“What’s the difference?”
“Mongolians are illiterate.”
“And the Chinese?”
“The Chinese were literate before the Mongols appeared.”
“Yes,” says Marusia, “I remember him. You brought him along once. And now what?”
“Well,” I say, “now we have to find him. The funeral is tomorrow. And there’s no sign of him. Can you imagine?”
“Yes,” says Marusia, “it’s a mess. What did you say his name was?”
“Carburetor.”
“Strange name.”
13.00-14.00
“Carburetor?”
“Right.”
“Listen,” Marusia finally lifts her head and looks at me more or less consciously. “Is that the guy whose father died?”
“Stepfather.”
“One and the same d**k,” says Marusia, waking up fully. “Yesterday your friend phoned me, the pudgy, dirty one.”
“Cocoa,” I say.
“What?”
“That’s what we call him—Cocoa.”
“What a nightmare,” she
