VASSILY P. AKSYONOV
49
long, long ago. Their bough withered, but ours has borne fruit right
up to the present. And who's to blame for that? I offered him all that
I possess. The glass in his palm, you see? He's noble, you see, 'cause
he hasn't touched it. He left it for me to have this morning. How
sweet of him! No, no doubt about it-his private life was definitely
misunderstood. "
She stood up and stretched. Her white slacks and blouse were
covered with bronze-colored dust. The Titan was beginning to flake
here and there.
o
Rome's darling, mythical Arabella! Every time you encoun–
ter her you think it's just some trick of television photography or that
newly invented holography. She scampered up the statue of Historic
Titan like a monkey, securing her bare feet cleverly in the sculp–
ture's defective spots, and took the glass.
"Good morning!"
Head tossed back. Large gulps. A huge neck muscle was
adeptly pumping down the moisture that had stood out overnight
under the starry fermenting sky.
"What's that? Something transmitted via enemy radio sta–
tions?" I asked.
"Oh, no! I myself put it in his palm," the pretender Arabella
reacted in fright, "this is my wine, I swear."
"I'm not talking about wine."
"What about, then?"
"The news. Pompeii's destruction."
"Oh, that!" she remarked, dangling her legs gaily as she hung
from HT's arms. "Yes, yes. It's either the song of an angel or bla–
tant lies from the radio."
I began to put on my track shoes.
"How's the writing coming?" Arabella asked. "Read me a few
lines from 'Repercussions.' "
I obliged.
"Bravo!" she exclaimed.
"And how's your singing doing?" I inquired.
"I'm fed up with it," she said with a laugh. "You've got it
easy-you sit there like a lump and write. Performing songs on TV
is desperately boring."
"But your fans ... " I started to say.
"I know, I know," she said, dismissing the comment with a
wave of her hand. "I'm trying to find a different way to get them to
