The time I saw someone drown outside Yusupov Palace, I had just finished telling the story of Rasputin to some visitors. First they tried to poison him, but he had already been feeding himself poison little by little to build up an immunity. Then they shot him, but he still survived. Finally they took him outside and drowned him in the canal. I finished the account of the drawn out death of the Tsaritsa's bewitching hope and saviour, and we walked outside, into the never-dying sunlight of the St. Petersburg summer. It had been 5 years since I was there last. There, on the canal, I saw the police dragging the soaking body out of the water. I glued my mouth shut, you see, I though I had made the story come true. I walked ahead quickly. I don't think my visitors saw, and I never told them. I only tell you, now.