On Rise Street in St. Petersburg lived a man called Ivan Jakovlevitch. Ivan was a barber, but not a particularly good one. People always said, ‘Be careful of that Ivan. He makes men bleed.’
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She knew what she was doing was wrong. She had known the moment she saw him. But love didn’t care about what side of a wall you were on, even if she was on the side of the palace gardens and he was stood in the ruined fields.
The war had gone on for years, but it only took a moment for her to lose to his eyes. They stared at her through a hole in the wall. She knew he was from the other side. He had the eyes of the Others, the Enemies. They were so bright that she could see her reflection in them.
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Listen, and I will tell you what happened. Then you can judge how healthy my mind is. You see, my body is strong. My hearing has become much stronger. I can hear sounds far and near. I am not weak, like a crazy man.
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Once upon a time, in old Japan, there was a Buddhist monk named Zenchi. Zenchi was well-known at the temple where he lived because of his nose. It was about five or six inches long, and it hung down his face, from his upper lip to the bottom of his chin. It was fat at the top and fat at the bottom, and looked like a long sausage, which hung off his face and swung from side to side.
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