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Russia October 24, 2007
 
My First Russian Corpse
A Bum, A Bill, And A Body By Kirill Clausewitz Browse author
 
Page 3 of 3
 

As we shook hands I apologized for the distrust, but I really though maybe robbers were using his name to lure me outside. He seemed genuinely surprised when I outlined the set-up.

"That's what you were worried about?" he said.

I told him I saw the report about the knife to the hand he took.

"Really? It's on the Internet? Can I see it?"

"Sure," I said. He went over to the neighbors' place and rang the doorbell. He turned around and said he'd stop by when he was finished.

I went back to my chess game, and in another five minutes he was ringing my doorbell. I let him in and guided him over to the computer to show him the press release. He managed to sneak in a pot-shot about the tidiness of our apartment.

"What is this, creative disorder?"

I held up my laptop for him to read the report, which he did aloud and, seemingly, in one breath. The entire report. Four-hundred words. Out loud.

"You know, that guy was just convicted," he said after he finished reading. "But he's name wasn't Mirtskhulava [as in the report]. It was something that ended in 'shvili.'"

I refrained from mentioning that almost every press release from city police has their noble officers arresting guys whose last names end int "idze," "shvili," "yan," and "iyev." Rarely does one come across an "ov." And if it's an "enko," you know the perp has a Ukrainian passport.

He seemed in a hurry to leave, and I didn't really feel like offering him tea. But as he was on his way out, I remembered the dead bum.

"What happened to that guy who died at the bus stop the other day?" I asked.

"The bum?"

"Yeah. Did he just die?"

"I'm not sure. Prosecutors took the body. They're doing the autopsy."


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