© Antonina W. Bouis, 2013
© Издательство КАРО, 2020
But even like this, my Russia,
You are most precious to me…Alexander Blok[1]
So this bitch at OVIR[2] says to me, “Everyone who leaves is allowed three suitcases. That’s the quota. Aspecial regulation of the ministry.”
No point in arguing. But of course I argued. “Only three suitcases? What am I supposed to do with all my things?”
“Like what?”
“Like my collection of race cars.”
“Sell them,” the clerk said, without lifting her head.
Then, knitting her brows[3] slightly, she added, “If you’re dissatisfied with something, write a complaint.”
“I’m satisfied,” I said.
After prison, everything satisfied me.
“Well, then, don’t make trouble…”
A week later I was packing. As it turned out, I needed just a single suitcase.