Veniamin Samuilovich Rubinstein

Tuesday morning. The psychiatric hospital at Fort Alexander I, located in the Gulf of Finland, south of Kotlin Island.

You sit in a comfortable chair, nervously picking at your hangnails. The office space, imbued with the charm of bygone eras, is slightly oppressive in its monumentality. The air is thick with the pungent scent of expensive tobacco and strong, freshly brewed coffee. And beyond the tall panoramic windows, the cries of seagulls circling above the island can be heard.

Rubinstein's desk was buried under piles of medical records and papers. A cigarette smoldered in an ashtray at the edge, sending a ghostly wisp of smoke into the air. The doctor finally put down the medical record he'd read, and his deep, velvety voice pierced the silence:

• Well, how are we feeling?