“He rarely ventured out, and, on the few occasions that he did, it was to buy a Russian language newspaper and take it to a drab suburban park. There he'd read it, leave it on his bench, then walk back to his hideous housing block. He did not look around, gaze at buildings, absorb the beauty, breathe deeply of the air. Targov spent three days following him. When it became too tedious he turned the job over to Rokovsky. "Listen," Targov told him, "this is a little man who lives a little l...ife. Not one who dreams up vast schemes to be carved out in the desert sand." "The work is his. I've verified that." "Who paid for it?" "I told you. An American group, some kind of fine arts foundation." "Why choose him?" "Perhaps out of pity." "Perhaps this, perhaps that. There's something wrong here, Tola. I want facts. You must find out for me: Why Sokolov? Why?" At night Targov visited the warehouse where "The Righteous Martyr" was stored. Rokovsky had arranged for the sculpture, covered with a plastic sheet, to be placed upon timbers so that it was suspended a foot above the floor.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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