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The Arrest: May 13, 1934 I showed M[andelstam] a picture of a couple of extinct parakeets, and he thought they looked very much like us. —Nadezhda Mandelstam Above the chairs, a circle of light: clink of spoons on borrowed plates. A single, precious egg scavenged for Anna nestles in its bowl. Anna has come at M’s request. She smells of cigarettes, of damp wool, of comfort. M’s called to the phone: the line clicks, clicks, disconnects. Nadya pours tea, thinks, How long will this take? Her hand shakes, spilling fragrant drops on the photo of Anna’s son, who smiles shyly, like the ghost of past lovers: M’s, or Anna’s, or her own, all jumbling together on this night when booted strangers will rifle the secrets of three lives. The talk crawls on: M tells again how he slapped Alexei Tolstoy’s face. Someone recites lines from Polonsky. 54 Nadya waits in the kitchen, measures time as smoke enters, exits her lungs: breathe, breathe. At one, the sharp, explicit knock. She rises. Sits back down. 55 ...

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