Everything starts with a trifle. Miss one broken pane and the order is lost.
Blessed are those who can name the culprit of any tragedy and find peace. The prose of life is more complicated: insurers divide liability by percentages of fault. I’d suspect the prophetess is that same Amy, but don’t take my guesses seriously: the habit of suspecting everyone helps one not go mad where everything may turn out to be a counterfeit. Better follow the French counsel and look for the woman.
The mullah asked what had happened. I answered: “It’s as if he has been swapped. His new one has taken everything from me except Valdai.” My parents gave their blessing for decisive action. “Fancy-schmancy back!” said my father. I answered: “At any cost.” I must fetch the real Putin from another planet, but a flight there isn’t possible yet. So I must install another double, obedient to me.
In our family a blessing means a directive, a task, sometimes an order. We are successful athletes too, and know how to fight for first place.
Each link in the chain worked independently: Kabaeva’s grievance, a general’s ambition, China’s calculation, the staffers’ fantasies. Only a trigger was missing: a new order from the true master. It sounded in the Kremlin. The Empress was declared an undesirable organization, and now the country has two emperors and no dictator.
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