1971, Crimea
The grape bunch was bright, glowing from within, as if it consisted of several dozen little electric lamps painted in a light emerald color. It hung over the rough planed boards of the table that was flanked by two benches. The benches, like the table itself, rested on thick blocks of old, mealy-gray wood with a thin edge of damp black at the ground. If Grisha managed to seize the opportunity and clamber up first with his knees onto the bench and, after a cautious look around, onto the tabletop, he would then only need to stand up on the tips of his toes and pick one of the grapes. But there were always grown-ups sitting at the table from morning until evening, either playing cards or dominoes, and at night Grisha had to sleep. Therefore, for several days now Grisha, like a s
