August 29, 2005

• I now interrupt the continuous hurricane coverage to note down some memories of Max...

  He did like to walk on the wild side.  In the way of little boys
  he quickly determined what most bugged Dmitry, and on Saturday I was
  sitting in the living room when Max decided to enliven the evening by
  going into the hall where the bedrooms are, do something or other
  that'd get Dmitry's goat, then run like the wind into where I was, to
  jump on my lap.  Burned into my memory is the last time he played
  this dangerous game....his eyes were popping, mouth was open, little
  legs were pumping like pistons as he shouted "MAMA!", desperately
  trying to get to me before Dmitry got to him. 

  He made it, much to Dmitry's disgust.  Dmitry grabbed his head
  with his fists in frustrated rage, turning nearly purple with the
  violence of his feelings, then drew himself up, pointed dramatically at
  Max and throbbingly declared in ringing tones, "Soon I will teach him
  the meaning of PAIN!"

  "Oh, you will not," I replied.  "He's just a little boy."

  Plus I pointed out the fact he made his demented denunciation in English, which didn't mean much to Max.

  Muttering what sounded suspiciously like Russian imprecations, he turned on his heel and stalked back to his room. 

  • 11:20 am
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