Now he is roaming round a cold park by the river Dnipro in early spring or late autumn. The wet benches are devoid of any of the citizens of Kyiv, who in summer leave not a single seat free, whenever you go to that park. Now he is making his way from one park to another across a ramshackle bridge and down below, in the distance, there is a street which he has dreaded seeing ever since his mother used to take him for walks to show him Kyiv when he was a little lad. But he stops to look down, keeping his eyes fixed on the distant pavement.
Here is the stage where the symphony orchestra plays in the summer; at least it did in Soviet times. This is where his parents met. His mother had come along to listen to a concert of classical music. His father fortuitously happened to come along, becaus
