Summary

In the flat where I grew up, in a closet, hidden behind his clothes, uniform and a pistol, my father kept a box with papers, school documents and volumes. After he died, I searched the box. In his student report book I found a name of professor who lectured "The basics of Marxist sociology" in 1976. I went to the professor and asked him: "What is friendship?" - "A tiny bird," he said.