He himself did not know at what point he turned from a normal child into an animal that craved blood, pain and agony. Perhaps at the moment when he personally shot the dog on the road, or at the moment when he realized that his mother had died, and her body was carried out of the room before his eyes, covered with a white sheet, and his father looked with a glassy gaze at these same stretchers. It seemed to Dante that it was he who died, not his mother. After all, with her death, this really happened. The child who rejoiced at his childhood, learned Russian and laughed as...