You know, my dear Ekaterina Sergeevna, it turns out I decided to write myself off too early. Either I philosophized enough among the ruins the other day, or the local sun cures any melancholy, but as soon as the storm passed, your Dimas Kalabas ran off to explore the city of Encarnación. With inexhaustible enthusiasm and curiosity, just like in his youth. Starting with the little church, wandering down the streets toward the river, sitting by the river and gazing at the vast river expanse and the other bank. And I walked so briskly along the paved sidewalks of this little town that I almost believed I was 20 again. Whistling and bouncing along, I was just about to break into a run toward the promising beach when suddenly I came across my reflection in a shop window, and was so startled I gasped. Good Lord, the years are passing! Where did that skinny boy go, the one who explored the provincial towns of his vast homeland on nothing but bologna sandwiches? Who is this mature man with gray hair? Where did he get this straw hat? And the embroidered shirt, huh? The shirt! And the handmade scarf, so flatteringly emphasizing the chocolate-brown South American tan? Look what Dimas Kalabas has become in Paraguay! Almost a movie actor. The glasses alone are worth something — with glasses like these, I really do look like the main character in an adventure film. No doubt about it — either a smuggler on the edge of civilization or a city crook. And the scenery around him matches perfectly — you can’t tell whether it’s the frontier or the capital. A white Catholic cathedral with an arcade. Little houses with tiled roofs. Empty streets, tree shadows on white fences, blue sky visible through tangles of wires. And by the river, a modern highway running through endless green fields. Along the shore, an avenue of stars leads straight into the little waves separating Paraguay from the Manhattan of Argentina on the other bank. And on the beach, like in the best Hollywood films about the good life, a bar with palm trees and sun loungers beckons invitingly, luring you in for rum cocktails. Who would have thought that many years later, a simple Siberian boy would be sipping a caipirinha, surrounded by billowing white curtains, like a movie star in a popular film? And how interestingly life has twisted and turned, that this main character only woke up inside me here. What is it about this Paraguayan city that, in its shop windows, I saw a completely new Dimas, someone I had never known before? And why had I never met him before, even though I had traveled all over Asia and South America? And what should I call him now? Señor Kalabas? Don Dimas?
So just imagine, my unforgettable Ekaterina Sergeevna: Señor Kalabas, in his straw hat, is sitting on the bank of the great Paraná River, looking through the waves at his past life and marveling at the twists and turns of his fate. But no matter how hard he tries — only Argentina and an endlessly blue sky are reflected in his mirrored sunglasses.
