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the lining where the curtains meet is restitched seventeen times before the supervisor feels that the proper nuances have been attended to. A running cloth, again of velvet, is made to order. The pelmets are carefully belled with white lace. The insignia of the State is embroidered on the curtains, at the center, so the two halves will meet at the beginning and end of every show.
    When the curtains are finished, three representatives from the Ministry come to inspect them. They look the work over for an hour, running their fingers along the seams, gauging the height of the pelmets with their rulers, checking for consistency of color. They debate over the State insignia, holding a magnifying glass to the embroidered handle of a sickle. Finally they crack open a flask of vodka and each drinks a thimbleful. The seamstresses, watching through the blinds of an office window, touch each other’s elbows and sigh with relief. They are called from the office, and the men from the Ministry line them up and speak in gruff voices of collective harmony.
    The curtains are carefully folded and transported to the Opera House in a truck. Two carpenters are on hand, having designed a series of poles and pulleys to support the weight. A reinforced rope is threaded through the greased pulleys. Scaffolding is put in place to hang the curtains, and the cloth never once touches the ground.
    The first night, before the show starts, one of the stagehands, Albert Tikhonov—from a well-known family of stilt walkers—hitches himself high onto his stilts, winks at his fellow stagehands, crosses the boards like a giant insect, wooden ends clicking on the stage floor, checking for flaws in the curtain. He finds none.
    *   *   *
    The Motherland is benevolent. The Motherland is
    strong. The Motherland will protect me. The
    Motherland is benevolent. The Motherland is strong.
    The Motherland will protect me. The Motherland is
    benevolent. The Motherland is strong. The
    Motherland will protect me. The Motherland is
    benevolent. The Motherland is strong. The
    Motherland will protect me. The Motherland is
    benevolent. The Motherland is strong. The
    Motherland will protect me. The Motherland is
    benevolent. The Motherland is strong. The
    Motherland will protect me. The Motherland is
    benevolent. The Motherland is strong. The
    Motherland will protect me. The Motherland is
    benevolent. The Motherland is strong. The
    Motherland will protect me. The Motherland is
    benevolent. The Motherland is strong. The
    Motherland will protect me. The Motherland is
    benevolent. The Motherland is strong. The
    Motherland will protect me. The Motherland is
    benevolent. The Motherland is strong. The
    Motherland will protect me. The Motherland is
    benevolent. The Motherland is strong. The
    Motherland will protect me. The Motherland is
    benevolent. The Motherland is strong. The
    Motherland will protect me. The Motherland is
    benevolent. The Motherland is strong. The
    Motherland will protect me. The Motherland is
    benevolent. The Motherland is strong. The
    Motherland will protect me.
    *   *   *
    He hides the punishment lines from his father, but there is something about the crawl of the pen over the page that Rudik has grown to like. He connects the letters as if each word were a piece of string, never arranging the lines in columns, preferring their disorder, their bump up against each other. This is contrary to how the teacher wants it and sometimes the amount of punishment lines is doubled or tripled the following day.
    When his homework is finished he runs to the lake to check the flags along the shore. If they are at half-mast it means someone eminent has died, and this delights him since later Tchaikovsky will be on the wireless again, uninterrupted, and his mother will lean into it also.
    They have moved to a new communal house on Zentsov Street—one room, fourteen square meters, with an oak floor. A carpet from the market hangs on