Chapter 2
The editorial office of the Polish newspaper Wieku Nowego was noisy. Everyone tried to clap me on the back and shake my hand. I was looking for Gennady Zbezhkhovsky, but he hadn’t shown up yet.
“He’s probably playing the piano at the Atlas Restaurant.”
“No, isn’t it too early?” I was surprised.
“Well, then he must be writing something for us, because he’s supposed to turn it in by seven.”
I went to the Atlas. Despite the fact that it was a long time until evening, the restaurant was buzzing, but not with the usual bohemian voices that appeared later, but with the chirping of merchants and stockbrokers, and the loud voice of the owner, Pan Edzyo Tarlersky, triumphed over everyone else’s. Genyo really was scratching something on the napkins.
“Genyo, howdy. Are you writing a p
