Original subtitles

Kostas?

Hi.

Hi.

Sorry, I got a coffee.

No worries.

So...

What language shall we speak?

I’ve learned Lithuanian.

I’ve really improved at it.

I can still speak Russian.

No way.

Why?

It’s just too heavy.

What, for political reasons?

It’s just not politics, it’s...

It’s more than that.

I’m sorry, Kostas - no Russian for me right now.

So you’re boycotting your own language, wow...

It’s not my language.

Fine.

Let’s continue speaking our lingua franca.

How was your interview?

Uh...

They’ll call me.

It was for an engineering job?

Yeah...

I work in an international IT firm.

It’s out of Vilnius.

I mentioned it in an email.

Oh, right. Yeah.

Um...

I’m...

I’m glad you had this opportunity.

I mean, I don’t know anything about the IT world, but...

You can sign it for me?

So you did read it...

Thank you, Kostas.

So, how have you been?

Good.

I am teaching culture in the Russian and Slavics department at the City University.

So, doing what I hate with people who don’t care...

Are you gonna change that name anytime soon?

What does that even mean?

They lump these countries together and they just talk about Russian culture.

They don’t even question it.

Lithuania has made you patriotic.

I am patriotic about Lithuania,

and there’s no need to be insensitive.

Well, the name is the least of the department’s problems.

For one thing, I’m not paid enough.

I should have gone into political science or history, not culture.

You know you’re living the dream, right?

I mean...

Successful European writer based in New York.

Oh, Dima, wow...

You’re just...

You’re living the dream.

You have a lot of nerve...

You really have to appreciate it.

Can I have that book back?

- No, I want to change the note. - Just take a deep breath...

No!

I want to change the note.

No, no, no...

You... You know what?

You should try meditation,

you’re clearly distraught.

Fuck you.

I know.

I hate it too.

You’re trying to sit still...

Intrusive thoughts...

My head’s gonna explode.

Yeah.

You haven’t changed much.

Oh, I’ve grown older.

You’re older but you’re still immature.

The arrogance you have considering yourself the mature one.

Oh, we’re not old old yet.

We’re gonna be young-old soon.

Barely through our youth.

Well, we’ve been around.

Listen.

Thanks for reaching out.

It’s really lovely to see you...

After all these years.

I’m not gonna apologize, but...

It is lovely to see you.

Ah, come on, Kostas.

It’s been 30 years.

It’s a...

It’s nice to see you too.

Lovely to catch up.

No hard feelings.

Cool.

So...

How is your love life?

Well...

Well, you know, I got divorced a couple years back.

Yeah, I saw that on social media.

I did some research when you reached out.

Did you really go over all my old posts?

No. No.

Just the life events.

It’s only fair.

Fair? Sure.

You don’t post anything personal on your social media.

Well, you could have read my interviews.

I did read your interviews.

There you go.

Okay.

I have a plan.

Let’s go back to my place for dinner.

So, we’re gonna stop at the market,

um, it’s down this street,

then, we’re gonna go back and I live about three more blocks away.

Do you live... This is where... You shop here all the time?

Well, it’s... I mean, it’s close by

and there’s good fresh produce.

So you’re having good time in New York?

I mean, so far, yeah.

Yeah!

I’m glad.

What are we cooking?

A recipe that, according to the saying,

has as many variations as it does babushkas who are cooking it.

How so?

We are making borscht.

Ah, I love it.

Oh wait...

I need to tell you something.

What now?

I’m a vegan.

You’re a vegan?

Yeah...

Well, however unpalatable, it might be a nice twist on the borscht discourse.

You really think so?

Yes.

I attended Tomas’s father’s funeral a few years ago.

And?

I’d never seen his mother like this before.

She called me aside and she told me

she felt guilty her entire life.

What did she say?

She was devastated.

She blamed his father for not taking Tomas home from the army.

Blamed herself for going along with his decision.

I feel like she felt she could speak more freely

since the old man had passed.

I hope you were able to comfort her.

Hmm...

I told her that...

...people commit suicide for complex reasons.

It was natural for her to feel some guilt.

I told her she shouldn’t try and blame herself.

But...

But what?

Kostas...

I think your book goes too far in excusing the parents’ choice.

I know it was a different time, different circumstances, but...

They had a choice to bring their son home.

It was their choice not to.

Wasn’t much of a choice.

A Lithuanian conscript in the Soviet army is pushed to breaking point by the brutality

of its institutional hazing.

When he tries to rebel, he’s held in detention and declared unfit to serve.

His parents are given a choice:

bring him home with a socially stigmatizing

record of mental illness or leave him in the army to suffer.

They were given a choice.

These are your words.

Those are the words of my publisher’s marketing department.

Tomas would not have survived with a record of mental illness.

He wouldn’t be able to get an apartment or even a job with that.

He would’ve been ostracized or thrown into some psychiatric ward.

And he wasn’t mentally ill.

He was just being punished for being rebellious,

for not following the rules.

I disagree.

It was the eighties already.

Things were getting somewhat better.

You and I served in Stavropol,

we didn’t have these difficulties.

How can you say things were getting better?

Tomas was pleading to be sent to Afghanistan.

He hated the army so much,

he would rather die in a war that none of us believed in.

All I’m saying is perhaps things were more challenging for Tomas because

he did have some mental health issues and that’s okay.

He would’ve gotten the help needed when

Lithuania gained her independence.

But no one knew that Lithuania would get its freedom.

So how could his parents know that?

And mental health issues...

Yes, we all have some.

Especially those of us traumatized by the Soviet regime.

But that doesn’t change the fact

that Tomas was being medicated as a form of punishment.

They were given a choice.

It wasn’t a real choice.

It’s not fair to those who did make brave choices.

People found ways to resist

even during the occupation.

Larger ways, smaller ways.

What the...?

What the fuck are you talking about?

What ways to resist?

Yes, you could choose to resist and...

...die!

You could choose to resist and be shot, killed, or deported.

You know, I feel that...

Does that sound like a choice to you?

A choice between living a normal life and becoming a martyr?

You’re not grateful to the martyrs?

Yes, I am grateful.

Forever grateful.

But I didn’t expect that from everyone.

I know that I wasn’t a martyr.

We went to the peaceful protests and the marches.

We held hands with millions in 1989, in the Baltic Chain.

And two years later, when the Soviet tanks rolled in, we stayed home.

But we honor those brave souls who did go out in the streets that night.

And those 14 victims who died, they were heroes.

Their sacrifice matters.

Oh my God, will you stop this patriotic performance?

No one is watching us.

You’re making life sound like a story.

You’re reducing complex choices

to a battle between good and evil.

It’s so much more complicated than that.

Perhaps you’re right.

Did you come up all this way to review my books?

So...

What’s your story?

My story?

Is that what you ask people?

Yeah. I thought, well...

Not everybody’s defined by their job.

I definitely wouldn’t want

people to think that that was

my only outlook on life,

my only perspective.

So now I ask...

"What’s your story?"

How polite of you.

So what’s your story?

Hmm, I wake up in the morning.

I get my coffee.

Hot coffee.

I go to work.

I come home in the evenings and I read,

and I watch TV.

My story is one boring and secluded life,

with a touch of everyday resistance.

Routine of working, eating...

...and occasionally fucking.

You could say my existence is one at odds with toxic optimism.

I’ve said it before,

I’ll say it again.

There are those who would envy your life here in New York.

Wait!

Anyone who envies life in the United States surely

doesn’t understand...

...the extent of capitalist exploitation here.

Well, I consider myself...

...a liberal capitalist.

Of course you do.

Even your question - what’s your story? - is a capitalist one.

Everyone needs to have a marketable life.

You sound like such a typical leftist right now.

How you go on in your books criticizing capitalism.

You saw how broken Soviet socialism was.

That wasn’t real socialism.

I think it’s disgusting how...

...Western leftists, so-called socialists...

...flirt with communism.

They put Soviet emblems on their clothing and,

and post on their social media.

They did not experience the Soviet regime.

They don’t know anything about it.

What makes you think I disagree with that?

The fact that some in the West look for answers where there are none,

just shows you how dissatisfied they are with their own governments.

I’m critical of Soviet nostalgia

but it doesn’t mean I can’t be critical of capitalism too.

It’s just an abstract criticism.

I didn’t know you were looking for an academic debate.

Is that what you want?

You want me to quote hard scientific data?

You want to read articles on homelessness in the United States,

mass incarceration or the lack of proper healthcare?

And you think these problems don’t exist elsewhere?

There’s a difference between the United States

and, say, Nordic countries.

You have to agree that

Scandinavia or here, people are free,

and that’s what matters.

Where is here?

Are you talking about New York?

Or are you talking about the United States?

And wh-what does it mean to be free?

What you’re doing right now demonstrates your freedom.

You are listing the problems of your government,

you’re doing it openly.

In Russia, you criticize the government, you would disappear.

You’re comparing the incomparable again.

Whatever problems the United States has...

...we still need the US as a global moral power.

And you might not like it, but it’s true.

Moral what?

Moral po... You sound like a Republican!

It’s not so bad to sound like a Republican,

especially when it comes to foreign policy.

I mean, not a MAGA Trump Republican,

that’s different.

They screech: America First.

They don’t care about the world.

They don’t care what’s happening abroad.

But radical progressives on the left sound exactly the same to me.

Their slogan isn’t America First,

it’s America Bad.

It’s just...

You, you can’t compare the two sides,

because there are no two sides.

United States has created senseless wars

and caused untold harm here and abroad.

Look at Vietnam.

Look at the War on Terror.

Look at Israel.

Look at American expansionism and the native American genocide.

I mean, you can’t just brush that all aside because you wanna bomb Russia

or some other tyrannical country.

Oh my God...

Thank God you can’t vote here.

People like you campaigned against Bernie and then we got Trump.

Oh... No, people like you said: Bernie or bust.

I...

You trashed Hillary and then you got Trump.

I did not say that.

And I did vote for her in the end.

Even though my vote in New York didn’t really mean anything because of the way

elections work here,

which is another problem with American democracy.

Kostas, if you hate the U.S. so much, why did you come here?

Why do you stay?

If you hate the U.S. so much, why did you...

I heard you the first time.

Well.

It’s not a particularly scientific question.

You are making me nuts.

You want simple answers to extremely

nuanced and complex questions.

Well, yet here we are.

Two openly queer men...

...without fear of persecution.

It’s not bad.

Your vegan borscht.

Thank you, sir.

You’re welcome.

Do you remember...

...when you burned our first dinner?

I remember how you burned it.

You were the one

cooking your mushrooms in this

super high heat method...

...and then you left them and went to the bathroom.

Yes, and I asked you to watch over them.

That became your version of events over time.

That’s not the way I remember it anyway.

At the most, you smiled and nodded.

It’s not the same thing as asking me to take over.

Okay, it may have been a few years ago, but

I distinctly remember asking you to watch over the mushrooms.

Or something...

Then, I come back...

At best, you mumbled.

...and I find you sitting there, reading,

while the pan is fully aflame.

And then...

And then,

you took them out to the balcony, which is the right thing to do,

and then you got embarrassed and brought them back in.

I... It... Everyone in the building was gossiping about us.

And then I was about to burn the entire building down.

Yes, I was embarrassed.

And then you brought them back inside,

you were about to pour water on them.

It would’ve been a real tragedy.

And you stopped me.

Thank you.

I didn’t know it was dangerous to pour water on an oil fire.

I saved your life.

Yes.

But you could have just watched over the mushrooms

in the first place.

Oh God!

At least you took them back out to the balcony after you tried to kill us.

When you took your shirt off

and you threw it over that pan...

That was like a Hollywood movie.

You were so hot in that moment.

Because of the damn fire.

So, what’s your story?

I think of myself as an optimistic nomad.

Even though I don’t travel that much.

I often feel like a man who lives without really having a home.

You don’t consider Lithuania your home?

No, I made it my home.

But I don’t feel like a local.

Maybe a local of Vilnius...

So, besides philosophizing...

...how have you been?

Since you left me?

Well...

I pursued different jobs, different lovers.

Men, women.

I was spending a lot of time on those liberal Russian blogs.

There was all this interest in the new technology.

Hope for a free, united world.

Optimistic, indeed.

Then I got married.

We were together for 14 years.

Morta left me for a younger Lithuanian gentleman.

I’m sorry.

It’s okay, it was her midlife crisis.

I did...

...find it kind of impressive.

She took everything we’d worked for...

...put it behind her so quickly.

Hmm. Still hurt, though.

I think I saw you both at the book fair in 2010.

Yeah...

You didn’t want to have your copy of the Rainbow Bookstore signed?

No, yeah...

We didn’t have time?

Really?

Alright, I was afraid to see you.

I prepared myself for that meeting for months and I just couldn’t do it.

Afraid of what?

I want you to know I was very much in love with Morta.

I don’t want you to think it was less real,

you know, I’m bi, I fall in love

with a person, not their gender.

I’m respectful of other people’s identities, I...

I mean, the language has changed since we were in the army, I...

But I...

I understand bisexuality.

Cool.

So what were you afraid of?

I was really kind of hoping

you wouldn’t come back to that question.

Yeah, I noticed.

I was afraid you wouldn’t recognize me.

You wouldn’t want to talk to me, talk to my wife.

I was afraid of how it would make me feel.

What was her story?

Oh, she was a composer.

Ah...

So you clearly have a thing for creative types.

It’s important to me that you know,

that what you and I had was real.

I wouldn’t want you to think it was...

I don’t know,

I grew out of it, marrying a woman.

I’m grateful that you made the choice to come and join me after our service.

Play something by your wife for me.

My ex-wife.

Oh!

I’m sorry.

I wasn’t looking for a one-night stand.

Again,

I’m sorry.

Just leave the damn dishes.

That’s not enough to say you’re sorry, Kostas.

I thought you said everything was good.

Yeah.

I lied.

Your book is meant to show that you’re not responsible for leaving me behind,

but that’s not true.

What do you want me to say?

It was a different time.

I...

I didn’t have a choice.

When the borders opened, how could I refuse the opportunity to study in New York?

That was my dream come true.

My professors would have thought I was an idiot if I refused.

That’s just it, Kostas.

In your book, you portray me

as someone who wanted you to stay in Lithuania.

I didn’t.

I never asked you to stay.

I’d have followed you here

or anywhere else.

I-I couldn’t just marry you and get you a visa.

There just was no legal basis to take you with me.

There’s always a workaround.

You know, the cruelest part of your book is...

...when you say you’re going to find a way to bring me here,

and then you write that, in saying that,

you knew it was already over between us.

It’s fiction, Dima.

Did you think it was already over between us when you said you’d find a way to bring me here?

Is that what you were thinking in our last weeks together,

preparing for your trip?

I think in the back of my mind, I was preparing

for my new life.

I wanted to leave Lithuania behind.

The way you left Russia.

I didn’t think it was possible to take you with me.

Christ, you were leaving for the free world.

It had to be a solution, I could have gotten a job.

I could have gotten asylum.

Homosexuality was still criminalized in Lithuania until 1993.

You weren’t in danger.

All I’m saying is you could have tried,

I could have tried.

You didn’t let me.

You left me behind, you cut me off!

I... I...

You had a choice!

Dima.

Did you go far?

I was here.

Did you miss me just now or for the last 30 years?

Just spend the night here.

I told you, I have to get to the airport early in the morning.

You want to be there at, like, ten?

Like nine.

Okay, here’s my proposal.

Let’s have a conversation.

About everything.

And everything is forgiven, just...

...for one night.

Okay.

Oh... I changed my mind.

You can help me with the dishes.

Oh, no, I’m good.

We’re not drinking anymore?

You can drink if you want to, I’m good.

Are you sure?

Yes, and please stop pressuring me.

You’ve changed.

So, our conversation?

Our conversation just got sober.

Should we set rules?

No.

No rules.

Well, maybe: one rule.

No sarcasm allowed.

I think we’re setting ourselves up for failure.

I really liked what you...

...said about our careers not defining us.

Your what’s your story? question is actually a great one.

Thank you.

And in the back of my mind, I started thinking...

What does define us?

Or what does define me?

Well, what defines you?

I think as trivial as it sounds, I’m...

I’m defined...

...by being a Lithuanian in New York.

I mean, even though I have an American passport,

I still feel like an outsider.

Kostas, United States is a country of immigrants,

especially New York.

Why would you feel like an outsider?

A country of immigrants, but with a lot of additional terms.

It all depends on how well assimilated you are...

What generation immigrant you are, what,

what the color of your skin is.

Kostas, your skin color is white,

you seem really well assimilated here in New York.

Right...

Why would you feel like an outsider?

I guess I feel like an outsider for...

...other reasons.

As a queer person, too.

This is New York, the queer capital of the world.

I don’t think San Francisco would agree with you there, but...

These are good observations.

But the truth is that...

...inner conflicts aren’t always entirely rational.

I was socialized differently.

I grew up in a very homophobic society.

And I still carry that around with me.

And sometimes it hurts.

And sometimes I feel ashamed.

Why would you feel ashamed?

So, what about you?

Don’t you feel like an outsider as a Russian in Lithuania?

Especially now?

Kostas, even the way you’re framing it is wrong.

I got my Lithuanian passport in the nineties.

I considered myself a Lithuanian citizen ever since.

I’m a Lithuanian.

I live, work and vote in Lithuania.

I’ve even learned the language, however flawed I am at it.

I don’t care.

I don’t feel like an outsider.

I feel like a part of a diverse Lithuanian society.

That’s curious.

At first, you said you felt patriotic about Lithuania...

...and then you described yourself as a nomad,

as if you have no home.

And now you say you feel strongly about

belonging both in and to Lithuania.

Well, let me put it this way.

I’m proud of living in Lithuania,

but I also feel like a passport doesn’t necessarily define me.

I have another insight,

if I may.

Well, you may.

Everything is fair in our mega chat.

Hmm!

I think you...

...have conflicting feelings.

I think you’re trying to

erase your Russian identity...

...to become the model Lithuanian citizen.

And I...

I understand where that comes from, but...

Again, who’s... Who’s watching?

Who’s asking for that proof?

Oh...

That’s heavy.

And...

Your insights are perhaps correct.

But let me ask you,

why shouldn’t I be ashamed of Russia?

You should be proud of your heritage.

You’re from a small, unique country that’s faced a lot of suffering.

On the other hand, now you’re an American.

The way you talk about the United States,

you seem to take responsibility for all of its faults.

You feel shame at all the wrongdoing being done in its name,

in your name.

So why shouldn’t I be allowed to be ashamed of being Russian?

That’s exactly the point.

I’m an American citizen, and...

You’re Lithuanian.

As citizens, we’re responsible for the United States and Lithuania.

You’re saying I should be proud of my Lithuanian heritage.

So why can’t you have pride in your Russian background?

Well, it’s different.

I’m proud of living in Lithuania.

But she’s not a terrorist country.

And for all her flaws,

she’s not an occupying power.

Yes, but...

If everyone from every country felt that way...

...who would be able to have pride in themselves?

I mean, Brazil, Germany, Serbia,

Rwanda, China, Iran, Japan...

Can any of them celebrate their culture

or is that all erased by their crimes?

Well...

I think each case should be considered separately.

You have to understand

you’re doing Russia a disservice by being so naively overprotective.

Russian culture and Russian identity cannot be separated

from Russian terror right now.

It’s what their society clings to and supports,

seeing terror as essential to maintaining its pride.

You have to set boundaries for Russia.

You have to take that pride away,

until that culture learns to change.

I see your point.

I would love to be considered a citizen of the world.

But I don’t tell anyone that.

I don’t want them to think I was naive.

We were both born in the Soviet Union.

A country that doesn’t exist anymore.

Hmm.

I see that a little differently.

I was born in Soviet Russia.

You were born in Lithuania,

occupied by Soviet Russia.

Okay, another example.

Borscht again, cold borscht.

We Lithuanians love to claim that bright pink soup as our own.

We’re proud that it originated in the Grand Duchy of Lithuania.

But the Grand Duchy of Lithuania included modern day Belarus and beyond.

So, geography is not always as stable as it may seem.

And if that’s the case,

can it ever define us?

I don’t know, Kostas, I’m the dreamer here.

I’d love to say it doesn’t, but all those

shifts and changes you’re talking about, they leave a mark.

Leave a mark...

Yes.

Many people are defined by their religion.

Are you still an atheist?

Oh... Kostas, we have one shot at this beautiful life,

and that’s what makes it so beautiful.

I guess that answers my question.

You still are.

Yeah.

For fuck’s sake,

I hope you are, too.

Not as hardcore as you,

I never was.

I respect religious freedom.

And I wish I was a believer.

I’m just not.

I wasn’t brought up that way.

But if there’s an afterlife, I am not gonna complain.

I tell you what - if I meet the Almighty after I die, I won’t debate his existence either.

But that’s not going to happen,

and in the meantime,

the religious propaganda machine makes everybody miserable.

Alright, that’s a problematic approach.

That’s a sort of...

...intellectual colonialism.

A very Western-centric point of view.

There’s nothing wrong with being Western.

You have to understand that the majority of the world is religious.

Something like 85%.

And you have to understand

that the majority of people in the world are idiots.

You call yourself a liberal,

but you really just want everyone to think the same way that you do.

You ever tried any therapy?

I did about six years in my forties.

Changed my life.

No, I haven’t.

That’s too bad.

I think therapy should be mandatory

for all traumatized people like us.

Thank you.

Strange, though.

Why didn’t you choose to go to therapy?

That is an interesting question.

Like, I choose not to do everything that I don’t do.

I wake up in the morning and I choose...

...not to go to Canada.

I choose not to fall in love.

I choose not to go to therapy.

C’mon Kostas, everybody here goes to therapy.

What if I don’t believe in therapy?

You don’t have to believe in it, it’s science.

Yeah, but it’s based on personal change.

It doesn’t take into account social conditions as much.

I’m sure there’s plenty of therapists that...

...focus on it.

And what’s wrong with personal change?

It’s like the whole idea.

It’s just problematic.

From Freudian sexism to the pure homophobia of forcing gay people into conversion therapy.

There you go again, talking about the past.

What past?

Conversion therapy is still legal in many countries

and several states in the United States.

Well, I didn’t know that about the U.S.,

but I’m sure mainstream

health organizations don’t

endorse conversion therapy.

It’s not even endorsed in Lithuania.

You are faster to blame therapy for homophobia,

and you forgive the Catholic Church.

No, I am critical of the Catholic Church.

I just said I respect everyone’s personal religious freedom.

You just criticize everything that’s American and Western.

What’s wrong with being self-critical?

What do you want me to do?

Run out into the street and yell: I’m proud to be an American!

I want you to go to therapy.

Well unfortunately, that’s my choice.

Yeah. Your choice.

I feel like we were getting more vulnerable.

And we took a wrong turn somewhere.

Well, because you won’t stop talking about religion.

And you wanted to replace the confessional booth with the therapist couch.

At least confessions are still free.

Well.

As my therapist used to say: let’s move on.

Let’s talk about something more personal.

Did you ever want to have children?

Oof.

It’s a loaded question.

I feel like everybody wants children on a instinctual level.

But?

Well...

I never felt ready.

You know, Morta didn’t want children either.

I liked that.

It felt queerer that way.

And we both liked that.

Why?

I mean, she knew about your bisexuality?

Of course.

We shared a life together.

Wait, so you had an open marriage?

That is offensive, Kostas!

What? No, a lot of people here are

in open marriages or relationships.

Yeah, but you assumed that we were in an open marriage

because I was open about my bisexuality.

You’re equating bisexuality with promiscuity.

Okay, you’re right.

I’m sorry.

That’s okay.

I don’t think polyamory would work for me.

When was the last time you were in

a long-term relationship?

Oh, it’s been a while.

There was a visiting professor a few years ago.

But he was visiting.

And then he left.

I always choose the impossible.

Hmm.

How about you - have you ever want kids?

No.

I would have been a terrible parent.

And I’m not really into the whole homonormative family thing.

What’s wrong with two people just wanting to start a family together?

Well, you didn’t do it yourself.

Well, yeah, but, I mean,

it was for different reasons.

So, you not only want people to think the same way you do,

you want them to do it for the same reasons.

Ah...!

All right, let’s turn this around.

What about your parents?

No news.

You’re still ignoring them?

Ignoring sounds like an active thing.

I simply cut them off when I left Russia.

I thought you might have learned to forgive them in therapy?

In therapy I learned not to regret my decision -

and how badly they fucked me up, and

what awful people they are.

Don’t you think it was a different time,

and a different society?

I mean, no one knew how to raise children back then and...

...physical punishment was the norm in Soviet Union.

You need to be a little sensitive here.

My parents were abusive.

And there’s never any excuse for that.

I understand.

I wish I had been as tough with my own parents sometimes.

They died a few years ago.

Oh...

I’m sorry for your loss.

Thanks.

They lived long lives.

Seems silly to be sad about it.

But I was.

And I am.

Why do you say that you needed to be harder on them?

You never mentioned them being abusive, were they?

No, not physically.

But they expected a lot from me.

They instilled a perfectionism that’s...

That’s hard to get rid of.

Sorry about that.

Well, they’re dead now.

War has me thinking about dying.

It's scary to think how short our lives are.

I see my death just approaching.

And I’m...

Not looking forward to it.

That’s the downside to loving life a little too much.

Neither one of us has children.

You have your books, you’ll leave them behind.

I have nothing.

Software engineer’s work is designed to be replaced. Upgraded.

You're as much a part of my books as I am.

Thank you, Kostas.

If you really want to know me,

you should read my books.

Not the ones I’ve written,

but the ones I’ve read.

Like this one?

Yes.

Or Baldwin, Halberstam, Foucault, Sedgwick,

Cunningham, Butler, Isherwood, Delany.

I have to admit, I don’t know any of those authors.

You weren’t intrigued when you read the Rainbow Bookstore?

Oh, I read it as your own personal account.

I didn’t think you could read that book without understanding the references.

That’s all it was - references?

Nothing personal?

Writing is personal.

I mean, many of these writers

walked the same streets in New York.

I met some of them when they gave guest lectures here.

They describe the lives they led, I assume.

I always pictured you having

a wild life in New York.

Sorry to disappoint you, Dima.

It’s a book about a librarian.

I am a camera with its shutter open,

quite passive, recording, not thinking.

I think I read it as a

book about a choice between living and dying.

How so?

Well, Kyle uses his inheritance

to start a queer bookstore.

It’s because he’s afraid of dying without leaving something behind.

Sure.

Then along comes the handsome Diego and...

...forces Kyle to fall back in love with life,

and they hit the road happily ever after.

But I saw it as a choice between legacy and love.

What are you reading these days?

Well, mostly sci-fi.

A lot of Ukrainian literature.

Did you start before Russia invaded Ukraine or after?

Hmm...

This is...

Canceled.

Canceled.

Canceled.

Why?

Because they’re Russian?

Because they’re chauvinists.

We can come back to them later.

When?

When Russia, as we know it, ceases to exist.

When all the different countries

currently colonized by Russia

become independent and free.

What about Tolstoy?

I guess he can stick around for now.

With a lot of footnotes.

You are really reworking my curriculum right now.

You should teach Faggots instead.

That would be a different department.

Anyway.

I don’t see how a reading list

can say all that much about someone.

Well, at this point, Dima, I give up.

I mean, we have

talked about practically everything.

We talked about...

...politics and immigration,

we talked about our nationalities,

we talked about

our families, talked about religion

and sex, and our work.

Our relationship status...

What else is there to know?

All that stuff doesn’t really define someone.

You should know that as a writer.

So, what does define you?

Choices.

My choices, Kostas.

The choice to make love to you in the army, even though it was dangerous.

Choice to come to you in Lithuania.

Choice to leave all my friends and family behind,

my choice to read your book,

come and visit you in New York.

Sometimes life just happens, Kostas.

Complicated situations, difficult dilemmas.

The choices we make in those situations define our character.

Don’t say anything cynical.

I wasn’t going to.

I’m enjoying this conversation.

And I appreciate your perspective.

I still think it’s optimistic...

I said I was an optimist.

I mean, we are defined by the family that we grew up in.

The religion that we learned as a child.

We are defined by the education that we were able to receive.

We are defined by the mental health of the people that surrounded us.

We are defined by whether we grew up in poverty or luxury, or something in between.

Kostas, you’re a middle-class writer living a comfortable life.

Your first book was an international success.

You still enjoy a loyal fan base in your home country.

You have the privileges you’re describing here.

You spent half of your adult life married to a woman.

No one knew anything about your sexuality.

Are you...

...complaining that I didn’t experience

as much homophobia as you did?

Do you know how much backlash I got from my writing

from Lithuania?

How many threatening emails?

Emails...

Kostas, compare the families we grew up in.

The countries we grew up in, the cities in which we now live.

No one knew that you were bisexual,

still nobody knows!

My friends know!

And I had my challenges.

I fought for what I wanted and I got it.

And that’s how you wrote your first book, too.

Now, your second books are all about complaining.

Look what it got you.

Released in Lithuania only, no translations.

Kostas, you got cynical.

You fought for yourself, yes,

but did you fight for democracy in Russia?

Or human rights in Lithuania?

You don’t care about society.

You only care about yourself.

So, stop preaching your enlightenment to everyone.

I see.

Go back to Russia if you are so brave and change things there.

Show how everything is possible by setting an example.

I’m going to go to the bathroom and then I think I need to leave.

You know, off to Russia.

To start a fucking revolution.

You don’t need to leave.

You know, as much time as we’ve spoken here today,

I’ve still left two things unsaid.

I was waiting for the right time,

but I guess it doesn’t matter now.

I never had a job interview here.

I came to see you.

I decided to after I read your new book.

I thought that since you decided to write it,

as much as I hated the way you portrayed us,

you might still have feelings for me.

I was wrong.

I...

Please, don’t say anything now.

The second is...

...at the funeral,

Tomas’s mother showed me his letters.

Not to keep, just to photograph.

I’ll, of course, forward all of them to you, but

but I wanted you to see this one now.

I decided to cut my service short.

Don’t worry about it.

I felt healthy before,

but not anymore.

I’m in the hospital now,

the neurological section.

I miss Kostas and Dima,

they’re my best friends here.

I’m jealous over how much they love each other.

Mom, Dad, I forbid you to worry about me.

Yours, Tomas the madcap.

No one would say that about a friendship between two men these days.

It would sound queer.

It was queer.

Well yeah, but...

He didn’t know that.

Perhaps.

I blame myself for not...

...helping Tomas enough.

We could have fought for him.

No... We couldn’t.

It was really nice talking to you, Kostas.

Dima, that’s not right.

I need to apologize to you.

It’s...

Very late.

Past midnight.

Too late for apologies.

No, not too late yet.

Stay.

I’ll write you a letter.

Hmm.

Dear Dima,

I loved you from the first time we met.

Serving in Stavropol,

we shared a friendship and a camaraderie.

And we shared more.

A passion that was secret,

yet felt so innocent.

I knew it was forbidden,

even dangerous.

And yet it didn’t feel like that.

It felt so light,

so lighthearted.

Then everything went dark when Tomas killed himself.

His death brought us back to reality,

grounded us and reminded us of the regime we lived under.

It was dark. Difficult and dark.

And yet it bonded us further.

Beyond our initial passion, we bonded as friends.

We bonded as family, sharing a painful loss together.

And when you made the decision to join me and move to Lithuania,

I knew it was the right decision.

I’m grateful that you saw it that way.

Grateful that you found the courage not to look back,

to make a life together in a country new and foreign to you.

I was inspired by your bravery.

Our love was like the fresh air of freedom.

A promise of freedom yet to come.

Dima,

I’m sorry for all the hurt I caused you through my actions.

I apologize.

I did abandon you.

And I did lie to you in Lithuania.

I already knew I would leave you.

It was terrible.

I am so sorry about what I’ve done.

There is no excuse.

No political, social or historical circumstances

in the whole world can excuse the horrible things I did to you.

I won the lottery

and I threw away the winning ticket.

You’ve got to give me another chance, Dima,

because I still love you,

and I will never leave you again.

Stay just a little after midnight.

Stay for another 30 years

or until the day we die.

You’re a good writer.

I missed my flight.