Traveling Short Distances
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"Moyi nogi..." sang the tenor, addressing his aria to the legs he'd lost in an air battle over Stalingrad. Jelen's shoulders began to quake; Nikolai Petrovich cast a severe glance at her, but that only made things worse. She fought hilarity as best she could, but she hadn't been prepared for the tenor's goofiness. The embarrassment and danger of the laughter only sent more tittering through her body. The more she tried ot keep the impulse back, the stronger it got. "Moyei nogi -- my legs," lamented the tenor, moving to other ludicrous rhymes which set off Jelena yet more. As the tenor fumbled for the cigarette he hadn't managed to light, Jelena's laugher took her over, spreading uncontrolled to every recess of a body which hadn't yet known orgasm or full drunkennes.. Her mother wept, her handkerchief at her mouth, as Jelena howled involuntarily. A half dozen rows of listeners turned to see the source of the commotion. A guard appeared, a beefy man who could have been an executioner. Pointing unequivocally at Jelena, he commanded her to rise an depart. Nikiloai Petrovich shook with rage, Eva Fedorovna wept, knowing that her muscle disease would one day leave her paralyzed like the tenor. Ushered out of the hall in tears, laughter, and shame, Jelena understood that she had only two possible courses for the future: the Archipelago or a ticket West.
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About the Book
A chiaroscuro of the human homing instinct, often insistent, seldom placated. The story takes us to the mid nineteen-eighties, before the advent of cell phones. Here even the telephone plays a supporting role, the instrument of friendship, revelation, and deceit. Europe's cities and their seasons set the backdrop for a tale of longing, doubt, and quests in midstream. "No one pities diplomats," says Ian Howlett, caught in a career many might envy. And yet. No one knew it at the time, but bloodless Cold War conflict would soon take new forms altogether.