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from him. He spent so much time with me in bookstores, back when you could still find things to buy; half my large library was collected thanks to his efforts! You can call him at any moment and learn about the most interesting exhibits and concerts in Moscow. He also plays the piano well. So according to his own theory, he’s abnormal, a real schizophrenic.

M A Y 5. By the way, I heard that expression about the psycho from another friend who clearly considers himself part of that merry band. He obviously means a pleasant eccentric, an original, not like everyone else. But I think he’s overestimating himself. He lives too well in our society. Psychos and eccentrics don’t flourish here. They lack the calculation and flexibility to blend into the Soviet system. Often their eccentricity is a way of getting away from the reality of our life into their own world.

Take Oleg Vladimirovich, for instance. He really belongs in Geneva or New York. It’s not clear why every time someone else gets to go instead of him. He graduated from the diplomatic academy and is fluent in a foreign language, but he must not have the connections. He is, however, famous for his collection of National Geographic. He has several decades’ worth at home. So he travels in his armchair, as that magazine recommends. Oleg Vladimirovich is an Anglophile. He even resembles an Englishman—tall, thin, and conservatively dressed. He always has oatmeal, made with water, and a steak for breakfast. He insists that the meat be cut against the grain. Of course, it’s a moot point since we don’t have meat nowadays.

He has a mysterious weakness: He’s a confirmed bachelor. So is Rene Georgievich. It’s strange. In Moscow there are many excellent potential brides and grooms, but you can never get them together. Recently we tried to marry off Oleg Vladimirovich, and here’s what happened. A friend of mine saw him at my place and started sharpening her skis, as we say. She’s a practical girl and knew that he could be made into a good husband. At first everything went well. We invited them over together another time and disappeared into the kitchen at the right moment. When we returned, they were holding hands (he hadn’t even noticed how his hands had ended up in those tender handcuffs). Then she got sick in a very timely manner, and he visited her and brought flowers and fruit. Marina was already planning her wedding dress. She even wondered how a man like him was still running around free. And suddenly it became clear: His mother, with whom he lived, was against all women. When little Oleg disobeyed, she beat up her forty-year-old baby. When Marina, talking to Oleg Vladimirovich on the phone, heard him fending off his jealous mother, her dreams vanished. We saw that he had been in his mother’s power too long to get rid of her now. It’s a shame, for he’s a fine, intelligent, and talented man.

Many of my friends wonder why I’m not in the marriage market. My own program is enough for me. Two programs would be much too much.

MAY 10. Here’s a truly tragicomic matrimonial story, a modern Soviet plot for Gogol. Tatyana Leonidovna has a lot of trouble with suitors. She’s a strange one, hoping to find a good husband in our day. She doesn’t want much, a kind, intelligent man, so that she’s not so lonely. Tatyana Leonidovna, by the way, is an attractive blonde of fifty and a university professor. But all her suitors are more impressed by her wealth than her distinctions. She has a beautiful old apartment in the center of Moscow with antique furniture and a big dacha outside town. There are no heirs because her first marriage was childless. The men quickly figure out what’s what. Once she had to call a friend to help get rid of one such suitor. This time she is in real trouble. She hadn’t called us in several months, and suddenly we heard the news: She’s married. He is also a professor of mathematics. At first things were going well, with just one exception: He refused to sleep with her. He said that he had to get used to it. But this was an important aspect for Tatyana. She is a woman in her prime. In short, her eyes gradually opened. The new husband, named Leopold, is busy at the dacha and showing an unhealthy interest in her antiques, asking about their provenance and price. His grown sons are doing the same. Tatyana is nervous, losing sleep, and is carefully tasting her food, afraid of being poisoned. We had a talk and decided that it was time to get rid of him. Her apartment has a separate dark entrance, and the first-floor windows open onto an empty courtyard. He could hire thugs to bump her off.

I’ve decided one must be careful with one’s boyfriends. I don’t have any particular treasures, but I do have a good library. It doesn’t take much anymore.

MAY 13. Tatyana’s so-called husband has revealed himself completely. There’s no doubt that he’s a fortune hunter. A day after our last conversation she asked him to leave the house, and he did reluctantly. Two days later he called, and she said she was going on a business trip. Actually she wasn’t going anywhere and had in fact invited a woman friend to stay with her. Just a few hours later there was a warning ring of the doorbell. The two women were prepared. Tatyana hid behind the door while her friend answered. Seeing the friend, Leopold started shouting at her and accusing her of theft. He tried to push his way into the apartment. When that failed, he went away, threatening to call the police. In the meantime, Tatyana called the police herself. Leopold returned in ten minutes with his police and asked them to take away the alleged criminal who was in the apartment while the lady of the house was away. At the right moment Tatyana appeared triumphantly, asked what the noise was all about, and introduced her friend to the guardians of law and order. The police checked the owner’s passport, saw that she was registered to live there, and relaxed. Leopold was stunned, but his ignominy was just beginning. The police Tatyana had called arrived. Now his passport was checked, and he wasn’t registered to live there. Fortunately she hadn’t registered him. Now he was the domestic hooligan. The friend told the police how he had shouted and threatened and tried to get into the apartment. Leopold left in shame.

Today Tatyana Leonidovna went to a lawyer who told her to file for divorce immediately. He told her that Leopold still had a chance of wresting away some of her property even though the marriage was not consummated. Who would care whether he slept with her or not at that age? He’d just say he was

impotent. Maybe he was. Tatyana Leonidovna should have found out before she got married, but he had played at being an old-fashioned gentleman, which she liked. She’s paying for her dreamy naivete and acting like a nineteenth-century maiden.

M A Y 2 0 . I keep complaining about how bad life is in Moscow, but I should remember the people who live in small provincial towns. I’d go crazy there. People live there and find joy, and some live with more dignity than those in the capital. One of the best ways is to give up on reality and live in your own world, like our dear friend Vladislav Aleksandrovich. Outside his window is a dreary little town with muddy streets, empty stores, and drunkards all around, but he travels between ancient Rome and the Middle Ages and conquers the meaninglessness and hopelessness of his surroundings. His favorite spot is a used- book store. Over many years of hunting for books he has created a unique library. And he speaks differently somehow—simply and with refinement, as if he had been transported from the educated nineteenth century. His every visit to our place is a banquet for the soul and mind. He is a very tactful and even shy man, and he not only doesn’t show off his knowledge, but practically apologizes for it. It is not his goal so much as a way of life. The dynasty of French kings is more real to him than the members of the Soviet government. For every contemporary event he has a historical analogy, and for him our society is always associated with the fall of the Roman Empire. I wonder if the analogies help when he is running from store to store in search of chicken, meat, and other foodstuffs. On every trip to