"Not bad. And you?"

He didn't answer. He hugged my neck, pressed me to his sweaty chest, pushed me away, and disappeared into the next stall.

"Hey!” I shouted after him. “How's Tender? Washing out his underpants, I bet?"

"No way. Tender is surrounded by reporters. You should see him. He's such a big shot. He's telling them authoritatively … "

"How is he telling them?"

"Authoritatively."

"OK, sir. Next time I'll bring my dictionary along, sir.” Then it was like an electric shock. “Wait, Kirill. Come out here."

"I'm naked."

"Come out. I'm not a dame."

He came out. I took him by the shoulders and turned his back toward me. Nope. I must have imagined it. His back was clean. The rivulets of sweat dried up.

"What's with you and my back?” he asked.

I kicked him in his bare can and dove into my stall and locked the door. Damn my nerves. I was seeing things there, and now I was seeing them here. The hell with it all! I'd get tanked up tonight. I'd really like to beat Richard, that's what I'd like. That bum can really play cards. Can't beat him with any hand. I tried reshuffling, even blessing them under the table.

"Kirill,” I shouted. “Are you going to the Borscht tonight?"

"It's not the 'Borscht,' it's pronounced 'Borshch.' How many times do I have to tell you."

"Skip it. It's spelled B-O-R-S-C-H-T. Don't bug us with your customs. Are you going or not? I'd love to beat Richard."

"Oh, I don't know, Red. You simple soul, you don't understand what it is we've brought back."

"And I suppose you do?"

"Well, I don't either. That's true. But now for the first time we know what the empties are for, and if my bright idea works, I'll write a monograph. I'll dedicate it to you personally: To Redrick Schuhart, honored stalker, with respect and gratitude."