Sochi
Published in Issue #36 Translated from Russian by Emilia A. Shrayer and Mira Isabella Shrayer subscribe to unlock the full storyFrom this entire seething adventure, crime, tragic incident (I don’t know how best to identify what happened before my eyes and with my participation), all that’s left in the years’ deck of cards is a sharp memory: the thunder and lightning of the brazen beauty’s green eyes and the curses and tears of an elderly gentleman who had changed from his military officer’s uniform into an awkwardly fitting cream tussore suit. And even though my recollections of these events have been dulled over the years, I still remember some of it.
I was seventeen years old, and dreamt of befriending a beautiful young lady. Like many young men, I had started dreaming of a beauty much earlier. But at the age of seventeen, artistic imagination made me realize exactly what kind of a beauty I was dreaming about. I was a frequent visitor to the Hermitage and the Russian Museum. It was probably art museums and endless reading that helped me conjure up an image of my desired beautiful lady out of hundreds of portraits painted on canvases or described by words printed on reams of paper. I was ready to recognize this alluring young beauty the way a mother is ready to recognize her unborn child. But neither the abstract mother, nor me, pregnant with my potential state of being in love, were given the chance to paint the portrait of our dream in advance of its arrival.
It happened in January 1953, a terrible year and month for Soviet Jewry....
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