“Mother hid the sour cream. There were years of famine, and not everyone got sour cream. They got it. Grocery orders from the father general. Because of this sour cream and other gastronomic joys that are commonplace for today’s consumer, but rare and inaccessible for those years, he was not allowed to invite his classmates to his house. His mother, the only daughter of a small dispossessed trader, from whom by that time only a fading surname-sign remained, painted on the wall of the house, where before the revolution there was a shop, and then in the small partitioned rooms she drank, fought and indiscriminately bred the village hooliganism, the mother, who had found herself an ideologically faithful husband, knew the value of camouflage...”