Victor: I’m neither. Idealism – materialism are simply points of view, instruments, say, kind of glasses we use to look at the world, some glasses we select are good for reading newspapers; others are good for watching TV. Religion starts where knowledge in its impotence gives way to faith, reason to morals and ethics; the borderline between them is always relative and conditional.

Bachkov, approaching: Sunbathing?

Andrei: What else is there to do? I guess we’ll have to spend the rest of the holiday season here.

Bachkov: Well, it’s not up to me to decide who or what time is spent here, but I’m sure they won’t release you until the festival ends and its foreign guests leave the country.

Dandelion, an old man about 80, addressing Bachkov: Anatoli Sergeevich, could you please give me the keys. I want to weed this flowerbed with dahlias, time permitting.

Andrei: Time is no problem here.

Dandelion looks peevishly at Andrei, without saying anything.

Bachkov: Here they are, Evgeniy Pavlovich. Watch out for the sun: they say it will be hot today.

Andrei: How did this Dandelion come to be here?

Bachkov, taking a seat: His sisters handed him over. He has two sisters in Moscow, and he lived with them…

Andrei: Is he single?

Bachkov: He is.

Andrei: Well, what’s the story?

Bachkov: The story is the usual one: either he got on their nerves, or their children wanted more living space…

Andrei: Well, he seems mentally quite sound.

Bachkov: You’d better ask Miroshkin, the late head of the hospital.

Andrei: Which Miroshkin? Do you mean Professor Miroshkin?

Bachkov: Yes, professor Miroshkin, our former head of the hospital. Did you know him?

Andrei: I surely did. He was my forensic expert, diagnosed me as schizophrenic and certified me as non compos mentis, in short, signed and sealed everything the KGB used to frame me.

Bachkov: Well, it was either him or somebody else: you wouldn’t have avoided it anyway.

Andrei: Maybe. I’ll only say that prior to Miroshkin they took me to Serbskiy Institute and asked their academician to diagnose and certify me. And he refused…

So, you say the old bastard has kicked the bucket?

Bachkov: He died four years ago.

Andrei: And what did he send the Old Dandelion here for?

Bachkov: I don’t know. Maybe for a bribe, or maybe he just did a favor. Anyway, during his term the

Dandelion received sanatorium-like treatment, and had free to access to Miroshkin. The present head of the hospital treats him well too. After all, he’s harmless, poses no problem to us, and he likes flowers. This garden is the result of his work here: those gorgeous flowerbeds under the windows, and these lilac bushes. Incidentally, I put my nose into his case file just to find out something about his background. Well, in his early twenties he graduated from Moscow University, after which there’s not a single record of his work, or anything.

Andrei: Oh, so the Old Dandelion is a veteran loafer? Why didn’t they try him for parasitism? The first frame they tried to put on me when the authorities decided to put me away was a little charge of parasitism.

Bachkov: I don’t know. He doesn’t have any criminal record either. Just no record of anything which could tell what his life was. Of course, it’s not as if it were my business. But, it’s curious.

Andrei: Yeah, if this regime survives after all, my prospects seem as bleak as those of old Dandelion: either take up arms, or live and die outlawed, behind barbed wire.

Bachkov: What’s wrong with barbed wire? As far as I know, you’ve been living in your Star City behind barbed wire all your life, without any objections.