Naked May Day In Odessa Page

When he surfaced, he was twenty meters out. The two militiamen were arguing with the weightlifter. The violinist was already dressed, walking away as if she’d just been admiring the view. The accountant was peeking from behind his rock, still laughing.

And Lev ran.

No one cheered. There were no spectators. The old Soviet sanatoriums above them were empty, their windows like dead eyes. The only witness was the Black Sea, grey-green and indifferent.

But for the first time in ten months, he wasn’t looking for the shore. He was just floating. Waiting for the trouble to pass. Waiting for the May sun to get a little higher.