Waiting for Nabokov

摘要

In June 1987 my parents and I left Moscow for good. We spent most of the summer in the sleepy Tyrrhenian coastal resort of Ladispoli, where we waited for our US refugee visas. Soon after arriving in Ladispoli from Rome, my parents and I discovered a Russian lending library at the local Jewish refugee centre, which wasn't really a refugee centre but a suite of catacombic rooms outfitted with two or three file cabinets, a fax machine and a copier. Two Iranian Jews in aviator sunglasses took over the rooms and used them in the manner of a private office. Nobody knew what their business was; nobody asked questions. A slothful and contemptuous official of the Jewish Immigrant Aid Society (JIAS) visited once a week from Rome to sit in his cubicle and smoke; sometimes a lady friend on killer stiletto heels accompanied him.