And again the eternal Venichka will wake up in the front room, hugging a little suitcase to his chest. And again he will ask for sherry at the station restaurant. And again a pipe will sing on his soul—because in the suitcase there will appear two bottles of “Cuban,” two “quarter-bottles” of “Russian,” “pink fortified” and two sandwiches—“so it won’t make him sick.” And again he’ll immediately drink on the stretch: “Sickle and Hammer — Karacharchovo”…