Chapter 3
On the way to Bryukhovychi, I parked near Dzherelna Street, which was so bumpy that it was better not to drive on. Its crooked lanterns and sewer drains, clogged with leaves and shells, recalled [Emperor] Franz Joseph. An incredible mixture of scents swirled there, with every step changing its shades, which were alternately dominated by those of laundry, pea soup, and burnt charcoal. Disheveled heads peeked out of windows. In addition to the scents in the air, there was noise, which from time to time was pierced by someone’s sharp desperate cry or curse: “Nasty b***h! Doctor’s shiksa1! You sick pig! I hope you sleep on a bed of nails tonight!” From early morning to late at night the most dissolute prostitutes of Lviv traipsed along Dzherelna Street and the adjacent Shpytalna Str
