“He had once heard from an elderly German that mankind’s ultimate luxury was an unbroken night’s sleep in a soft bed. Before that leaden, brutally sincere revelation, Starlitz had never been a devotee of slumbering. Nowadays Starlitz took sleep very seriously. Starlitz felt sure that if he ever lived as long as the old German had, his nights, too, would be flaking, restless, and broken by sinister flashbacks: not the thunder of Stalin organs on the frozen Eastern Front, necessarily, but other, m...ore personal equivalents. Zeta lay curled in a tight, twitching ball under her thin airline blanket. When you were eleven years old, even sleep was frenetic. A stewardess passed down the aisle, with the trancelike step of a professional who lived between time zones. Starlitz passed her three empty plastic liquor bottles and five disemboweled foil bags of peanuts. She collected the trash impassively, never meeting his eyes, and left him without a glance. He watched her vaguely as he secured his airline tray.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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