Eventually the package was torn open and its contents displayed on the low coffee table. As I had anticipated, the plastic bag had contained far more than could have fitted into it naturally. There was a liter bottle of vodka—and old vodka at that: the spelling on the label was pre-Revolution. And there was also a three-liter glass jar, filled with grainy black caviar. Illegal, poached goods—no doubt about it. But then, that was hardly likely to bother Gesar, and it would bother Erasmus even less. And, finally, there was the flower pot that I was used to seeing on the windowsill in the boss’s office. Growing in the pot was a terribly ugly, crooked little tree that any bonsai master would have grubbed up out of pity. I recalled with some embarrassment that during a certain meeting that had dragged on for a long time, when Gesar had said that anyone who wanted to smoke could do so, I’d stubbed my cigarette ends out in the tree’s pot, for lack of an ashtray. And I wasn’t the only one.

Erasmus set the vodka and caviar on the floor without a second glance. Then he placed the pot with the little tree in it at the center of the small table and sat down on the floor to gaze at this botanical misunderstanding.

The tree stood about fifteen centimeters high. As gnarled as an ancient olive and almost completely bare—there were only two little leaves protruding optimistically from one branch.

Erasmus sat there, looking at the little tree.

I waited patiently.

“Astounding,” said Erasmus. He reached for his glass and took a sip of whisky. He turned the pot slightly and looked at it from a different angle. Then he screwed up his eyes—and I could tell that the old Other was looking at the little tree through the Twilight.

“You’re not aware of the essential significance of this gift, are you?” Erasmus asked, without looking at me.

“No, sir,” I answered with a sigh. And suddenly it occurred to me that Erasmus was probably a Sir in the original meaning of the word.

Erasmus stood up, walked round the plant pot, and muttered: “Well, damn me . . . Anton, please step back or protect yourself . . . I’m going to use my powers a bit.”