking. But I saw it after stopping. Wet green stones rocked from the waves, the wind droned somewhere at the top of the lighthouse but—and this was most important—there was no more road. I stood, pressing my back against the lighthouse, and I was scared. I thought the jetty had pulled away and started moving out from under my feet. I froze with horror when I sensed the pitching. I got down on all fours, pressed into the warm, rough wall, and crawled to the opposite side of the lighthouse. Only there did I dare rise to my feet and slowly, step by step, head toward the other end of the jetty. When I raised my head, I saw my father: his anxious face, his arms open wide for an embrace. I knew that those arms would not allow me to perish now. I ran the rest of the distance. I ran to my father and cried. I threw myself into his arms.	They’d already reported to me that the general hadn’t evacuated. We’d searched the whole city for him. I rode to the general’s house at the head of the advance party but he wasn’t there. / ‘Vanished, did he?’ shouted comrade B. Kun. ‘Vanished,’ confirmed the maid. ‘He went out an hour ago. Didn’t say anything.’ / Comrade Zemlyachka jabbed her in the thigh with a pen knife and we galloped downhill, along Botkinskaya Street. A group of laborers was loading a cabinet with a two-headed eagle onto a cart. ‘Have you seen the general?’ I asked the laborers. ‘We saw him,’ said the the laborers. ‘He walked by here in 1888. And it’s 1920 now.’ / ‘Ah, so that’s it!’ I shouted. ‘That’s your idea of a joke? Well, here’s mine.’ I lashed their mare with my whip and she dashed off. The cabinet fell on the roadway but didn’t break. A sturdy item. The laborers silently went after the cart. I ordered that the cabinet be brought into the general’s house. We saw some musicians by the Tsar’s Garden. I halted the squad and listened, spellbound. They were playing on two little violins and one big one. Plus a wind instrument flute. ‘The soldiers’ hearts have coarsened from war,’ I told the musicians. ‘Play something touching for them.’ / A violinist stepped forward and said, ‘Soldiers, have a listen to Oginsky’s Polonaise.’ He swung his bow and the musicians simultaneously began playing. The first violinist’s face changed as he played. / ‘He’s full of emotion,’ comrade Kun told those present, a large tear flowing down his own cheek. As I listened to the heartfelt music of the Polonaise, I thought we’d missed the general after all. He couldn’t, in his right mind, stay in the city of Yalta. / We stayed there a fairly long time. Several privates dismounted and sat on the ground, listening to the music. I didn’t prevent them. And didn’t say anything. And comrade Kun didn’t say anything, either, though he wanted to in the beginning. That’s how it seemed to me. And the horses stood still and didn’t stomp their feet because an animal understands everything, even music. It’s a medical fact. Horses have never failed me, that’s a fact, too. But people have failed me more than once. I place little hope in them. / Then we went to ride along the embankment. It’s narrow so we re-formed into columns of two as we rode. A horse loves that formation. I rode silently. Generally I’m quiet when I’m on the move, so I don’t get distracted from my thoughts. And I look at the horse’s mane if I’m not in battle. I finger the mane with my hand. Now and then you burrow your face in the mane, too. The mane has a special smell. / From the embankment, we turned on Morskaya Street and went to the pharmacy. Comrade Gusin and I. He needed a new bandage because the old one was soaked with blood. Comrade Zemlyachka had licked away the blood that soaked through. ‘What can I do for you?’ asked the pharmacist. It seemed I’d seen this person with the weather-beaten face somewhere. / ‘Change his dressings,’ I told the pharmacist and pointed at Gusin. While the pharmacist bandaged Gusin, I sat in a soft chair. It was cool and calm. I could have stayed there forever. / ‘Try not to lose blood, comrade,’ the pharmacist told Gusin in parting. ‘A person only has six liters.’ / ‘Two three-liter jars,’ joked comrade Zemlyachka. / We set off along the embankment again. Where comrade Kun touched me on the leg—there!—with the crop. Lightly. And pointed at the jetty with that same crop. I looked around and couldn’t believe my eyes: the general. In the flesh. Just standing, at the edge, arms on his chest. The general! / Our sailors were already keeping watch at the jetty. That’s why we were in no hurry. The general already had nowhere to go but into the water. Comrade Kun proposed tying up the general along with two critically wounded Whites and tossing them into the sea, but comrade Zemlyachka condemned that method as ultra-liberal and bloodless. Comrade Kun was offended and later drowned all the critically wounded without consulting comrade Zemlyachka. They galloped on to the jetty and I stayed on the embankment. The general walked slowly toward them.

Gen. Larionov Notes for an Autobiography

D.P. Zhloba Report Regarding Entry into the City of Yalta

One time I vanished. I was around six years old. I left our house without saying anything to anybody and wandered aimlessly. Why did I do that? I don’t know. I didn’t have any set goals, I remember that. I walked downhill, along Botkinskaya, examining my surroundings. Laborers were placing a huge carved cabinet on a cart and the carthorse was pawing at the ground, its flanks trembling. Both the cart and even the horse seemed small compared to the cabinet. The cart began moving heavily up the hill and the laborers supported the cabinet from both sides. This contraption moved jerkily, in time with horse’s steps. With a sad creaking. I stared after them, until they disappeared around the corner. And even then they continued creaking, unseen, for a time. / Later, I ended up on the embankment. I stood, leaning against the fence at the Tsar’s Garden, and watched street musicians. Cello, two violins, and a flute. They played there for many more years, I saw them on each of our trips to Yalta. My back could feel the cool rhombuses of the fence. I admired their ancient Jewish faces, nubby fingers with fine hair on the phalanges, and dusty black clothing. Their leader was an old violinist. The wind brought his long gray hair to his lips, flattening it there. He would blow the hair away or toss it by nodding his head. He made horrible grimaces as he played, and I watched him, unable to tear myself away. Everybody knew this was an expression of devotion to the music. Nobody laughed. The musicians played music by request or for no particular reason. Copper coins scattered into the open violin case. There was nothing they couldn’t play. To this day, I think most of them when I hear the word music. I listened to those musicians for a long time—the entire time they played there. I didn’t budge, even when they were taking their ceremonial bows. Only when their instruments ended up in their cases was the magic gone. I knew then that not another sound would be heard. / I continued my journey along the embankment. The embankment was narrow then, not like it is now. I walked right next to the cast-iron railings; the sea’s edge was just on the other side. My hand slid over the lower crosspiece of the railing: it was black with silvery, hanging drops. I collected those drops in my hand and they ran along my arm, flowing up my sleeve. That was nice. / I turned on Morskaya Street and ended up by a pharmacy I knew. It was cool inside the pharmacy. It smelled of oak cabinets and medicines. ‘What can I do for you?’ the pharmacist asked and patted me on the head. The tip of his nose was bulbous. I was proud to have come here by myself. I was quiet because I didn’t need anything at that time. After showing me a chair, the pharmacist disappeared into the next room. The chair was huge, with leathery folds. It reminded me of an old bulldog. I have not seen such a good chair since. The pharmacist brought me a cough drop. I popped it in my mouth and went outside. / Finally, I ended up at the jetty. I stepped onto it because that, it seemed, was where my road lay. When I reached the end of the jetty, I saw that the sea surrounded me on three sides. I didn’t grasp that when I was walking. But I saw it after stopping. Wet green stones rocked from the waves, the wind droned somewhere at the top of the lighthouse but—and this was most important—there was no more road. I stood, pressing my back against the lighthouse, and I was scared. I thought the jetty had pulled away and started moving out from under my feet. I froze with horror when I sensed the pitching. I got down on all fours, pressed into the warm, rough wall, and crawled to the opposite side of the lighthouse. Only there did I dare rise to my feet and slowly, step by step, head toward the other end of the jetty. When I raised my head, I saw my father: his anxious face, his arms open wide for an embrace. I knew that those arms would not allow me to perish now. I ran the rest of the distance. I ran to my father and cried. I threw myself into his arms.

They’d already reported to me that the general hadn’t evacuated. We’d searched the whole city for him. I rode to the general’s house at the head of the advance party but he wasn’t there. / ‘Vanished, did he?’ shouted comrade B. Kun. ‘Vanished,’ confirmed the maid. ‘He went out an hour ago. Didn’t say anything.’ / Comrade Zemlyachka jabbed her in the thigh with a pen knife and we galloped downhill, along Botkinskaya Street. A group of laborers was loading a cabinet with a two-headed eagle onto a cart. ‘Have you seen the general?’ I asked the laborers. ‘We saw him,’ said the the laborers. ‘He walked by here in 1888. And it’s 1920 now.’ / ‘Ah, so that’s it!’ I shouted. ‘That’s your idea of a joke? Well, here’s mine.’ I lashed their mare with my whip and she dashed off. The cabinet fell on the roadway but didn’t break. A sturdy item. The laborers silently went after the cart. I ordered that the cabinet be brought into the general’s house. We saw some musicians by the Tsar’s Garden. I halted the squad and listened, spellbound. They were playing on two little violins and one big one. Plus a wind instrument flute. ‘The soldiers’ hearts have coarsened from war,’ I told the musicians. ‘Play something touching for them.’ / A violinist stepped forward and said, ‘Soldiers, have a listen to Oginsky’s Polonaise.’ He swung his bow and the musicians simultaneously began playing. The first violinist’s face changed as he played. / ‘He’s full of emotion,’ comrade Kun told those present, a large tear flowing down his own cheek. As I listened to the heartfelt music of the Polonaise, I thought we’d missed the general after all. He couldn’t, in his right mind, stay in the city of Yalta. / We stayed there a fairly long time. Several privates dismounted and sat on the ground, listening to the music. I didn’t prevent them. And didn’t say anything. And comrade Kun didn’t say anything, either, though he wanted to in the beginning. That’s how it seemed to me. And the horses stood still and didn’t stomp their feet because an animal understands everything, even music. It’s a medical fact. Horses have never failed me, that’s a fact, too. But people have failed me more than once. I place little hope in them. / Then we went to ride along the embankment. It’s narrow so we re-formed into columns of two as we rode. A horse loves that formation. I rode silently. Generally I’m quiet when I’m on the move, so I don’t get distracted from my thoughts. And I look at the horse’s mane if I’m not in battle. I finger the mane with my hand. Now and then you burrow your face in the mane, too. The mane has a special smell. / From the embankment, we turned on Morskaya Street and went to the pharmacy. Comrade Gusin and I. He needed a new bandage because the old one was soaked with blood. Comrade Zemlyachka had licked away the blood that soaked through. ‘What can I do for you?’ asked the pharmacist. It seemed I’d seen this person with the weather-beaten face somewhere. / ‘Change his dressings,’ I told the pharmacist and pointed at Gusin. While the pharmacist bandaged Gusin, I sat in a soft chair. It was cool and calm. I could have stayed there forever. / ‘Try not to lose blood, comrade,’ the pharmacist told Gusin in parting. ‘A person only has six liters.’ / ‘Two three-liter jars,’ joked comrade Zemlyachka. / We set off along the embankment again. Where comrade Kun touched me on the leg—there!—with the crop. Lightly. And pointed at the jetty with that same crop. I looked around and couldn’t believe my eyes: the general. In the flesh. Just standing, at the edge, arms on his chest. The general! / Our sailors were already keeping watch at the jetty. That’s why we were in no hurry. The general already had nowhere to go but into the water. Comrade Kun proposed tying up the general along with two critically wounded Whites and tossing them into the sea, but comrade Zemlyachka condemned that method as ultra-liberal and bloodless. Comrade Kun was offended and later drowned all the critically wounded without consulting comrade Zemlyachka. They galloped on to the jetty and I stayed on the embankment. The general walked slowly toward them.