YVGENY BOZ

        Yvgeny Boz was more anarchist than artist, and not above wild gestures of gratitude. For what was to me the small service of a simple word in someone's ear to ensure his exit visa would be processed smoothly and his departure from Mother Russia assured, he promised me a sculpture.
        I had been somewhat taken aback to discover he employed apprentices to begin his work, and that the master himself only laid his hands on it at the end. But his hands molded, shaped and caressed the dull lifeless clay into something that possessed a spirit of its own.
        Such were his eccentric ways that the piece destined to become mine was fashioned upon the podium as he gave his final news conference before leaving to the West, surrounded by the hungry news hounds of Europe and America's free press. As I stood watching and listening, an obvious member of the GRU firmly grasped my elbow, steered me out of the room and began to question me. Even a man of my position knows fear when confronted with these automatons, so I was pleasantly surprised when my answers were accepted without question or comment, and re-entered the room in time for Yvgeny to step down to the floor, stride across the room, embrace me in his terrifyingly strong arms and present me with his gift.
        But not the statue that I expected. Instead he gave me a hastily folded drawing which he stuffed into an envelope and another drawing that he forced into my free hand. And to tell the truth, the first thought that came unbidden to my mind was not of surprise or gratitude but of relief that now with two of Yvgeny Boz' works of art in my possession I was now in a position to sell them and ensure a more secure and luxurious lifestyle for myself. And from the look in his eyes I think Yvgeny knew what I had thought and was hurt by it, and as he left the room on his way to freedom and exile I felt I had betrayed him.