RUSSIA, 1951
I knew that our guest Uncle Sasha was a Chekist. But why, for example, would a Chekist hide in Odessa?
Chekists were supposed to walk around town in leather jackets and leather caps with stars, and at night catch American soldiers and spies, or hunt down smugglers at the port. Besides, Chekists seemed to me to be stern, elderly men, but Uncle Sasha was very young, no more than twenty-two.
To me, a 12-year old boy, he must have seemed to be a serious old man! Just look at his mouth — it’s as if it had been cut with a chisel; his forehead is wrinkled like an old man’s, but his eyes are still quick, sharp, and completely clear, like polished glass. And he’s strong, too. Tall. His hands are large. I couldn’t wrap one arm around his wrist.