Liberation Movements

Начало книги

“Two days ago-Saturday-we find you in the middle of eske Bud jovice, walking the main street in a daze. Correct me if I’m wrong, please. You don’t have the documents to be in eske Bud jovice, because you’re supposed to be here, in Prague. You’re a student of…” The Slovak officer bent over the table, the ceiling lamp reflecting off on his hairless scalp as he squinted at his clipboard. “Musicology. A musician?”

“I study theory,” said Peter, “but I don’t play.”

“I see.” As the officer stood, his chair scratched the stone floor. “I’m not a mystic, comrade; I can’t read minds. So, before sitting down with you here, I ask the faculty; I ask your roommate, this Josef. A feisty one, he is. Almost spits in my face when he tells me you’re in Austria by now-safe from the Russian tanks that, as he puts it, will never crush the flowers of Prague’s spring. ” The officer rubbed the edge of his long nose, mustache twitching. “But headstrong Josef is wrong, because by the time of his rash statement you’re back in Prague, aren’t you? Our esteemed Warsaw Pact comrade-soldiers have brought you and other sundry hooligans back from the Austrian border. Funny, no?”

Читать дальше →