The Invisible Life Of Ivan Isaenko - Plot & Excerpts
It is the second day of December. The year is 2005. I The Anesthetization of Ivan Isaenko Dear Reader, whom I do not know, who may never be, I write not for you but for me. I write because I can’t sleep. I write because Polina is dead. Currently, I’m drunk from three capfuls of vodka on a three-day-empty stomach. I have Nurse Natalya to thank for this. She is the only one who knows what I’ve lost. She is the closest thing I’ve ever had to a mother, and I know she thinks of me as a son. Like any good mother, she watches over me. For the last two days, she’s checked on me every fifteen minutes. She checked on me seven times tonight, and every time I was wide awake. On the eighth time, she discreetly entered my room with a bottle of Stoli. “Open your mouth, Ivan,” she said. “It’ll help you sleep.” She poured a capful into my mouth, and I coughed and heaved. As she pulled away, I grabbed her arm and asked for another. Hesitantly, she produced another capful and emptied it down my throat.
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