23 April 2007, Monday. Bright, clear morning. With Alyosha again, slow walk up Tacoma, over the top at the Alameda. Two little boys, on the sidewalk, looking this way and that with great animation, awaiting someone's arrival. They run to him as he makes the turn around the corner, embracing his furry ruff and petting him wildly. But still waiting. Man's voice, baritone, welcoming, "Alyosha!" Seems we know everyone. Car pulls up in front: the cousins. Girl jumps out, a little older, lifts up one of the boys in round-the-waist embrace, his feet caught in mid-air. Bruno Ganz, from a movie-still in the New York Times, found in an yellowed folder. Grainy black and white, a seaside town, quay reaching into the distance. His head is down, the dog alert. All atmosphere...
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