The Monkey Link (2015)
“This place didn’t recall a homeland—it was one. And it didn’t belong to me. I won’t name it. Its anonymity will be my excuse. This happened in 1979. I was here for the first and last time. The description, for fear of being inaccurate, will be minimal. May anyone who recognizes it forgive me.
It was unexpected, this place. Or had become unexpected. This had occurred within our visible life span. Before, perhaps, the place had seemed to grow up from some broader locality, to crown it. Now it was... strikingly incongruous, impossible … for the city on which it was based had already ceased to be. No, this isn’t a description after an atomic attack. There is construction here, there is life; the avenue goes straight, always straight, and with no change at all becomes a highway; the same dead-white multistory boxes, occupied and unoccupied, finished and unfinished, all equally un-livable; no people can be seen going in or out of them; you feel as if you’re riding through one and the same place—that is, standing still; and here, at the city limit, when the highway finally plunges back into the less developed space of Russia, you have to turn left, and your mind is so lulled by the monotony of the road that you are quite unprepared for perception.MoreLess
It was unexpected, this place. Or had become unexpected. This had occurred within our visible life span. Before, perhaps, the place had seemed to grow up from some broader locality, to crown it. Now it was... strikingly incongruous, impossible … for the city on which it was based had already ceased to be. No, this isn’t a description after an atomic attack. There is construction here, there is life; the avenue goes straight, always straight, and with no change at all becomes a highway; the same dead-white multistory boxes, occupied and unoccupied, finished and unfinished, all equally un-livable; no people can be seen going in or out of them; you feel as if you’re riding through one and the same place—that is, standing still; and here, at the city limit, when the highway finally plunges back into the less developed space of Russia, you have to turn left, and your mind is so lulled by the monotony of the road that you are quite unprepared for perception.MoreLess
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