“Vladimir Vladimirovich Putin: 727-47893 …”: That’s what it said on the business card in my father’s estate. Let’s see if the number is still up to date. A tale that may not be entirely true.
When my father died and was buried in Prague, my mother courageously took over the role of survivor and took care of everything that had otherwise been his job: financial matters, tax matters, duties around the house and tenants. She insisted on doing everything exactly as he had done, emulating his thoroughness and reliable but cumbersome methods of avoiding mistakes. But it didn’t quite work: while my father used a single sheet of paper for his precise statements, which was then typed up and stored on the computer, my mother produced a mountain of handwritten calculations on used envelopes and post-it notes. In this system she moved with an unshakeable combination of desperation and determination. I was only allowed to help her on condition that I never deviated from my father’s methods.