The roof of the bank “Dau and Dau” caved inward; the windows’ black voids bared themselves with dusty shards of glass. On a plastic doll covered with yellowish mold sat a rat. Indifferently, it watched the old man with small, glassy eyes full of laziness. Vines clawed their way into every crack, into every entryway, harshly and dully. From shattered shop displays onto the pavement spilled some kind of rags in gray heaps. Crushed tubes of foreign cosmetics, broken antique vases, swollen books, unrolled fabric, cassette tapes—everything was mashed, churned up, pressed into the mud, as if an unknown monster, breaking out of the jungle in blind rage, had trampled the “Khiton”…» — In such surroundings, in a distant Asian country, they raise a superhuman who very soon, by all measures, must outdo us…