Sep 1967 • Vol. XXIX No. 4 Fiction |

The Demons of Nikolai

A handsome young man called Sasha Ivanovich Kuznetsov, of thirty, with overgrown curly hair and large dark eyes, who after the war had been transported from a German DP camp to Chicago by a charitable Christian association, rose at noon without waking the girl he had slept with, yawned, hitched up his long white cotton nightshirt, and climbed on the table under the basement window to unfasten the window guard, as he called it. He himself had made the window guard of plywood, acoustical tile, and cotton, all wrapped in green plastic, and lashed it to the barred window with ropes and hooks to muffle the noises of the street. Lowering the contraption to the floor, he looked out over the sunlit, trashy pavement. Scheise! A parking ticket fluttered on the windshield of Jill's blue convertible. The billboard across the street, loyal to Schlitz for two months, had sold out in the night to Winston filter cigarettes. The Blue Tap on the corner had opened its door to the dust and car fume

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One Evening

By Mary Lavin

A handsome young man called Sasha Ivanovich Kuznetsov, of thirty, with overgrown curly hair and large dark eyes, who after the war had been transported from a German DP camp […]

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