ANNA TIKHONOVNA WAS DRINKING TEA IN GESAR’S OFFICE. There was a cup standing in front of the boss, too, but he seemed to be entirely absorbed in the document that was open on his computer.

“How did the lesson go?” the old woman asked curiously.

“Fine.” I sat down facing her, taking advantage of Gesar’s silence to pour myself a cup of tea. “I told them you had cholecystitis.”

“Good,” said Anna Tikhonovna, nodding. “I hope you’re not too tired, Anton?”

“No, no, of course not,” I said, and took a sip of tea. Anna Tikhonovna was a woman of the old school. They said that, when there was no one there to see, our one and only teacher even drank her tea out of the saucer. She refused to acknowledge green teas and despised even more the herbal infusions that were called “teas” through some misunderstanding. As she conceived it, tea had to be as black as tar and as strong as a sinner’s conscience.

Or the other way round. As black as that conscience and as strong as tar.

And sweet.

Under the old woman’s watchful eye, I gave in and put three lumps of sugar into my cup. Stirred it. Took a swallow.

Strangely enough, it tasted good. Although at home I would never even have thought of drinking tea with sugar. I wouldn’t even have been able to swallow it.

“Why do you dislike this lesson so much, Anna Tikhonovna?” I asked. “I recall that in my time you didn’t take it either—you had flu. Tiger Cub took us for it . . .”

We fell silent for a moment.

“Anton, do you feel comfortable taking that lesson?” the teacher asked.

“Well . . . not really,” I said, wincing. “Explaining to young people that all their grandiose plans to ennoble humanity or their own country will never be anything more than so much dust, that all we can do is work with the minor details and stand up to the Day Watch . . . Yes, it’s not very enjoyable.”

“But it has to be done,” said Gesar, without looking up from the computer. “Anton, how do you cancel a marked list in Pages?”

“Go into ‘view,’ call up the ‘inspector’ window, and there’ll be a bookmark in it . . .” I looked at Gesar in surprise. “Have you decided to master the Mac now, then?”

“It’s interesting to learn something new,” said Gesar, sliding the mouse around the desk. “Or do you think I’m already too old for that?”

“Oh, come now, boss,” I answered, sipping at my tea. “You’re still a very robust old man.”