(111)
Through the doorway he watches MIsha clamber onto the sofa with a book -- his old picture book, Pavel sees, carried down through all these years like some remnant salvaged from his childhood. The boy opens the book, presses a finger to the page. "Ball," he says to himself softly, frowning: There is a concentrated, almost fierce resoluteness in his expression, as if it is up to him alone to name what his eye has fallen on.