"One cloudy but luminous day,
towards four in the afternoon on April the first, 192-
(a foreign critic once remarked that while many novels,
most German ones for example,
begin with a date,
it is only Russian authors who,
in keeping with the honesty peculiar to our literature,
omit the final digit)
a moving van,
very long and very yellow,
hitched to a tractor that was also yellow,
with hypertrophied rear wheels
and a shamelessly exposed anatomy,
pulled up in front of Number Seven Tannenberg Street,
in the west part of Berlin."






The Gift