"If Americans spent half as much on Christmas presents," Gennady says, gazing at the opulent display window at Macy's, "you could use the rest to solve world hunger."
"If the United States and the Soviet Union had ever gotten it together to stop building nuclear warheads," Daniel returns, "the money saved could have solved world hunger instead."
Gennady smiles ruefully and shakes his head. They are walking down Fifth Avenue, past shop windows shining with candy-colored displays to entice the hordes of Christmas shoppers.
"Is this your way of saying you don't want a Christmas present?" Daniel asks.
Gennady lifts his shoulders. "What is there that I need?"
"Some new shirts," Daniel suggests. Gennady is apt to wear his clothes till they fall apart.
"Ah! And I'll buy you a decent coat," Gennady teases. "For once in your life you won't shiver through the wintertime."
"I'm not shivering," Daniel protests.
"You will be once the sun goes down," said Gennady. And as if in answer to his words, a chilly breeze whirls down the avenue, sending awnings flapping and pressing coats against knees.
"Yes," says Gennady, with a touch of relish in his tone. "I will have to buy you a proper coat. You will need it next year, when we go to Moscow."
"To Moscow!" Daniel stops on the sidewalk, and is nearly bowled over by the New York pedestrians.
"I left it to late for this year,' Gennady says, with a little shrug. "But next year - if you would like to come for the New Year. That is our Christmas, you know."
"I know." And in the cold street, Daniel feels warm all through. "I'd like that."
They walk on for a while. The sky is darkening, but the street is so bright with Christmas lights that it still feels almost like day. Cars honk in the streets.
"That's such a big gift," Daniel tells Gennady. "I don't know what to get you in return."
"Oh," says Gennady. He bumps his shoulder against Daniel's. "You can buy our tickets home."
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"If the United States and the Soviet Union had ever gotten it together to stop building nuclear warheads," Daniel returns, "the money saved could have solved world hunger instead."
Gennady smiles ruefully and shakes his head. They are walking down Fifth Avenue, past shop windows shining with candy-colored displays to entice the hordes of Christmas shoppers.
"Is this your way of saying you don't want a Christmas present?" Daniel asks.
Gennady lifts his shoulders. "What is there that I need?"
"Some new shirts," Daniel suggests. Gennady is apt to wear his clothes till they fall apart.
"Ah! And I'll buy you a decent coat," Gennady teases. "For once in your life you won't shiver through the wintertime."
"I'm not shivering," Daniel protests.
"You will be once the sun goes down," said Gennady. And as if in answer to his words, a chilly breeze whirls down the avenue, sending awnings flapping and pressing coats against knees.
"Yes," says Gennady, with a touch of relish in his tone. "I will have to buy you a proper coat. You will need it next year, when we go to Moscow."
"To Moscow!" Daniel stops on the sidewalk, and is nearly bowled over by the New York pedestrians.
"I left it to late for this year,' Gennady says, with a little shrug. "But next year - if you would like to come for the New Year. That is our Christmas, you know."
"I know." And in the cold street, Daniel feels warm all through. "I'd like that."
They walk on for a while. The sky is darkening, but the street is so bright with Christmas lights that it still feels almost like day. Cars honk in the streets.
"That's such a big gift," Daniel tells Gennady. "I don't know what to get you in return."
"Oh," says Gennady. He bumps his shoulder against Daniel's. "You can buy our tickets home."