“There's an old Russian saying that goes some way or another. I don't know it. I don't speak Russian. But sometimes I think about it and wonder if it's relevant to what I'm going through at the time. Probably not. I mean what do Russian know about hunger, anyway?”

“Shall I tell you a joke about languages? Abulfaz asked.A joke. Yes, okay.What do you call a Russian who speaks four languages?I don't know.A Zionist. What about a Russian who speaks three languages?I don't know.A spy. And two? ... No? A nationalist. And only one? ... An inter-nationalist.”

“Do you know what ‘Sputnik’ means in Russian? ‘Travelling companion’. I looked it up in a dictionary not long ago. Kind of a strange coincidence if you think about it. I wonder why the Russians gave their satellite that strange name. It’s just a poor little lump of metal, spinning around the Earth.”

“I have some Russian friends. But probably only 10 percent. I don't hang out usually in the big Russian communities in Brooklyn and New Jersey.”

“Russian?" I asked dumbly. I do that sometimes.”

“That's what I learned when my last Russian winter thawed. The lesson wasn't about Russia. It never is, I don't think, when a relationship ends. It isn't your lover that you learn about. You learn about yourself.”