er is being exhibited by
quite adult "uncles" at the opening of exhibitions of the so-called
"new art."

Mikey dressed, too, and we came down in a group to the living room
where Gribatchov was having an argument with our American colleagues.
The topic was familiar, I should even say a classical one--the freedom
of the press. In the heat of the dispute the _NR_ publisher proposed
to Gribatchov an exchange of articles on important international
topics under reciprocal terms--once a week the editor of _The New
Republic_ would publish an article in the _Literary Gazette_
presenting the American viewpoint on some specific problem and once a
week a representative of the _Literary Gazette_ would give the Soviet
point of view in an article in _The New Republic_. Apparently this
idea seemed very attractive to our American colleague, and he was
attacking Gribatchov with quite a lot of energy.

I did not have a chance to hear the argument to its end. The
fair-haired David, with whom I had become quite friendly, dragged me
away to the next room. We conversed in the manner of cavemen, using
dramatic gesticulations and incoherent sounds, and yet we somehow
managed to understand each other. David even managed to convey that he
had built that radio himself, and that he likes to listen to Russian
music. In proof of this he even sang, with boyish diligence and with a
broken juvenile "basso," a melody taken out of _Swan Lake_. However,
he rendered it with a foxtrot rhythm.

I really liked that lively American youngster with his tall build, his
curly fair hair, his rooster-like voice and his absent-minded
disposition which strongly reminded me of my eldest son.

David showed me his favorite books, and then he suddenly produced a
peculiar-looking magazine printed with a multigraph. He prodded his
chest in a self-satisfied manner to demonstrate to me that this was
his own magazine. He showed me a caricature drawing with his finger
and then pointed his finger at Mikey, thus making clear that his
brother was the artist.

Then the children ran back to the living room and came back dragging
their father with them and M. M. Lopuchin, whom they had literally
abducted out of an interesting conversation with the ladies. It was
then that I came to hear the story of the magazine, which bore the
romantic name _The Green Spring-Menemsha Gazette_.

* * * * *

Michael senior, the children's father, evidently liked t