Abstract
Now that Sobchak is no longer with us, the remarks he made not long before his premature death take on the force of an invocation, a prophecy. I met with him—just think!—only last Monday in his small office on Nevskii Prospekt. It was Valentine's Day, and I felt that I was not intruding too much in Sobchak's family plans. "Lana," he told his wife on his mobile phone, "you didn't know, but I am talking with Sosnov. No, I won't be late for dinner."