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Vol. 13, No. 4

A Night at Borisís
by Ingo Schulze

Translated by John E. Woods

I need to preface my account of that evening, that night, by saying that Boris, who always spoke of himself as my oldest friend, is no longer alive. I don’t mention this here because Boris is dead. I would think of him no differently were he still alive, nor do I have to reproach myself for not having told him how much that evening, that night, means to me—quite apart from our confusion and embarrassment when we all finally went home. It was truly the most extraordinary party I’ve ever been to, even if I did play only a marginal role.

To read the rest of this story and others from the Winter 2009 / 2010 issue, please purchase a copy from our online store.

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