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At that time (I’m talking about the early 1990s) newspaper ads such as «Seeking commercial marriage to a woman moving permanently to the U.S.» were not a rarity in the Ukraine. A lot of my ex-countrymen were trying to move to America by making use of the female factor. I wasn’t any different. A marriage, even a fictitious one, would enable me to cut the knot called Sophia. When that name is uttered, please remove your hat, because my wife is onstage. Just for a short time, I hope, because it’s really because of her that I decided to emigrate. Our marriage had run out of steam, and it seemed to me that the best way out was to secretly move (you can call it «flee»-that’s probably what it looked like) overseas.

First Sophia vanished with some Chechen, and for a few weeks I was beside myself, searching for her among friends and acquaintances. Then she came back, acting as if nothing unusual had happened. She announced that she had been on a peacemaking mission to the Caucasus, and had even met with General Dudayev, the president of Chechnya at the time. She couldn’t come up with a better alibi! I hadn’t yet recovered from the shock when, without even catching her breath, she touched off a flirtation with Doroshenko, who was staying with me. Then the Chechen suitor resurfaced. What normal man would endure that kind of abuse! Cling to a nonexistent marriage? It’s stupid. Everything comes to an end. If Sophia had decided to test my patience, she got the result she was looking for: it had limits.