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saleslady’s question as to what size he was, Levadski shrugged his narrow shoulders and asked to be measured. “I commissioned this excellent suit I am wearing shortly after the war, in London, at the royal outfitters, for the forty-second International Ornithological Congress,” Levadski said with outstretched arms. His breath stirred one of the saleslady’s thin curls, who, lips drawn in, was taking his chest measurements. “Back then I was a little taller and didn’t have a hunch, but I was just as unspectacular in breadth as I am now.” The saleslady wet her right index finger and started turning the pages of a style catalogue. “I haven’t grown a bosom, either,” Levadski tried joking.
    “What color would you like the suit to be?” the saleslady asked, without giving him the time of day. “Dark blue, brown, black, light gray, charcoal, pinstripe, dark buttons, gold buttons?”
    “Dark blue with dark buttons, please.”
    “And the lining?”
    “Burgundy of course.”
    The saleslady disappeared behind a door in her clattering heels, shortly afterwards reappearing with a dark blue suit and an older colleague. The lady explained to him that fashionable suits did not have a burgundy lining but were either dark gray or old rose. “Old rose would be stylish, dark gray would be more suited to business.”
    “Then I will take old rose,” said Levadski, who in times gone by would have blushed in a situation like this, in times gone by, when he found people who were in the habit of saying “in times gone by” dreadful.
    Levadski also bought a pair of suspenders, a beige scarf made of Irish pure new wool, a dark blue silk scarf with a rocking horse pattern, a silk bow tie with bright red bullfinches set against a black background, a silk tie with roseate terns and anchors, as well as ten white cambric handkerchiefs with an indecipherable monogram consisting of a multitude of curlicues. He had a hard time with the shirts. What they had in stock was checked or striped, with horrible plastic buttons. “Out of the question!” Levadski was incensed. “I have worn that cheap stuff for ninety-six years. Let me at least die in style!”
    The desire to die in luxury he had never lived in spread like wildfire within him. It grew within him and swallowed up his fear of death. The sudden desire for luxury robbed Levadski of any sense of respect for the seriousness of his situation and reduced his lung nibbled by cancer to a mere trifle.
    “My God!” Levadski moaned, “Is it so difficult to find shirts with mother-of-pearl buttons in a city of millions?”
    The buxom saleslady grabbed the receiver. “I will call our branch office, meanwhile please take a seat.” Out of protest, Levadski leaned against the sales counter with a pain-ridden face and stared out of the window. In the to-ing and fro-ing of people in the street he noticed a big white poodle in front of a sidewalk advertising column sniffing at a poster. Moscow Circus, Parachute Jumping Kamikaze Dogs Landing On The Back Of A Lion! Come And See Our New Fall Show! The dog lifted a hind leg, signed the poster and trotted off. Levadski deliberated on what the dog had meant to say by making the gesture. To hell with art? I can do that too? Down with posters – Save the rainforest?
    “Our branch on Frantsusky Boulevard stocks shirts with mother-of-pearl buttons. With a double cuff but, unfortunately, only in white,” said the saleslady, clasping the receiver with her diamond-bedecked hand. Levadski noted with satisfaction that the telephone was an anti-quated model with a cord and dial, like the one he had at home.
    “Marvelous. Double cuffs would be wonderful!”
    To the pitying gaze of the two sales ladies, Levadski did a twirl in front of the mirror in the new dark blue suit. Without hesitation, he kept the suit on – the style was called Dandy. While the two ladies packed his outfit from the ornithological conference into a suit box like a corpse,