“To be able to love a person, they must have at least one flaw”
Yury Nikolayevich Tynyanov
Alexander had never told anyone about his Abyssinian grandfather and had never asked why the boys teased him as a little Abyssinian. When one day he asked his father how long ago the grandfather died, Sergei Lvovich first didn’t understand and thought Alexander was asking about his father—Lev Alexandrovich. With a sigh he answered that it had been a long time ago and that it was a man of rare soul:
— A society’s darling!
When Sergei Lvovich learned that Alexander was asking about his grandfather Annibal, he first froze and said that that grandfather hadn’t even thought of dying; then he frowned and, gathering his courage—because it was in the presence of Maria Alekseevna—announced that Alexander must not think about this grandfather, because he was Pushkin and no one else.
— And your grandmother is Pushkin too—and so is your mother.
Maria Alekseevna was silent.
At last the diplomas were found; the scrolls were in perfect condition. Sergei Lvovich simply forgot that he had locked them not in a desk drawer, but in a special cupboard where rare books were kept. He was in bliss.
Slowly untying the large bundle tied with string, he broke the big red seal and showed the old diplomas to Alexander.
— Be so kind as to look here—do you see the seal? It’s a big seal. The letter is old…