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Knowing Sophia, or to be more precise, since I didn’t know her completely, I executed Operation Green Card in secret. This was not a major offense, considering that Sophia had had her eye on Doroshenko. For a while now the word «family» for her existed only on paper. Security is first and foremost, and the only way to protect yourself from needless blowups is to keep your mouth shut. This rule applies to anything you do.

As a result of the successful transaction, I found myself in New York, where the Russian-speaking area of Brooklyn had been selected for a start. But no sooner had I heaved a sigh of relief than I received a jolt: Sophia appeared at my door. Since she and I were not officially divorced, I don’t know what to call her. It’s still a mystery to me how she tracked me down, but there she was, with two steamer trunks and a bag flung over her shoulder, at the door of the house on West 12th Street. She had a grin from ear to ear, as though clothespins were holding it up, and fire in her eyes-a portrait of Napoleon after his victory at Austerlitz.