This chapter gave rise to a conflict between the editor and the commentator. What the author actually meant is beside the point. His job is to write the text; ours is to edit and comment on it.
It turned out that moving the one sentence the editor insisted on would require the commentator to rewrite fifty percent of the comments already written.
The commentator believes that up to this chapter, the text was an honest, if allegorical, retelling of events that took place in post-Soviet Russia. With his edits, the editor proposes turning the text into a timeless intellectual muddle — or more precisely, a muddle in the spirit of Ludwig Wittgenstein. It proved impossible to resolve the conflict by discussing it with the author. He doesn't understand what's going on at all.
Both the editor and the commentator stuck to their own opinions, but agreed to keep future edits to the text and comments to a minimum. Instead, it was decided to use the forum, and there edit the text and comment on absolutely everything to their heart's content!
PS. The sentence move proposed by the editor:
The girl, whimpering and fidgeting, leaned out of the train car.
– What's your name? – I asked the girl.
– Vera.
I offered my hand. The tearful creature jumped down onto the sand, leaned her back against the car and, drawing up her legs, burst into loud sobs. Tears streaked down her face, black with mascara. What was I to do with her? What was I to do with myself? How could I look away from her pale white thighs?
Looking for answers, I glanced around.
– Tsk-tsss! Quiet! – I commanded.
The girl fell silent. It became easier to think, to line up thoughts into logical chains, to draw conclusions and make guesses, but something important was still missing. What?
– Here's the thing, – I said to Vera. – Let's go behind the tank. There's nowhere else.
After this, according to the text, the hero goes off no one knows where for no one knows what purpose. A narrative as slender as a cypress turns into a ponderous jelly that is impossible to comment on.