Vladimir was for me like a magician who knew all the entrances and exits from the Magical inner world of a person, and knew how to lead everyone who trusted him into it. When he walked slowly down the street, breathing heavily, stopping, covered in sweat, he looked like a poor lonely patient. But as soon as he spoke, everything around him became so fabulous and beautiful that even resentment against those “bosses” who fired him from his lips sounded1