Liam

Paolo was brilliant, handsome, as per Pasternak, European. Yet even he compromised his style, censured his peers, collaborated. But when the Soviets took Titsian, they gave Paolo a choice: publicly confirm that his friend had been a spy merely posing as a litterateur or face certain death. Two hours, they said, to decide. Paolo nodded, staggered to the Writers’ Union, bit down on a single-barrel shotgun, and decided.